Blood Boundary [A DRAMIONE fanfiction]

5 | Second Chances

5 | Second Chances

Draco Malfoy spent his first night of bitter liberty in the bitter comforts of his bed, eyes aching to sleep and his thoughts restless.

It was unbearable for him. He slept during the first hour, but then after, he would feel this familiar sense of freefalling, then he would wake up milliseconds before a terrible, encompassing darkness engulfs his body, together with his consciousness. He fell asleep five minutes later, only to find himself waking up from a murky nightmare, a blur of a thousand familiar faces, lifeless and unseeing; a few snippets of scenes too chaotic, then just a moment of agonizing silence. The nightmare didn't make any sense at all, but the despondence and distraught that it made him feel was just too much.

Even if it was in the middle of September, and the weather was already cold in England, he still felt hot. Beads of sweat rivulets from his hairline down to his temples. His breathing was ragged, as if he had just run a marathon or climbed the Mount Everest. His eyes were wide from confusion. With his exhaustion, he couldn't differentiate whether he was really awake or if everything was just in a dream.

He looked around his dark room just to see if the unidentifiable beasts in his nightmare were actually real, just hiding away in the corners, waiting for him to actually doze off before they could lash out their claws at him and guzzle down his soul. It was a morbid thought, but in actuality, he found himself thinking that he deserved a punishment more morbid than just a simple house arrest. He even expected to be in Azkaban with his parents, enclosed in a cell, paying for his faults his whole life.

That last thought about his parents was just the last straw for him. He finally gave up on sleeping. He spent the rest of the night staring at the high ceiling, finding himself flinch at just the slightest of sounds outside, even if it was only a gust of wind. He found himself smile wanly at the thought.

How ironic, he thought. A beast, afraid of a little gust of wind.

Despite all thoughts he had in his mind, he just wasn't about to cry or to lash out his frustration. He wasn't trusting enough to show his true emotions even when he is inside the four walls of his room. Now, even walls can't be trusted. They could have eyes, or ears.

He was a man of masked emotions. His parents taught him how to put up a façade all his life; how to make his expressions unreadable, his thoughts obscured by his bland face, so that people wouldn't be able to point out his strengths and weaknesses. They taught him how to maintain his composure, to constantly keep his emotions in check.

"Mind over emotion, boy." Lucius would always say. The tone in his voice made him chill to the bones, but that advice, no matter how it was relayed to him, had always stuck in his mind like a constant mantra. He wouldn't show his vulnerability to anyone. He'd hide it away with a few intimidating retorts and a smirk. He couldn't afford to show his true self to anyone, not even his friends.

It's not like I have any friends left, he thought to himself.

Just thinking about his friends stung for him. It was bad enough to think that maybe he wouldn't be able to talk to them anymore. The last time he had contact with them, or with any Slytherin for that matter, was during the Battle. Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise and perhaps, Pansy. He suddenly felt a hollow feeling inside of him--an atrocious thought, an epiphany--that maybe, he didn't really have any friends in the first place. Maybe they truly valued him as someone that resembles a friend, but he just wasn't good in being the sort of person who is kind to everybody, wherefore they only succumb to his favours. Even if they strongly oppose it.

He just stared and stared and stared at nothingness.

He lost track of time with just staring. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so tired of not doing anything at all. He didn't even bother looking at the time. Didn't even bother wondering how he'd cook breakfast. Didn't even bother  scolding himself for not having the ability to cook. He didn't even care at all. He could just lay still forever; starve himself to death--a slow and painful demise, a demise he very much deserved after all he had done. He then found himself getting angry at Potter again because of the fact that he actually stood up for him during the interrogation in the Ministry. How could he still have the heart to pardon him, his lifelong rival, the person who had called him names all their lives? He didn't ask for that. He was already prepared to go to Azkaban. He certainly didn't deserve a second try.