It All Started At a Lake

Chapter 6

Friday, September 6th, 1998

Draco sat in his room the night after he had gotten drunk with his two friends. That night had made him regret some life choices. 

The night had been great, no doubt about it. They ate snacks all night, sang a few songs and told each other a few secrets. He felt like such a teenage girl doing those things, but he really didn't give a damn.

He wondered what his father would think. He was a strict man and taught Draco that if he wasn't as close to perfect as ever then it wasn't good enough.

He was told on many occasions growing up that he wasn't good enough and that he was a disappointment. 

The words had hurt then, and they still hurt now. 

Draco knew he wouldn't have to deal with his father for another ten years while he was in Azkaban, but he didn't want him to ever get out. He wanted to be free.

He already knew that his father would be scolding him for being so reckless the night before. 

He would call him a disappointment for his drinking problem.

He would call him a disgrace to the Malfoy name.

Draco thought back on all his choices in the past few months. He did drugs, drank too much, could barely concentrate, cried, and so much more.

He wondered if he was a disappointment. His father had rarely said 'I love you' during Draco's life and he only saw him as an heir. 

Even in Azkaban he wasn't sure that his father would change. 

Draco laid down and cried into his pillow. He hated his father. He wanted him to rot in his cell. He never wanted to see him again. He had made his life a living hell and because of his mistakes he and his mother had to face the consequences.

Draco cried into the pillows until his eyes ran dry and he was left a red-faced, puffy-eyed mess. His pillow was soaked in his tears as though it had been rained on.

He wiped his face and blew his nose. He hadn't cried like that in a long time. His father had called him weak every time he cried which led him to stop crying.

Draco couldn't tell if he felt better or worse after that. All he knew was that he was tired as hell. His lack of sleep and the breakdown he had just had seemed to have caught up to him in that moment.

He rubbed his tired eyes and transfigured his uniform into Slytherin green, silk pajamas. 

He rested his head on his pillow, that was still soaked in his tears, and slowly closed his eyes. Sleep came easily to him that night, but it was far from a great sleep.

Draco sat at the long table in his dining hall beside his father. The Dark Lord was sitting at the end of the table, greeting everybody.

He felt fear as he sat so close to the Dark Lord. 

His Potions teacher, Severus Snape, gave details on when Potter was being transported to wherever he was supposed to be. 

As much as Draco tried to pay attention, he couldn't stop glancing in the direction of his Muggle Studies teacher, Charity Burbage.

As much as he hated to admit it, Draco enjoyed Muggle Studies. Now his professor was here, bruised and beaten, floating in the air. 

Draco knew she was going to die, which put a pain in his heart, but it was better than suffering.