Draco's pain

Chapter 1

It was the first time in 3 weeks that Malfoy had managed to muster up enough strength to leave his small cottage. After his mother had passed away, and the house released back to him from the ministry's grasp, he had sold the manor and bought himself a small dethatched cottage in the muggle town of Blackpool. He had desired a change of scenery to somewhere that didn't hold memories to him. He had never been to Blackpool and the though of the fresh sea air had led to impulsively buy the little run-down countryside house that was a significant downsize to the large, multi-room home he was used to. 

He had been in the cottage for two years by this point. when he had first moved, new hope and improved relations had lead him to do a complete remodel of the house, adding his own touches to the décor, hint of green  with silver ornaments, as well as fixing up the garden. He found the smell of the earth refreshing, the sounds of the birds relaxing, helping him to recover from the trauma of his childhood. 

He wrapped a thick, grey scarf around his neck and donned his black trench coat. Winter was almost over, and the first daffodils were shining their bright colours at his doorstep, but the air still had a harsh coldness to it.

Stepping out the door, he headed to the small coffee shop that was conveniently located at the bottom of his street. He slowly shuffled down the road, being careful of his footing along the uneven road. Even this short trip took a great deal of strength from him, by Miss flingham's signature caramel latte was one of the few delights he still held on to and was worth the effort it took to get there.  His mothers death had stripped away his last feelings of comfort, and happiness. This coffee shop, the warm aromas of the coffee, the roaring fire and large, soft sofas were the closest he could get to feeling that again.

With stiff limbs, he pulled open the door of the coffee shop. As he walked in, the warmth of the place struck him immediately, easing his aching muscles some-what. It was a Thursday afternoon at the end of February, so there weren't many people around. Only one other table was occupied by an elderly couple sharing hot cups of tea. 

When he had ordered and received his drink from the young women working there, he took his usual seat in the large grey armchair by the fire. The windows had steamed obscuring the street outside. He disliked being seen as weak, or vulnerable, and seeking solitude had been his only way of achieving this recently. He often received comments on his paler-than-usual complexion, cracked lips and thinning figure from neighbours he passed on the streets. He had avoided talking to his friends for the last two months. The last time they had met was over Christmas, when he went to Blaze and Pansy's house for Christmas dinner, and afterwards when he had left to spend boxing day with Harry and his friends. Harry had spent a long time at the ministry helping to get Draco a pardon for what happened during the war, and since then, they had made up and, surprising them both, become something close to friends. 

Since then, Blaze had left for Bulgaria in early January to work on a new broom prototype, and Pansy had become occupied with looking after her two toddlers by herself, so had had limited contact to both of them. He had written to Harry a couple of times at the beginning of January while he still felt up to it, but had since stopped when his symptoms had worsened. 

He had started to feel unwell over Christmas. nothing major, just reduced energy, headaches and the occasional nose bleed, but had decided to visit St. Mungos just in case. On January 2nd he had received the diagnosis of SDIAA which stood for Sorcerers Diffuse Idiopathic Accelerated Apoptosis. This was a fancy way of saying that, for some unknown reason, his Magic had started to attack the cells of his body randomly. His symptom's had quickly worsened, weakened muscles, wheezing, pains all over his body, and becoming unable to digest certain foods. So far, he had been thankful that his cognitive function had not been impaired, but he wasn't sure how much longer this would last.

He had accepted his fate faster than most, almost expecting the world to turn on him in this way at some point, to 'atone for his crimes'. He wasn't afraid of dying. He would never have attempted anything himself, but if the world had decided now was his time, so be it.

He slowly sipped his coffee, the warmth filling his body and his mind, making his sleepy. Not wanting to sleep in public, he couldn't help but be pulled by the incessant ropes of sleep, pulling him into their depths. But just before he fully fell into his dreams, a voice rose him out of his stupor.

"Enjoying your coffee?" the lady asked, wiping off a table nearby. This lady was different to the one that had given him his coffee. She was older, with lighter hair and a kind smile. 

"oh, yes. You always know just how I like it Rosamond" Malfoy replied, smiling lightly.

"please, just Rosey is fine. You make me sound like my grandmother." She laughed. "I haven't seen you in here for a while. Been busy?"

"er, yeah, something like that."

"well don't you work too hard. There aint no shame in taking some time off... now, how about I get you a slice of my own plumb pudding. I can add some custard too if you like? On the house?"

"you're too kind Rosey" Malfoy smiled up at her.

"you look like you need feeding up, and I know all too well what its like trying to feed yourself when you first start living alone, my boy was just the same." She looked down and smiled sadly at Malfoy who tried to return a sympathetic smile. He had learned a few months ago about how her son had died in a car accident at the age of only 28. It had brought back painful memories of young bodies lying along the corridors of Hogwarts. "Anyway" she said, returning from her daze "ill go get you that cake" and left. He didn't usually like people doting over him, but Rosey was different. She reminded him of his mother, in those moments when his father wasn't around, and she and him would spend their time together, playing games or baking.

Rosey would often give him free cakes when he visited. He used to visit more often, and would sometimes spend a little extra at the end of the day helping her clear up after her customers. She had become somewhat of another Aunt to him, and he was grateful for her presence in his life. 

Rosey returned a few minutes later with a piping hot, steamed plum pudding smothered in creamy custard. 

"There you go" 

"Thank you Rosey" 

Rosey quickly left as two more customers had just arrived at and the younger server had just gone on her lunch break, so Rosey was left to man the tills alone. 

The pudding was divine. Far better than any of the food he had been eating recently, which mostly consisted of microwaved soups and stale bread. 

It was almost an hour later before he had decided it was probably time to return home. He didn't want to accidently fall asleep beside the fire, and instead decided it was best to make his slow way home and fall into his own soft bed, where he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He had changed a lot since his old school days. He had shaved the sides of his head, allowing the top to grow. Two piercings hung in either ear, matt black in colour holding coiled designs. His eyes had lost some of their gleam, and dark red circles hung underneath, highlighted by the pale contrast of his skin. 

He wore a loosely fitted white t-shirt which hung sloppily from his bony figure and loose black trousers. He had stripped himself of his shoes and socks when he entered his house. Despite his dwindling energy, the flat was surprisingly clean. He rarely moved from his spot on the sofa to create any mess, so the room remained in a state of tidiness. The messiest part of the house was the kitchen, where unwashed dished lay on all surfaces and half eaten food lay untouched.

One nurse from St.Mungos came around once every two weeks to check in on him. During this time they would bring him food, administer his medicines and healing spells, and clean up the mess that had built up. This nurse was the only person he would allow to see him in his vulnerable state. Having no choice as the spells and potions used to treat him worsened his symptoms, making him very sick, and bedbound for the next 24 hours. Their next visit would be in two days, and he knew they would be happy to hear of his expedition out of the flat.

He had embraced a lot of muggle inventions during this time. Being unable to get out of bed, and with a head as heavy as a thousand cannonballs, meant that discovering the uses of television greatly improved his imprisoned state.