The Room

1. Sick

Are you insane like me? Been in pain like me?

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me?

Just to pour that mother - down the drain like me?

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

- Gasoline by Halsey

...

A/N: Hey! Welcome readers. This story is about one of my favorite fan theories, which unfortunately J.K. Rowling said is totally implausible. Let's imagine otherwise for now however!

Basically, this is AU, (most likely) OOC, and Canon-divergent. You have been warned!

There will be more than a splash of Druna.

Also, Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter or any of the song lyrics which I use. Enjoy! ^_^

...

"Draco! Come out immediately. There's someone who wishes to speak with you!" The soft rapping of my mother's knuckles on the door of my room jolts me from an uneasy sleep.

Instinctively, I tumble from my bed, knocking a vase of wilting flowers from the nightstand before me. I scrabble at the shattered remains of porcelain, calling awkwardly to my mother. "I- I can't! I don't feel well..."

My mother Narcissa seems unable to keep the note of panic from her voice. "No! You need to! Don't you understand?! Stop being selfish... love, let me in!" The handle of the door twists and I can hear her fingernails scraping over the wooden door as she breaks down in ragged sobs.

My mother rarely cries; she considers such mental un-restraint to be lowly and weak, so this outburst shocks me. I can't disobey her. I know that she will be punished just as severely for my treachery as I will. With a sigh, I attempt to smooth out my ruffled suit and hair before opening the door. My mother stands before me, her eyes puffy.

With a gracious nod, she turns away and glides majestically down the hall, beckoning me over her shoulder. "Come. Our guest is waiting."

I bite my lip and march after her, holding my head high as a Malfoy should. My eyes are puffy as well- I'm sure if it. After my father's recent imprisonment it feels like my entire life crumbling. I don't know how to express any of the pain that I feel, but I do know that my only outlet is the chance that the Dark Lord has graciously granted me. It is I, Draco Malfoy, who is about to have the honor of eliminating that wretched Albus Dumbledore. I have no doubt that after my mission is complete, not only will my family be the most respected in the world, but then perhaps I'll get the credit that I deserve. I'm certain that my father will finally look at me like a man, shake my hand, and say "Well done, my son. I'm proud to call you my descendant; you've brought great honor to the name of Malfoy".

I draw my robes around me to hide my wrinkled clothes as my mother opens an inconspicuous back door that our old house-elf once used to access our inner court and vegetable garden. For a fleeting moment I'm confused about why she would choose the outdoors, of all places, for me to meet anyone. She grips my shoulder hard, digging her nails into my flesh as I attempt to pass her. "I'm so sorry, son. I'm so sorry." Her hoarsely whispered words ring in my ear as she shoves me forward. The door slams shut behind me and I'm left standing in the cold courtyard. I blink, shivering in the night breeze.

"Hello?" I say loudly, attempting to keep my tone cold and emotionless. Nothing but the soft sound of chirping crickets in the dead black night reply. "H- hello? Is anyone here?" I falter slightly, mentally beating myself for making such a foolish mistake. Malfoys never waver—never show fear or uncertainty over anything. How could I be any more of a disappointment? I can't even keep my emotions in check, let alone please my parents in my day to day actions.