Conflicted Loyalites

Chapter 2

TRIGGER WARNING: ABUSE
~~~~~~

Draco's POV

The Slytherin Prince slid into platform 9 and 3/4 wordlessly, unnoticed by anyone. He'd become adept at keeping to the shadows, but that did not mean he was proud of it. His suitcase was clutched tightly in his left hand, knuckles white with fear.

He looked about himself as if he was expecting to be attacked at any moment, as if he was ready to accept this possible attack without protest. Those who knew him would have said he looked...different. He had been careful to ensure his clothes were pristine, immaculate, hair gelled back as usual. A Malfoy must always look his best, after all.

Inside, behind his cool exterior?

Draco was broken beyond repair, his spirit snapped and obliterated by the last few years of his pathetic excuse for a life. He had no fight left. Those who had known him would have noticed subtle changes in the blonde. But, pretty much everyone who had known him was dead, or worse, in Azkaban. All except from Pansy and Blaise, both of whom had, like him, survived through some miracle or another.

The difference was in the jittering of his hands, the rabbit-in-the-headlights look to his eyes, the paper thin complexion of his skin. Draco had noticed these changes, but he doubted others would. No one had really cared about him since he had failed his Task. That summer hadn't been uplifting either, oh no, why would it have been? It wasn't like he deserved any happiness after what he'd done.

Draco's summer had been far from pleasant, but then again, 'pleasant' was something his life hadn't been in years.

It had all been a nightmare since the war, each day more torturous than the last. After the war, he'd been pulled away by Lucius. A man he now refused to think of as his father. He had looked up to the older man once, a time when he thought everything Lucius did was brilliant, each word he spoke a sheer blessing, like the treasured speech of some beloved deity. That was, until he'd realised that it was all a lot darker than it seemed.

Draco had come out to his father - no, Lucius - as gay long ago, years ago, and had never had a proper conversation with either him or his mother since. At the time, he'd believed they'd accept him for who he was, even if it did contradict their strict Pureblood beliefs. He'd been so sure that his parents would accept him, that Draco hadn't even been nervous about telling them. He knew that they loved him more than anything, and was almost certain that this new development wouldn't change their minds towards him in the slightest.

Merlin, how wrong he'd been.

If he'd known what would happen next, he would never had considered opening his mouth.

It was the summer before sixth year, when Dumbledore was still alive. The Malfoys had been at dinner, silent as usual in an empty house for the first time in a very long while. Draco had been toying with the idea of telling his parents about his newly discovered sexuality for months. He'd only come to terms with it earlier on in the year. It even excited him slightly.

The only problem was, he didn't really know how they would take it. Obviously, since he was their son, nothing too bad would happen, right?

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

How could he possibly have been so wrong?

Draco had planned it, knew what he would say and how he would say it. Needless to say, his plan was completely abandoned and thrown out the window along with all his other preparations. Instead, he blurted out over the silence;