Toy soldier

Draco jolted in his bed. He had suddenly been startled out of a sound sleep. Draco sat up cautiously, staring at the four walls of the room. These walls were extremely unfamiliar to him. This was actually a small relief to him. It ignited a small flicker of hope in him. It was a small victory in the battle against his demons. It was no small feat to be able to find a room in the manor that hadn't been tainted with either the horrific soul-wrenching or a shitty memory.

Unfortunately, most of Draco's many visits home from school turned out to be less than pleasant. He had often spent most of his confined to his room. He didn't want to deal with his father's "guests". He also didn't want to upset his father, who had become testier and testier in the months since the return of the Dark Lord.

It didn't matter what Draco did. His father still wasn't pleased with him. This had angered Draco a great deal and at one point weighed heavily on him. Now he cared less of his father's approval. In fact, he now despised the man and wanted very (if nothing ever) to do with the man.

Draco sighed in defeat. He and his silk sheets were completely drenched in sweat... again.
"This is getting out of hand," Draco grumbled to himself, running his hand through his hair.
Draco had experienced another one of his frequently reoccurring nightmares. These nightmares were the kind that sent chills down your spine. They often left him sleepless and desperate. Sometimes they left him on the verge of tears. This one had been particularly dark and disturbing.

In the last months they had become more frequent. In the last few weeks they had become increasingly more difficult to cope with. This resulted in Draco too often becoming a victim of a sleepless night. He was now at the point where he was barely able to function properly anymore.

Draco glanced at the moving hands on his  beautifully intricate clock face, An antique his mother had gifted him for his 9th birthday. The hands charmed had been charmed to keep track of Draco sleep and functioned much like that of similar muggle alarm . Except with added bonus of being particularly annoying when he wouldn't wake up . The hands stood firmly  planted at the three and quarter pasted position, and stared back at him mockingly, almost taunting him. It was as if the clock was flaunting the fact that normal people should still be sleeping.

Draco angrily threw his pillow at the delicately Engraved clock almost knocking the off his bed side table . He knew that he was not going to be able to get back to sleep anytime soon. This pissed him off a little bit.
He debated on taking a sleeping draught. Although almost as Quickly, he decided against it. There was previously a point in which Draco would have resorted to taking a sleeping draught without a single hesitation. In fact, at one point, it was almost a nightly occurrence for the trouble young man. The worst part was that sometimes Draco would even need to take a second potion because his body had slowly built up immunity. Lately, Draco had stopped taking the draught. He had felt a shift in his body. Draco's body was slowly becoming immune to the potions effects. Somehow he found himself reliant on the fix of it. Draco had ceased taking the draught as he was unnerved by how easily his body had given up control.

He was bothered by this because it made him feel, helpless, and utterly breathless ... the thought knotted his stomach , and made him almost physically sick. It was an emotion Draco was all too familiar with; one he had had enough of when the Dark Lord was still alive. Relevance of next sentence? Another factor in Draco's reluctance to using a sleeping draught was that he didn't feel like addict "addict" to his already long rap sheet. It was not a smart thing to do! As much as he didn't want to face his nightmares, the long term effects of dependency on his body and his mind was not something he wanted to experience firsthand.

Groaning softly, Draco murmured helpful reassurances to himself. He raked his hands through his hair and dragged them down his face , he propped his elbows on his knees , and gingerly rested his face in hands . He took a moment to slow his racing heartbeat and his speeding thoughts.
Much calmer, a more composed Draco rose slowly off his bed. With deliberate steps he headed towards the bathroom. As he entered the small room adjacent to his bedroom, he found the atmosphere eerily quiet. No one in the house was up.
Draco washed his face. He stared at his reflection with Grimness .

His features had changed a lot in the month leading up to the war. Draco had been forced to grow up quickly since then and the results showed. He no longer wore his boyish expression or insufferable smirk. Instead it was replaced with frown line, dark circles, and hollow cheeks. Draco's forehead bore the tell-tale signs of worry. His eyes had lost their luster. Their stormy silver had dulled to grey.

Staring at his reflection, Draco shook his head as he tried to erase the reflection from his memory.His reflection reminded him of his troubled past. He was now haunted by his previous actions and behaviours.
Before the war he would have relished in of his evil doing. He would have gloated about his money and his father's power. He would've bragged about his pureblood status and bully those who lacked such . He would have spout pureblood propaganda, spit nasty and demeaning insults, and abuse others.

Now his past disgusted him and tormented him greatly . He honestly didn't know how much more he could physically, mentally, or emotionally take. He was riddled with guilt. It was slowly eating him up.
Draco dried his face and sighed loudly. He knew today was going to be just as shitty as the one before. Grumbling quietly, he tiptoed to the kitchen as to not wake the house's other occupants.