TRIGGER WARNING:

This fanfic includes depression, self-harm, violent flashbacks, and suicidal thoughts+actions

You have been warned

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The heat stabbed every inch of his skin as the fire screamed and charged. Draco stood paralyzed in terror; a small, wandless teen looking up at the hungry fiendfire as it hissed at him, cackling and teasing him. Random pieces of furniture- chairs, coffee tables, grandfather clocks, what have you- plummeted around him, being blackened by bright orange flame. The smoke wrapped its sharp tendrils around his face so he couldn't breathe; his vision became spotty and the only thing holding him upright was a wall of flame which was chewing through his back. He tried to scream, but his lungs were ice and the smoke stole every last drop of moisture from his body. Soon, the fire was eating up his legs, his hips, his waist, his chest... The pain was worse than the Cruciatus Curse; his flesh seemed to tear itself from his bones, which chipped and imploded violently.

It was only when the fiendfire was smacking at his earlobes like a hungry dog did Draco bolt upright in his bed, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around his contorted body. His heart raced with panic as he thrashed around in the dark, trying to swat away the flames he knew weren't there; this caused him to fall off his bed completely onto his thickly-carpeted bedroom floor, which seemed almost icy to the touch; he clutched the short fibers with white knuckles. He collapsed, sobbing, images of the battle flashing in his mind; bodies dead and mangled; children screaming as they were herded out of the castle. A nasty wave of guilt washed over him; he had caused that. Even if not directly, he caused it. It was his fault. He wasn't sure how, but he knew he was the reason all that had happened.

He sat up against his bedside table, burying his face in his hands, heaving to catch his breath, every heartbeat like a knife, splitting his limbs and throbbing through his head. He groaned and gripped his knees until it all began to subside and he relaxed a bit. Shakily leaning against his bedside table, Draco stood up, breathing heavily. He picked up the glass of water that he'd placed there when he'd gone to bed and took a sip. According to the clock ticking obliviously above his headboard, it was a little after three in the morning. He cursed under his breath; ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, he had barely gone a single night without the nightmares and flashbacks. The panic, the guilt, the fear, the nausea, all making him want to disappear.

He looked down at his left forearm and cringed. The Dark Mark had faded since Voldemort died, but it was still visible. Though Draco's was quite distorted with cuts and burns,- all self-inflicted- it was still clear no matter how much he tried to scrape and burn it off. He only healed it enough so his mother wouldn't notice; he didn't deserve to be healed completely. He yanked his gray pyjama sleeve over the Mark and sat on the bed. His insides were icy and empty. Sure he had been cleared of all charges, but that didn't mean he deserved to be.

His father, however, like so many other Death Eaters, was sentenced with the Dementor's Kiss; it wouldn't happen for another week because the Ministry was so backed up, but every time Draco and his mother had gone to see him in Azkaban, he seemed more and more terrified. The three of them spent every minute of the visiting hours huddled together, talking about nothing, just being together.

Despite Narcissa's attempts to stay strong for her husband and son, she often sat in the plump white armchair by the crackling fire in the sitting room, staring into space, her face slack and ghostlike. Perhaps that was where she was now, perhaps woken suddenly by a nightmare as well.

Draco thought he should go check on her; he ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and picked up his wand. He stared at it a moment, wondering why on earth Harry Potter had returned it to him after the battle; if Draco had been Potter, he would've snapped the thing in half and tossed it into the Forbidden Forest; after all the death and destruction he'd caused, he didn't deserve to be allowed to do magic.

"Lumos." His voice was still hoarse and dry and cracked a little, but the tip of his wand still lit up all the same.

Draco had always hated walking around the Manor at night; the banners and draperies rippled ominously and priceless antiques that were displayed on silver pedestals made frightening shadows on the pristine white walls. The floorboards moaned under his weight as he made his way along the emerald green carpet, which was like sand to his bare feet. The way the moon shone through the grande mullioned windows made Draco feel like someone was watching him who ought not be watching him.

After hopping down the grande marble staircase two-at-a-time, Draco entered the sitting room, where a small flame was smacking in the fireplace, reaching out its orange tongues, attempting to taste the bricks beyond the grate. His heart hammered as he took a step closer. The fire's heat seemed to suck every last trace of warmth in the room and from Draco's body. He took a deep breath and turned his head to see his mother fast asleep in her armchair, blanket on the floor and a book she'd been reading was laid open pages-down on her chest. Holding his wand in his mouth, Draco picked up the blanket and pulled it back up over his mother and hugged her.

Eyes still closed, she clutched the blanket and mumbled, "I love you, Lucius..." when she opened her eyes and saw that it was her son, she cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry, Draco; I was dreaming about your father... I love you very much, you know that, right?"

Draco nodded and covered his mother's warm, soft hand with his own cold, leathery one.

"Another nightmare, sweetheart?"

"As usual..." Draco responded. "You?"

"Earlier, yes... here, get on my lap." She put her book on the ground and opened her arms.

He didn't hesitate to curl up in his mother's lap, just as he had when he was a small child afraid of thunder.

She covered them both with the blanket and began singing with her soothing voice as she ran her fingers through her son's thin platinum hair until his eyes closed once again and he slept dreamless the rest of the night.

The fire was out when they were awakened the next morning by soft rays of morning sunlight falling through the tall, mullioned windows across the floor.

Draco moved himself to another chair and stretched.

"Did you sleep alright?" His mother asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah... are we going to see Father today?"

"Of course." A tear slid down her cheek and Draco got up to wipe it away.

"I know, mother." He said. "It's awful." It should be me, he added in his head.

Narcissa attempted a smile, but it looked extremely pained. "Remember when you were little, just starting to read, and..." she sniffed "and you'd crawl into bed with your father and I and insist on reading us something from Beetle and Bard's?"

Draco nodded, vaguely remembering all the times he'd actually read himself to sleep in his parents' arms. "Yeah..."

"That's what I was dreaming about... when you came in here earlier..." she sniffled again. "Just us... before... everything."

"I miss that too." He admitted. "I'm hungry. I'm going to go get something to eat." He stood up again.

Narcissa nodded and got up from her chair. Her normally immaculately straight white nightgown was wrinkled and crooked.

Both of them made their way to the kitchen, where they began to magik up a nice breakfast of waffles, fruit, sausage, eggs, and a few other things. The Malfoys no longer owned any house elves; the Ministry wouldn't allow them to because of their involvement with Voldemort. Besides, it was just the two of them now, Draco and Narcissa. Though once the créme de la crém of wizarding society, their family had now become a disgrace; an embarrassment; a pathetic example of what not to do. Of course, Narcissa thought this was completely unfair; Draco, however, thought they deserved this brutal defamation. He believed everything they'd done in the Wizarding Wars was the most shameful thing anyone could do; he couldn't believe he'd actually wanted Voldemort's wishes to be reality only a few short years ago- that was the biggest boulder in his gut.

They received a surprise about halfway through their meal; a large, gray tawny owl was thumping its head against one of the dining room windows with a thick letter that had the unmistakable brown Hogwarts seal.

Both Malfoys were frozen in shock for a moment before Narcissa stood up, opened the window and took the letter before the owl took off. For the first time in what might as well been years, she beamed with pure happiness and held it out to her son.

Sure they'd made a mistake and sent him someone else's letter by accident, Draco read the envelope several times, thinking he must be imagining things when his eyes read:

Draco L Malfoy
Dining room
Malfoy Manor
Just east of Kidwelly
Wales

"Mother, is it really addressed to me, or am I just seeing things?" He held it out to Narcissa.

"Yes. It is addressed to you."

"Umm..." he looked at it suspiciously. Yes, he knew the class of 1998 was going to be invited back to retake their seventh year, but surely there was no way they'd invite him back. "Yeah... it's probably them just saying they don't want me back." He put the letter down and popped another sausage into his mouth.

His mother sighed, picked up the letter, and opened it herself. She cleared her throat and read aloud, "Dear Mister Malfoy, as you might already know, due to recent circumstances, the class of 1998 is invited to return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete their seventh year- this includes you! Your regular letter as well as your list of school supplies are enclosed. Sincerely, Headmistress Minerva McGonnagal."

Draco's eyes grew wide. "Does it really say that? Let me see." He reached out for the letter. When his mother gave it to him, he read it several times in pure denial; there was no way he was being invited back to Hogwarts. He went through all the parchment that had been in the envelope and found exactly what he'd found for the last 7 years; the letter inviting him to the school and a list of supplies he would need.

"I suppose we need to schedule a trip to Diagon Alley." Narcissa said.

Draco was about to say 'yes', but his gut contorted. "No. I-I can't go..." he looked down at his lap. He wasn't ready to face anyone; he'd done a deed that he saw as worse than murder; he didn't deserve to go back to Hogwarts after that.

Narcissa's face fell and she embraced Draco the way only a mother could embrace her son. "I understand, dear, you don't have to if you don't want to." She kissed him on the forehead, let go, and took the letter. "Well I'll just hold onto this in case you change your mind."

"I won't. I can't go back." Draco stood up.

His mother nodded. "Okay. Anyway, you should go get washed up so we can go see your father."

"Of course, Mother." He gave her a quick hug before dashing up to his bedroom.

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What did you think?

My first hp fanfic ever!

Love ya!

CC