Thanks a lot to Lady Occamy and Aashna for helping me correcting this chapter :). Thanks to Kayla too. You guys are so helpful, I appreciate it so much!

Warning: There are a few things you need to know. This fic contains explicit sex descriptions, violence, A LOT of bad words, suicidal behaviour, self-destructing acts and toxic attitudes. (It also contains a high-dose of depressive music.) It may affect you if you are sensitive or very young.

ALSO. This fic is posted only in 3 websites: Wattpad: (tequila_213), fanfiction and Ao3: (lizze213).

Chapter 1

Everything's so blurry and everyone's so fake / And everybody's empty and everything is so messed up.

Puddle of Mudd - Blurry

DRACO

4th of October 2001.

Draco Malfoy walked out of his dark cell. He thought he would finally get a glimpse of light as soon as he had left that steel door behind. He didn't. The wide corridor seemed as black as the robes of the dementors that had been watching him for the last three years. More than a thousand days locked in Azkaban, more than a thousand days he had wished to just die.

The official from the Magic Ministry made some manacles appear around the white wrists of Draco. The young wizard felt pain when his hands separated from each other, even if just a couple of inches. It felt like he was being burnt.

The official didn't say a word. Draco followed him, he didn't even know him, but he was old and he looked at him the same way someone would, if they had been asked to take a rat out of its trap. He ignored that look without an effort, he didn't care about being rejected. He was used to it already.

During those three years inside of that prison, Draco Malfoy had suffered so many tortures and aberrations that nothing could affect him anymore, he had lost every single drop of humanity he had. Draco had realised the true nature of that vile twisted world: sadness and grief.

Narrowing his gray eyes, Draco walked after the official, head lowered. He felt the presence of a dementor just a couple of meters behind him. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and the chill became particularly intense as the creature moved a little closer to him. But he didn't feel sad, no, Draco didn't feel anything anymore.

The screams of other prisoners reached his ears, although he did not look up an inch from the ground. Death Eaters easily freaked out, especially when they knew there was nothing out there now that the Dark Lord had definitely disappeared. Potter had killed him.

That memory brought forth a bitter smile from him. It was ironic, of course it was. Not even the most experienced wizard in the world had been able to finish off Voldemort. It had to be fucking Harry Potter. A teenager who had never done magic outside of school. It was absurd, but at the same time, it made sense: Potter succeeded in everything, in every activity that he set out to do. He was... he was almost a joke: an enlightened child who had overshadowed everyone else since the day he was born. Malfoy had no idea what had happened to Potter in those years but, by now, he imagined that he would already be the goddamn Minister for Magic. He wouldn't be surprised by that.

They went down some stone stairs without a railing. Draco looked curiously at the vast emptiness at his feet, barely inches away from his body. The free fall into that darkness seemed to be for miles, if he fell, he would die. If he threw himself down there... if he threw himself down there, he would die, too. He fondled the idea of ​​death in his mind for a few moments, as if it was pleasant, a warm idea that would finally grant him relief. Nothing had been nice or warm in the last three years there.

Don't even think about it" the official growled, turning around. As if he had felt him staring into the void, he might not have been the first to do so. "It would only take me an instant to bring you back, you can't fall."

He understood instantly. It was just one of Azkaban's multiple tortures, then. If he threw himself into the void, he would not fall, only he would have the feeling of being about to die constantly until someone —or something— took him out of there.

I wasn't thinking about that," he lied.

In fact, the idea of ​​dying visited him often. But he knew it couldn't happen that easily, he still had things to do in that world.

The sound of his voice was strange to him. He had heard himself scream, yes, but... his normal voice? No, he hadn't heard it in almost three years. It was much deeper now than before. Draco Malfoy was now a man, not a boy, and he imagined that everything about him had changed. He hadn't seen himself in a mirror lately, of course, so he didn't know what he looked like.

Fuck. It was hard to think that. I don't even know what my fucking face looks like, he growled in his mind.

He felt two gray eyes looking at him long before he passed the next cell. He felt the eyes stick to his body, eagerly watching, awaiting his pain like a bloody knife stabbing into his pale flesh.

The iron doors of the cells made it possible to see the outside clearly. The central part of those doors was transparent, but it burned anyone who tried to penetrate it. He himself had some burns on his arms from trying to escape in moments of terror. HA-HA. You had to be very stupid to believe that you could get out of there.

He kept walking along the corridor and the officer didn't stop at all as they passed the cell of his father, Lucius Malfoy. There was nothing positive in his gray eyes, nothing good. He didn't seem happy to see him, happy to know that he was being released. He seemed... empty. Just empty.

Draco paused for a moment and his eyes met his father's just as he passed by. He had not been near him for three years. He thought he had heard his screams once, yes, but he had never been able to check if they were actually his. There were so many people he knew there, so many Death Eaters who had been part of his life before the war, some of them had almost been part of his family.

His father's gaze didn't soften at all. The gesture of pride had not lost any of its strength in that gaunt face. Only his eyes remained the same, the rest of that face, once angular and attractive, showed deep-set eyes and a sloppy white beard. Her father looked twenty years older than he actually was. His purple lips moved, uttering words that didn't quite resonate, but which Draco understood perfectly. Just five words. Only five.

"Traitor. It was your fault.

And, even though he believed that nothing could affect him anymore, that he'd had enough, he shuddered when he heard those words. His head seemed to bulge, on the verge of exploding as he processed what his father meant by that. He clearly remembered the last time he had seen him, just the day they had both been arrested and ultimately been sentenced to Azkaban. His father was crying. Throughout his entire young life, that had been the only time Draco had seen his father cry.

Draco, however, had cried more in those three years than in all the previous ones. Lucius Malfoy still had twenty more years to go before his sentence was reviewed and there could be a chance that he could leave Azkaban. Draco doubted his father would last long enough to see the twenty-three year mark anyway.

"Let's go. Walk."

Draco heard that unpleasant man's voice and his legs obeyed, walking like an automaton and looking away from Lucius. Anyway, he had seen a glint of madness in that man's eyes. It was unmistakable. No. Lucius Malfoy definitely wouldn't last much longer there. Draco felt bad for him, bad for himself and bad for the family he had once had. He was alone now.

An old black door opened. The Ministry official walked through it, waiting a few seconds to see Draco follow. Draco walked slowly. His body ached, although he was used to it by now. He had never been extremely muscular, but before he was tall and slender, good looking. Now ... Draco Malfoy weighed about thirty pounds less than when he was seventeen years old and he now wore the tattered Azkaban uniform: a black and gray striped jumpsuit and a fine raincoat that hadn't helped him through the cold nights in that terrible prison. He wasn't wearing any shoes; Draco Malfoy had been barefoot for three years.

"Stay there," the official asked him.

He then reached out for his wand and cast a searching charm to make sure Draco didn't carry any dangerous or enchanted items on him. Magic had not been allowed to him in recent years, and even now, it would be granted in a reduced form. The man nodded, satisfied, when he made sure Draco Malfoy posed no threat.

"We're going to show up at the Ministry," he told him, his tone never changing from the same commanding voice as before "do you know the security rules?"

Draco nodded without saying a word.

The man clicked his tongue, disgusted. Draco's response did not matter, as he proceeded to enumerate a long list of absurd rules that prevented him from performing the simplest of actions without supervision.

"You have been assigned a guardian who will accompany you during the next months in your rehabilitation. You must listen to her instructions at all times, you are not allowed to go anywhere without properly informing your guardian. Family visits will not be authorised until your guardian considers them appropriate. Am I clear?"

Draco almost gave a bitter, broken laugh. Family? What family?

"Who will be my guardian?" He asked hoarsely. Would that really be his voice from now on?

"An auror assigned by the department in charge of PROFSDAR."

"The what?"

"Project for the Rehabilitation of Former Sympathizers of the Dark Regime."

Oh right, that shit they had invented to ruin -even more- the lives of the only young Death Eaters who were going to be paroled. As if they were doing them a favor. The project was a brainwashing shite, anyone could see it.

You agreed to be part of PROFSDAR. Don't you remember? "

No. He didn't remember anything. Half the time, Malfoy had been delirious and living in a sort of trance to forget the hell he was in. He imagined that was what Azkaban was all about: wishing to be dead.

"Yes. I remember," he lied once more.

The hope of seeing the sunlight again was enough. He would give anything just to breathe in the fresh air of London in the morning, to look up at the sky and see it blue, or gray, or whatever colour it was, but at least to see it.

The official waved his wand and instantly brought out a pair of black cloth shoes.

"Put them on," he asked, handing them to Draco.

Draco found it a bit difficult to put on his shoes with those magic handcuffs that burned every time he moved his hands. The official did not go so far as to force him to put his shoes on faster, but he tapped his foot impatiently on the floor until the young man managed to complete his task. His feet felt strange when they came into contact with the fabric. His skin was dirty, as if covered with a layer of disgusting grime and when it rubbed against the sole of the shoe it felt weird.

"Your guardian will inform you of all the orientations and guidelines to follow during this trial period. Remember that you can be imprisoned again for any act that your guardian considers an attack against the security of magical citizenship."

Nothing on Draco's face altered at those words. The last thing he wanted to think about was going back there, since he hadn't even had time to leave yet. He would decide what to do when he got out of prison. At the moment he had a very clear objective, something that had haunted his mind every day, every hour, every second during those three years. He needed a solution, he had to undo the past somehow, he needed to change it.

The official approached him again and, for the first time, he put his hand on his shoulder. He did it almost in disgust, as if he couldn't bear the thought of putting his hands on the body of a Death Eater, but he still had to. The man sighed and Draco Malfoy began to shake.

The two of them then disapperated from Azkaban.

Author's note:

First of all. This is a translation of my fanfic: 'Nunca le hagas cosquillas a un Dragón herido'. I also just have to say I have done my best to translate the fanfic, although I am not a native English speaker. I am pretty fluent in 'drunk Scottish', 'broken English', 'drinking wine to fix things' and 'Draco-Malfoy-acting-as-a-cunt language'. So please please please don't be mean to my translation!!

I want to thank Elsa, I've been sooooo annoying to her while writing this fanfic (she also helped me creating this fic's soundtrack), thanks to David (I started to write this fanfic at his place), to Ague, Sandra and to Gallaecia, as she showed me Breath Mints and Battle Scars, a fanfiction by Onyx and Elm that I looooved, it is such an inspirational story.

Hope you enjoy 'Never tickle a wounded Dragon'!