Chapter One

*** Credits to JK Rowling – the true owner of Harry Potter. This story is set after book 7 – the war is over and students have the option to partake in an additional year of education if one was missed during the war. These are eighth years ***

The year had reached that time again. The holidays were drawing to a close, the Hogwarts express was due to arrive at King's Cross Station on Monday. That left three short days to pack my trunk and prepare for my yearly escape from Malfoy Manor.

I was quite aware that my fellow Hogwarts students assumed I was a pampered, spoilt pureblood whose needs were ever met, and this presumption was not without ground, nor entirely false. I certainly owned anything I desired, even fleetingly, for I was a pureblood and surely deserved the finest of everything; brooms, robes, books, pets, equipment, you name it. While this would of course appear as signs of love, affection even adoration to the public eye, I can assure you this is not the case.

Unlike most students at Hogwarts, I despise the holidays. Each and every day of those leisurely weeks I am barricaded in the Manor's extensive library in an attempt to seal myself away from my father.

"Lucius Malfoy." The name rolled off my tongue, leaving a bitter taste.

My 'esteemed' father, devoted servant to The Dark Lord, wealthy head of a prominent pureblood family, had utterly broken in Azkaban. While mildly abusive before incarceration, Lucius was now ruthless with his beatings, leaving me crumpled in agony week after week. He was released from Azkaban purely because his insanity had corrupted his mind completely. The Ministry of Magic had deemed him eligible for an early discharge due to his non-participation in the Battle of Hogwarts. The addition of his compromised mind physically impairing his ability to live, induced pity in the Ministry scumbags. They rewarded his desertion with release and I loathed them for it. Because of their weak wills I was now suffering worse than ever before under my father's wrath.

I now detested everything about Lucius; his wealth, attitude, even his petty hierarchal beliefs. All my life I was raised to hate and degrade the filthy muggles we concealed ourselves from. Now, I just didn't care. It was clear to me that blood didn't have the slightest impact on capability or morality. Take my father for instance - blood more pure than the Virgin Mary. He is currently a mere shadow of his former grand self.

It was because of his ignorant prejudice that I was a smug fool at Hogwarts. Every day I would walk with an inherited, arrogant swagger, assuming I was the prime example of the perfect wizard. My smugness would radiate from me, noticeable to any student or teacher in a 100 mile radius. But they simply didn't know. They didn't know I was scared inside. Too scared to oppose my father. Too frightened of Lucius' domineering control over my life. At home, I would relentlessly attempt to impress my indifferent father, continually failing. I lived in fear, in my own home, grovelling before the dominance of Lucius. However, it was not always so bleak as it was now. My will strengthened as I aged and I would occasionally successfully protect myself, leading a somewhat normal life. I smiled as I recalled the blissful moment of triumph when I first stupefied Lucius. I certainly rued the action of defence later, but in the moment, it was priceless.

This all changed upon Lucius' return from Azkaban. Dear father was back it was all I could do to survive. The fresh memory of last week's beating, replayed in my mind. Fortunately on that occasion I had been unconscious within seconds. It was better that way.

As I sat, my jeaned knees pressed against my face, curled in a corner of the enormous library, these thoughts swirled in my brain. I couldn't wait to be released from the hell I was currently living in. Hogwarts was my blissful ticket out of here, a promise of better things to come. I idly turned the pages of the book rested at my socked feet. Staring unseeingly at the graphic images of muggle torture before me, I suddenly heard blundering footsteps outside the grand library entrance. I withdrew further into my corner, physically tightening myself into a protective ball.

The mahogany door blasted off its hinges as Lucius stormed into the room, swaying drunkenly. He viciously bellowed indistinct words towards my corner. I shook violently as he approached, his loud babble drowning out my terrified whimpers. I peered over my trembling knees as his thick soled, dragon hide boot swung through the air. It connected with my ribs and I let out a cry of pain. He brought it back for another blow, shortly bringing it flying back into the injured area with immense strength. Again and again his foot pummelled my ribs and I howled loudly, only provoking him further. I tried to succumb to the darkness tainting my vision, to pass out, but to no avail. As his boot connected for the umpteenth time, I felt my ribs crack and break, puncturing my lung. I screamed in agony, sobbing as he continued to beat my side. I tried to curl myself tighter into a more defensive position, hugging my trembling knees as I struggled to breathe. Blood burst from my mouth as I spluttered and coughed. Would I die this time? Would this unbearable, excruciating torture cease with the close of my life? My screams of pain mingled with the unrecognisable roar of sound leaving his maniacally grinning mouth as he pelted my ribs, stomach, legs and back. His euphoric glee at my terrible anguish was evident as he screeched with laughter.

Lucius altered his target for the final blow, shattering my face repeatedly with his leather clad foot. My replying guttural cry of tremendous suffering concluded his work and he left, swaying, abandoning my crumpled form. Blood trickled from my broken nose and swollen mouth. I sobbed in agony, utterly destroyed from the vicious beating I had just received. Violently, I coughed blood onto the pristinely white carpet beneath me. I began to struggle, stomach dragging on the floor, towards the light of the open doorway. As I escaped and set eyes on the staircase before me, I noticed the affect my lack of oxygen was producing. My breath came in ragged pants and my vision was edged with a thick, hazy blur. Blue tinged my ghostly white complexion, the splatters of blood from my mouth stark against the contrasting pallor.

I reached the stairs, gazing down them incomprehensively. Were they always this long? They seemed to go on infinitely, descending into a pool of shadows below. I blinked sluggishly, attempting to clear my vision, but the cloudy blackness merely crept further into my limited vision. Deliriously, I attempted to progress down the infinite staircase, crawling on all fours into the darkness. My breath barely coming at all, oxygen deprivation soon proved too much and I sunk into the blackness, leaving my excruciating body. I limply tumbled down the steep steps, collapsing in a broken heap at the bottom.