Joy

Before we start the story you need to give us some time to explain what's going on. After all the story is going to get quite complicated. The first thing you need to know is the background of Damon Malfoy. After all what will happen is going to give you a quite dark view of him. Being a serial killer and all ya know. But he hasn't always been like that. Just like every wolf starts off as a little puppy and every tiger as an adorable kitten. He was born about 20 years ago, he forgot to really count it as it didn't matter. Nobody ever showed up to his birthdays anyway. Sounds kind of sad but he didn't mind. Humans just annoyed him most of the time. Being so loud and making so much drama. But this isn't about his hate for humans, it's about his shitty life. To be honest, he started off as an adorable baby. With his big blue eyes and cute smile. His parents were happily married back then and plenty of their friends visited just to get jealous over how perfect he was. He barely cried and actually allowed his parents to sleep at the night. It started going downhill when he had to go to school. Something the British boy had hated from the very start. Not just because it was school and he had to work; for once he wasn't adored anymore, wasn't seen as the best out there. And he actually had to work together with others. Now let it be known that if there was one thing he failed at, it was making friends. And then 'failing' is putting it in the light way. Just imagine a five year old going 'hey you look like a diamond snake.' Yep, that's him. He actually said that once. So really, he had no change of ever making friends. Sadly enough he didn't develop any social skills as he got older. You can even go as far as saying they only got worse. It was hard dealing with the fact that others didn't see him as the absolute king of the world. At first he had just been the creepy kid who always sat in the corner, now he actually was the loser of the class. Which really was hard dealing with if you think of it. Poor boy right? It gets worse. Because at the age of 15 he still didn't have any friends but a tendency to be extremely psychopathic. Whenever something slightly pissed him off his first thoughts were about the thousand ways he could torture them. He was just misunderstood, really. Besides he had to deal with the emotional trauma of his parents divorcing. Which was really hard on him. And being kicked off school at the age of 16 didn't help him either. Actually all it did was make him run away from home because he was ashamed. And he might or might not have started drinking around that time. No problem, he didn't drink too much because he couldn't afford it anyway. So he started stealing it. And after the first time stealing it got easier to steal other things. He started living of shoplifting. At the age of 18 he found out the joy of breaking into houses and perfected it quite a bit. Nobody ever found out it was him. "Mysterious criminal on the loose" was what the papers said. They even put money on his head. By then he had a whole life in prison waiting for him if they ever caught him. Not that they ever would, he was way too smart.
And now at the age of 20 he was about to kidnap someone and it would be his absolute legacy.

Damon sighed as he finished the last sentence in his journal. His story needed to be told but it took a lot of effort. With a grimace on his face he shook his hurting hand. Damn, he really needed to find a less painful way of writing. His fingers tired out every time. And he would need those fingers tonight. With a smirk he reached to his gun, checking if it was in place. Of course it was, he had checked it a minute ago. Sighing again he stood up and stretched out. His muscles were sore from the lack of movement today. All the day he had been waiting here in the bushes to study his victim. He had chosen an easy target with a large forest surrounding his house. Now the night had finally fallen and it was his time to shine.
With a sly grin he walked to the front door. Checking a final time if nobody was around. He checked his gun that was hidden in his back pocket for he rang to bell. Draco dropped to his knees. He knew acting lessons would have been useful one day. Tears streamed from his eyes and he started to pant. "H-help." He stuttered out with as much pain in his voice as he could manage. "P-please help me." He continued, British accent clear in his voice. As soon as he was inside he could stop the pathetic act but for now he had to be patient.

If there was one thing Damon was bad at besides being social it was waiting. Every second of waiting was just too long for him. His thoughts enjoyed going everywhere whenever he needed to wait. Literally from I wonder what it's like to hug a poler bear to Why did my ex break up with me?! Note; he didn't have an ex, he never even had a friend. All those thoughts made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand which was crying as realistically as possible. Acting like a crybaby who was in need of help. The last time he had cried like this must have been years ago. He couldn't even remember. And of course his mind decided to go on a deep analogy of all the times he cried. Freaking concentrate! He shouted to himself in his mind without any use; waiting was just too hard. He had this very problem his entire life. Everything that took longer than three seconds got boring. Wait, he needed to write that down. The young man made a mental note of it. Now he was thinking of it, he also needed to describe himself in the book. With a whole paragraph dedicated to his hair probably. He didn't look in mirrors often, disadvantage of changing houses every few weeks, but when he did he always liked what he saw. First of there was his unique blonde hair styled perfectly, sitting on top of his head in just the right way. He thought it gave him a tough look with it being pushed backward and a bit to the side. Plus it gave that extra shine to his blue eyes. His eyes that had grown from hopeful to empty over the years. Now if someone where to look into his eyes, well, they'd say they were the eyes of killer. Cold and emotionless. The colour that once had been that of a sky on a beautiful summerday was now a bottomless pool of despair. It was like every year of his life had lessened the colour in them. Brought them back to just what they were... eyes. He had always seen eyes as something beautiful, a mirror into someone's soul. His were empty. He almost spend most of his time with his eyes narrowed together, glaring at everything in his vision. After all a lot of things pissed him off. People, things in the way, bright colours, life in general. But at least his face was what society considered attractive. With all his feautures alined, no acne, and a sexy smirk he often wore when he wasn't pissed. That made it easy to flirt with people which he was quite good at suprisingly enough. Because flirting didn't need any kind of emotional bond. It was just charming someone into wanting to get to know you more and then stealing all their stuff. Easy. He could do that. His entire body was muscular from all the running he did. He had always liked to sport and train himself into becoming stronger. After all it made people respect you. His body barely showed any signs of his problem with alcohol which he thanked the gods for. Not that Damon Malfoy believed in those. Why would any god let all of those happened? His philosophy was different than that. He believed in something called 'life'; whatever happens happens, no stopping it. You can't change the post so why bother with it. Of course like any other human out there he wanted to change what happened. He wished he had made friends, hadn't failed school, his parents would have stayed together, he never had found out about alcohol, but it was too late for all of that and he knew it. No point weeping over the past, that just took time from him. Time he needed to succeed at his plans. Breaking in was a complicated job. You needed to keep track of everything. Nobody could be at home, never set off alarms, only steal what you need. Ofter the years he had gotten better at it after he had done a whole lot of running from the police. They had never found him because he was smart enough to wear clothes that didn't stand out. One thing he cared about was fashion and he always kept up with with was popular at time. He never stood out from the crowd. Even his lenght was average and he was just a bit slimmer than the average British person. Of course here in America he was the strange one. Nobody really paid attention to him but when he was forced to talk his accent betrayed him. But in a way his accent helped him, it was sexy for one and it also made people find him less strange, writing it off as a 'Britisch thing'. Three months ago he had travelled to the United States with all his saved money. To start with a clean slate, nobody knew off him yet here. He had spend those months keeping a low profile, stealing just enough to have it comfortabel. He had been lucky to find an empty house where he had stayed the last month, preparing his next move. The kidnapping.

At this moment he was wearing a few of his favourite clothes. Comfortable black pants that hung low around his hips, he didn't bother to buy a belt. Useless waist of money really. On his feet he was wearing soft black socks and classy shoes. Like he said, he cared about how he looked. He really liked the black shoes because they were also quite famous in America. Even if they ever descripted the pattern of his shoes, he was always careful to walk on hard ground, there'd still be thousands of options for who it could be. He was wearing a black shirt with the white text YOU COMPLETE MEss on it. Just for the pure reason of how sassy it sounded, like a description of his personality. And against the cold air he wore an oversized black vest with wool on the inside. The hood was pulled over his head, casting a shadow that hid his eyes. His eyes were red from the fake crying and a bit of snot hung from his nose, making him look a lot less attractive now. But ready to meet the owner of his house who was soon going to be kidnapped. That was the plan, but it went wrong. For the first time in his criminal life things actually went wrong. The door was opened and he lifted his head only to be met with a gun pointing straight between his eyes. Shit. This changed the whole plan. Turned out the guy he had been following around wasn't who he seemed to be. At least Damon acted as the sociopath he was. He automatically crawled back like a scared and smart person would do. Really if he hadn't been playing this pathetic act he would have knocked the gun away and withdrawn his own. But that was no option right now. So he just started sobbing louder to sound even more desperate. "P-p-please.. do-do'nt hurt me sir!" He held up his hands in a begging motion. "T-they're go-going to k-kill me." He looked back as if he was scared. Oh he was scared but not of whatever was out there that he was supposed to be scared of, no, he was scared that the gun pointed at his head would be used. Killing him way too early. Just now he was at the high of his criminal career. Damon didn't deserve this. He needed to live way longer so he could be a real criminal soon, famous accross the entire word. After this succesful kidnapping that turned out to be less succesful than he had hoped. But there was still hope, if only he got the guys trust. "P-please let me in sir?!" He hated everything about his act but it was nessecary to get the fame he wanted- no, deserved.

So, things didn't go as he wanted. No problem, he had hope for this situation. Something that rarely happened, he never had hope. Either he knew he would have success or he knew he was going to fail, in which case he just gave up. Which had saved him countless times so he stuck to the strategy. When he accidentally set off an alarm he always just ran, never bothering to try and turn it off. Because he knew many burglars got caught that way. Or if someone caught him shoplifting he wouldn't try to fight him, he'd just drop the stuff and run. After all there were enough shops out there to allow him to fail. He was used to changing his identity whenever he needed to, he had countless fake ID's back home hidden safely next to his drinks. Thinking of that, he really could use some alcohol right now. Over the years he had learned to watch for every small detail that implied someone was watching him or suspecting him. He had learned to read their emotions trough small movements. Damon wasn't an expert but he knew enough to stay out of prison. A place he never wanted to go to ever. He knew how it worked. The same routine day in day out. Forming gangs with a few members who you couldn't even trust because they are all ready to stab you in the back. Gang wars with weapons made from everything. Having an hour to walk around outside, disgusting food, it sounded like a hell. Which he guessed was the whole point because prisons were made so people would stop commiting crimes. Didn't work on him sadly. But back to the subject at hand, he needed to be smart or this whole thing would fail too. And though it was neccesary to fail sometimes he hated it. It just made him feel useless and worse. Fear of failure had been one of the main reasons school hadn't worked out for him. But now he wouldn't fail, he would gain this guys trust and go inside. It was too late to run now. It would only make him suspicous if he went from 'help' to running back to the danger out there. For all he knew this guy would just shoot him in the back. So he had reformed the plan in a matter of seconds. He would still go inside, wait till the gun was down and take over the situation. He could knock the guy out and even take over the house. It didn't seem like people visited often. It was foolproof and easy. Because the more easy the less could go wrong.

The door opened a bit more, giving him the time to study this guy from up close. Of course he had done research before but he hadn't found anything on the internet; ther than a buzzfeed article claiming this guy killed someone. Damon hadn't believed it at the time, even scoffed at it, it was buzzfeed after all. But now that there was a gun pointed at his head he started to think maybe their theory wasn't that wrong. Although maybe it was just a gun for protection, don't make assumptions. At least this guy was looking at him with widened pupils. Which was a strong sign of attraction. Or it might have to do with the lack of light here and the natural human reaction to that. Because unlike bats humans couldn't just scream to check out what was going on, imagine that. That'd ruin every criminals life really. AAAAAAAAAH, don't mind me I'm just testing if you have any jewels. He probably should focus more on the situation at hand. It was just a nervous thing he had, his mind didn't like danger at all. But the original point was that maybe this guy was actually attracted to him. Chance was about 1 in 10. But if it was like that he would have to use it. It wasn't like he really had a preference in who he was flirting with. It was just a few differences in someone's body that's all. And he had never felt romantic attraction anyway so that was no problem. Besides even he had to admit this guy was aesthetically pleasing with how he looked. A dark grey hoodie sadly enough covered his body so he couldn't judge that but what he could see was his yellow eyes and a bit messy black hair. It seemed slightly too long but it was kind of sexy really. Which he didn't think of people often. They either looked stupid or like little kids that still needed their daddy to survive in the big dark word. But this guy seemed like he would be the daddy to the little kids. His eyes still a little red but he had stopped crying now. Just a small sob every once in a while. Even trough all of these thoughts he had managed to keep up the perfermance. Glancing over his back again like a deer in headlights. Then look at the guy again with wide eyes. He lowered his hands now just to look even less aggresive and more in need of help. Damon really needed for this dude to be convinced of his act but he also needed to throw in that little bit of sexiness. A hard thing to mix but he managed to do it. Looking the man straight in the eyes he licked over his dry lips. "I-I don't know. I was out there and all of sudden bam I'm attacked I barely saw what happened." He thickened his accent. "But man it was scary." He let out a nervous chuchkle. "I started running and I heard screaming behind me and n-now I'm here and I think they're still out there." His eyes widened. "Oh god, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL ME!" He ended his shout with a soft whimper of fear, he really wanted to convince the guy. After all his career depended on it.

Now there Damon was pretending to be scared with all of his future depending on it. Not that much pressure right? But acting scared is hard. Truth is he had never been scared before in his life. Of course sometimes he had being a little shocked from something or feared it but really really scared, never. Besides that there was a difference between being scared and fearing something. When you let your fears take over, that's what he saw as scared. When fearing a beast turned into running. When death makes you take pills for the rest of your life. Or in this pretend case when he went to a stranger for the things out there. But he had never honestly experienced such a reaction to anything. What was there to be scared of anyway when your life was already a f*cked up mess? Even as a kid he had been soulless enough to only have the basic fears every human had. Things that were understandable as they were natural instincts that they had needed to survive thousands of years ago. It made sense to fear the dark. After all back then the dark had been full of monsters. The wonderful thing is that humans however are not born with that fear, they're taught that the dark is scary. From friends or family, everyone has it in them. The reaction to go slow when it's dark, to sprint away after you turn of the last light. That was one kind of fear, something taught to you. The other one was the stupid kind for spiders and heights. Sometimes from an event happening to you, sometimes just personal preferences. And then there's two everyone is born with. No exceptions there. People may pretend they don't fear it but they have too. The first, a fear of loud noises, Damon could strongly relate to. Who couldn't? Cringing together when someone screamed in your ear, jumping up at a loud noise. It was found in all species that exist. Another fear was that of falling. Either way, no matter what fears, he never let them take over. His only other view pathetically enough was dying alone. Having accomplished nothing and dying in some house in the forrest. Regretting his life as he took a last swig of the bottle, leaving his body to rot. The thought even made him cold inside. Maybe the was the one he was scared off. After all he acted to it, this kidnapping, the lies he told. Dying wasn't his fear, dying alone was.

"YES THEY ARE BECAUSE YOU ARE SCREAMING SO DAMN LOUD" Wow, that was just plain rude. Besides the guy screaming back only made it worse. Damon was glad nobody was actually out there or they would have came here this very second. The loud screaming made him flinch and let out another one of those annoying whimpers. But he knew he had been having effect with his cute but sexy act. His sobbing was completely gone now and he again licked of his lips. "You can hide in the basement but that's it dude." The sentence would have made him laugh if he wasnt still in this act. "Oh god thank you so much sir. I can't even begin to thank you!" Really, the basement was the worst option. If this man actually expected he was just going to sit in the basement he was crazy. Unless the basement had a kingsized bed and personal service he wouldn't stay there. The earlier he could drop this act the better. He started half crawling half standing up towards the door. When he was inside he sucked in his breath, gasping for it and letting it go in a shaky sigh. Finally he was 'safe'. And the real danger for this guy is starting. He used the wall to pull himself up and face the man. Of course he wasn't going to give his actual name, he was smart. "It's Loyd." He replied, using the name of his old dog. The poor creature had died of age years ago. "And who are you Sir?"

Let it be known that to this day Damon Malfoy is clean and his house is neat under any circumstances. That was one of the sentences he would write down in the book about himself. And it was the truth. He had always been clean and nothing could change that, not even being a criminal and kidnapper in spe. Though yes, he had to admit it took a lot of time that could have gone into careful planning so he didn't end up in situations like this. But who ever had a plan for everything? It killed the entire sense of adventure. And now no matter what happened, he had a clean house. Not that it was hard keeping clean with the lack off stuff he had. His house only had one floor with a (clean) kitchen, a large living room, a small bedroom, another bedroom and the bathroom plus a walk-in closet. It wasn't much but enough for a criminal. He lived on his own anyway so why bother to have it all homely like those stupid middleaged moms with names like Karen and Susan. If he wasn't the type to worry about his daughters third ex-criminal boyfriend then why would he be the type to have a house that said 'welcome'. He preferred the 'f*ck off' sphere the empty and clean rooms had. The only room that had more than what was necessary in it would have to be his closet. because he lived in it. Because off the many fancy clothes he had stolen over the time. He couldn't help his sense of fashion, it just came naturally. Whenever he was at shops he always just had to steal the new collection. So his walk-in closet was for sure the best and most alive place in the house. And maybe the bedroom because of his collection a differently coloured pillows that made him feel at him. Studies showed that lonely people tend to have many pillows and he couldn't deny it. But enough about his room and the things he needed to write down in his journal when the kidnapping was completed, this was about the house he might have to clean as a slave. It was pretty clean already. Just like his it was emptier than the average house. Confirming to him that this guy wasn't the boring accountant Damon would have made him out to be. The only thing that really needed cleaning where the piles of boxes around the room. He had almost tripped over one on his way inside. He could easily do that. If he really had to be a slave this would be no problem. A bit of replacing boxes and then taking out his gun. Maybe swipe off bit of dust too, if he was going to follow the plan and make this his new house he wanted it clean. The good part was that he was very good at cleaning. It had even been his job for some time when he needed to lay of the stealing for some time after he had almost been caught in his beginning years. Now though he had perfected the art of crime and didn't need simple jobs anymore. Crime was his job now.

Either way, didn't seem like he could do a lot of cleaning now as the door was closed in his face. "Stay!" Really, really? This guy felt the urge to tell him to stay when he couldn't even leave. That was some next level of over dramatic dominant shit. But at least he hadn't pushed him to the floor or slammed the door shut in his face like in those movies always happened. Then Damon would press himself to the door and shout for help, no change. "Yes Sir" he quickly squeaked (yes actually squeaked, he played a convincing character) out. He already had started walking the middle of the room with his hand sliding to the gun still in his backpocket when the door opened again. As stung by a wasp he turned around, his dropping to his side. This might be his moment. He had no time to go over his options before the gun would be in his face again so he quickly started running out. Screaming some vague words close to "sorry, fear of basements, can't help it sir!" As he tried to get to the living room. Locked up he was helpless and delivered to this guy's mercy. Now he had a change.