Disclaimer: Anything Harry Potter related belongs to J.K. Rowling everything else belongs to me.
Rating: R
Hades Beckons
Chapter 1
Twisted Soul
Life is meaningless. From the time that you draw your first breath things turn against you. You never truly get what you want because once you get it you already want something else. I used to want friends then I got them, but I never really fit with them.
He moved to the window. Stars were shining trying to compete with the half moon. The courtyard was a fairy world of whitewashed stone and utter shadow. His eyes returned to the night sky.
He felt the wind teasing his hair and getting into his robes. It was biting cold. It would snow soon and then the outside would transform into a winter wonderland.
There was always something that kept me apart, wealth, good looks, intelligence. They all had their predestined spots in life. I was just a floater. There was no way I was going to follow Voldemort yet at the same time no chance in hell that I would join Dumbledore.
He turned away from the icy glass as it betrayed the emotions in his eyes. A steel curtain dropped over the silver irises enhancing the color but hiding the life.
I did my best to get rid of my so called friends and for the most part it worked. I had never got seriously close to any of them. My main goal in life is to die alone. I do not want crying family or somber friends. I just want to be utterly alone. The sarcastically funny one no longer exists.
Proof of his exile was evident. There was once a time when he could not walk down the hallways and be alone. Now he always was. True there was the occasional time when people did walk with him simply because they had the same destination.
Even then they would be careful not to walk to close. He had not felt the comfort of another human hand since after his fifth year. A year and a half is a long time to go without contact.
My mask is on my true colors carefully hidden. No one will notice that their hues grow dark. Perhaps I can slip away completely unnoticed. Not even make a ripple of concern in their lives.
He had always had a mask of some sort on. His own father helped him construct the Malfoy heritage that he had shown all those years. His father was gone now. It hurt too much to use that mask.
He had not been allowed to see his mother since he left for his sixth year at Hogwarts. In all fairness his mother had warned him. Go to that school again and I will never be near you again. She had kept her word. Dutifully every holiday he returned to the cold mansion and every time he returned a little darker.
She might as well have died in that battle. She was not even alive anyway. Narcissa had strove for life while recovering from her injuries. Then she learned that Lucius had been killed. The light left her eyes and even with all the will leeched out of her son's she slipped into a life of memory and pain.
There I go thinking about others again. Never have a care for myself. I hate my life, nice as it may seem to an outsider perfect even. It is as unreal as my dreams. I can hardly stand it as my life slithers into darkness. I don't want to be here when it hits bottom. One little slash and I can receive my greatest wish.
Dreams were not enough to live for. They were almost as bad as memories. Almost as painful and just as vivid. His dreams would leave with him. The thought stayed his hand.
He did not want his dreams to die. He had worked so hard to keep them through the worst parts of his aristocratically disguised life. Everywhere he turned there was another obstacle in his path. Now there were none.
His pale arm seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. He flexed his fingers. A fist formed and his blue-blooded veins stood out proudly from his white flesh. He uncurled his fingers and the veins melted back. Four angry red crescent indents graced his palm.
The only testament to the strain his muscles went through. He stared at the wounds watching them fade back to white leaving his palm perfect as always. The straight razor on his desk glittered a silent promise. He would not even have to get up and get it.
It was so easy to lean over and grasp the mother of pearl handle. The razor's weight was comforting. He was glad that Heads of Hogwarts got their own rooms on the fourth floor. He could imagine himself back in the dungeons the only window too awkwardly angled to see out of.
It was a small blessing that he would be able to see the night as he fell into eternal darkness. The stars would light his way. He felt a cold line on his wrist and realized that he had placed the razor on himself. Just a little bit of pressure and it would be started. His fingers closed into a fist again and the veins rose eagerly towards the cutting edge.
A thin red strand appeared. It had not even hurt. He lifted the razor and examined the mark. One single drop of blood ran down his arm. He looked at the blade and saw the faint red on the very edge of it. He was not as blue-blooded as he thought. A low chuckled wrapped itself around the room. He was going to be free.
So what the hell am I waiting for?