Smile to the death.

By L.S.T.P

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: yes another fic, cant help it really, this is YAOI if you don't like it ran away, also this is (yeah another one) veela fic. Even if it's not commented in this chapter.

BYE!!!!!!!.

Wounded

Two weeks and counting.

Two weeks since he left.

Two weeks since my life turn up side down...

Yes, two weeks. But it feels like it had been ages, like the time has trapped me. Caged me in this new, cruel and quite frightening freedom.

And I am aware that I sound weak and dependent.

But I am.

I can't help the fact that I miss him. I miss my father and my past life, the secrecy and the hidden whispers. The unknown fear, and the fear itself. I long for the past, and I spend my days denying this cruel present, where he is rotting in Azkaban.

Hating this feeling of helplessness. Feeling so useless, unable to rescue him, unable to forget him and unable to continue without him. And I have been feeling like cursing so much lately. I curse Voldemort, Harry Potter, the entire wizarding world, the gods, and sometimes even myself.

I am lost, unfitting. It's like I don't belong to this world anymore.

And I cry, I cry for my old self, the boy who never cries and the one who not knows this cold independence. And I crave for the beautiful lies that I believed not long ago. And it hurts, cuts, and bleeds. This pains is so deep, this unstoppable grief.

I dream with wings, and redemption or something that takes all this suffering. This silent suffering, and I want to wail, to scream, to let it go but I cant, I....

But is this me anymore?

Am I this tortured soul?

This gashing heart?

What am I? Or even better, Who am I?

Is the light going to blind this darkness at some point?

I continue, I don't give up. I wan to...

But do I? Or it's this animal instinct of preservation?

And the simple truth is that...

I don't know.

D.M

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He stopped his writing, and for minutes he just stood there, staring with a frowning expression the inked parchment. He had been writing a lot lately, and he is starting to worry. He never used to do it before, but now he had been feeling this urgency to write. Sometimes he is sleeping when he suddenly wakes up, sweating and dying to write something.

It never makes sense, and in an odd way it always does. It's strange, and frightening. And he always whishes he could destroy the parchments, the evidence of his weakness, but he cant's so he just keeps them. And he continues with his sleepless nights, because he knows that the dreams would chase him back. The ghost of his father, his father dying and asking him help.

But sometimes it isn't with him. He dreams with green eyes and soft chuckles, with fingers entwining, and sometimes-even with soft promises, and whispers of love. But he shouldn't think of that, he is just deceiving himself and he definitely shouldn't think of that. Because the mornings are always too cold, and the dreams are too short.

He feels weak; he hasn't eaten anything in days. He just isn't hungry, but he does feels strangely empty. Like soulless. He knows that he should eat, but he doesn't want to. He doesn't want to get out of his room, not now, not ever.

And he almost can hear his father saying...

"That's childish Draco. You should know better"

... And watch himself, nodding and answering.

"Sorry Father, I won't disappoint you again"

Almost but... he can't. And he knows that he has to get used to the fact that he doesn't have a father anymore. And that he hates him for believing in falseness, for let him down, for teaching him wrong. But mostly for didn't know better

Sighing he decides that its better to go down. Taking a few deep breaths he prepares himself to wear the correct blank expression that he is supposed to. When he is ready he goes down stairs thinking that his mother is going to be in the dining room and that he would join her, then they would eat... by themselves. They will eat in silent; they won't look at each other on the eye. And when they finally finish they would run back to their own refuges. To lick their bruises alone, and tomorrow would be the same, and the next day, and forever. Because they are empty and they are no more.

He is dead, a walking dead, and even sometimes a smiling dead. Pride, its what keeps him from falling, and sometimes is his mother, his father, his friends, their expectations, his last name and sometimes but mostly is the hate. The hate that he was taught to feel. And sometimes he feels like he was born with it.

That is why he hates to sleep because he knows that his dreams are just wrong, wrong in so many ways. Wrong to his father and wrong to him. He believes in this but he is not sure that he knows this anymore.

He had always needed someone to tell him what is right and what it's wrong, someone stronger that him. Braver than the flesh, and smarter than the spirit. And he feels like he is suffocating in this house, like he is spitting his own soul. Because he can't live on the land of fantasy anymore. He is better that that, he wants to be better that that.

But deep down in him it still exists this shaming part that desires the Fakeness, the fakeness in which he was born. Lulled with lies and false ideals. And that's what he is, a spoiled kid, a Quidditch captain, a Slytherin, a future Death Eater and a Malfoy.

He is all this and none.

Because he is dead. But sometimes in those crazy and wild dreams he feels alive, he feels warm, secure, and utterly loved.

So he hates mornings.

But he hates more the dreams because they make him see what he never is going to hand.

They burn him with caresses.

They whip him with kisses.

And they smother him with promises.

And he can't forgive the false promises.

He can't do that.

Because he had done it before and...

...He can't

A/N: jeje that was odd, I don't know where it came from (but I think that I would continue) I swear it, I was just playing chess and then Bumm!!!!!, I was typing like crazy.... Yeah odd......

Tell me if you like it, hate it, don't care or else.

L.S.T.P