Tainted
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters from it, although I wish I did.
Warnings: Angst and self injury! Don't read if you don't like!
Takes place sometime during the seventh book before the Battle of Hogwarts.
A/N: This story is extremely unusual for me, and it's definitely not the type of thing I'd usually ever read, much less write, but I was in a really strange mood and needed some way to vent my feelings when I wrote this. Although it's not at all similar to the kind of fics I enjoy, and it's not what I believe would ever actually happen (if the characters were real) I figured I might as well post this and hope someone will enjoy it. Please review!
Draco stared at the pale flesh on his wrists, unmarked and perfect. It seemed so strange that he could feel so different than he used to yet still look the same. Anyone else looking at him wouldn't have known how he felt. His skin was the only part of him that remained unaffected by the Dark Lord. His heart and his mind had already been ruined. Tainted from his parents, who believed Draco's ultimate achievement in life would be to serve the Dark Lord. Tainted from Voldemort himself, who used Draco only as his tool to hurt others and to control his parents. He was tired of being used. Tired of being told what to do, how to think, and how to feel. It seemed that everything he did now was because of an order he was given, not because he chose to. He hated the feeling.
As Draco stared at his skin, his bitterness turned to anger. He was internally destroyed, why didn't the rest of him show it? His white skin looked so unusual in contrast to the darkness he felt. Draco grabbed his wand and muttered an incantation he had learned from his mast-. No, from his parents' master. Not his. Voldemort wasn't telling him to do this. This was a choice he made, not an order he was following. Not his master. Draco stared at his left forearm as his wand burned into the skin, leaving a trail of red behind it. He could already start to feel the burning sensation as the blood poured out of the wounds, but he determinedly proceeded until his left arm was covered in thin, red lines up to his elbow. He lay his wand down and smiled. Now his skin looked like he felt.
Well, I know it's really short, but what did you think? Like I said in the first author's note, I know it's strange, but I felt like writing it. Please tell me what you thought!