Hurt by Nine Inch Nails
Content by Me, Sevendollargirlscout
A/N: I always pictured Malfoy as a pale junkie. Don't know why. This is inspired by my friend Mandy, without whom there would be no conversations of scrawny pale boys at Hogwarts. The idea for the opium thorns are also hers, I must give credit where credit's due. Thanks kid 3.
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More of an A/N here. I'm rating this so highly because it has two mentions of sex and one of masturbation. So yeah, if you have a problem with it, don't read it…k?
He sat on his bed, in the Malfoy Manor. As usual, his Christmas break was taken away from school. As much as his parents didn't want him around, he never seemed to be at school on holiday. Confined to his room on many occasion while they conducted "business" downstairs, Draco had found many ways to deal with his feelings of loneliness. His own pale skin intrigued him. The sight of it shocked him every morning. No matter how much he stayed outside during summer holiday, he always returned to the same ghastly pale color overnight. It had mesmerized him to the point that he wished he could peel it off, to see if it would grow back.
I hurt
myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
His entire body burned the first time. As he threw himself back in his regal bed, in a fit of painful ecstasy, Draco clenched his teeth, trying not to scream. His eyes rolled back in his head, no matter how desperately he tried to focus his vision on something—anything.
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything
As he resulted to this daily, as an escape from his life, it became easier. He found himself fumbling towards that ecstasy instead of reaching it so easily. He chased that first experience many times, but was never able to find it again. Sometimes, he'd shoot it directly into his veins, and it would come close, but the pain that he felt wasn't worth the ephemeral pleasure, or so he told himself. Nonetheless, it continued. His parents didn't know even though they were funding his expeditions into the world of Muggle drugs.
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
He watched his own face change in the mirror. His once regal features had sunken in. No one else would notice because, contrary to popular belief, Draco was quite handy with a wand. His arms were the worst part. When he rolled up the sleeves of his shirts, or his robes, or anything, he was faced with the tracks of his addiction. They were faint thanks to a well-done concealment charm, but he could see them. And he could trace over them with his fingers. When he did that, he could feel them. That meant they were still there.
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
Even Pansy didn't want to be around him when he was like this. If he didn't have it, he was brooding, sulky—even moody. She used to ensure him their weekly bout of pure, animalistic sex. But now, she avoided him at all costs. Draco guessed she had moved on to better things, such as shagging Crab, or Goyle…or both. He'd give it all up to have her back. The thing they had was perfect, a relationship out of necessity. So were most of the relationships in Draco's life. They meant nothing more to him than their worth in gold, although as a typical Malfoy, he preferred silver.
I wear my crown of shit
On my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
He heard them each night as he lay on his regal bed. They couldn't hide their sexuality like most people—his parents were out to repulse him, or so Draco thought. One night, he walked out of his room, only for a drink, and found his father half disrobed in front of him. He said nothing, only looked at the man with dull, lifeless eyes. That's when it hit him. Over and over again, marring his flesh more than usual. He didn't flinch however. He was used to this. His father's drunkenness was something he would have to cope with. He figured that everyone had one thing that could quite possibly tear him down—and this was his.
Beneath the stain of time
The feeling disappears
You are someone else
I am still right here
When Draco returned to Hogwarts after Christmas vacation, his usual snide demeanor returned, without the aid of an opiate. He welcomed it back wholeheartedly, but after a while, he found he needed it again. When Snape was out of the office, taking points from Potter and the Weasel King, Draco found ways to sneak in and find exactly what he needed. In a small rose colored bottle, he found the essence of a plant that grew in the wild. It was a blood red rose. However, it's thorns possessed more powerful opium than that sold anywhere. By all technicality, it was illegal. Then again, so was bearing the Dark Mark.
What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
Draco used nearly all of it the first night. He was again, "chasing the high". With impeccable talent, he injected the fiery substance directly into his veins. He felt as though he could fly forever, even more so than on his top of the line broom. Then, someone had to knock on the door, disturbing his ever present silence. He didn't rise to answer it. Draco was in a place that no one could save him from. Not even her. He heard the knocking, though his senses wavered. It became more persistent, then all together stopped.
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
His hands raked across his own body, simulating the long gashes that Pansy had left on the small of his back the last time they had been together. He tore into his soft, tender flesh until he hurt. A low moan escaped his lips. He liked it this way, painful, painfully alone. He could tolerate this. His body convulsed and twitched as he pushed himself to limits that he would never be able to withstand otherwise. As his hands manipulated his body, he breathed heavily, once, then again, until finally, he exploded.
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
Draco rose from the bed and stared out the window. His eyes were dilated and he could barely fixate on any one thing. The cool breeze whipped through and tangled itself in his hair, now matted with sweat. Holding a small needle in his hand, he crushed it gently. This moment was seemingly oxymoronic, but he wished for it all to go away. He looked to his bed; the sheets were mussed and stained with sweat, among other things. He was lucky to be alone tonight; he didn't want anyone to see him like this. Walking away from the window, he looked at himself in a mirror for the first time in weeks. And he screamed, silently.