Chapter two is the same story with a different ending. This is the
ending I prefer, but I posted the other for those who don't like death.
Title: ...but in the end we all get high...
Author: Silent Angel, or as others know me, Aino Akki
Pairings: implied, but nothing dramatic
Warnings: slight yaoi implied, mention of het, angst, deathfic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters at all.
They all belong to J.K. Rowling.
I personally think that doing drugs is stupid-it's just a
rhyme people. jeez.
People live and people die
but in the end we all get high
so if in life you don't succeed
Fuck it all and smoke some weed
-Girl's bathroom at Powell Middle School
It was nearly three in the morning. Aside from those once a year
escapades when Voldemorttried to kill him, it was probably later than
he'd ever wanted to stay up. He glanced over at Ron's bed and allowed
a small grin to grace his face. Hermione was laying next to the
red-head. For a breif moment he pondered retrieving his
invisibility cloak, but decided against it. Hermione might need it to
return to the girl's dorm, and in case the high didn't leave him
tonight, he wanted to have assured his friend's happinedd to himself.
"Time for the junkie to get his fix." His voice was filled with the
self-pitty and desperation that had been eating away at him for the
past summer. Soon he'd be nothing but and empty shell.
In front of him the prtrait swung open and let him slip out to wander
down the halls into the dungeons where the sound of a mirror breaking
would be all but inaudible to anyone roaming the halls.
As he had thought, no one came rushing in at the angry sound of the
mirror crashing and shattering against the floor. One by one, each
shard and sliver was picked up, held, and placed in the trash till
only the sharpest one remained. Not waiting to get out the bandages
he'd placed in the room upon arrival a week ago, he pulled his robes
up to reveal the series of scars running across his thigh. The glass
quickly found and rested on a fresh slice of skin, the edge already
digging in, drawing the blood out in small rivulets.
He dragged the shard down, the high beginning at the first wave of
blood streaming across the other, older, scars. The high had barely
started when someone slid out of the shadows. He stopped, caught
red-handed. The other boy smirked and leaned against the wall.
"A kinfe would hurt more." Even that simple sentance threatened to
reveal his disgust, contempt, and even more, his concern. That couldn't
happen.
"I know, Malfoy." Malfoy flinched at the hate coursing through his
rival's voice. He had never before heard it as strongly as he did now.
As always, the fact the hate existed was made all the more disturbing
by the way it was purely directed at the speaker.
"So why do you bother doing it? Isn't it supposed to hurt?" He stumbled
over his confusion. "Isn't it the control over pain?" He ran his thumb
across the white smears that ran along his wrists, remembering.
"The blood's enough. It's my blood instead of theirs." The high was
fading more quickly now than it ever had before. "I just need to see
it... Make sure it's really there to begin with." Then the high was
over with the drying of his blood. He sttod to leave, but the
blond-haired Slytherin stood in his way.
"I," He paused, almost embarassed. "Don't come back to do this.
Don't try it anymore." Before the other could protest, Malfoy
continued, "Talk to someone."
The boy scowled and shook his head. "They're not empty." Inside he
wondered why Malfoy was talking to him. Why was he letting Malfoy talk
to him?
"Talk to me."
"Why do you care?" he countered, trying to block the desperate sound in
his enemy's voice.
Malfoy's expression closed itself off again, destroying the few
remaining remnants of the high.
"You're enough of a failure as it is. I didn't think you wanted to add
on to it by dying."
Green eyes watched, stunned and in pain, as one of his least favorite
people left him alone. He fingered the shard of glass almost lovingly
and slid it down his arm carefully, allowing the high to take over
for the last time.
ending I prefer, but I posted the other for those who don't like death.
Title: ...but in the end we all get high...
Author: Silent Angel, or as others know me, Aino Akki
Pairings: implied, but nothing dramatic
Warnings: slight yaoi implied, mention of het, angst, deathfic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters at all.
They all belong to J.K. Rowling.
I personally think that doing drugs is stupid-it's just a
rhyme people. jeez.
People live and people die
but in the end we all get high
so if in life you don't succeed
Fuck it all and smoke some weed
-Girl's bathroom at Powell Middle School
It was nearly three in the morning. Aside from those once a year
escapades when Voldemorttried to kill him, it was probably later than
he'd ever wanted to stay up. He glanced over at Ron's bed and allowed
a small grin to grace his face. Hermione was laying next to the
red-head. For a breif moment he pondered retrieving his
invisibility cloak, but decided against it. Hermione might need it to
return to the girl's dorm, and in case the high didn't leave him
tonight, he wanted to have assured his friend's happinedd to himself.
"Time for the junkie to get his fix." His voice was filled with the
self-pitty and desperation that had been eating away at him for the
past summer. Soon he'd be nothing but and empty shell.
In front of him the prtrait swung open and let him slip out to wander
down the halls into the dungeons where the sound of a mirror breaking
would be all but inaudible to anyone roaming the halls.
As he had thought, no one came rushing in at the angry sound of the
mirror crashing and shattering against the floor. One by one, each
shard and sliver was picked up, held, and placed in the trash till
only the sharpest one remained. Not waiting to get out the bandages
he'd placed in the room upon arrival a week ago, he pulled his robes
up to reveal the series of scars running across his thigh. The glass
quickly found and rested on a fresh slice of skin, the edge already
digging in, drawing the blood out in small rivulets.
He dragged the shard down, the high beginning at the first wave of
blood streaming across the other, older, scars. The high had barely
started when someone slid out of the shadows. He stopped, caught
red-handed. The other boy smirked and leaned against the wall.
"A kinfe would hurt more." Even that simple sentance threatened to
reveal his disgust, contempt, and even more, his concern. That couldn't
happen.
"I know, Malfoy." Malfoy flinched at the hate coursing through his
rival's voice. He had never before heard it as strongly as he did now.
As always, the fact the hate existed was made all the more disturbing
by the way it was purely directed at the speaker.
"So why do you bother doing it? Isn't it supposed to hurt?" He stumbled
over his confusion. "Isn't it the control over pain?" He ran his thumb
across the white smears that ran along his wrists, remembering.
"The blood's enough. It's my blood instead of theirs." The high was
fading more quickly now than it ever had before. "I just need to see
it... Make sure it's really there to begin with." Then the high was
over with the drying of his blood. He sttod to leave, but the
blond-haired Slytherin stood in his way.
"I," He paused, almost embarassed. "Don't come back to do this.
Don't try it anymore." Before the other could protest, Malfoy
continued, "Talk to someone."
The boy scowled and shook his head. "They're not empty." Inside he
wondered why Malfoy was talking to him. Why was he letting Malfoy talk
to him?
"Talk to me."
"Why do you care?" he countered, trying to block the desperate sound in
his enemy's voice.
Malfoy's expression closed itself off again, destroying the few
remaining remnants of the high.
"You're enough of a failure as it is. I didn't think you wanted to add
on to it by dying."
Green eyes watched, stunned and in pain, as one of his least favorite
people left him alone. He fingered the shard of glass almost lovingly
and slid it down his arm carefully, allowing the high to take over
for the last time.