a/n: So, this story is short, sad, slash and mpreg. I hope you all like it. You'll be depressed if you read it, and it helps if you've heard, "Tiptoe through the Tulips," by Tiny Tim. Oh yeah, the title belongs to him, meaning, Tiny Tim.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

The interior of 12 Grimmauld Place (the headquarters for the now dormant Order of the Phoenix) hadn't been so uninviting and unwelcoming for a very long time. The house itself was upset; or rather the magick that currently enchanted it. Dark shadows, completely anonymous of an owner, painted every square inch of the bleak hallways and rooms, dust slowly creeping atop of them.

Old dusty copies of the Daily Prophet had been stacked and scattered throughout the house, dust forming on them as well. The titles, just as bleak as the house itself, stated, "The Boy-Who-Lived; Cheating on the young Malfoy heir?", and the most recent, perhaps the most disheartening of all, read, "Draco Malfoy, to be married into a most respectable Wizard family, more details on the back..."

The picture had shown the young blond locking arms with a very arrogant and confident looking young man. His black hair was slicked back with some kind of gel, his blue eyes were smirking at anyone who'd read the article of the paper, and just like any aristocratic pure blood, he was showered in robes of the most finest. Draco was looking perfect as well, almost too perfect. His arm, seen earlier, had been tightly wrapped around that of the other, blond hair in its usual style, bright robes, and a smile glued on to his face. A smile of true happiness. It was obvious though, like the house itself, the papers had remained untouched and uncared for,…as well as their owners.

The source of the wicked shadows had ironically come from one who was believed to be wicked (by nature) themselves. At the end of the hallway, a door labeled, "Harry Potter" had stood opened just a bit, at least a bit to allow an eerie tune to escape and for the sound of small cries to be heard throughout the house.

"Tip toe, through the window, by the window, that's where I'll be. Come tiptoe through the tulips, with meee…" the disembodied voice of the late singer, Tiny Tim, sang throughout the house. And though grim, the tune brought some comfort to the young man lying and bed with layers of blankets wrapped securely around him. His usually pale skin was now paper white, his body now thin, very thin. His once green eyes had been drained of their usual bright green, and now all that remained was dull green orbs, alien to all emotion accept pain. He knew that emotion all too well, and it continuously reminded him of who was in charge.

With a stir, he'd slowly made his way up, more tears trailing down his face. "I cannot live like this forever," he told himself in a trembling voice, once again. He'd pulled a light sheet tightly around himself, though his gray pajamas should've been warm enough. In the past, he'd never really made it passed the hallway though, well, at least ever since he'd gotten the paper that read of Draco's engagement. The site of the paper had made him recoil in a fit of outrageous and hysterical sobs. At times, it was so bad that he could hardly move, and he'd stayed in that one spot for ages, torturing himself by locking his eyes on the headline and at times even rereading the article. And did the wedding just absolutely have to be scheduled on July 31st, his birthday?

So with heavy feet, he'd groped his way through the dark hallway, not dare thinking about the lights. He already knew what he'd see if he had, so instead, he'd blindly headed for the kitchen.

He wasn't surprised by the fact that there was little-to-nothing to eat in the kitchen, besides, he'd given Kreacher to Andromedea and he himself hadn't been going out at all. He'd managed to eat a small piece of toast, though he didn't even bother to drink it all, and he'd also had a large glass of water. For the past few months, water was the only things that he'd been able to hold down. He had no idea why that was though; he'd blame it on his uneasy nerves and declining condition.

He shuddered as the cold glass connected with his dry lips. Each gulp hurt as it hit his empty and numb stomach. "At least it's better than Fire Whisky," he'd told himself as he'd continued to wince as the cold water touched the bottom of his stomach. When he'd felt he'd been somewhat satisfied with his short drink, he'd wrapped the sheet tighter around himself and decided to go to the dusty piano. As he'd taken his seat, he couldn't help but to feel a bit stupid. He couldn't even play piano at all, he was even worse than Ron. The best he'd ever heard had been, at least around his age, had been Hermione…Hermione and Draco.

The very thought of Draco had reminded Harry why he'd ostracized himself from the world for such a long time. He'd given himself to Draco completely, he'd let Draco make love to him.

He hadn't blamed Ginny for the incident that followed shortly after though, not one bit, though it appeared to be her at first. But, it wasn't, it was just one trying to get back at her family. So, they impersonated her, did such horrendous things in her name, and with enough effort, managed to sneak a kiss on Harry in front of Draco. Everything had gone bad after that, everything went downhill after that, and there was little Harry could do before Draco had been engaged off to someone else.

At the thought of this, Harry found himself in tears once again, his head steadily dropping on the lid of the piano. "Not again…" he'd thought to himself, "this has to stop…it just has to…" and this time, he'd dropped the sheet and walked through the hallway, grabbed his wand from his room, walked into the hallway and turned to lights on. He winced as he viewed the titles of the papers, and quickly turned his wand towards a stack.

"I-I-incendio," he murmured, and stood still as the paper's caught on fire, along with peeling paint from the walls. The doorway to his room was completely blocked by a newly forming curtain of flames, and the song, "Tiptoe through the Tulips," had currently repeated itself for the fourth time, now entering the bridge. The flames had made it harder to hear the song, but Harry wasn't paying any attention as he'd turned around and slowly walked down the hallway.

Knee deep the flowers will stray…We'll keep the showers away.

"Another glass of water, perhaps a bit of Fire Whiskey as well, actually, a lot," he'd told himself as he'd gotten the needed refreshments.

The fire was now spreading further and further through the house, he'd heard the last sound of the now broken piano. The smell of smoke and the sound of his eerie song were drowning him. He hadn't cared though, he'd believed it was just him in the house, but it wasn't. He took another sip of his water mixed with whisky and began to sing to the last bits of the song.

"And if I kiss you, in the garden, in the moonlight, will you pardon me?"

"And if I kiss you, in the garden, in the moonlight, will you pardon me?"

He sang along, and soon, the music was being overridden by the outrageous growls of the flames. The smoke was killing Harry faster though, as well as the small life that would've grown inside of him if he hadn't been so careless.

With a loosening grip, the cup of mixed contents steadily slipped out of his hand and fell on the floor, therefore, further igniting the every growing flames. Harry felt his breathing slow considerably, and finally, it became too hard to breath, but, he didn't care. His eyes burned and his vision blurred, and he'd felt himself falling from his seat at the table.

Everything had gone black.

Whether it had been the fire or the smoke that had finished him off first, he hadn't found out, for the Noblest House of Black had been engulfed in flames.

"And tiptoe, through the tulips, with meeee…"

So, I hope you like this, tell me what you think about it.