Harry/Draco slash. If you don't like, don't read. If you read past here and get offended by it, don't say I didn't warn you. If I get an flames saying how 'disgusting' he pairing itself is, I'm going to ignore you.

This is a dark fic. Involves attempted suicide, lots of angst. Again if it's not your cup of tea don't read.

There's some OOCness, most with Draco. He's acting nicer for a start, hopefully he'll still be him though. Harry is a little bit more depressed than canon as well. So if that bothers you just leave the fic alone and read something else *smiles*

Summary: Seventh year. Harry feels that fate has been leading him for too long. When the attempt on his own life is stopped by the two most unlikely people, Harry finds himself baring all to his schoolyard enemy. (Draco/Harry / Slash / Attempted Suicide)

The title of the fic is a play on the song Break Me Shake Me - Enrique Iglesias on his new album, Seven.

Break Me, Love Me, Leave Me

I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds
But oh, God, I feel I've been lied to
Lost all faith in the things I have achieved
Evanescence - Give Unto Me

Chapter One

Seventeen years old and he already felt like he had lived at least fifty. The last year especially had dragged on forever, each day longer than the last. Innocent after innocent dying, being tortured by Voldemort's loyal Death Eaters.

He had to live it all every night when he went to sleep. Every curse; every scream; every time the green curse hit its target he watched it all. It was times like that he cursed the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

Harry Potter brushed a hand through his already messy hair. He felt like screaming until his voice was hoarse, but he didn't. If someone was watching him, they'd notice that he was being unnaturally calm on the outside. It was almost eerie.

He wasn't calm though, he was far from it. He had this little internal fight going on inside him, asking him if living in this world was really worth it. Was all the pain and suffering that he had endured ever since he was born worth it all?

The Gryffindor Common Room was empty. Everyone had disappeared to lessons, but Harry couldn't see the point in going. There was a war going on in the outside world and Hogwarts kept going like it wasn't even happening. Of course Hogwarts hadn't been targeted by Voldemort yet, but it would only be a matter of time.

No one would come looking for him, they never did anymore. He would only snap at them shout at them until they either ran off crying or punched him one in the jaw. Ron had done that once, it still didn't help.

He couldn't live with it anymore.

He couldn't live with the guilt of letting everyone die.

All the nameless faces he saw while he was sleeping haunted him every waking moment of the day. Night would only bring more.

Harry noticed that it was nearly the end of lessons. Not wanting to face anyone, he grabbed his school clock and his wand and all but stumbled out the portrait.

He didn't watch where he was walking, but somehow he ended up on the Quidditch pitch.

The Quidditch pitch was a weird place to be when it was totally empty. It was a place people rarely went when there was no match being played, which is why Harry liked it when it was empty.

For the first time that day, Harry realised it was Halloween. The thirty-first of October; the day the Dark Lord was defeated for the first time, the day his parents were murdered.

That was the first sin on his ever growing list.

Harry couldn't help but wonder about all the what ifs. What if he had died that day with his Mother and Father? What if they were both alive? How different would life be if there was no Lord Voldemort?

Harry cursed the first time he ever heard the name Voldemort.

Why did he have to ruin everything?

"Because he's a stupid bastard," Harry muttered half heartily under his breath, kicking a stone across the muddy grass. "Absolute wanker." The stone hit one of the Quidditch goal posts with a clang.

Harry closed his eyes and let himself fall back onto the grass.

He wondered how much everyone expected him to endure before he gave up. He never knew his parents. The Dursleys didn't give a damn. Sirius was gone, Remus too. He was caught by Death Eaters near the end of Harry's sixth year. Harry had seen him being tortured to death with silver in his dreams.

Little did people know that Harry Potter had already given up.

Harry knew everything had been different once he saw Cedric Diggory die right in front of him at the end of his fourth year.

He was living on borrowed time now, he knew that. He didn't like living on borrowed time, it took all the fun out of life not knowing if you were still going to be alive at the end of the day.

For once, Harry Potter was taking fate into his own hands.

He pulled a hand out of his pocket. The sunlight glinted off the pocket knife. It was the same one he used in Potions. It was clean; he had made sure in his last Potions lesson.

There was no way he was going to let some prophecy run his life like he had for the last year. There was no way he'd let Voldemort have the satisfaction of killing him himself. He'd rather die on his own terms, which was exactly what he was doing.

He just felt sorry for all the people who thought he was some kind of hero.

I'm not, he thought, I'm just a normal, average wizard. I'm just sorry for taking the coward's way out. Not worthy of a true Gryffindor, I am? He laughed bitterly, one lone tear running down his face.

No one cares about you really. Harry eyed the blade once more. They just make out they do because you're their precious saviour, their golden boy.

He rolled up the sleeve of his robe and pressed the knife against his wrist, watching the skin pale underneath it with a sick fascination.

No body really knows you, not really. Everyone thinks they know you, but how can they know you when you don't even know yourself?

Without giving it a second thought, he drew the blade across his thin wrist.

Of course the world will mourn the loss of their little boy hero, but they'll get over it. Voldemort would never win, Dumbledore wouldn't let him.

But what about the prophecy? A small voice echoed at the back of his mind.

Stuff the prophecy, he thought slashing the blade across his wrist again. Trelawney is nothing but a fraud anyway.

That's not strictly true, the voice tried again. The prediction she made at the end of third year came true…

Harry watched the blood leak from his wrist. It was a little late for seconding guessing himself now. He smiled with grim satisfaction as he let the knife fall to the floor. Harry let his eyes fall closed as the world faded around him.


This is funny. I never knew being dead felt like the knight bus running over your head a good few times…

"I think he's waking up."

Waking up?

"Potter?"

Wait a minute........

Harry made a grunt and slowly opened his eyes. All he could make out was a blur of black, green and white in front of him. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but a hand stopped him.

"Woah! You don't wanna be doing that."

Harry let himself fall back again, not having the energy to argue. Moving the hand up to his forehead, he opened his eyes again, trying to make them focus. He still couldn't. It was about then he realised he didn't have his glasses on. As if someone read his mind, the familiar wire framed glasses were pushed onto his face.

Malfoy and Zabini, he thought groaning, of all the people to…

He let his foggy mind try and piece together odd bits of information.

"You alright, Potter?" someone asked. Harry was sure it was Zabini.

The Boy Who Lived didn't answer. He closed his eyes again, deciding the sunlight was too bright for him.

"You scared the shit out of us, you know that?"

"Draco!"

"Well... He bloody did! How would you fancy telling Dumbledork his little golden boy died?"

"You have a good point..." the other boy said.

"Of course I have a good point for fuck sake. When do I not have a good point?"

Harry cracked one eye open to see Blaise glaring at the other Slytherin.

"You'll have to excuse Draco. He's having a bad day," Blaise explained.

Draco laughed bitterly. "Bad day? I'd rather call it a fucking shit day. Father is on my back again." He put on a deeper voice. "When are you going to get the Dark Mark Draco? When are you going to kill muggles for sport?"

"Why don't you just tell him where to go?" Blaise interrupted.

"As if I would live after that conversation. Then to top off my bad day, we have to find Potter offing himself." Draco complained. He fell back and sat on the floor with a thud, which was very unlike him. "I'm too old for this."

"You're seventeen Draco, not forty-seven."

"Then why do I feel like I'm forty-seven?" Draco moaned.

"I'm sorry to be part of you're bad day." Harry spat out in a low grated voice. Draco actually had the nerve to look slightly embarrassed.

"If that's all the thanks I'm getting I should have just left you," he muttered before leaving. Blaise looked after the blonde Slytherin for a few minutes before turning his head back to Harry.

"You'll have excuse him. He's gets touchy about some things." Silence invaded them both. Blaise coughed lightly and threw a small bottle towards Harry. The dark haired boy grabbed it with his right hand. "Just drink that and sit for a while until the world stops spinning." With that the Slytherin left.

'You'll have excuse him. He gets touchy about some things.' What the hell did that mean? Harry thought.

Harry tried to shake his foggy head clear. He'd think about it more later. He drank the cool liquid from the bottle and waited for the world to turn right side up.

It was only then he thought about what Malfoy had said. Harry scratched his head. He doesn't want the Dark Mark?


Harry was still sat in exactly the same place hours later. The knife had disappeared; he assumed Malfoy or Zabini had taken it with them when they had left. He still had his wand on him, but for some reason he couldn't find the will to try and kill himself again.

The sky was beginning to dimmer as the sun left the sky. Harry drew his legs up to his chest.

Maybe it was the little voice in his head that had changed his mind at the last minute. Maybe it was some stupid fascination with finding out why Malfoy didn't want to Dark Mark. Harry had always thought Draco would be at the top of the list when it came to new Death Eaters.

But then again he was still at Hogwarts, wasn't he?

Most of the older Slytherins had left to join their parents. Even a few Ravenclaws had gone. Harry knew that at least two younger Gryffindors had left too. In Slytherin seventh year, as far as Harry knew, there was only Malfoy, Zabini, Parkinson and Nott left. The Boy Who Lived hadn't really realised Malfoy was still there until today. That showed how much he took notice of the things around him lately.

Another thing that was bothering him was how different Draco sounded when he wasn't spitting pathetic little comments at people. How different he acted when he wasn't sneering at people.

Why do you care, Harry? He thought to himself, you don't even like Malfoy.

That was true, but it didn't mean certain opinions about someone couldn't change. If Malfoy hadn't acted so stuck up on the train in first-year who knows what might have happened. Hell, they might have even been friends. What if they were meant to be?

He was so deep in thought he didn't even notice Draco walking up behind him.

"Still here, Potter?" Draco asked with a slight leer in his voice.

Harry didn't even bother to turn around. "No, I'm actually sat in my dorm room. This is just a duplicate of me."

As Draco walked to stand in front of Harry, the Boy Who Lived faked a smile. It was easily seen through.

"No need to be sarcastic, Pot-"

"Why?" Harry cut in.

"Because there's no need to be sar-"

Harry sighed and cut in again. "You know what I mean Malfoy. Stop being a prick for once in your life."

"I told you before," Draco began. "I don't want to have to be the one that tells Dumbledork about his boy wonder killing himself."

"You could have just walked away, let someone else find…" Harry trailed off. "Why are you here anyway?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders and sat on the ground. "The Great Hall is full of people who are trying to act like they're happy when they aren't."

"And being out here with miserable me is so much better?" Harry said sarcastically.

Draco shrugged again. "I didn't expect you to still be out here."

Harry sighed and idly tapped his wand on the ground. "Suppose not. Doesn't explain why you're still here though."

"I thought I might be able to carry off a decent conversation with you," Draco explained with a slight smirk.

Harry looked a little bewildered. "There's only one thing wrong with that; you hate me."

"Hate is such a strong word…"

Harry scoffed and Draco gave the Boy Who Lived an amused look.

"I don't hate you. Hate is for people who deserve it like You Know Who," Draco said, brushing imaginary lint off of his robes. "Sure, you can be an annoying git sometimes-"

"And you can't?" Harry interrupted.

"I never said I wasn't."

Harry shook his head. "Of all the things I expected to do today, this wasn't one of them."

"Of course it wasn't. You weren't planning to live past half three," Draco said in a normal conversational tone.

"You're not going to sit there and ask me why I did it?" Harry asked, picking at the grass.

Draco shrugged. "None of my business," he said in a way that suggested he really didn't give a damn either way.

Of course this made Harry actually consider telling him the reason. He doesn't want to hear about your problems, he reasoned with himself. He's not even your friend.

What if I want him to be?

Draco smirked. "You're seriously considering telling me now, aren't you?"

Harry smiled weakly. "I have no idea why."

"I'll tell you why," Draco pushed himself up onto his knees. "One; you want someone to listen to you who doesn't have an emotional attachment to you so they won't tell you that everything will be alright when it won't. Two; you don't want to tell your friends because you think that they have enough problems of their own."

Harry blinked. "I think you understand why more than me," he commented.

Draco dusted his hands off then cracked the fingers on his right hand by bending them back. "It's obvious."

Harry had to briefly wonder why Draco – When did he suddenly become Draco to you? – was talking to him as if there was no bad blood between them both. It was probably only then he realised he hadn't argued with Malfoy since the end of sixth-year and Malfoy hadn't argued with him either. Probably why you thought he wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. He faintly wondered why he hadn't noticed before. Because you were so wrapped up in your own problems you didn't care.

Harry had no idea why he was going to say his next few words. "Listen… do you… erm…"

"Want to listen to you have a moan? Sure, why not, I have nothing better to do." Draco said amusedly. "I'll meet you in the room across from the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy at ten."

"You mean the room of requirement?" Harry asked.

"Is that what's it's called?" With that he pushed himself off the ground. "Suppose I'll be seeing you later then." He then walked away.

Harry watched him until he walked out of sight then he shook his head.

What the hell am I doing?