Tears streamed down my face as I dug the knife deeper into my wrist, blood flowing down on the clean white bed sheets. Names swam through my head.

Death eater… Voldemort lover… coward… son of a cunt… son of a death eater…

A pair of green eyes flashed in my mind. I can help, they seem to say. Let me help you.

Fingers covered in blood, I hold my head in my hands. My hair turns scarlet in places, covered in my crimson life. I look at my wrist, covered in so many scars; long and short, small and big. I gasp for air as I sob, shaking my body from head to toe. I lie back on my bed, letting my sheets turn dark red. I feel calm, looking up at the canopy over my bed.

A knock at the door broke through my bleary state, but I was too weak to get up. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I move my head and look at my wrist, which was still bleeding freely. I had cut too deep. Far too deep. I closed my eyes, wanting to fall asleep and die.

"Draco!"

I heard feet rush over to my bed, and a hand on the side of my face. "Draco?"

I opened my eyes and looked up at a messy black haired teen. His eyes were a stunning blue, his skin slightly tanned from his vacation in the Bahamas. "Blaze…" I managed to say.

"Oh, Draco, what have you done?" his voice rose in worry. "I'm going to go get Professor Sn- Slughorn!"

He got up and left, and I let my eyes drift closed again. I breathed in slowly, feeling oddly calm. I knew I was bleed out too much, I knew I was going to be in trouble, I knew my life was going to be hell until I die. I just didn't care.

I thought of that Potter kid, his black hair, his green eyes, his scar, his perfect lips… I feel into a semiconscious state. I could feel people around me, feel them looking at me. I mumbled something. I yelled something, I kicked, I punched, I screamed.

"JUST LET ME DIE!"

I know I screamed like hell. I know people from the other houses came to the door of the Hospital Wing, came to look in at what was going on. I woke up fully two nights after my cutting. I looked around my surroundings, feeling hollow. I was starving.

A boy was sat in the seat next to my bed, his arms crossed, and his head resting on his chest. I saw his glasses on the floor, where they had fallen. His hair hung in his face, covering his lightning scar. I shook his knee to wake him, and he smiled goofily when he did.

"Glad to see you up," he said.

He smiled at me.

I faked a smile. I don't want your pity, I thought. Why don't you just let me die?

I found out why he wouldn't let me die. He cared too much about me. I thought it was just because he had a good heart, but no.

He loves me.

And I love him.

A lot.