Disclaimer: I don't own these characters...I only wish I did.
Death Is Speaking
Draco Malfoy sat in the cold Slytherin dormitory, reflecting upon his life. The cold mist outside loomed on him, seeming to trap him, tightening around him like his miserable life was currently doing. People walked in and out of the dorm but Draco's steady gaze at the ground feet below him never wavered. He began to think about Harry. Harry Bloody Potter. The Golden Boy. Draco was jealous of him. Harry had everything Draco so desperatley craved. True friends, A family that loved him no matter what even though they weren't blood relations. Yes, in Draco Malfoy's opinion, Harry Potter had it all. Crabbe and Goyle walked in, their arms loaded with an assortment of cakes and pies. They each spared a glance towards Draco's silhouetted figure before sitting down on their beds. Draco listened to them munch for a few minutes before gettting fed up and walking into the bathroom. He picked up his aftershave and accidently dropped it, causing the glass bottle to shatter across the floor. He swore angrily and bent to pick up the pieces when a large glimmering piece caught his eye. He stooped and picked it up, surveying it closely.
An image flickered through his mind. Blood spattered on the ground, his veins seeping, the pain rushing through his body like adrenaline. These images had once sickened Draco, now they appealed to him in a strange yet fascinating way. He held out his wrist and looked at the pale, flawless skin that he had often bragged about to his friends. He took the large glass piece and positioned it at the left side of his wrist. He drew it slowly across his soft flesh. He gasped sharply as the pain rushed through his body, overcoming him. His blood pooled on the floor as it spilled from his wrists. He picked up the glass piece from where he had dropped it and drew another line across his skin. This time the pain did not shock as it had done the first time, but it was still rather intense. Draco supposed that it got easier the more you tried.
Crabbe walked into the bathroom and looked at Draco, his eyes widening. "Where's your shirt?" he questioned. Draco could have laughed when Crabbe said this. He clearly was as stupid as he looked. Draco cleaned off the wound he himself had created. He stared at the two jagged lines running across his wrists and smiled a smile that was truly worthy of a Malfoy. He walked back into the dormitory and placed a bracelet on his wrist, effectively covering the scars that were now beginning to bleed again. As he walked down the spiral staircase, he felt the need to cut again. He shook it away but it kept coming. It was an addiction to him, easy to get into but almost impossible to get out of. He was addicted, one way or another and the only way to get out of it was to keep on cutting.
FIN
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