A/N: This is just a quick little one-shot written in attempts to help me overcome my writer's block for Concrete Angel. If anything, it's pretty damn random. XD I usually try to avoid writing one-shots while I'm currently writing a multi-chapter fic, but oh well. :P Anyway, I have not a clue at how much smut will actually be in here, if any, and this is rated M primarily for, well, the damn suicide. But anyway, let's get on with the story. (:
A/N: This is basically non-compliant with OotP on, just so you know. And this takes place in their seventh year, with Voldie dead and buried. (:
Draco stared at the piece of parchment clutched in his hands, tears swimming through his eyes, defocusing on the letters scrawled messily on the wrinkled letter. He clenched his hand, forming a fist and crumpling the letter. Anger spilled over him and the tears were released. Just last night. He had seen him just last night.
He furiously threw the balled up piece of parchment in the bin, abruptly standing and storming out of his dorm, angry tears still flowing freely down his paled cheeks as he worked to keep his body from convulsing. He slammed the door to his dorm open to reveal a particularly shocked Blaise Zabini standing dumbfounded in the entryway. Draco shoved him out of the way and fled down the stairs.
Blaise stared after him, startled by his best friend's sudden change in emotions. Just last night he'd heard the, passion, that Draco and some mystery man had been sharing. How had such raging hormones and senseless fucking led to the scene he'd just been exposed to? Hm.
Blaise shook his head in confusion, his eyes landing on the balled up piece of parchment in the otherwise empty bin. Curiosity got the better of him, and he walked over to retrieve it. He pulled it out of the bin, heart hammering away, and tried to smooth it out. Despite his best efforts, the parchment remained in a state of horrid wrinkling. But Blaise could read the obvious letter now, and that was all that mattered.
He settled in on his bed and began reading the horribly messy handwriting that had been gracelessly scrawled on the poor parchment.
Dear Dray,
Last night was absolutely wonderful, and I don't regret it at all. But I feel that you should be the first to hear about my decision. I desperately want you to know that it has absolutely nothing to do with you, and that if anything, you postponed this from happening a lot longer than I would have liked. But I can't deal with it anymore. I have taken the time to explain why I've done what I've done, and I would really like you to read it all before getting pissed off at me. I think I deserve that much at least.
The downfall started in fifth year, when Hermione and Ron finally discovered their true feelings for each other. At first, I was happy for them. You know, finding true love and all of that nonsense, but then things changed. They started running off with each other all the time and ditching me and breaking plans with me so they could go snog or shag or something. Either way, I was beginning to feel a lot more like a third wheel than a best friend, so I began distancing myself from them. They didn't seem to notice except when I was alone with either of them and wouldn't say more than two words to them. They kept saying that I'd changed for the worst and that I was withdrawing into myself and rubbish like that.
Then Ron was absolutely furious when I started dating his little sister. I admit that I did not start dating her because I loved her, or even liked her for that matter, but because I knew it would piss off Ron. To be honest, girls have never seemed very appealing to me. But that's not the point. I started snogging her publicly, just in the hopes that Ron would catch us one of these days. And when he did, I was totally elated. The look on his face was worth all the disgusting make-outs I had to endure just to witness it.
But then I realized something. I was using a little girl who was absolutely enthralled with me. And that made me feel really shitty about myself. So I broke it off with Ginny, which pissed Ron off even more. (Apparently, she'd gone home in tears that summer, and the older Weasley's didn't like to see their little sister cry.) I'll admit that it hurt when I wasn't invited to stay at the Burrow for the summer, but my pain was soon forgotten when an unidentified owl delivered a letter to me from some 'secret admirer'. (coughsneakylittlebastardcough)
We wrote back and forth all summer, but my spirits absolutely plummeted when I found out that it was you who had written the letters. Believe me, not because I didn't enjoy them, but because I thought it had been just some sort of prank. So I basically stalked you all sixth year, trying to discover if you had been serious with your words, or if it had been a prank only. Suffice to say, I was a wee bit peeved when I watched you and Snape murder Dumbledore in the end. And contrary to popular belief, not because I held any love for the man, but because that was the breaking point for me. You were all I had to hold on to, and after I found out that you had used me to weaken me so Voldemort could slaughter me, I was not mad. Or furious even. I was devastated. Devastated that
the only person I'd ever truly loved had used me, had played with my emotions, just to watch me get murdered. It sickened me and killed me to think of you like that, but I couldn't help it.
Blaise stopped reading as tears littered his cheeks. He knew how much Draco had truly loved Potter, and to sit here and read Potter say that he was sickened by Draco 'using him and playing with his emotions just to watch him get murdered', hurt. He could only imagine how Draco had felt when he read this. He didn't have to wonder long, though, because a few moments later, the door was practically blown off its hinges and Draco stomped into the room, shakily running an abnormally pale hand through his oddly disheveled platinum hair, sobbing nearly uncontrollably, his lean frame shaking with each convulsion.
He glanced over at the now-empty bin and screamed. He whipped around to face Blaise, so many emotions swimming behind those stormy eyes, not even Blaise could identify them all. He hastily looked around and his eyes finally settled on the crumpled parchment Blaise had been clutching between his slender fingers. He dove for it, knocking Blaise off his bed in the process.
Draco's hands were shaking hysterically, and Blaise wondered how he could even read the letter in that state.
"Why?" Draco sobbed out, and Blaise was unsure as to what he was supposed to do. Was the question rhetorical? Or did Draco actually want an answer as to why Harry Potter, the love of his damn life, had said such hurtful, hateful things to him?
Blaise sat down next to his best friend, wrapping him in a tight embrace. He felt Draco calm slightly, but not much. He pulled away, arms reassuringly placed firmly on the blonde's shoulders as he stared deeply into those silver eyes. He could see the pain clearly written on the poor Slytherin's soul, carving it out mercilessly. He felt for his friend.
"Dray," he said softly, not averting his eyes in the least, "I don't know."
Draco began crying fresh tears now, though all essence of anger had gone now. There was nothing except pure depression and desperation filling the young man in front of him now. "But I need to know why he left me!" Draco sobbed. "Why he hated me." The last statement was soft, and almost inaudible.
Blaise felt his throat close up slightly. "Dray," he tried, realizing then that he didn't know the answer to his friend's simple question. He grabbed the abandoned letter from the bed and skimmed until he found his spot near the bottom.
I hated you and I wanted you dead for what you'd done to me. I was already at a point in my life where everything seemed to be coming apart, and then you waltz in, pretend to make it all better, act like you cared, caused me to feel as if everything might actually work out for the best, then just took it all away without a second thought. And you have no idea how much that actually hurt me. How much it made me hate myself. Not that you would of cared anyway.
And then we do that last night. We climb into your bed, senseless with lust, and I allow you into my heart once more. I let you fuck me until my legs didn't work properly, telling myself over and over that it was just a plateau in our relationship, that there would actually be a relationship. But then you finish and tell me to get out of your bed because you're afraid of one of your fucking dorm mates finding us.
I obliged reluctantly, fighting back tears as I dressed and left your fucking dorm. I cursed myself for letting you do that to me, for giving you the chance. And then I stopped and laughed at my own stupidity. All you wanted was someone to fuck. Just someone who would let you do what you needed to do and then leave. Someone who would be too embarrassed to tell anyone what you did. And with Ron and Hermione barely friends with me as it is, you knew that I wouldn't tell them. So I was the perfect patsy for your little scheme. Fuck you Draco. Just fuck you.
Blaise stopped reading, suddenly furious with Potter. How dare he? He balled the parchment up into a ball again and tossed it into the bin, collecting Draco and guiding him down the stairs. If Potter wanted to blame Draco for him committing suicide, it was his own damn problem.
As the balled up letter lay abandoned in the bin, both men had missed the all-important paragraph that had been scrawled out on the back.
But even though I thought you had done it to weaken me, I realized that you had done it to strengthen me. And reflecting back on our time together, however short, I want you to know that this wasn't because of you. This was because I couldn't deal with life anymore, and if anything, you had kept me from doing this a long time ago. There's one thing I want you to know though, Dray, and that's these three simple words:
I love you.