Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Draco walked through the hallways, hating himself as always. He didn't see what was so wrong about liking both girls and boys. He didn't understand why he couldn't wear ripped jeans and a bullet belt to Hogsmeade when he wasn't required to wear his school uniform. He just didn't understand.
He supposed he never wanted people to know about him and his sexuality, but it just couldn't be helped. Not with the newspapers constantly in his business because of the importance of producing a new heir. Sometimes, he just wanted it to end.
Yet another day had gone by, with the usual bullying and abuse. Lavender pushed him down three flights of stairs before breakfast and the usual poisons were residing next to his plate. Snape had insulted him again and again before lunch and several people in Slytherin beat him up after. Pavarti slapped him for looking at her again-even if it was only a passing glance-and at dinner he was beat up by a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. The teachers just sat and watched.
But the worst part of it all was never the slaps across the face or the taunts or the shoves down multiple flights of stairs. It was always the part when he'd look at Harry and he'd walk away in disgust. He was going to do something about that tonight if it killed him. Which it was highly prone to do.
"Harry." He watched as the man stopped and turned to look at him. His heart clenched.
"Malfoy, if you want a fuck buddy, go elsewhere." He shook his head and tried to explain that he didn't want sex, he wanted Harry to like him.
"HA! Look you little ferret. If I ever come to like you, I'm clearly under the Imperius Curse. Now go die in a hole like scum such as yourself needs to do." He watched as Harry turned with his friends and walked away.
Disappearing into his room, Draco laid on the bed and tried to cry but found that he was so upset he couldn't.
No, he wasn't upset. He wasn't depressed even. He didn't feel at all, to be honest. He felt no emotions. And when Pansy beat him and Blaise raped him, he didn't feel. He just laid there. He didn't scream. He didn't plead. He just...existed. He couldn't live like this. This was hardly a life.
The next day right before afternoon classes, Draco pulled the pistol out of his trunk and sent it to Harry with a note that said Did you really be as thick as to think I would actually kill myself because of your words and everyone else's actions?
He then grabbed a knife and cut himself several times all over to finally feel something, just before he would die. He hung himself in the potions classroom, but before letting the robe break his neck, he pinned the bottom half of his note to Harry on the front of his robes.
Because if you did, you were right. But I bet you didn't think I could die at my own hand like a common muggle covered in blood, did you?