Author note:
This story was originally posted to AO3 (by me) so if you want more info/context/detailed tags, chapter summaries and notes are on there, under Ludo_ten & same title. This is pretty much just the story. Trigger warnings will be at the start of each chapter for that chapter but I will preface this by saying there are themes of suicide, self-harm, sexual abuse (inc between professor and minor [17]), and violence throughout.
Dron-centric! + established wolfstar, fake Draco/Daphne.
Hope you enjoy, reviews welcome :)
Tw: suicide ideation
Draco Malfoy trudges up to the fifth year's dormitory. The bell for evening curfew won't ring for another half hour. The glaring pink sunset illuminates the unmade duvets and haphazardly thrown around clothes of his classmates.
Today is the last day of June. Like every other day this month, he grabs his black belt from the draw where he left it and locks himself in the connecting bathroom. "See you tomorrow." The throwaway comment from Blaise feels like a challenge.
The shower rail is starting to bend where he slings the top of the belt over. As the leather hugs his neck, familiar black spots start to invade in his vision. The floating feeling comforts him, a tangible outlet to his internal anguish. The lucidness of being able to take the weight off his feet and feel the world start to slip away. The empty thrill of knowing he could end it all tonight.
He unloops the knot which was pulled over the shower frame, letting all the tension release. The homemade noose falls and Draco gulps in a long breath of air.
An influx of dizziness makes him stagger backwards. He steadies himself with a hand on the cold bathroom wall. The dizziness fades but a pang of despair drives him to the floor.
He wishes he were like Crabbe and Goyle: without a thought behind their eyes, rather than trapped in painful awareness.
Life goes on, and the only thing that motivates Draco to get out of bed the next morning is knowing that at night he'll string himself up again, the power of his own consciousness in his trembling hands. Whether to feel the satisfying wave of nausea as the belt slackens or simply to take all the pressure off his legs and slowly choke himself to death.
The power he holds each night would be motivating if only he found his life to be of any value at all.
He lies in bed, curling up into the foetal position. Tomorrow will be better, he tells himself. And if it's not, it will be his last day alive.
That thought keeps him ticking over, just enough to see the second hand of the clock tick round to twelve again.
Again.
And again.
And again until he falls asleep.