Title: Love is a Four Letter Word
Author: Side Project
Contact: sideproject@hotmail.com or on AIM soccerchic 15673
Archive: ff.net and my site whenever I get it up. If you want it, ask. It also appears under my other screen name. Soon to disappear from there though. This is another version. A better one.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/ Harry Potter
Rating: As of now- R. I might get myself around to NC-17
Spoilers: Basic HP knowledge.
Author Notes: This story is about Draco, keep that in mind. This also contains cutting, and general angst. Oh, and a BIG BIG HUGE THANK YOU to Erif for beta-ing, and Jen for giving me her input as well. *blah* indicates thought, and blah are Draco's flash back.
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Chapter One: Making the cut.
* * *
Deep green velvet curtains rippled in the wind, flowing through the open balcony doors. The wind threatened the burning candles, causing the candlelight to dance along the walls. The trembling flame caused an eclipse in the dark room, blurring the thin line between light and dark. There was no black or white here...just grey. And all touched by it were tainted. It sent a chill up Draco's back.
He was cold, frozen inside. Nothing could warm the bitter coldness that lived in him. It had been a part of him for so long- this darkness… he could never hope to be free of it… His soul was like the wind, threatening any light that dared to save him. Thus, he lived in darkness, relishing in its control over the light… its control over him.
Physical pain, oh he could deal with that. But he could not deal with this other emotional hurt… this anger… hate… depression. He knew he should be used to it, he had been dealing with it for his entire life. But unlike physical pain, he never learned how to enjoy the mental anguish that lived inside of him. If only it was pain. The blood, the cutting- he loved it, relished in its simplicity.
Draco licked his lips as his hand lowered the razor onto his tender flesh. Drops of red rose up as he pressed the sharpness deeper into his skin. A moan passed between his lips. The blood flowed onto his unmarked flesh like a melody; it was a song to save his soul. Never in his life had he known true pleasure, this was his drug, a temporary ecstasy. True, there was no black or white, but the grey was more than satisfying. It was all he needed. The blood ran down his ribs and into his red stained white sheets. He had ruined more than his fair share of bedding. It was a wonder the house elves never mentioned it to his parents. He ran his hand through it, his fingertips tainted red… this was his life… and it was bleeding out of him…
Looking for another unscarred spot, Draco positioned the razor on the top of his leg. He pushed in, and went a little deeper than he wanted. The blood rushed out in waves, running over his leg and soaking into the sheets.
"We hurt ourselves on the outside in order to kill the demon within," Draco recited to himself. He couldn't remember where he'd heard it, but the quote rang true for him. He looked down at his bleeding leg. It wasn't enough. The demon inside was still alive. Eating him from the inside out.
Ignoring the blurriness in his eyes, Draco pushed the blade into his upper arm. It burned, but he continued to cut. He made another cut parallel to it, pushing a little deeper. Blood coursed down his arm. He ran his hand through it. The white sheets were slowing turning dark red. Panic set in, and the world got a little fuzzy. He raised his hands in front of his face; they were covered in a slick layer of blood. Droplets fell and splattered on his stomach. Draco groped the bedside table for his wand. He had to stop the bleeding… the cuts were too deep… He felt his body go weak. He couldn't find his wand… The demon was dying, as was he.
But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
The dizziness seized him in full force. He trembled, and wondered briefly if the house elf would find him in time. He could just imagine his dad's reaction to a dead son… "How very disappointing. Now I'll have to have another." He didn't matter to anyone. Not to his parents and not to himself.
Most people where scared of the dark, because they didn't know what was hidden within it. Draco was afraid of the light because he knew what it held. He could deal with the physical pain, the dark. But light revealed something he could not handle.
* * *
Draco clenched his eyes shut, feeling sick. The Hogwart's Express jerked forward, which did nothing to help his stomach. He pulled his robes tighter around himself, despite the heat of the day. He had been lucky enough to find an empty compartment in the very back of the train. No Pansy, no Goyle, and no Crabbe… thank god. The silence was welcomed…
"Alone?"
Draco looked up and sneered, "I could ask the same of you, Potter. Why are you bothering me?"
Harry shrugged and sat down. How dare he sit! "Everywhere else is full. I can't really sit in the aisle."
"Just don't talk to me."
Harry rolled up his sleeves, "Where's the fun in that?"
"Potter, I'm not in the mood to deal with your stupidity."
"Our last year… I never thought I'd make it this far."
"Go away. I don't want to hear you talk, let alone carry a conversation! Where are your friends, can't you go sit with them?" Draco said through clenched teeth. He wanted his silence back.
"Where are your friends?"
"Hell if I know. I want to be alone, that's why I am in the back of the train. I had successfully scared everyone away from this compartment, because I want to be left alone. Now scat!"
Harry sighed, and said nothing, but made no move to leave. Draco groaned. This was going to be a very long year indeed.
*He's cute when he gets angry.*
"What did you say, Potter?"
Harry looked up, "I haven't said a word."
"I could have sworn I heard you say something!"
"Settle down, you must be hearing things."
"Oh sod off."
Left one hell, and entered another.
* * *
Draco pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and slouched down as far as he could in an attempt to disappear. Despite his best efforts, the bodyguards his father appointed had reattached themselves to Draco. Crabbe and Goyle seemed upset that he had somehow eluded them on the train. He wished he could avoid them for the rest or the year. The Sorting Ceremony went on without being noticed by Draco. He closed his eyes and let the world pass him by without a thought. Not even the cheers of his own house awoke him from his state. Nothing fazed him. He felt like a silent observer. One to who time meant nothing. He was a background prop. He was nothing.
Dinner appeared suddenly. This was his golden opportunity- he could escape to bed now and avoid being force into conversation… Draco pushed his hood back, and made a move to stand when he caught Potter's eye. The other boy had a thoughtful expression on his face. He looked away as soon as he realised Draco was staring back.
"That boy has problems," Draco muttered to himself, and stood up. What was with Potter this year? The muggles must have landed him one too many blows to the head.
A sharp voice caught him just as he reached the door, "Draco, a moment please?"
Groaning inwardly, he nodded. "Of course Professor Snape."
"Dumbledore wishes to have a word with you this evening. Do you know where is office is?"
"Of course. I'm only in my seventh year," Draco said, not meaning for his words to come out as harshly as they did. His sarcasm was an ingrained habit; although he usually toned it down around his head of house.
"The password is gumdrops. Around seven if you could," Snape said.
"Yes, Sir."
* * *
Draco knocked.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, do come in."
Draco opened the door to Professor Dumbledore's office. Without even being offered, he sat down across from the head master. He might try to make polite with Snape, but the headmaster? Forget it.
"How was your summer, Draco?" the old man asked, his eyes twinkling as they had a tendency to do when he had some scheme up his sleeve.
"My father owled you, didn't he?" Draco said, his words were sharp, vindictive.
"He did.How would you feel about having your own room this year?" Dumbledore asked.
"I thought that sort of privilege was reserved for prefects," Draco stated. He did not like handouts, and that's all this was… or maybe a bribe?
"Usually…" Dumbledore replied slowly, thinking of how to explain.
Draco nodded and lowered his eyes. Draco! What have you done Draco? What have you done? How could you? Why? Why? Talk to me… Oh god… Please don't die! Lucius! Get in here and save your son…
"I'm perfectly fine," Draco said forcefully. Ungrateful brat.
"That was never a question. There is no doubt in my mind that you will never resort to anything like what happened over the summer while you're here. I merely thought an… escape from your housemates might be welcomed," Dumbledore said, the twinkle returning.
"Does that mean you're not putting me under watch?" Never again. I'll watch you ever moment myself if that's what it takes. How could you do this to your mother and me? Haven't we done enough? How could you hurt us like this? How could you do this to me? Are you trying to punish me?
"No, like I said, I don't think there will be a recurrence."
"The room will be totally private?"
"I'll even like you make up your own password."
"Why?" Draco asked bluntly, lifting his eyes to the old man. He had never been kind, what had he done to deserve this?
"I simply thought you might enjoy some extra privacy."
He bloody well knew there was more too it, but he also knew better than to look the gift horse in the mouth. Besides, he trusted the senile headmaster than his own father.
"Thank you for the offer. When can I move in?" Draco asked.
*
The room was bigger than his room at home; it even had its own bathroom. The only reason Draco had to leave was to eat… and go to class the latter taking up more of his time than he liked. Draco tossed his clothes aside and made his way over to the bed clad only in his boxers. He climbed in, curling up deep within the cocoon of blankets. His own warmth wrapped around him, and for the first time, in a long time, he felt safe and secure. This was going to be one hell of a year. At least he wasn't under watch… He'd spent almost the entire summer at St. Mungo's… Suicide watch.
It was funny really… Draco hadn't been attempting suicide. If it had been suicide, he would be dead; if that had been his wish, there would have been no stopping him. No, he simply got a little carried away with his obsession. He wondered if anyone knew where he'd spent his summer. No… no one knew. No one…
But then again…the way Potter had been looking at him made Draco wonder… What if Potter knew? Not that it would matter if he knew; Potter was to much of a hero. He'd keep it secret and feel like a saviour for not letting rumours fly about. It was just the sort of thing he'd do.
Draco starred at the ceiling. The chill inside him had yet to be vanquished. There had to be a way to free himself of this… He was tired of it…Worse came to worse… he'd let his obsession take him… One way, or another this was going to end.