+
+ Infest: A Harry Potter Song Fic by Canarde +
+
+ Chapter Two: Last Resort +
+
"Do you even care if I die bleeding?
Would it be wrong, would it be right
If I took my life tonight?
Chances are that I might.
Mutilation out of sight,
And I'm contemplating suicide.
+ + +
"I never realized I was spread too thin
Till it was too late and I was empty within.
Hungry, feeding on chaos and living in sin:
Downward spiral, where do I begin?
It all started when I lost my mother,
No love for myself and no love for another;
Searching to find a love upon a higher level,
Finding nothing but questions and devils."
+
Thursday night shone clear through the window. Stars twinkled merrily in the velvet of the sky, the moon smiled down in a crescent, oblivious to the blade reflecting its light into the pale face of a sixteen-year-old boy.
The bathroom was private enough; well after midnight on a school night, most students were tucked away soundly in their beds. Draco Malfoy, however, had dissolved into the shadows of the school and evaporated into the night, arriving in a lavatory on the fourth floor where he could be alone. He had locked the door and checked for ghosts, and now stood facing a grimy mirror, his robes discarded on the floor several feet away with his shoes, socks, and pressed white shirt.
He leaned over the sink, studying himself in the mirror. Strings of platinum blond hair, once slicked back perfectly, had slipped and hung over grey eyes. These eyes had once been flashing silver, but now gazed back at him dully, shielding themselves with dark bags. Against his pale skin the shadows under his eyes were even more obvious, and his veins appeared beneath his transparently pallid complexion, royal purple and blue.
He was thin, too thin for his height. Ribs stuck out on either side; he could count them easily. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood up as he ran the pads of his fingers over thin scars at his waist, and one dull eye caught on the burnt outline on his left forearm.
A skull and snake, blocky and simple, gaped back at him through the mirror as he held up his hand to his face. He breathed in sharply, through the long and delicate nose he had inherited from his father. If he closed his eyes, it was not difficult to remember the smell of burning flesh as his father pressed a steaming, red iron to his arm. The smoke had billowed; every nostril in the damp underground cavern had breathed in the smell of charred flesh that night. Draco was certain his father had enjoyed seeing him writhe in pain.
Despite his emaciated frame, he was not all skin and bones. There was a light layer of muscle on his arms and stomach and legs. He had once been a prized athlete between Quidditch and his training over holidays. And Voldemort had employed him as a courier, which had gained him much strength and agility.
The narrow scars on his waist reminded him painfully of an encounter in the Dark Forest. Three years ago he had disappeared into the forest to escape an embarrassing situation in the common room, and he had paid dearly for it. A run-in with a most vicious werewolf had ensued; he had escaped only by the luck that a large black dog had cannoned into them and ripped the wolf away from Draco. Not wanting to visit the school nurse, who would report the injury to the headmaster, he had taken it upon himself to mend his wounds. In the library he found a book on healing after a hasty job of dressing the cuts, but the nasty scars remained in his otherwise perfect skin.
Draco took the slender knife in his hand once again. Stolen from his father's collection, the knife's blade only reached from his wrist to the tip of his finger and was shaped in a stretched hourglass, the end coming to a point which glittered in the moon and lamplight. The handle was black and a soft leather, the pommel stone an icy blue set in silver.
He touched the tip to his finger and drew blood nearly instantly. A tiny droplet of delicious red appeared on his skin and swelled slowly; he was oblivious to the wild hunger in his eyes as the blood stained the blade ever so slightly.
He had not taken the knife for the purpose of his own demise; rather, he had used it in his missions for the Dark Lord when situations arose. No one challenged a Malfoy with a blade. He merely flashed the silver of the handle and blue pommel stone and his opponent fled. He had not yet needed to use it to end a man's life.
Not until tonight.
He hesitated, the blade shaking in his hand. Though he had often thought of ending his own life, he had never come as close as this. Did he really want to toss his life away as quickly as this?
The Dark Lord had made it very clear that he did not approve of suicide, though, as he pointed out, he could do little to stop anyone from ending their own life. But one who killed himself never received the same respect as one who died in the line of duty; a suicide victim was ridiculed after life by the living Death Eaters. Draco did not want to shame his father.
He had to remind himself that the reason he stood with a knife to his throat was his father. A true Malfoy, his father had always been loyal to the Dark Lord. He had recruited more Death Eaters than any other, had covered the trail for the Dark Lord more times than any other, had branded more men than any other. He had given his own son the Dark Mark without so much as a word to soothe the pain of the iron.
Yes, Lucius Malfoy was indeed a true Death Eater, and he was the reason Draco would no longer be considered as such.
As Draco lifted the blade, his eyes silently marking where the cold metal would seal his fate, there was a soft rapping at the window, and the knife clattered into the porcelain bowl of the sink. An owl perched on the windowsill outside, nearly silhouetted against the pristine light from the moon. Draco opened the window and took the letter from the eagle-owl's beak, stroking his feathers fondly. The owl ruffled itself and took flight eagerly.
'Draco,' the note read, 'please excuse the late hour of my writing to you. You must understand that I would not have sent Laertes had it not been urgent.
'This evening I risked a visit to Lord Voldemort - ' Draco shuddered at the mention of the Dark Lord by his right name - ' despite the danger in which I placed myself and the Lord. I would not have done so had I not been as respected by Voldemort as I am, nor would I have done so if I had not been as loyal as I have been for as long as I have been.
'The reason for my visit (and for my writing to you so urgently) is this: tonight I requested freedom from the Death Eaters. Most pleasing and surprising is that he indulged my wishes, and I am currently unemployed by the Dark Lord.
'Now, the reason I am writing to tell you this at this absurd hour is one which would deprive me of sleep if I did not allow myself to pass another piece of news to you.
'After I obtained my own freedom, I was granted permission to make it known that you, also, are freed from the ranks of Voldemort. If you do not wish to leave the Death Eaters, so be it; the Dark Lord will, I'm quite certain, accept you back willingly.
'In the event that you accept freedom from Voldemort, write me back immediately. We can then discuss the matter of ridding yourself of the Mark which plagues your flesh. I cannot tell you how remorseful I am to have been the one to give it to you.
'Your mother sends her love, as do I.
'Lucius Malfoy.'
Draco Malfoy read and reread the stiff paper until his grey eyes watered with effort. Then, carefully folding the letter and tucking it into the pocket of his trousers, he gathered up his robes from the floor of the bathroom, and dissolved into the shadows of the school.
In the bottom of the porcelain sink, the icy blue pommel stone of his father's knife glinted malevolently in the innocent light of the moon.
+
Thank you Bela, who taught me to be wary of the Wednesday afternoon bus.
And Katie, who reminded me that mittens are not just for small children, but also for the young at heart.
+
All characters used in this piece of fiction are property of J.K. Rowling and copyright Warner Brothers.
+
Song lyrics are property of Papa Roach and copyright Viva La Cucaracha Music.
+
Chapter Three coming soon to a fan fiction archive near you.