Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I mean no harm by borrowing and
maniulating these wonderful characters
A/N: I suppose it's now an AU fic as I failed to get it posted before June 21, but never mind, it was hardly going to happen anway.
This chapter is dedicated to Hina for reviewing all the time without being forced into it by me (ahem, that would be you Fire...)
Sorry peeps if you don't like what I've done, you can always leave me a review saying so *hint hint*. I must warn you that this chapters not very nice and contains nasty self harm. Just so you know...
Pain (Draco's POV)
I was already there at 7:30, I'd checked to make sure there were no detentions that night and I doubted Snape would be around. So I was practically alone.
I pushed the door to behind me and crossed to the far side of the dingy room. Grey stone walls and a low celing, desks packed closely together. I lit the candles as I passed them along the walls but the light they gave off was feeble. If I had wanted to I could have charmed them to be brighter but I liked the room dark, it reflected my mood.
I sat cross legged on a desk oppisite the door my back resting against the cold stone wall, the chill penetrating through my robes and chilling my insides. I slowly unsheathed the dagger I'd brought from my dormitory and tuned it over in my hands. Checking it for flaws, testing the keeness of the blade with my thumb. It was quite small, 9 inches in total, with a 5 inch balde. Made from real silver, quite a simple shape but with an intricit celtic design engraved on the blade. On the hilt was carved a tiny dragon in a circle, in the equivalent place on the opposite side was another circle, this one had my initials envraved in it. It had been a present from my mother when I started Hogwarts. My father never knew of it, it was a private thing between me and my mother. We always stuck together despite the trouble he always seemed to bring on the family.
I layed the knife gently on the desk beside me and rolled up my left sleeve to just above the elbow, carefully folding back the cloth. The process was familiar and somehow strangely comforting. Slowly I traced the pattern of old scars along my arm with my forefinger. That dagger, specially made just for me had seen its fair share of use, I reached for it again never once taking my eyes off my arm. I gripped the handle tightly feeling its cool weight in my hand, its precense was reassuring. Then slowly bringing it closer and closer to my arm until the blade rested lightly on my skin. Swiftly now, applying a slight pressure I drew the blade aross my arm, and again. I only meant to create a slight pain to release the hurt and confusion that was building up inside my chest, but I was suddenly out of control and my hand seemed to work of its own accord: cutting and cutting. Catching sight of the blood trickilng down to my wrist and soaking into my leg I stopped, gasping for breath. There shouldn't be that much blood, it was only a few stratches. But the stratches looked more like deep gashes and a few appeared to be more like 15 or 16. I felt sick but I couldn't move I just sat that gazing intently at what I'd done to myself. Then a noise made me look up, Harry Potter was standing in the doorway, a determined look on his face.
He asked me why, I told him I had to let the pain out, I was hurting so much. "Why" he asked meagain. That word, always that word. The one question I didn't really know the answer to. I started talking...
A/N: I suppose it's now an AU fic as I failed to get it posted before June 21, but never mind, it was hardly going to happen anway.
This chapter is dedicated to Hina for reviewing all the time without being forced into it by me (ahem, that would be you Fire...)
Sorry peeps if you don't like what I've done, you can always leave me a review saying so *hint hint*. I must warn you that this chapters not very nice and contains nasty self harm. Just so you know...
Pain (Draco's POV)
I was already there at 7:30, I'd checked to make sure there were no detentions that night and I doubted Snape would be around. So I was practically alone.
I pushed the door to behind me and crossed to the far side of the dingy room. Grey stone walls and a low celing, desks packed closely together. I lit the candles as I passed them along the walls but the light they gave off was feeble. If I had wanted to I could have charmed them to be brighter but I liked the room dark, it reflected my mood.
I sat cross legged on a desk oppisite the door my back resting against the cold stone wall, the chill penetrating through my robes and chilling my insides. I slowly unsheathed the dagger I'd brought from my dormitory and tuned it over in my hands. Checking it for flaws, testing the keeness of the blade with my thumb. It was quite small, 9 inches in total, with a 5 inch balde. Made from real silver, quite a simple shape but with an intricit celtic design engraved on the blade. On the hilt was carved a tiny dragon in a circle, in the equivalent place on the opposite side was another circle, this one had my initials envraved in it. It had been a present from my mother when I started Hogwarts. My father never knew of it, it was a private thing between me and my mother. We always stuck together despite the trouble he always seemed to bring on the family.
I layed the knife gently on the desk beside me and rolled up my left sleeve to just above the elbow, carefully folding back the cloth. The process was familiar and somehow strangely comforting. Slowly I traced the pattern of old scars along my arm with my forefinger. That dagger, specially made just for me had seen its fair share of use, I reached for it again never once taking my eyes off my arm. I gripped the handle tightly feeling its cool weight in my hand, its precense was reassuring. Then slowly bringing it closer and closer to my arm until the blade rested lightly on my skin. Swiftly now, applying a slight pressure I drew the blade aross my arm, and again. I only meant to create a slight pain to release the hurt and confusion that was building up inside my chest, but I was suddenly out of control and my hand seemed to work of its own accord: cutting and cutting. Catching sight of the blood trickilng down to my wrist and soaking into my leg I stopped, gasping for breath. There shouldn't be that much blood, it was only a few stratches. But the stratches looked more like deep gashes and a few appeared to be more like 15 or 16. I felt sick but I couldn't move I just sat that gazing intently at what I'd done to myself. Then a noise made me look up, Harry Potter was standing in the doorway, a determined look on his face.
He asked me why, I told him I had to let the pain out, I was hurting so much. "Why" he asked meagain. That word, always that word. The one question I didn't really know the answer to. I started talking...