Title: True Faith (01/??)
Author: Nicky Townsend (nicky@sacramentoanime.com)
Pairings: HP/DM
Rating/Warnings: I'm going to say R with leanings towards NC-17. Rating for sexual situations, attempted suicide, and (with the suicide attempt only) a great deal of romanticizing about blood and death. The sort of thing that inspires bad Goth poetry, I'm afraid. Oh- if you haven't noticed, this is SLASH. If you aren't here for young, hot boy-on-boy action, I suggest you run while you still can. Flames will be saved to light my cigarettes.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. All songs quoted are the property of the various artists that wrote them, and are used without permission. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All music quoted is the property of those with the talent to write it; which wouldn't be me.
Summary: Draco's attempted suicide brings about many things- some good, some bad, and some very bad. He's forced to see the world in a different way, and to try to cope with what he sees.

True Faith 01
~*~*~*~
"When I was a very small boy,
Very small boys talked to me,
Now that we've grown up together,
They're afraid of what they see
That's the price that we all pay
Our valued destiny comes to nothing
I can't tell you where we're going
I guess there's just no way of knowing

~"True Faith"
-New Order
~*~*~*~

If someone had told him previously, he wouldn't have believed that it was possible to weep for so long and so hard that it gave a person a migraine. He knew his pale skin was blotchy and his eyes swollen, his hair mused and tangled. He probably hardly resembled his old self at all.

What had started as a small stab in his temples had escalated to a scale that was heretofore immeasurable. The more he wept, the further it spread until the entirety of his skull was awash in pain was so acute that even his teeth ached- This must have been how it had felt for Zeus when Athena had sprung full-grown from his skull. It certainly felt as though a fully-grown, armor-clad and spear-wielding woman was attempting to force her way out of his cranium.

He'd always heard that crying was supposed to make you feel better, a way to release all the bottled-up emotions. Siphoning off all the emotion he'd been restraining should have felicitated a sense of catharsis. Instead, a sense of emptiness had engulfed his chest that was so profound he wondered if he were to slice through the skin and thin layer of fat on his belly, would he find himself hollow beneath, and that his bones were indeed only a frame on which his skin were stretched?

In his grief-stricken wandering, he'd somehow managed to get lost in the castle, though he'd thought surely that he had known every corner of it by now. His limbs felt heavy and trembled in weakness, his balance dissolved with the lack of care he put in each weighted step. His shoulder collided heavily with thick granite, turning, and he slid down to the floor, his back scraping painfully on the rough-hewn blocks of the castle walls. He fell into a sitting position, between the stands of dark-polished wood for two gleaming suits of armor; it gave him the suggestion of having procured some private niche for his solitary drama. He felt locked in his own body- it seemed heavy and foreign, as though it belonged to someone else. He wondered distractedly if this was what Imperius felt like.

He wanted to be free of this burden- the burden of being himself. He wanted to the take back all the choices he'd made, and couldn't undo, the horrible things he'd said to a myriad of people. He wanted to erase his past self's blindness to the manipulation of others, and the revolting eagerness with which he had done everything they had asked of him. He wanted to remove the sense of all encompassing horror he'd suffered when he realized what his manipulators were really like. He had so many regrets.

Clumsily, he fished the knife out of his pocket. It was a beautiful thing, about six inches when it was unfolded. Its' handle was constructed of shiny black ebony, inlaid with silver, and was carved perfectly to fit in the wielder's palm. The blade gleamed brightly in the small amount of starlight filtering in through the castle's high, thick paned windows. He sat for a long time, one leg drawn up to his chest, the other stretched out in front of him, one arm resting at the elbow over the raised knee.

The first light of dawn was struggling to banish the gloom permeating the deserted hallways. Floor tiles began to reflect the growing light, and dust motes swirled sparkling like glitter in new sun's glory. Had that much time truly elapsed as he drifted slowly in the cold fog of despair? The unfolded blade caught the light more vividly, the light's brightness and purity reminding him of why he held it. With a calm born of emptiness and endless regrets, the pain in his head forgotten, he drew the blade lightly over his thumb. It parted flesh as though it were insubstantial, bright crimson blood welling instantly, a single drop falling forgotten to cold tile below. Satisfied with the results he carefully, delicately, brought the blade to butter-soft flesh of his wrist.

Smoothly, deliciously, the blade bit deep into the soft flesh of his inner arm, the edge so sharp he hardly felt it, drawing a neon-bright red line from wrist to elbow. He watched, entranced, as sunlight reflected off the ruby liquid spilling, coursing in rivulets down the alabaster-pale flesh of his arm. Before his strength could wane any further, he switched hands and repeated the ritual on his other forearm. His lifeblood now flowed unchecked onto the smooth cold tile, pooling around him like some kind demented halo. He was fascinated that something of such a lovely color had flowed from his own poisoned veins. He'd thought his blood would be black; so much hate had touched him throughout his short life. He knew that blackness still stained his soul, even if it could not be seen. He closed his eyes, content at last, the only truth he was certain of ringing like polished bells in his clouding mind:

Death is easy.

~*~*~*~

Harry Potter woke early, far earlier then he would have liked, to the vague sense that something was out of place. His stomach twisted in knots- he hadn't eaten last night. He'd forgotten all about dinner, caught up as he was in his feverish revising for the one of the most dreaded tests he could remember- His mock-NEWT in Potions.

Dressing quickly, he made a resolution to go raid the castle's kitchen. Breakfast would not be served in the Great Hall for a good two hours yet, but he knew the house elves would be awake, already preparing for the momentous task of feeding the castle's several hundred residents. He pulled on a soft cream-colored turtleneck and covered that with a thick jumper, before wrapping himself in his heaviest winter cloak. January had crashed down on the castle, even colder than December had ever dreamed of being. The castle's hallways acted as refrigerators, and if it were possible, it was even colder inside then out.

He slipped silently through the dimly lit common room, and out through the portrait hole, into the rabbit warren that was Hogwarts' corridors and passages. He observed briefly the position of the sun over the Forbidden Forest, judging the time to be about 5:30 AM.

Last summer had finally given Harry the growth spurt he'd been waiting so patiently for- in the few short months of the Summer Holidays, he'd grown to be only four centimeters shorter then Ron. The sudden height increase had only given Aunt Petunia more reason to shout at him- they could no longer give him Dudley's old clothes as hand-me-downs. Three of Harry would easily fit in one pair of Dudley's trousers, and so his Aunt had been forced to actually purchase clothing for him. She had dragged him into a charity store, all the while gnashing her teeth and swearing that he would work off every pence.

In spite of the need for new clothing, he hadn't realized just how much he had changed until it had come time to meet up with Ron and Hermione on Platform Nine and Three Quarters for the Hogwarts Express. At first, Hermione hadn't recognized him- the warm glow of feminine appreciation had quickly been squelched by a delighted gasp when she saw the tell-tale scar on his forehead, recognition suddenly dawning. The entire Weasley clan had taken the liberty of exclaiming over him at that point. Attention he was used to- he didn't like it, but he was used to it. THIS kind of attention had been wonderful, and for the first time ever, he'd felt almost comfortable in his own skin.

They secured an empty compartment for themselves, and attempted to catch up on anything that had happened during the summer. Harry was not surprised to find out that the two of them had spent the summer at number Twelve Grimmauld Place, surrounded by a flurry of activity, while he was again stuck at the Dursleys, doing chores.

He also noticed the glances his two friends were casting at each other- these looks had changed in quality quite significantly. Last year they had been carefully guarded expressions with huge gaps expressing the worry they shared over him. Obviously their mutual worry had changed into something more personal and warm over the summer.

Harry could not help but feel resentful, though he was also happy for them. His resentment had nothing to do with the fact that they obviously loved each other; Harry had known that for ages. The problem was that they were free to love as they willed, and had only the usual sort of secrets to keep, and the usual sort of worries to be worried about. Harry envied them the simplicity of their lives, though he doubted they would understand should he try to explain it to them. Perhaps Hermione could, but Ron would never.

And so, he'd pasted a smile on his face as he listened to them go on about their summer, loving and hating them at the same time, wondering vaguely why the train was so quiet. Comparatively speaking, of course.

Now that he thought about it, it was with almost religious regularity that Draco Malfoy had come to their compartment and attempted to hex at least one of them into non-existence. It had happened on the train every year so far. This time, the trip to Hogwarts had been uneventful.

He navigated the hallways unconsciously, with ability born of much practice, so lost in his thoughts he hardly saw the hallways change under his feet. Honestly, no one had seen much of Draco Malfoy; he was quiet during the single class they still had together, and notably absent during nearly every meal. In that arena, silence had reigned since the beginning of the school year some five months prior.

His boot slipped abruptly on a patch of wet floor, unceremoniously yanking him out of his random thought patterns. The hem of his cloak brushed the top of the dark liquid, drawing patterns on its shiny surface. Not certain at all of what it was, Harry touched a fingertip to the random puddle. Crimson- his fingers were stained crimson. Idly, he rubbed his index finger against his thumb, and watched the liquid smear like wet paint. It was still warm. Fear turning sickening circles in his stomach; his eyes followed the dark pool to its source. Lodged almost comfortably between two suits of armor sat Draco Malfoy himself, deathly pale, smiling contently. He resembled himself hardly at all; his hair was a complete disaster, stringy and tangled. His skin was as blotchy as significant blood-loss would allow, his eyes still swollen from what appeared to be hours of weeping. Deep, dark yellowish-blue bruises marred the delicate skin under his eyes. Twin streaks of ruby lancing from elbow to wrist graced the delicate flesh of his forearms, surrounded by a slowly spreading pool of his own blood.

"Bloody Hell." The expletive fell from his lips just as autopilot kicked in. Harry dropped cold fingers to the slender white neck; he was alive, but only just. Stepping back, he pulled first his jumper, and then his turtleneck over his head. Now that he knew Malfoy was alive, he had to keep him that way. It was imperative that he halt the bleeding. Harry tore the sleeves off his shirt, and then each sleeve into two long strips. One strip was bound as tightly as possible just above the elbow joint, right below the bicep, and repeated the process on the other arm. He could only hope this would apply enough pressure to the blood vessels to slow the bleeding whilst he attempted to bandage the rest of this mess. Tearing the rest of his shirt into strips, he folded a few into pads. He packed the folded material the length of each wound, and then used the longer strips to bind them in place. He went about his grim work swiftly, relieved when the pale boy's arms were swaddled in cotton from elbow to wrist. His fingers danced up to check Malfoy's pulse again, only to discover angry silver-gray eyes boring into his skull. Malfoy's lips were chapped and peeling, bluish-white from blood loss. They moved in hardly more then a rasping whisper, "…Why did it have to be you?" Smoky blonde lashes fluttered and his eyes fell closed again, the brief return to consciousness too much of a strain.

Shock froze Harry. "Why did it have to be me? What's he on about?" He spoke aloud to himself, his voice echoing lightly in the large corridor.

That statement seemed to mean a million things Harry couldn't begin to fathom. He gave himself a shake that wasn't entirely mental, before pulling his jumper back on. Next order of business was to get Malfoy to the hospital wing. Laying out his cloak he gently shifted the other boy into the lingering warmth of the wool, almost nauseated when he felt how little he weighed. He really shouldn't be surprised; five months of regularly skipping meals would render anyone anorexic. Harry wrapped him tightly in his cloak, lifted and then cradled the fragile bundle in the circle of his arms this time to take off at a run for the hospital wing.

~*~*~*~

"Harry, you did exactly the right thing. I'm so very proud of you. Twenty points for Gryffindor." Professor McGonagall gently laid her hand on Harry's shoulder, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The Professor's gentle and nearly colorless eyes seemed to calm his nerves a little. "The headmaster would also like you to see you in his office." She continued, after a pause.

Harry turned on the balls of his feet swiftly to face the small bed in the back of the hospital wing where they had ensconced Malfoy. It was hard to tell were the ghostly-pale boy ended and the sharp bleached-whiteness of the sheets began- they were nearly the same color. Both his skin and hair were so pale the whole could have been carved from the same piece of ivory.

Professor McGonagall gave him a gentle shove towards the door. "You've done all you can for him, Harry, now run along." she nodded firmly to punctuate the last statement.

He let the momentum carry him a few steps, before halting again. The person lying in that bed resembled a husk more then a human, and not just because of the significant blood-loss. There had been something missing from the other boy since they had come back to school, and it wasn't just his failure to harass Harry and his friends. The emptiness was not just a physical reality, but a mental one as well; how close Harry had come to ending up this way, himself. He could only shake his head, before heading with renewed purpose to Dumbledore's office.

The gargoyle seemed to sense his presence, and jumped aside just when Harry realized that he didn't know the password. He felt his eyebrow arch of it own accord- he really shouldn't be surprised; after all, the Headmaster was expecting him.

"Come in Harry, you're blocking the stairwell." Even from here, he could hear the tired smile on the Headmaster's face.

Harry bounded up the circular stairwell taking the steps two at a time, even as it grated upwards of its own accord. He stepped inside the cluttered office, and chose the only surface that wasn't listing from the weight of magical items or paperwork to sit down. The office normally bustled with vibrant energy, but today even the paintings of the former headmasters were dull and silent. Dumbledore suddenly seemed older as well, the tracery of lines on his face drawn deeper, and more careworn then ever before.

The Headmaster leaned back in his chair; his hands had come together to form a steeple with his fingers, his middle digits just brushing the tip of his long pointed nose. "You know," he began tiredly. "This is something I have never had to deal with before. And because of who he is, I haven't the vaguest idea of where to begin. Tell me how you found him, if you please." Dumbledore looked up very abruptly and met Harry's eyes with an intensity that made him feel exposed.

Breaking eye contact, he shook his head, just twice, and gestured vaguely, trying to decide how to begin. "Well…" his voice gave out, and Harry cleared his throat forcefully. "Well," he tried again, "I didn't eat supper last night, and so I was going to the kitchens to have an early breakfast. I was lost in thought, and then I slipped and nearly fell… Then I realized what I had slipped in was blood, and I looked up and saw Malfoy sitting on the floor between two suits of armor, both of his arms slit from wrist to elbow."

Harry paused, and took a deep breath- he heard it shake as he exhaled, seeming so much louder then normal. "I took my shirt off, and used it to bandage his wounds. Then I wrapped him in my cloak and carried him to the hospital wing." Harry paused again, not sure if he should tell the Headmaster this part or not- "He woke up for just a second as I finished tying off the second bandage. He must have recognized me because he said, 'Why did it have to be you?' and he went unconscious again." Harry looked up then, for the first time realizing that his eyes had unfocused as he'd spoken.

"Professor", Harry took a deep breath while Dumbledore waited for him to finish. "There was so much blood. I really thought he would die as I was bandaging him up."

The tired old face lit in something near to its normal demeanor. "Harry, you did the best thing anyone could have done under the circumstances. I'm afraid to say that many people, including ones in this school now, would have simply left him to die. And you who have suffered more at the hands of him, his father, and his father's master, immediately tried to save him, without any thought whatsoever as to who he was- you only cared that he needed your help." The smile on the headmaster's face was now alight with pride. "When I remember that there are people like you Harry, I think we may just have a chance after all."

"You may go now." The headmaster changed subject and expression so abruptly Harry almost felt like he'd run into a wall. The ancient man was already staring into the empty space between himself and the window he was facing. "I know you haven't eaten breakfast, and as horrible as food may sound after what you've seen, you should at least try."

~*~*~*~

A silence unlike any he'd ever heard greeted him when he came into the Great Hall for breakfast. It was so oppressive that it stopped him cold in mid-stride. The entire school population seemed to be looking at him expectantly, as if they wanted him to make a speech.

Well, it wasn't any of their business. Harry knew that if it were he in Malfoy's place he wouldn't want the situation blabbed to the whole school. He couldn't possibly fathom how everyone had found out so quickly. Ignoring the curious stares, he sat down at the Gryffindor table in his usual place across from Ron and Hermione.

"Harry…" Ron began, and then fell silent when Hermione hissed at him. They glanced at each other simultaneously, and then back at him. Harry sighed.

He might as well get this out of the way. Calmly, he began shoveling scrambled eggs onto his plate. "You want to know what happened." Harry said flatly, now helping himself to the sausage links. He repeated his earlier speech about why and how he'd found Malfoy, but omitting the bit where Malfoy had briefly regained consciousness. He took a thoughtful bite of egg, while he waited for them to digest this news.

"Why'd you do it, Harry?" Ron blurted, seeming just as surprised that he'd said it. Harry didn't have to look to know that he and Hermione were giving Ron the same outraged expression.

"Why'd I do it? You mean, why did I save him? Why did I feel like I had to save someone who had always been nasty to us, and nearly everyone else? Why'd I save him when he's probably going to turn out just like his father?" The muscles in Harry's jaw worked as he tried to explain not only to Ron, but also himself, why he'd done it. The answer appeared quite clearly in his mind all of a sudden, and he continued, "Because, if I had left him there to die, that would have made me just like him."

The rest of breakfast and in fact the whole day, passed quickly and rather quieter then usual. Snape even left him alone during Potions, seemingly eyeing him with grudging respect.

After his last class let out, Harry headed straight to the hospital wing, a strong sense of purpose marking his stride. It wasn't his business, and it wasn't his problem, but he knew what it was like to want to die. And he wanted to know why.

~*~*~*~

The sun was just beginning to set when Draco Malfoy found himself thrust rather forcefully back into consciousness, thoroughly irritated that he was still alive. But then, he hadn't been able to do anything since he was eleven years old without tripping over Harry fucking Potter every step of the bloody way. That boy was destined to be the wild card in every deck, that much was certain.

Draco was only mildly surprised when the Defender of Truth and Justice himself came striding into the hospital wing, and headed directly towards him. He was of course, the absolute last person he wanted to see him this way. Of all the bloody 'effing people to walk down that particular corridor at that hour, why did it have to be him?

And what, for Merlin's sake, was he doing here now?

Harry hid his surprise that Malfoy was already awake. He grabbed the nearest chair spinning it around, so it was backwards. He straddled it, resting his arms across the back and his chin on top of his arms. "You're awake. I didn't think you would be."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Someone give Captain Obvious here a biscuit." His voice sounded weak to him, dry.

Harry eyed him thoughtfully, ignoring the sarcasm. "I know what it's like, you know." He paused, and Malfoy looked at him expectantly. "To want to die; I know what it's like. I just never had enough courage to go through with it."

For the first time in many months, Draco allowed himself to laugh. He hadn't heard anything quite that ridiculous in years! "You don't believe me." Harry's statement was clouded with the beginnings of anger.

"You're a perfect moron, you know that, Potter?" Malfoy paused briefly to wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes, and tucked a stray lock of platinum hair behind his ear. "Oh, I'm sure you've wanted to die. I'm sure everyone has at one point. That isn't why I'm laughing."

"Is that so." Another statement hissed with sarcasm dripping from every word.

"What I find funny is that you think it takes courage to off yourself. What it takes is cowardice. Living is hard- that takes courage. Death is easy, Potter." Malfoy looked absently out the window as he finished speaking, and missed all the color draining from Harry's face.

"How right you are, Mr. Malfoy, more right then you can possibly know." The Headmaster breezed in, his robes of purple and gold floating around his frail old body like a cloud, Snape in his familiar severe black following in his wake, to stand at the foot of his bed. Malfoy met Snape's glare defiantly, but found he couldn't look Dumbledore in the eye. "I'll have to tell your father."

Malfoy shrugged, the whole encounter already making him tired. "He won't care. He probably won't even reply to your owl." He finally looked up then forcing his silvery-gray orbs to meet Dumbledore's own faded blue ones. "You don't know Lucius as well as I do."

Snape was beginning to look mildly alarmed. "Draco, you are the only heir to the Malfoy name, Lucius will care that you almost died." Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes; if he were Malfoy, he'd feel LOADS better after that.

Anger surfaced across Malfoy's pale delicate features. "I'm telling you, Lucius will not care. I'm no longer his heir- I've been disowned", he finished with his voice strangely steady, and deadly calm.

Silence reigned. He could have dropped a dung bomb, and no one would have noticed. Under different circumstances he might have had a good laugh at their expense- It wasn't everyday that you got to see Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Potions Master Severus Snape, and Harry bloody POTTER all slack-jawed and wide-eyed in surprise. The headmaster recovered first. His blue eyes seemed to sharpen as they narrowed. "Mr. Malfoy, I suggest you elaborate on how your situation came to be."

"Headmaster, you can't expect me to tell you with him listening." Malfoy gestured vaguely in Harry's direction.

"I most certainly do. You may begin." The words spoken were politely enough, though they carried a thinly veiled command, and a tone while pleasant was enough to make Malfoy stiffen. He clenched the sheet in one white knuckled fist. "There were two things that did it. The first one was not enough by itself. The second would have done it by itself, but when the first was added to it, Lucius found it completely unacceptable."

"You are stalling, Mr. Malfoy. I will not send Harry away."

Draco stared very hard at the sheets, and the whiteness of his clenched fists. There would be bloody holes in his palms from his fingernails, he knew. "The first thing," he paused, trembling visibly now, "The first thing I did was refuse to marry after I finished school."

Snape's face seemed to relax just enough to be noticeable. "You dislike the person Lucius chose for you?"

Draco felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance. Snape could be incredibly dense sometimes. "I refused to marry. Period. Now, or ever, regardless of who it is."

Harry, who had not moved or spoken in quite some time, interrupted quietly. "I don't understand."

"Holy Morgan, Mother of Mordred(1), you're going to make me come out and say it." Draco dropped his head into his hands. "If I marry, I'd be expected to father children." Harry could almost hear the revulsion dripping off each word as they fell from Malfoy's mouth. His disgust was palpable; Harry felt his stomach give a lurch in sympathetic nausea. Comprehension must have dawned on his face, because Malfoy cocked an amused eyebrow in his direction. "Little slow on the uptake there, Potter. Yes, I prefer my own gender."

Snape abruptly sat down on the bed next to his, his features blank. Harry found that he was dizzy- if he hadn't been sitting down already, he would have had to as well.

The Headmaster didn't even waver. "And the other thing?" he pressed.

"I refused the Dark Mark."

Harry found quite suddenly that he was on the cold tile floor; the chair seemed to have expelled him from its seat with a will of its own.

Malfoy cast an amused glance at Harry, before looking to see the reaction of the other two. Snape was still catatonic from the first revelation, and apparently hadn't been paying attention. The Headmaster looked genuinely surprised, and very pleased. "Mr. Malfoy, I am of course very pleased with your decision. I'm also horrified that your father forced that decision upon you at all. What did he do when you told him?

"What do you think he did? He beat me for three full hours, and then tossed me out on my ear like garbage. I took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley, and got a room at the Leaky Cauldron until it was time to come back to school. I obviously didn't go home for the holidays." All of this was spoken clinically, Harry noticed, coldly, and all the while Malfoy gazed out the window, his silver eyes fixed on something no one else could see.

The Headmaster was silent for a long while. Finally, he spoke carefully, "The pressure on you must have been enormous. Madame Pomfrey tells me that it will be several days before you will be able to make up for the significant blood loss you've sustained, and I want you to take that time to relax as much as possible."

"In light of what you have revealed to me, I will not send an Owl to Malfoy Manor." This news received no reaction whatsoever from Malfoy. He continued to stare out the window blankly. The Headmaster stayed for a few minutes longer, before silently retreating, Snape following equally silent soon after.

---- Next chapter

~*~*~*~
Footnotes:

(1) Morgan le Fey, half-sister to King Arthur, was also the mother of Arthur's only son Mordred. Mordred later attempted to kill Arthur, and died in the attempt. Legend says that Morgan took Arthur to the Isle of Avalon where he lies sleeping waiting to rise again when Britain needs him.