Note: Rating change due to language! Had to stay true to the character…

Draco sat at his desk, reading the newest issue of Vanity Fair. He looked at the Reese Witherspoon excerpt longer than the rest of the excerpts in the issue, but this is not to be noticed. His office door swung open suddenly and the sounds of thunder flooded the room. He didn't look up, however, but simply said, "Have a seat," and laid his magazine down. He was used to this sort of thing by now. He'd had many dramatic patients throughout the years. When he looked back up, and at the door, the tall woman from yesterday was no longer a woman. She'd regained her masculinity over night, it seemed. The man there now was dressed head to toe in black, or it was assumed that he was, because he had a large duster covering his clothes. His hair hung in his face spookily and the boom box on his shoulder continued to emit rainstorm noises. "Have a seat," Draco said again.

"What? Do I…frighten you?" Harry (?) asked dramatically.

"Er…yes, would you mind turning your music down?"

"It's not music. It's art for the ears."

"Whatever…please…turn it down and come over here." He finally did as he was told. Draco took out his notepad and pen. "What is your name?"

"Michael." He said distractedly, more focused on his chipped black nails than Draco.

"Really?"

"Yeah, like the arch angel."

"You're religious, then?"

"Fuck no!" He said, suddenly aware. He laughed maniacally. Draco scribbled in his notepad.

"So…what's been bothering you lately?"

"The human race. Christian freaks. You. Me. And sunscreen."

"Care to talk about the sunscreen?" Michael's face darkened.

"No. Don't you ever ask me about it again if you know what's good for you." He curled his left hand into a fist. Almost.

"What's that on your finger?" Draco pointed to a metal covering on his left ring finger, which had made his fist look a little bit silly.

"It's a claw, dumbass. What does it look like?"

"Why are you wearing it?"

"In case I have to shove it-,"

"What about hating yourself?" He cut in. "I heard something about that. Want to talk about that?"

"Want to see something?" He rifled through the shirts he was wearing before finding the bottom one and awkwardly lifting it so his stomach was showing. Tens of names were carved into his skin. "This is me. This is what I hate." The name Melinda was beginning to bleed again. Draco scribbled furiously.

"Who are those people?"

"I said that already, they're me. All of them. Some of them have eve come back."

"And you remember them all?"

"Yes."

"And you can't stop them from coming back?"

"No. It's like having a constant house party. They're all in my head right now, telling me what to say and how to hold myself and how to do my make up…"

"They're worried about your make up?"

"Yes."

"Sound like good people."

"Oh, they are. All except for Tristan and Veronica…Tristan was sent to jail on drug charges, and Veronica was a prostitute."

"How long do they control you?"

"Well, I've been around for a year, altogether. I'm the one that cuts, so I have to come back a lot and keep track of all of them."

"Why not keep it on paper instead of on your stomach?"

"Because Regina eats paper. And paste. I swear to god, she's got the mentality of a six year old…" He shook his head. Then he took a lighter out of his pocket and began to burn his fingers.

"Stop it." Draco scolded. Michael put the lighter back in his pocket. "Where do you work?"

"I don't. I think I inherited the…" He trailed off. "Harry says I got the money from the two dead ones. He won't mention names, though."

"Are you talking to Harry now?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him Draco says hi." Michael's eyes glazed over a bit, and then came back to life a second later.

"Fuck, you guys slept together?" He stood up and grabbed a bottle of pills out of his pocket. He downed a few.

"Woah woah woah! Put 'em down! What are those?"

"Oh, they're nothing. They're just to shut Harry up. He's in one of those nostalgic moods." He rolled his heavily eyeliner-ed eyes. "He's such a baby sometimes." He checked his watch, which was somehow visible under the layers of clothes he had on. "I've got to get going, I think I heard my doorbell…" He grabbed his boom box and walked out with heavy footsteps.
Draco kept on scribbling on his notepad.

Next Chapter: This one will probably be one of the 'cards' my dad works with. It'd be funny if it offended someone.

Dedication: This is dedicated to probably the coolest person I know, Ryan. I hope to god he doesn't read this.

And thanks sooo much for the reviews! Thank you! Now I just hope to get more than four, and I'll be happy.