Ok, this is based on the song "Faint" by Lincoln Park. It's kinda long so I'm gonna give it to you in little parts, it will only be one chapter though! So, it'll be one chapter with me constantly adding to it until the story is done.. I can't divide a story into different chapters.. Ask! I'm rambling again! Here's the story, and I'll be quiet now.
Faint
Collin was in a right state, pacing the room and panicking. "I just don't know what to do Gin... If anyone finds out... Rag! This is hard, I just don't know what to do!"
"Start by sitting down and taking a few breaths!" Ginny told him, "I can't help you if you can't talk." He sat down in the arm chair across from Ginny in the empty classroom Professor McGonagall had let her use for her sessions. Collin slowed down his breathing, but still looked a bit panicky, "It's ok Collin, I'm your Secret Keeper. Tell me the secret you wish me to keep and help the problem go away"
Taking a deep breath, he started. "Ok, well my brother Dennis was a bit mad at me so he took my camera. After he stalked me a bit he err.. Managed to get an.. Umm.. Embarrassing picture of me and now he's threatening to show it to all of the 6th years! I don't know what to do."
"Don't worry Collin. All you have to do is talk to Dennis. Whatever made him mad at you, make it up to him." Looking slightly relieved, he got up and said, "Ok Gin. Keep the Secret?" "Always will." was her reply, as Collin walked out the door.
Since no one came in after Collin, Ginny guessed the long line of students waiting to talk to her was finally finished. So, she got up and headed back to her dormitory. Ever since her fourth year, Professor McGonagall had let her use her classroom in the evening to give advice to students who needed help or just needed someone to talk to. She had been quite good at it and had continued to do it up to the present time, her 6th year. Reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, she said the password, "Poppyfiggle", climbed in and since it was 9 o'clock, went up to bed.
Handful of complaints but I can't help the fact
That everyone can see these scars."Damn, that one hurt like hell," and other such thoughts ran through the mind of a certain Slytherin 7th year. Draco Malfoy, covered in the invisibility cloak his father had given him, limped painfully down the blissfully empty halls of Hogwarts. Taking sharp breaths, he managed to make it down to the dungeons, hiss out the password, and crawl up to his dormitory. Hearing the loud snores that were his four sleeping roommates, he decided it was safe to become visible. He threw his silver cloak down on his elegant and decorated bed before continuing to limp his way to the bathroom to take a shower and see what damage had been done tonight.
Striping down, he put his blood-stained clothes in the laundry and stepped into the shower, Hot water fell on the boys' back, stinging every cut, gash, stab, and scar. As he watched the blood being washed away from his wounds and pool at his feet, memories of what had happened raced through his head.
Flashback
"You are not trying, Draco! CRUCIO!!" spat one, Lucious Malfoy. "The Dark Lord had no need of a wimpy weakling!" His cold, gray eyes showed no emotion as he watched his son writhing in pain on the ground in at his feet, trying not to scream. When one finally escaped his lips and pierced the dark night, Lucious's wand quickly transformed onto a scimitar and slashed his side. Draco bit his lip and held it in, not showing the tears practically begging to be let out and wishing these weekly meetings would stop. He had enough scars on his body to serve as "reminders", as his father called them, for life.
"Just make it stop," he thought to himself. "Just let it all go away..."
End Flashback
Draco shuddered at the memories of all his father had put him through. Since the day he became of age at 17, Draco had been "learning" from him. Lucious taught him curses, even the Unforgivables, and had even made him perform them. First, on small animals, then on larger ones, and soon, according to his father, muggles would fall victim. Draco didn't like it one bit. He had been with his father when he had tortured the muggles at the Quiditch World Cup, and yes he had found it quite amusing. Though then he had been only 14. Two years later, his father had taken Draco and killed muggles in front of him and Draco had found it sick. He wanted out.
Grabbing the medicinal soap Dobby had swiped for him from Madame Pomfrey, he began to rub it over his wounds. As the almost unbearable stinging sensation passed he watched as the cuts and stabs covering his body shrank and became nothing more than scars. He rinsed off, got out, dried off, and climbed into bed, wishing there was someone who could help him, someone he could tell, but no. He, Draco Malfoy, was alone. I am what I want you to want, what I want you to feel,
But it's like no matter what I do I can't convince you
To just believe this is real.