Warning: This is a slash fiction involving the pairing of Harry and Draco.
If you don't go for that, don't read.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They all belong to that wonderful author J.K. Rowling. I'm jealous.
Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for me to update! Scouts honour it won't happen again.
Enjoy...
Draco hunched his body as he sat on the ground in his dorm, his forehead leaning against his palms, elbows on his knees. 'What is wrong with me? Am I so weak I can't get through this? And...And him. Why won't he get out of my head?' Draco screamed in his mind, images of him appearing behind closed eyelids.
Draco felt both frightened and disgusted at his newly discovered 'feelings' for Harry Potter, the incessant idea of what his father would do should he find out never straying far from his mind. His stomach gave a violent lurch as he visualised his father's penetrating eyes that mirrored his own, filled with the promise of consequence that Draco could not even comprehend.
Draco looked down at his bare arms; red slits scattered and stitched on his pale, thin arms. Draco had given up looking for help, or for looking for someone to reach out to. His cries for help were silenced years ago, when he realised no one was there to give it. His semaphore for help was broken.
Draco's eyes snapped open. Struggling to his feet, he stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed against the sink, the only thing keeping him vertical were his trembling pale hands grasping the counter as he looked in the mirror. Broken silver eyes stared back at him, seemingly endless despair and loneliness enclosed within. His eyes were sunken, dark rings circling them. His flawless skin was white and pasty for lack of nutrition, tendrils of soft, white blonde hair sticking to his forehead. One hand slowly came up and touched his soft cheek, his eyes glistening with a veneer of tears. What had happened to him in the past few years? He had once been so proud and confident; the perfect Slytherin. Now Draco felt like a mere shadow of himself. An empty shell so lost and confused he felt like a personification of those feelings.
A second later, he was bent over, his stomach lurching as he threw up everything he had eaten the last two days. His knuckles turned white as he gripped with astonishing force to the counter. His skinny, frail, white body trembled viciously as the jerking in his toned chest and stomach subsided and he straightened up slowly, his dark eyes returning to gaze at himself once again. His coral lips were parted, his chest heaving as his breathing slowly decreased, strands of silk hair falling limp over his eyes filled with hatred at who he was looking at.
Himself.
"Really, Ron!" Hermione said crossly as she, Ron and Harry walked towards the Great Hall for breakfast that Saturday morning, as Ron and Harry laughed and remembered the evening before at dinner, when Professor Trelawny began screeching in her seat as Hagrid failed to see her and sat down on top of her. Although Hermione was not the greatest fan of the Divination Professor, she found no humour in laughing at their expense.
"We're just taking the mickey, Hermione." Ron said, ignoring Hermione's scoff in reply as he turned the corner which led into the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione following. Sitting down across from the two, Harry picked up a slice of toast and began buttering it, his eyes wandering up to Ron and Hermione who were arguing over Ron's study routine. Harry merely rolled his eyes and ate his toast, idly listening to the Quidditch conversation between Seamus and Neville.
The murmur and chatter in the Great Hall was oddly gentle, and soon Harry became aware of it. Usually the majority of the noise would occur at the Slytherin Table, particularly at the same cluster of students which would assemble around a certain blonde haired boy named Draco Malfoy. Harry's startling green eyes wandered over to where Draco and his assortment of followers would normally sit, and found merely a quietly scattered number, with no sign of Malfoy, despite the fact Crabbe and Goyle were there. Harry raised an eyebrow, dimly wondering where Malfoy was. 'Stupid git is probably doing his hair,' Thought Harry, drumming his fingers against the polished wood of the table as his thoughts drifted back to the previous day in Potions when he came face to face with Draco Malfoy and had been surprised at the silent nature of him – a startling contrast to his usual personality.
"What you looking at, Harry?" Ron queried, following his gaze over to the Slytherin table. Harry shook himself back, answering quickly, "Hm? Oh, I was just wondering where Malfoy was. His cronies look a little lost." Harry added the last part with a chuckle, placing the last of his toast into his mouth. Ron glowered, "Probably doing his hair." Harry laughed to himself, not bothering to point out to Ron he had thought the same.
It was then did Draco Malfoy walk through the monstrous doors of the Great Hall. "Look who it is." Mumbled Ron, his brown eyes narrowing and Harry now followed his gaze, scowling as he saw Draco coming in through the doors, a listless, uncaring expression plastered on his face. However, Harry looked at him again, and raised an eyebrow. "Ron...Was Malfoy always that thin?" It was then did Hermione look up from her Defence Against the Dark Arts book and join in their conversation.
Shutting the oversized book, Hermione looked at Malfoy as he slowly walked towards the Slytherin table. "No. He has seemed to be getting quite thin lately. His parents must have stopped sending him all those sweets." Sniffing, Hermione turned back to the two boys, picking up her goblet and drinking the last of her orange juice. "Well, I'm off. Ron, you really need to finish your Potions essay. I daresay you will need today and tomorrow, since you haven't started it at all and its due Monday." Ron rolled his eyes, groaned and followed a brisk Hermione grudgingly, waving goodbye to Harry. "See you up there, mate?" Harry nodded, watching them both leave. There was not many in the Great Hall anymore, many students either returning to their common rooms to study or enjoy their free-time.
Harry once again looked at Draco Malfoy, who was sitting alone at the Slytherin table, his skinny frame curled inwards as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible, his blonde head tilting down towards his bowl of porridge, wisps of his hair shielding his eyes. Harry began drumming his fingers against the table once again, trying to figure out why Malfoy was acting so...Un-Malfoy-ish.
Draco swirled his spoon around his bowl, watching the blobby porridge separate and mould into each other, but not seeing it. He was lost in thought; shooting pains in his stomach were the only things keeping him in the Great Hall. He could feel the penetrating eyes on him; 'His eyes. Always filled with malice towards me.' Draco swallowed, remembering the day before when he bumped into Harry in Potions. Draco could see the expectation in Harry's face, waiting for Draco to make some sort of snide comment; Waiting for Draco to act like his father's puppet as he had always done; Waiting for Draco to waltz to his father's demands. In return, Draco had slowly become more and more depressed. Both emotional and physical wounds covered him, both caused by his father and self-inflicted. He no longer believed he could be saved, therefore he never said a word.
'Not anymore. I can't keep going like this. I can't...I can't...' Draco squeezed his eyes shut. How could he have let his Father destroy everything he loved? To take away everything that made him happy or held the potential to make him happy? Now all Draco could feel was a gaping hole inside of him, threatening to turn inside-out and swallow him completely, leaving nothing but despair.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They all belong to that wonderful author J.K. Rowling. I'm jealous.
Author's Note: Sorry it took so long for me to update! Scouts honour it won't happen again.
Enjoy...
Draco hunched his body as he sat on the ground in his dorm, his forehead leaning against his palms, elbows on his knees. 'What is wrong with me? Am I so weak I can't get through this? And...And him. Why won't he get out of my head?' Draco screamed in his mind, images of him appearing behind closed eyelids.
Draco felt both frightened and disgusted at his newly discovered 'feelings' for Harry Potter, the incessant idea of what his father would do should he find out never straying far from his mind. His stomach gave a violent lurch as he visualised his father's penetrating eyes that mirrored his own, filled with the promise of consequence that Draco could not even comprehend.
Draco looked down at his bare arms; red slits scattered and stitched on his pale, thin arms. Draco had given up looking for help, or for looking for someone to reach out to. His cries for help were silenced years ago, when he realised no one was there to give it. His semaphore for help was broken.
Draco's eyes snapped open. Struggling to his feet, he stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed against the sink, the only thing keeping him vertical were his trembling pale hands grasping the counter as he looked in the mirror. Broken silver eyes stared back at him, seemingly endless despair and loneliness enclosed within. His eyes were sunken, dark rings circling them. His flawless skin was white and pasty for lack of nutrition, tendrils of soft, white blonde hair sticking to his forehead. One hand slowly came up and touched his soft cheek, his eyes glistening with a veneer of tears. What had happened to him in the past few years? He had once been so proud and confident; the perfect Slytherin. Now Draco felt like a mere shadow of himself. An empty shell so lost and confused he felt like a personification of those feelings.
A second later, he was bent over, his stomach lurching as he threw up everything he had eaten the last two days. His knuckles turned white as he gripped with astonishing force to the counter. His skinny, frail, white body trembled viciously as the jerking in his toned chest and stomach subsided and he straightened up slowly, his dark eyes returning to gaze at himself once again. His coral lips were parted, his chest heaving as his breathing slowly decreased, strands of silk hair falling limp over his eyes filled with hatred at who he was looking at.
Himself.
"Really, Ron!" Hermione said crossly as she, Ron and Harry walked towards the Great Hall for breakfast that Saturday morning, as Ron and Harry laughed and remembered the evening before at dinner, when Professor Trelawny began screeching in her seat as Hagrid failed to see her and sat down on top of her. Although Hermione was not the greatest fan of the Divination Professor, she found no humour in laughing at their expense.
"We're just taking the mickey, Hermione." Ron said, ignoring Hermione's scoff in reply as he turned the corner which led into the Great Hall, Harry and Hermione following. Sitting down across from the two, Harry picked up a slice of toast and began buttering it, his eyes wandering up to Ron and Hermione who were arguing over Ron's study routine. Harry merely rolled his eyes and ate his toast, idly listening to the Quidditch conversation between Seamus and Neville.
The murmur and chatter in the Great Hall was oddly gentle, and soon Harry became aware of it. Usually the majority of the noise would occur at the Slytherin Table, particularly at the same cluster of students which would assemble around a certain blonde haired boy named Draco Malfoy. Harry's startling green eyes wandered over to where Draco and his assortment of followers would normally sit, and found merely a quietly scattered number, with no sign of Malfoy, despite the fact Crabbe and Goyle were there. Harry raised an eyebrow, dimly wondering where Malfoy was. 'Stupid git is probably doing his hair,' Thought Harry, drumming his fingers against the polished wood of the table as his thoughts drifted back to the previous day in Potions when he came face to face with Draco Malfoy and had been surprised at the silent nature of him – a startling contrast to his usual personality.
"What you looking at, Harry?" Ron queried, following his gaze over to the Slytherin table. Harry shook himself back, answering quickly, "Hm? Oh, I was just wondering where Malfoy was. His cronies look a little lost." Harry added the last part with a chuckle, placing the last of his toast into his mouth. Ron glowered, "Probably doing his hair." Harry laughed to himself, not bothering to point out to Ron he had thought the same.
It was then did Draco Malfoy walk through the monstrous doors of the Great Hall. "Look who it is." Mumbled Ron, his brown eyes narrowing and Harry now followed his gaze, scowling as he saw Draco coming in through the doors, a listless, uncaring expression plastered on his face. However, Harry looked at him again, and raised an eyebrow. "Ron...Was Malfoy always that thin?" It was then did Hermione look up from her Defence Against the Dark Arts book and join in their conversation.
Shutting the oversized book, Hermione looked at Malfoy as he slowly walked towards the Slytherin table. "No. He has seemed to be getting quite thin lately. His parents must have stopped sending him all those sweets." Sniffing, Hermione turned back to the two boys, picking up her goblet and drinking the last of her orange juice. "Well, I'm off. Ron, you really need to finish your Potions essay. I daresay you will need today and tomorrow, since you haven't started it at all and its due Monday." Ron rolled his eyes, groaned and followed a brisk Hermione grudgingly, waving goodbye to Harry. "See you up there, mate?" Harry nodded, watching them both leave. There was not many in the Great Hall anymore, many students either returning to their common rooms to study or enjoy their free-time.
Harry once again looked at Draco Malfoy, who was sitting alone at the Slytherin table, his skinny frame curled inwards as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible, his blonde head tilting down towards his bowl of porridge, wisps of his hair shielding his eyes. Harry began drumming his fingers against the table once again, trying to figure out why Malfoy was acting so...Un-Malfoy-ish.
Draco swirled his spoon around his bowl, watching the blobby porridge separate and mould into each other, but not seeing it. He was lost in thought; shooting pains in his stomach were the only things keeping him in the Great Hall. He could feel the penetrating eyes on him; 'His eyes. Always filled with malice towards me.' Draco swallowed, remembering the day before when he bumped into Harry in Potions. Draco could see the expectation in Harry's face, waiting for Draco to make some sort of snide comment; Waiting for Draco to act like his father's puppet as he had always done; Waiting for Draco to waltz to his father's demands. In return, Draco had slowly become more and more depressed. Both emotional and physical wounds covered him, both caused by his father and self-inflicted. He no longer believed he could be saved, therefore he never said a word.
'Not anymore. I can't keep going like this. I can't...I can't...' Draco squeezed his eyes shut. How could he have let his Father destroy everything he loved? To take away everything that made him happy or held the potential to make him happy? Now all Draco could feel was a gaping hole inside of him, threatening to turn inside-out and swallow him completely, leaving nothing but despair.