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: See? I'm updating! Yaaay! I forgot how much I loved this story! Thankyou to everyone who reviewed, I can honestly say they were what made me keep updating, knowing people appreciated it. And 'pixy stixs' – thankyou! I promise I won't leave it as much as I did.
Enjoy...
xXx
Saturday came and went, and before the students of Hogwarts knew it, it was Sunday evening. The once warm and comfortable weather (that wasn't expected during the early winter season) leaving and being replaced with grumbling black clouds rolling across the light blue sky as the sun sank into the darkening lake. Droplets of cold rain fell to the dampening ground, slowly getting heavier and heavier, the sound of the rain on the ground reaching a crescendo as students ran from the grounds into the castle. However there was one person who was not sprinting for the sanctuary of Hogwarts. One lone, dark figure stayed where he was, sitting on a bench in the gardens. From a distance, the figure was merely a silhouette, no detail or features forming, just a flat surface of black. This was, in fact, just how Draco Malfoy felt, as he sat there on that bench, rain streaming down from the sky. Black. With no detail or features. He felt utterly numb, devoid of specific characteristics that set him apart. As far as Draco was concerned, he was merely a shadow of the torment and anguish he had succumbed to as a child.
To anyone around Draco, they would not realise he was crying. He loathed crying – always had. Although that was a legacy of his father's doing. Draco's cries for help as a child only led to more beatings. 'Tough Love' was what his father called it, however Draco had never heard his father tell him he loved him before. Not even at a toddler's age. It was just something Lucius Malfoy never did, and Draco Malfoy, his only son, never expected it of him either. So it goes.
Draco's soft white blonde hair (now slightly darker due to the water) hung around his face, heavy with rain, which was coursing down his perfect, gentle features that seemed familiar to a male Veela's. Tears ran from his downcast eyes, missing in with the rain on his cheeks and falling onto his lap. The sixteen year old boy saw no need to go into the castle. The idea of facing his fellow Slytherin's and the irate looks from other houses seemed too much to bear. Just thinking about it made tension bubble inside of him, wishing he had something sharp as he pulled up his sleeve and looked at his scraped wrist, the veins teasing him. His grey eyes widened as he stared at the blue strings running around his wrist, pumping blood to his hands. He could hear the pumping in his temples, like the beating of his heart. Images of splattered blood and shredding skin overcame him, making his head dizzy. 'How long can I keep going like this?' He thought weakly, 'How long can I keep pretending?'
It was then did Draco realise just how cold he was. It seemed everything was not really there; everything was anaesthetized to the point where Draco felt like he wasn't really there at all. Like he was watching his body act in a play of his miserable life.
Getting up from the bench, Draco ran a hand through his sopping hair, trying to keep it out of his eyes as he looked up towards the castle. "Back to your stage, Draco." He said to himself as he pushed his hands into his side pockets and began walking towards the castle, his head tilting downwards so he would not see the lights glowing from the Gryffindor tower, taunting him.
iYour head will collapse if there's nothing in it And you'll ask yourself "Where is my mind?"/i
xXx
Harry pushed his hand through his ruffled flop of hair as he stared down at the two-foot long sheet of parchment, his own writing scribbled in lines describing the mating habits of trolls. His green eyes were misty and red from being rubbed to stay open.
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who were arguing over a paragraph in Ron's essay. Hermione, of course, had already finished her essay long ago, and was even twice as long as Harry's and Ron's put together. Harry dimly wondered how Hermione could write so much on the sex life of trolls. His toned chest heaved as he breathed out a breath of air, finally deciding he had done enough. He had been working solidly for 5 hours, not including the large amount he had done the day before. "Ron, Hermione, I'm going back to the dorms." Hermione and Ron stopped arguing and looked at Harry, nodding in reply and instantly finishing the sentences they had cut short before. Chuckling, Harry got to his feet, placing his parchment into his book and shoving it into his bag which he swung over his shoulder and walked out of the large library. Stepping into the cold, empty corridor, Harry could hear the heavy downpour of rain, and wondered how long it had been raining. He had spent the entire day in the library, and when he had entered, the sky outside was completely clear.
Slowly, Harry strolled towards the Gryffindor Common Room, his hands in his pockets as he savoured the rich smell of clean, brisk, rain trodden air. Harry had always loved he rain, despite the overwhelming amount his country of residence received. He never got tired of it. There was no one else out walking the corridors. It was late, and everyone was either in their common rooms or in the library finishing off weekend homework. However, Harry could see someone else as he turned a corner, on the other end of the corridor. The person was coming in through the Entrance Hall and Harry wondered what someone was doing out in the rain at this hour, especially since, from making out the outline and height of the person, they seemed to be a student. Slowly, Harry realised who it was at the two people walked towards each other. The shimmering, white blonde hair was unmistakable, and the small, undernourished body was familiar only to a Draco Malfoy. Harry inwardly groaned, and Draco Malfoy's stomach dropped. He couldn't walk straight past Potter without saying something.
"Midnight stroll, Potter?" Draco said, his voice (to his disappointment) lacking its usual venom, and Harry caught on this as he looked at Draco warily.
"What's it to you, Malfoy?" He replied, scowling as he eyed Draco's saturated clothes, "Midnight dip in the lake?"
Draco sneered, running a white hand through his hair, flicking it back as tendrils bounced back in front of his dark eyes, making Harry feel more uncomfortable. Draco's sopping clothes clinged to his frail body, emphasising his skinny disposition. Harry eyed him quickly, wondering why Draco Malfoy was so thin all of a sudden. At the same time, both boys turned and continued walking; Draco breathed a shaky sigh, the tension in his body getting stronger as the lump in his throat stung, his heart feeling heavier and heavier as the distance between the two grew.
As Draco descended the stone steps into the dungeons, he stopped. Drawing back his fist, Draco slammed it into the stone wall next to him, letting out a blood-curling yell as his fist impacted, blood dripping from his small knuckles as he crumpled to the ground, his knees slamming against the ground. Draco breathed violently, his shoulders contracting quickly as his breath came close to hyperventilation. His shaking hands came up and cradled his head as Draco tried to stop the spinning. 'How does he do this do me?' Draco thought viciously, squeezing his eyes shut.
xXx
"Attention!" Snape's voice coldly called through the classroom. Silence reigned supreme.
Snape's eyes peered slowly at every solitary student sitting rigid in their seats, as if daring one of them to say or do something. However, the sixth year class new better. Feeling satisfied at his grip of authority, Snape began pacing the room, one claw-like hand in his robe pocket, the other holding onto his wand. "You will brew the potion on page 793 in your text. I expect all of you to hand in your completed work on my desk by the end of the lesson." And with that, Snape turned his back and went back to his desk at the front of the classroom. The shuffle of chairs books and ingredients could be heard as everyone got to their feet, brought out their cauldrons and began working. Harry sighed, flipping to page 793 and skimming through the ingredients. With a groan, Harry exclaimed to Ron next to him, who was also reading the methods, "This is a complicated one. Why doesn't Snape ever give us /i potions?" Ron shook his head, scowling at the page. Before long, the whole class was brewing their potions, Neville Longbottom (who had partnered up with Hermione for his sake) managed to turn their potion pink with green polka-dots, to Hermione's passionate exasperation.
"Longbottom! 50 points from Gryffindor." Snape's calculating voice exclaimed from behind, making Neville jump.
On the other side of the classroom, Draco was busy making his potion. His hands were ice cold and beginning to ache. As he chopped up a spider's abdomen, Draco's stomach lurched. He hadn't eaten since the week before, and was getting weaker and weaker. Dark rings circled his misty grey eyes; nightmares had plagued him the night before, terrifying him to the point where he boycotted sleep. Draco dropped the spider's abdomen into the cauldron, making a silver vapour rise and hang in the air. He stepped back, coughing and running a hand through his silvery hair gracefully. He looked up, glancing around the classroom. He had been too frightened to, for fear of Potter seeing him. The night before still plagued him, and he had thought of little else.
His eyes landed on Harry Potter, talking happily with Ron Weasley. A sense of burning jealousy crept up inside Draco, the tension he felt inside of him after his encounter with Potter the previous night returning, only worse. His head felt empty and light, pangs in his temples like bells making him grip the table. His ethereal face drained of blood, his hands sweating and a fever overwhelming him.
i"Draco!...Stop screaming! Your cries for help won't stop me hurting you..."/i
Draco gasped. The glass he was holding fell to the ground and shattered. Everyone in the class stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Draco stared straight ahead, his vision darkening and becoming blurry. 'Why can I hear that screaming? Why won't it stop?! Why...'
i'Stop screaming!...Stop!...Stop!'/i
'Why...'
Suddenly everything went black. Draco collapsed to the ground. Vaguely, he could hear the sounds of gasps and cries and people running to his side, but these sounds were eclipsed by the sound of his own childish screams of torment as he slowly lost consciousness.
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They all belong to that wonderful author J.K. Rowling. I'm jealous.
Author's Note: See? I'm updating! Yaaay! I forgot how much I loved this story! Thankyou to everyone who reviewed, I can honestly say they were what made me keep updating, knowing people appreciated it. And 'pixy stixs' – thankyou! I promise I won't leave it as much as I did.
Enjoy...
xXx
Saturday came and went, and before the students of Hogwarts knew it, it was Sunday evening. The once warm and comfortable weather (that wasn't expected during the early winter season) leaving and being replaced with grumbling black clouds rolling across the light blue sky as the sun sank into the darkening lake. Droplets of cold rain fell to the dampening ground, slowly getting heavier and heavier, the sound of the rain on the ground reaching a crescendo as students ran from the grounds into the castle. However there was one person who was not sprinting for the sanctuary of Hogwarts. One lone, dark figure stayed where he was, sitting on a bench in the gardens. From a distance, the figure was merely a silhouette, no detail or features forming, just a flat surface of black. This was, in fact, just how Draco Malfoy felt, as he sat there on that bench, rain streaming down from the sky. Black. With no detail or features. He felt utterly numb, devoid of specific characteristics that set him apart. As far as Draco was concerned, he was merely a shadow of the torment and anguish he had succumbed to as a child.
To anyone around Draco, they would not realise he was crying. He loathed crying – always had. Although that was a legacy of his father's doing. Draco's cries for help as a child only led to more beatings. 'Tough Love' was what his father called it, however Draco had never heard his father tell him he loved him before. Not even at a toddler's age. It was just something Lucius Malfoy never did, and Draco Malfoy, his only son, never expected it of him either. So it goes.
Draco's soft white blonde hair (now slightly darker due to the water) hung around his face, heavy with rain, which was coursing down his perfect, gentle features that seemed familiar to a male Veela's. Tears ran from his downcast eyes, missing in with the rain on his cheeks and falling onto his lap. The sixteen year old boy saw no need to go into the castle. The idea of facing his fellow Slytherin's and the irate looks from other houses seemed too much to bear. Just thinking about it made tension bubble inside of him, wishing he had something sharp as he pulled up his sleeve and looked at his scraped wrist, the veins teasing him. His grey eyes widened as he stared at the blue strings running around his wrist, pumping blood to his hands. He could hear the pumping in his temples, like the beating of his heart. Images of splattered blood and shredding skin overcame him, making his head dizzy. 'How long can I keep going like this?' He thought weakly, 'How long can I keep pretending?'
It was then did Draco realise just how cold he was. It seemed everything was not really there; everything was anaesthetized to the point where Draco felt like he wasn't really there at all. Like he was watching his body act in a play of his miserable life.
Getting up from the bench, Draco ran a hand through his sopping hair, trying to keep it out of his eyes as he looked up towards the castle. "Back to your stage, Draco." He said to himself as he pushed his hands into his side pockets and began walking towards the castle, his head tilting downwards so he would not see the lights glowing from the Gryffindor tower, taunting him.
iYour head will collapse if there's nothing in it And you'll ask yourself "Where is my mind?"/i
xXx
Harry pushed his hand through his ruffled flop of hair as he stared down at the two-foot long sheet of parchment, his own writing scribbled in lines describing the mating habits of trolls. His green eyes were misty and red from being rubbed to stay open.
Harry looked at Ron and Hermione, who were arguing over a paragraph in Ron's essay. Hermione, of course, had already finished her essay long ago, and was even twice as long as Harry's and Ron's put together. Harry dimly wondered how Hermione could write so much on the sex life of trolls. His toned chest heaved as he breathed out a breath of air, finally deciding he had done enough. He had been working solidly for 5 hours, not including the large amount he had done the day before. "Ron, Hermione, I'm going back to the dorms." Hermione and Ron stopped arguing and looked at Harry, nodding in reply and instantly finishing the sentences they had cut short before. Chuckling, Harry got to his feet, placing his parchment into his book and shoving it into his bag which he swung over his shoulder and walked out of the large library. Stepping into the cold, empty corridor, Harry could hear the heavy downpour of rain, and wondered how long it had been raining. He had spent the entire day in the library, and when he had entered, the sky outside was completely clear.
Slowly, Harry strolled towards the Gryffindor Common Room, his hands in his pockets as he savoured the rich smell of clean, brisk, rain trodden air. Harry had always loved he rain, despite the overwhelming amount his country of residence received. He never got tired of it. There was no one else out walking the corridors. It was late, and everyone was either in their common rooms or in the library finishing off weekend homework. However, Harry could see someone else as he turned a corner, on the other end of the corridor. The person was coming in through the Entrance Hall and Harry wondered what someone was doing out in the rain at this hour, especially since, from making out the outline and height of the person, they seemed to be a student. Slowly, Harry realised who it was at the two people walked towards each other. The shimmering, white blonde hair was unmistakable, and the small, undernourished body was familiar only to a Draco Malfoy. Harry inwardly groaned, and Draco Malfoy's stomach dropped. He couldn't walk straight past Potter without saying something.
"Midnight stroll, Potter?" Draco said, his voice (to his disappointment) lacking its usual venom, and Harry caught on this as he looked at Draco warily.
"What's it to you, Malfoy?" He replied, scowling as he eyed Draco's saturated clothes, "Midnight dip in the lake?"
Draco sneered, running a white hand through his hair, flicking it back as tendrils bounced back in front of his dark eyes, making Harry feel more uncomfortable. Draco's sopping clothes clinged to his frail body, emphasising his skinny disposition. Harry eyed him quickly, wondering why Draco Malfoy was so thin all of a sudden. At the same time, both boys turned and continued walking; Draco breathed a shaky sigh, the tension in his body getting stronger as the lump in his throat stung, his heart feeling heavier and heavier as the distance between the two grew.
As Draco descended the stone steps into the dungeons, he stopped. Drawing back his fist, Draco slammed it into the stone wall next to him, letting out a blood-curling yell as his fist impacted, blood dripping from his small knuckles as he crumpled to the ground, his knees slamming against the ground. Draco breathed violently, his shoulders contracting quickly as his breath came close to hyperventilation. His shaking hands came up and cradled his head as Draco tried to stop the spinning. 'How does he do this do me?' Draco thought viciously, squeezing his eyes shut.
xXx
"Attention!" Snape's voice coldly called through the classroom. Silence reigned supreme.
Snape's eyes peered slowly at every solitary student sitting rigid in their seats, as if daring one of them to say or do something. However, the sixth year class new better. Feeling satisfied at his grip of authority, Snape began pacing the room, one claw-like hand in his robe pocket, the other holding onto his wand. "You will brew the potion on page 793 in your text. I expect all of you to hand in your completed work on my desk by the end of the lesson." And with that, Snape turned his back and went back to his desk at the front of the classroom. The shuffle of chairs books and ingredients could be heard as everyone got to their feet, brought out their cauldrons and began working. Harry sighed, flipping to page 793 and skimming through the ingredients. With a groan, Harry exclaimed to Ron next to him, who was also reading the methods, "This is a complicated one. Why doesn't Snape ever give us /i potions?" Ron shook his head, scowling at the page. Before long, the whole class was brewing their potions, Neville Longbottom (who had partnered up with Hermione for his sake) managed to turn their potion pink with green polka-dots, to Hermione's passionate exasperation.
"Longbottom! 50 points from Gryffindor." Snape's calculating voice exclaimed from behind, making Neville jump.
On the other side of the classroom, Draco was busy making his potion. His hands were ice cold and beginning to ache. As he chopped up a spider's abdomen, Draco's stomach lurched. He hadn't eaten since the week before, and was getting weaker and weaker. Dark rings circled his misty grey eyes; nightmares had plagued him the night before, terrifying him to the point where he boycotted sleep. Draco dropped the spider's abdomen into the cauldron, making a silver vapour rise and hang in the air. He stepped back, coughing and running a hand through his silvery hair gracefully. He looked up, glancing around the classroom. He had been too frightened to, for fear of Potter seeing him. The night before still plagued him, and he had thought of little else.
His eyes landed on Harry Potter, talking happily with Ron Weasley. A sense of burning jealousy crept up inside Draco, the tension he felt inside of him after his encounter with Potter the previous night returning, only worse. His head felt empty and light, pangs in his temples like bells making him grip the table. His ethereal face drained of blood, his hands sweating and a fever overwhelming him.
i"Draco!...Stop screaming! Your cries for help won't stop me hurting you..."/i
Draco gasped. The glass he was holding fell to the ground and shattered. Everyone in the class stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Draco stared straight ahead, his vision darkening and becoming blurry. 'Why can I hear that screaming? Why won't it stop?! Why...'
i'Stop screaming!...Stop!...Stop!'/i
'Why...'
Suddenly everything went black. Draco collapsed to the ground. Vaguely, he could hear the sounds of gasps and cries and people running to his side, but these sounds were eclipsed by the sound of his own childish screams of torment as he slowly lost consciousness.