Rated R for suicidal themes… away if it isn't your cup of tea. Hello everyone! I decided to put four more chapters after Even if The Words Do Not Reach Him cause I like stories like these. Disclaimers are always present.
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The soothing smell of blood. A blade glinting in the dark. I lay almost lifeless, slumping on the cold wall behind me, the knife in my pale hand.
This is all your fault, Potter.
It always is. And yet I can't stop thinking of you. Hoping for you. Dreaming of you. Wanting you…
I had you, once…
Flashback
"Draco, you know I love you so much…"
A tender touch on the cheek, a soft reply,
"I know, Potter."
End Flashback
And now the redhead grabbed you. You don't even fight back for me. How could you say you love me!?
You liar.
Everyday I'd think of you, how your eyes glow in its unnatural innocence, how that tousled hair of yours manage to endear everyone more. The way your body language shows more than your speech. The strong force of life and joy and purity and strength and vigilance and valor and… and… and the EVERYTHING that you radiate…Everything that I'm not.
And that smile… God, that smile…
Yes, I worship you. I will never admit this to anyone, but for once in my life, I am confessing this to myself. I worship you. Fuck Malfoy pride.
…
No wait, let me correct that. I'd never worship you, Harry Potter. That is low for my prestige. This feeling is much more… inferior. I declare this, to no soul but myself…
I love you. And I hate myself for doing so, but I can't help it. My heart throbs for you.
How do you think I felt when you shunned away from me?
That's right. It HURT.
And now this pain is unbearable. To the point that I have to scar my skin just to equal the pain. I have to maul myself, batter myself, to feel the stings of the physical realm… I'd rather feel that than my heart's agony.
Oh, anything would be better than this hungry loneliness, this utter sadness, this EMPTINESS that wields beneath the bowels of my soul. I need to feel the blade tearing my skin so I may distract myself as my heart shreds itself apart. That does me well.
I slide another deep wound across my arm, blood marks that trail almost immediately. I laugh an empty, cold, mirthless laugh as the knife mars my marble flesh. But the truth is, I hardly notice.
Because I only think of you.
The irony of that realization sends me sniggering as the blood finds it's path down my arm.
And I only think of you.
My hand jerks in action, as I swiftly draw a harsher gash across my already bleeding scar.
And I can think of a million memories of you.
"Malfoy, just give me a chance."
And these memories are of a past that once promised a future.
"We'll be together forever, you know…"
Why do you haunt me? Stop it! Stop! Stop bursting into my head with these heart-wrenching memories! Leave me be, you have shattered me already!
I can't stand my pathetic lonesomeness without you, but leave! Go away! And why is it that when you leave me, you are still on my mind!?
I'm going crazy.
Another slash on my arm, blood splatters unto my clothes at the violence of it.
"Malfoy, I love you."
No, you don't.
I love you.
I swallowed, and choked almost soundlessly as there is a squeezing ache on my chest. My forehead has a soreness on it too, and I eye wearily the large pool of blood that dampened my clothes.
And finally, I withdrew. I gave in. Closed my eyes, shut it tightly, memories of you still vibrant in this mind of pending insanity. And then…
Tears.
Again.
Tears impaled this ruthless mortal, this hopeless wizard, this trampled soul, this bitter man. Tears impaled a Malfoy.
Tears impaled me.
Because of you. You, Harry Potter, have crushed me down, torn down this Malfoy, and I am now below nothingness. A Malfoy is crying.
Congratulations.
This strange wetness trails down softly, slowly, almost as if meekly scared, down to my lips. These pale lips. And they seep through so that I could taste them.
To me, with this stale taste of defeat on my lips, the tears did not taste salty. They were cold and…
Bitter.
I laugh again. That's not the only thing bitter.
---(Harry Potter)
Draco Malfoy. You're still on my mind. You always are. How can you not be?
As I look into the flames of the soothing fireplace, twiddling my wand, I too glance back at the past. The past that is so far away, and still enables me to hurt, to ache.
Flashback
I am tired of running.
"Malfoy, would you just wait?!"
A derisive laugh from him. "Finally pleading, Potter?"
"how can you be such an obnoxious prick?!"
His cold grey eyes lock on to me, "Stopping me just to throw low insults?"
He turns, "Don't waste my time."
I watch him saunter away. I catch myself stuttering, "Wait!"
He stops. I take in a deep breath, "Malfoy… I…I love you."
End Flashback
I couldn't believe it when you did not shout at me, when you did not mock me. When you did not taunt. You even acted as if you were a lost, anxious little child, as if you were confused.
Then we took each other into our arms, embrace long and sweet. I was glad. You had feelings for me too, I was so content! I felt so safe in your arms, knowing that you loved me! But I was wrong.
The little smile that was creeping up my face just now, faded.
I was wrong. Oh so wrong. You are a bastard, Malfoy. You had little me in your hand, ready to be wounded and entwined beneath your fingers in your cruel play. You had thought it enjoyable to watch me value you thinking you cared for me, and I was too naïve to even think about your evil plots.
I was in love. I was blinded in passion, not able to notice you manipulating me.
And you know what the cruelest thing is?
That up to now, I still love you.
This world is such a pitiless place, such a vicious life filled with twists and complications. Of all people to love, it had to be you, hadn't it? The one who pleasures in seeing me suffer?
I thought you loved me. I even shelved the concerns of my best friends aside because I trusted you. Because I loved you that much.
Flashback
"Harry, don't you think that—"
"For the tenth time, I know he loves me!"
"Yes Harry, but—"
"WHY do you want to destroy this all, Hermione!?"
"Harry, hasn't—"
"Ron, stop it! I know he loves me!"
Ron grabbed both my shoulders and looked at me sternly, "Did he ever say that?"
End Flashback
I felt a tiny crack at my confidence then. I was always sure that you loved me as much as I did you, by the way you caressed me and by the way you stayed with me.
And how it hurt when I noticed, through that crack, that you didn't. Never have I caught you so intimate in words, never have I seen your handsome grey eyes soft when they meet mine… no, you were always tense, always proud, never hearing what I had to say, what I felt.
At first I ignored it. I didn't care, as long as I had you, as long as I could talk to you, touch you, love you, it would be enough.
But it wasn't. I felt an empty gap inside my soul, a coldness that met me harder and harder when I realized that…
I never heard you say that you love me.
My body suddenly bolts upright, and I stand, throwing my wand down to the floor. My tears run freely as the ache in my heart starts swelling.
I wanted to know if all this was just my fantasy. So I prodded you. I told you that we shouldn't be together unless you said that you loved me.
I wanted to hear you say it. It made a great difference if you did. Only once, I only needed to hear it once, and I hoped and I hoped and hoped till my mind almost burst out. I had faith in you, I thought… I knew that you would say it. That you would abandon your pride for less than a minute, and tell me that you cared for me. That you weren't playing, that you would stay with me forever. I thought you would admit that you loved me.
And it crushed me when you didn't.
Why didn't you say you loved me? Is it because it was too hard for you to do? Is it because you were afraid to, or you were too proud to?
Or is it because it wasn't true?
Then you left me. It confirmed this horrendous truth. When you left the locker room, without saying anything, it occurred to me what I had been fearing most.
—You didn't love me.—
A shiver runs down my spine.
I look around the Weasley's living room. The fire is merry and everything seems peaceful, but to me it is empty. Lifeless, as I was when I had been in school, avoiding you, Draco Malfoy, from far away, knowing that my love could never be requited.
It killed me, then. I was devastated, the only one I loved betrayed me! Played with me! Probably laughed heartily at my pathetic-ness when I was crying, contemptuous when I was huddled in the corner of the Gryffindor room, sobbing at my utter misery.
Even when I left school. When I finally graduated from Hogwarts. I was silently aching for you, but you had been cut off from me then, and every day, every night I would think of you, of what you would be doing at that certain time, how you seemed to have captured my heart. I don't know how, and I don't know why but I couldn't forget you.
I still love you.
Then, one day, little Ginny came up to me. She said she loved me. I had my suspicion before, but it was only now did I feel a warmth about it. She had not filled this hole in my soul, but she had offered me kindness and a trust that reminded me of how I trusted you.
And I did not want to be like you. I did not want to be heartless, and play along. I did not want to take what she'd given, and dispose of her when she found out I didn't love her.
I answered her. I said I loved her too. She was so blissful, and I guess I was glad for her. I had wanted her to feel the happiness that I had hoped for when I was with you. But unlike you, I would not leave her!
And isn't it a pity, that every night, I would not think of her.
I would think of you.
And so I wrote you that letter. Just recently, a few days ago. You had not answered. Hedwig had come home, but with no reply. I was partly sure that you had thrown it into the fire, not caring that I am trapped marrying one that was so much like my sister, and loving someone else.
Draco, you really must hate me.
I did not even know why I had wanted to send you that message in the first place. Maybe, in a way, I wanted you to save me from this trap I was leading myself into. I had faith again that you would help me and tell me to stop trying to marry Ginny to hide from the pain. That even if I told you not to save me, you would hear the soundless screams from the letter, begging you to help.
But you didn't. Once again my faith has been in vain.
I take in a deep breath, and wipe away the tears that stain my cheeks. I should not angst around for you. I should forget everything about you, about your wonderful pale eyes that seemed to know things others don't, your blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight, and that pale face of yours that makes you look so attractively mysterious. The way your poise would marvel me, the way you can shelve things aside so easily.
My heart contracts. I feel more tears well up in my eyes, but I gulp, trying hard not to let them fall. How could you not cry, Malfoy? I have never seen you cry when we were on bad terms.
—Another proof. You do not care.
And that truth pains me so much.
Suddenly, I feel something different other than this weeping heart. Like a spear through my stomach, and a brightness in my eyes for just a second. And this certain instinct came over me. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but all I knew was that something was awfully wrong.
Draco Malfoy. Are you in trouble!?
---(Draco Malfoy)
I was wading in the pools of blood. I sighed, almost contently. This excruciating pain was now enough to match the aching wound that's in my heart.
Harry Potter. The one I love. What would you do if you found out I've done this to myself? You're too unpredictable for me to guess.
I am now too weak to hold the knife properly. My hands are limp, and I cannot control it too much. My whole body is laid out, for all to see, this hopeless little Malfoy who was not too wary about love.
I was not too wary about you, Harry Potter.
I feel myself slowly slipping away. I cannot laugh, and so I grin at this morbid end. I can feel myself slowly being wiped away from this earth. Ebbing away, dusting into nothing. Everything was getting blurry. Was this the end? Have I finally overdone myself that I have lost too much of this red liquid? Am I to die? And see the pits of hell that promises me more pain?
I need that. More pain. More physical, fiery pain. But I am starting to think that nothing can get you off my mind.
I am losing my breath now. It grows shallow.
And then I see a form. Running towards me, running towards this almost lifeless lump of garbage on the floor. I squint and try to recognize this being as it leans down near me.
"Draco! God— Why?!"
I distinguish that voice anywhere. Potter. Even in death do you plague me!?
I suddenly felt anger surging through.
What is it, Potter? Have you apparated because you had the feeling I'd kill myself? Come to see me die? What do you want from me, now that you have taken so much of my time and my sanity?! Would you like to see me die, Potter? See me rot in hell for the stupid Malfoy I am!?
I feel something wet and ice-like drop down and splash on my cheek. It is your tears. I wonder why you cry, don't you know that it's too late? I concentrate on trying to make out your face, as I am in your arms, aching and bloody. I see the two, deep green gems you behold. And, uncontrollably, I gasp, tears stung my own eyes, flowed down like a river instantly, as if this sadness has overflowed and exploded. And I sob your name,
"Potter..."
I want to scream at you. This is what you have done! Look at me, look at this mess! It is all your fault, all your fault! It is because of you, that I lay down here, as death dawns upon me! ALL YOUR FAULT!
But I don't. I see the remorse in your eyes, and it tells me that you know. My anger changed into another feeling that I cannot describe. Did I make you cry? Did you come here because of selfish, old me? Are you stubbornly trying to wipe the blood away from my face because I can't do it?
And then comes a blast. An urge, almost an impulse. I want to wipe your tears away. I want to tell you that it's okay, that all is well, that I would live, and love you, and kiss you, and hold you, never leave...
Though that would be lying. I had cut too deeply that I knew I wouldn't make it.
But I had to make you feel better. It is a demand I place upon myself.
And so I reach out, to your beautiful face, wiping the tears with a flaccid hand and a struggle. I winced as I put so much effort on this action, and it was going to drop down, as I am exhausted, when I felt warm hands upon it. Your hands clutching mine. You touch me with such warmth that it seems to flood through my whole body.
And I knew what I should say. What I want to say. With a few breaths left, I stared his face carefully, looking deep and memorizing every little detail. And I whispered, softly,
"I love you…"
And then my eyes closed shut.