Length:1,094 words (to this chapter)
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, they're all Rowling.
Status: WIP
Fluffy White Pillow, heko-chan, Phantomandvampirelover – thank you for the review, it is give me some happiness :)
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Chapter three
He hates himself in the morning. He hates his life.
Even Potter was regretted for saving him.
No one wanted him, who want?
His father treats him like a shit, and his own mother is now dead. Who he regard as his friend don't talk to him, and don't bother to even come here and visit him (Pomfrey told him that when he wake up, after he ask her), and the only one who have a little concerned about him was now regret about it.
Also, he house-mates too, was being apathetic to sight of him, he wasn't who he use to be.
Some of the students in Hogwarts think that he a Death Eater, he shivered to the thought.
The others just know that something is up on him. Sometimes he saw a look of pity in their eyes, sometimes it turn to scoffing or hate.
The ones who used to follow him were gone. Even Pancy, who used to tracing all the times. Even Crabbe and Goyle were off. Every one used to be part of his accompanied. And now they weren't. It was… so sharp turn, but he knew that it too late to go back on heels, and he knew that it better be like that.
But still, it was hurt to stay with nobody, and everyone refer him as something that shouldn't be exist.
He hates to look at people, hate to look at anything at all. It was all... hopeless. No matter how he behaves, nobody wants him. It is hurt.
And now… someone poisoned him. Did everybody hate him so much? But he isn't the same anymore, he isn't so bad now… right? He's not sneered at anyone anymore, he's not teasing or mocking anyone, he's just there, not doing a thing, then why everyone seem with so hate in then for him? He just answers to himself. He's just there. Then maybe he shouldn't. Maybe it's all… insignificant.
Maybe he just needs to end it all. All the pain will gone, all the sorrow will go, all the desperation will go, and it will never comes back. The death isn't so pain, right? He didn't know.
He scared from the death, he didn't know.
---
A sound of glass-bottle near him makes him wake. It was only Madam Pomfrey, who comes to check him and giving him his potion, to prod the current.
The green-brown potion wasn't taste good at all, it's just me, or the entire potions are disgusting?
But after all, this potions are helping him to heal pretty well; he start moving his hands, right, they still feels pretty heavy, but it was relive that at list that he can move.
More lightening spot; he haven't have the students here in the hospital wing, and that was relieving too.
But what about studying? I have here nobody to help me to complete the material… the stupid study was the only thing that kept me on. To ignore the stupidest things that made me fucked up. I can progress in the books and know the stuff they learning, but I don't have here any of my books. And when I'll get out of here it will be all together too much. I don't think I could handle it. Maybe I should just… give up.
This thoughts where haunting him every time, he was willing that his recovery will be as slow as it can. It will be better like that.
He found an old book near his desk night, it was about potions. But he cannot concentrate enough because the thoughts. It was really bothering.
He had an urge to scream, to yell on everybody. It was much easier and comfort then just lay here and being full with self-pity thoughts. But he couldn't get up, and here was no one but madam Pomfrey, who was in her office. And he can't yell at her because she'll probably kick him out.
He must do something. Or he'll get nuts. No one to talk to, to one to comfort with, no one to be with, no one want to be with him. Buy why? He hasn't done anything, right?
Darco checked with himself if he treats someone not properly this year. No, it was all cool.
Maybe they all mad at him because all the lasts years? Could they not see how he changed? Could they… could someone say a rumor about him without him to know and because of that they don't talk to him? Or maybe they think he's a Death Eater or they know he's a traitor? A little absurd they're known. No one knows.
He closed his eyes. Stop thinking. You're thinking too much. And it's doing you no good.
With that, he tried to go sleep. Maybe after rest he could do better and think in more sense.
---
It had been almost two weeks since Draco's poison accident.
Now, he was in the middle of dinner, but all this twenty minutes he didn't eat anything. It was a few things that made it; he simple wasn't hungry, and he think he eats too much, so probably he became fat (what wasn't a clueless true, the opposite.)
After a while he picks up the tea jug and poured some to his cup.
I really should pay more attention about what I'm eating… I'm so fucking fat! I never had been fat…
Ha disgust of his self.
His eyes pass to the other tables; the Ravenclaws were talking with each other quietly, the Hufflepuff were too pointless to even care, and the Gryffindors were the loudest table in the hall.
He saw a few talking and laughing about something. He felt a stab in the hurt when he saw all the students there so happy and jolly.
He want too somebody to talk to, he wanted too someone to laugh with. It was so hurt to him that any people were ignoring him, and he even doesn't know why. It was unbearable. So unbearable he wants it to end. Now.
He looked again at the laughing Gryffindors and felt that they might laugh at him. He was sure of it. Maybe they laughing 'cause I'm fat…
Without any thought he burst out of the hall to his dorm.
---
At the seventh year boy's dormitory, on the farthest bed, sat a silver-blond boy, bleeding.
On his left hand was a sharp blade, and on his right hand were few bleeding cuts.
Fuck. I can't believe I actually do it.