Drowning in Spite

Summery: The summer of fifth year—the days of developing, growing and adventure of the teenage experience. But what happens when your innocence is abruptly taken from you? With no heart, no conscious and absolutely no one to hear your cries—what are you to do? Draco Malfoy finds out the hard way, after being introduced to the most secretive Malfoy tradition ever known. And the only person there to hold his bleeding heart is the last person he could ever want to see. Come; read this story as all the characters go through riveting experiences concerning the coming of age, sexual preference/exploration and the meaning of life.

Disclaimer: Sorry, but I don't own any of the characters.

Warning: This is a very Dark fic. Please DO NOT READ if you are offended by ANY of this.

A/N: Okay, so they're more mature this year. The story is a little lighter from here on out, Draco's father isn't around, and Hermione seems to be fitting into her own skin comfortably now. This story is off to a smashing bang!

CONTAINS UNCOMFORTABLE SITUATIONS.

IF YOU GET UPSET WHILE READING, I'M SORRY.

Chapter Twelve: Severed Veins

Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression
No expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow
No tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very, very
Mad world
Mad world

--Gary Jules

Draco sat calmly on the closed-lid toilet of a public loo. He didn't like the crowded noises of the mall Hermione had taken him to, and he didn't like the pain he was feeling tearing down his backside every time he walked. He felt the weight of change in the pocket of his newly bought jeans. Hermione had insisted he wear them out the store. He saw this and laughed, knew that everything would be okay in this muggle world. That he wouldn't have to be figured out. He knew that he wouldn't be found either, and that maybe, Hermione would be able to get over him. He hoped that she would remember all the times he was evil, and forget the passionate times.

He fidgeted, and pulled out his wand, whispering a soft incantation as he pulled his sleeve up. He had braced himself all day for this, and he had promised himself he would wait. He couldn't disrespect Hermione's parent's house by doing it there. He knew that this was his time to go. Here, ironically in a muggle place, with a putrid smell, and a horrid white box-of-a-prison.

He traced the tip of the wand across his wrist quickly, and cried out. He had locked the men's loo door, in fear of someone coming in. Immediately the blood began to poor out, and Draco tried to cut his other wrist by putting his wand in his left hand to cut the right, but he had lost all feeling in his left hand. He was sliding forward, onto the pissed on floor. He was crying aloud now, heart-wrenching cries. He was in so much pain, it was blinding him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the door, waiting for the blackness to consume him. His mind raced immediately to his Father—his Father playing with him as a child, trying to teach him how to fly. It was his favorite memory of him and his Father, and he often visited it when his Father was fucking him. He would focus on that memory, and convince himself that it was out of love, that everything he was doing was out of love.

But then he remembered Hermione. Her eyes were boring into him, and he remembered the softness of her lips, the smallness of her hands and the roundness of her breasts. He remembered her tender words and her telling him she loved him. He wanted to touch her silk hair at the moment. She showed him, without knowing it, that his Father touching him was wrong, and that love was deeper than sex. It was in his soul, and in his heart. But he couldn't think of her now. He wanted to see her face again; he wanted to see her eyes again before he went. She had brought him to this muggle place, letting him run wild in the stores. He bought a thing called an ipod, a computer (promising that she would transform it from its muggle state to bring to school) he bought jeans, he bought trainers, and he bought her a promise ring. He did all the things he ever wanted to do. He wanted to do things with her, and he did. He then saw Hermione's face lit up with tears, the immense hurt she would probably feel because of him. He thought of the confusion that would swim through her mind, believing that it was all her fault, and that there could have been something she could have done to stop him. He didn't want her to hurt, not like how he was hurting.

But he didn't want her to know that he had infected her with his sins, with his filth. Her eyes, he thought, my escape.

And he thought about them.

"Hermione…" he cried. "Hermione…please," he was losing conscious now. "Hermione…" he whimpered. The blood was pooling around his legs, and under the door into the rest of the loo. He could hear a soft thudding noise in the distance, along with the heartbeat in his ears. He was dying, and he knew he didn't have anymore time now. The thudding in the distance soon became footsteps, and a scream.

Hermione had yanked the door open, seeing Draco sit on the floor, bleeding.

"Is he okay?" yelled someone from the door. Hermione was on her knees now, crying as she yanked Draco into a sitting position, he had slid onto his back in the loo, his feet curled to the side.

"DRACO!" she screamed. She had pulled out her wand, trying to wake him. "Oh God, oh God no!" Hermione screamed frantically. A young man had come from behind Hermione. He was a janitor, and had kindly opened the door for Hermione when she had told him that the door was locked, and her boyfriend was in there. He gasped.

"I'm calling the medics!" he shouted. But Hermione whipped her head around.

"NO! Leave him alone!" she cried, pressing him against her body. She held his head against her chest and cried into his blond locks. The man had stopped at the door, and turned to stare at her in shock.

"You're going to let him die?" the janitor shot at her. Hermione shook her head.

"He's healing…" she whispered. When the man wasn't looking, she had healed Draco's deep infliction, now only praying that he wasn't too far gone to come back.

She felt Draco clamp his right hand on her elbow as she rocked him against his chest.

"Hermione…I called for you…and…you're here," he said weakly. Hermione smiled and kissed him on the lips.

"Why?" she whispered, holding his face in her hands, "why Draco? Why would you do this? I almost lost you…" she held him close again, this time searching the pocket of her parka for her cell phone and dialed her Father's cell. She slammed it against her ear; Draco still pressed against her, and turned to stare at the shocked janitor.

"He didn't cut deep!" she cried at the man. "Please! Help me clean this mess," she said, looking down at the blood. Draco was quietly muttering to himself as she rocked him. "Daddy!" she cried, "Daddy! Please come get me and Draco…"

The janitor had left and came back with a mop and bucket. He quickly cleaned the mess up, grimacing as the water turned a murky red color as he dipped the mop in.

"Daddy…please…just come get us! I'll explain later!" Hermione shouted, and then closed the phone and turned to see that the janitor was nearly finished, just wringing the mop out.

"Where'd his mark go?" the janitor asked, suddenly realizing Draco wasn't bleeding anymore. "And what're you holding that stick? What—"

Before he could finish, Hermione had whipped around with her wand.

"OBLIVIATE!" she cried. The man stumbled backwards, and slipped on the floor, landing on his back and hitting his head against the floor. She hoped that he would be okay, but her attention was on Draco. "Can you stand?" she asked. He nodded weakly, and unfolded his legs.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, patiently waiting for Draco to speak up. Her father had come to pick her up, and she quickly told him that Draco wasn't feeling well, but not about his near death experience. She cradled his paling form to her chest, tenderly touching his face every so often.

Now he was lying against her pillows, his blonde hair covering most of his face, and bandages tightly wrapped the wound he had earlier inflicted. She had healed him the best way she could, trying to connect his severed veins, but she knew he would be scarred. She had dropped his shopping bags on top of his trunk, which sat against her bed, and helped him lay out on her bed. She glanced back at him, to find his staring back at her.

"So, tell me…" she started. Her voice shook as she tried to keep a steady and calm voice, "why?" Draco looked away now, fingering the bandages on his wrist. He shrugged.

"I don't want to be here anymore," he whispered. Hermione sighed, willing herself to not cry.

"But why Draco? What made you like this, what has happened to you? I knew you were cutting, but…but…I didn't know you were trying to kill yourself!" she shouted. She had once read in a teen muggle magazine that people that cut usually do it to feel, to live, and know that they're living, but Draco was not simply doing that. He almost died today. She wanted to stop him from cutting period, but it wasn't something that could be done in a day, and she had come to terms with that.

"You don't know anything!" he shouted back, sitting up in the bed, Hermione had jumped off, believing he would strike her. He gave her a shocked expression. "I wasn't going to hit you, you know?"

"How would I know? It wouldn't be the first time!" Hermione replied, her eyes stormy.

"Because I wouldn't…I will never hurt you again," he whispered.

"Just last year you tried to kill Blaise and Pansy, and you hurt me on Halloween, you slashed the mandrake and your own teacher," she recalled. Draco took in a sharp breath and glared at her.

"I'm not like that anymore…you've helped me with that Hermione; I thought you would know that…"

"What I want to know is, Draco, that in all our times we've fucked, you've never allowed me to touch your back, just your shoulders, your neck, but not your chest? What I want to know is how you got those bruises on you…and I what I want to know…is why you haven't mentioned anything about you or your family. We've never really talked about your family ever, actually!" she hissed.

"What are you talking about?" Draco snapped. "And what would it matter!"

"I just want to know what's wrong with you! You're…you're…you're not yourself. And what Harry and Ron call you…"

"WHAT? A FAG?" he bellowed. Hermione grew quiet, surveying Draco's crumbling form on her bed. "Gay?" He looked up at her now, his eyes glistening with tears.

"You're—you're not gay. You're…how? Since when?" she whispered. Her whole body had gone numb in confusion.

"Last summer, my father..." Draco paused, his fist curling around Hermione's comforter. He couldn't believe he was about to admit his secret. "My father began to have sex with me last year," he stated. He was aware that Hermione had made a gagging noise. "He was…so mean to me…he raped me sometimes so horribly, I would bleed for hours. Sometimes I would stay in the Dungeons; naked and starved…I would be so cold, so very, fucking cold." Draco began to shake. "But he loved me," he said in a tiny voice. "He loved me and that's all that mattered, the others never did. If he loved it, I loved it."

"No…" she moaned softly. "No…this can't be happening…" Hermione cried. She remembered Harry and Ron calling Draco a fairy, a queer. She remembered how Draco was about his body, how he was so reserved, and didn't know anything about her body when they first had sex. He didn't even know how a woman's body even reacted. "How could you let him do this to you?"

"I had no choice!" Draco cried out. "I had to!"

"You didn't!" Hermione shouted back. She knew what she was saying was so wrong, but she wanted to hurt him. "So what was I? Some bloody test to see if you liked it both ways?"

"No…I mean…you showed me another door Hermione…"

"OH! I DID?" she cried. Draco was now sitting with his legs curled under him.

"I was confused."

"But now you're gay?" she asked rudely. Draco shook his head.

"No…I'm in love with you! Isn't that enough proof?"

"YOU ALLOWED YOUR FATHER TO RAPE YOU!" she cried out in defeat. "How could you?"

"It wasn't my fault…" Draco whispered.

"IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT!" she knew it was all wrong to be saying this to him. He looked as if he had been slapped. "YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED HIM!" Hermione immediately bit back her words, but they kept coming. "YOU LIKED IT!" Draco gasped. "YOU LIKED IT, YOU DISGUSTING FREAK!" They were once said to her about Blaise. She was once glared at by her own self, looking hatefully in a mirror. She asked herself repeatedly how something like that had happened. How could she let Blaise do that to her? And finally, she told herself it was all her fault, like she was telling Draco. She didn't know how much she was damaging him.

"But he…"

"How could you DO this to me?" she asked frantically. Her stomach began to twist in guilt. "I was nothing to you, was I?"

"YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME!" he cried, but Hermione had turned her back to him, tears streaming down her face. "I TOLD YOU I LOVED YOU! WHY ARE YOU SAYING THIS?" Draco shouted over her sobs.

"But you LIED!" she screamed. "You lied to me…you're disgusting," she whispered the last part. Her eyes were dark as they bore into his silver ones. His eyes went round with fear. "HOW CAN YOU LOVE ME? WHEN YOU SAY IN THE SAME BREATH THAT YOU LOVE YOUR FATHER? YOU LOVED WHAT HE DID TO YOU?" she shouted.

"I was confused!" Draco tried to explain, "I was afraid, hurt and confused…I didn't know what it was, I was never taught to disobey, and I was never taught to feel anything…but Hermione, when I felt this…I didn't know what it was, and Father called it love…and I loved it…"

"So what do you do? Do you fuck men now?" she said cruelly. Draco flinched. "You implied that he wasn't the first. Who else have you fucked?"

"I had a boyfriend."

Hermione fell onto her knees now, looking sick. Her head was spinning wildly. "And?"

"And he died. My Father killed him when he found out…"

"What did you do when you ran away?" she asked.

"I…I did some things I'm not proud of—"

"WHAT DID YOU DO?" she screamed, cutting him off.

"I SOLD MY BODY!" He shouted. Hermione cried out, her body shaking in anger and shock. She shook her head.

"Just…just…tell me…who the fuck you are!" she screamed.

"I'm a ghost, lurking on the edge of everyone's existence. I'm the numbness in your heart, and the shivers that attack your body when you're afraid. I'm a broken body that was once in love with a boy who was very kind to me. He had the brightest blue eyes, and the darkest of blonde hair. He was tall, he was a half muggle, half wizard and he took every beating that was meant for me." Draco paused, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I was once human, maybe cruel and evil, but I was human...I had friends, and I had a home. But when it was all taken away from me, all I had was that one boy, who was ever so kind to me, and loved me, and saved me. I'm someone who made people happy through my body, I'm someone who wasn't just raped by their father, but by anyone who had the opportunity to do so," Draco flinched. "I'm someone who was given another chance, and fell in love with someone again. I'm someone who asks for forgiveness everyday, and will never recieve it. I'm someone lost, and I'll never be able to find my way out of it, and I'm sorry."

"Get out!" she whimpered. She began to cough uncontrollably. "Just leave!" Draco drew in a cold breath, and glanced down at Hermione weeping form. He moved to touch her, but she jerked away. "DON'T touch me!" she shouted. She had jumped up now, straightening her clothes, and wiping her eyes dry with her hands. "I want you out…you're—you're a liar. And…you hid this from me, tried to kill yourself, and led me on…I'm nothing but your experiment!" she cried. Draco's head dropped. He always knew she wouldn't understand.

"I'm sorry I poisoned you," he said sincerely. Hermione looked away as she wrapped her arms around her body. She pointed at his trunk, and the bags they had brought home from the mall. He pushed the items to the bottom of his trunk, and closed it, giving Hermione a hard look before shrinking it. He swung his cloak around his body, not knowing what to do. He still had some muggle money left. He picked up the jewelry sized box and placed it in his pocket, following his wand. He turned around and went to open the door, when he heard her voice.

"What was his name?" she asked quietly. Draco turned to look at her, and then back at the door knob with a sigh, his eyes squeezing shut as John's face flashed across his eyelids.

"John…" he said breathlessly.

"Did you love him?" Draco swallowed, the reply spilling out of him like vomit.

"Oh god, yes," he said, opening the door, and exiting it, leaving behind a weeping Hermione.

Draco trotted up the steps to the manor, the lights lit up the house as noise came from the inside. Draco knew he would parade in on his Father's Winter Ball. His mother had placed ice sculptors all over the yard, sparkling across the vast land. There were twelve Christmas trees decorated also, and he found his way to the front of the house, the double doors twice his height, and well over twenty-five feet wide. He knocked, and it was immediately opened by a house elf. He walked pass the creature to the ballroom. It was decorated lavishly, and a bright white light filled the room as music led the thousands of people in the room into a waltz.

Draco watched as the eerie music filled the gigantic room, and people held their heads high as they moved. He caught glance of his father dancing with his mother. She was dressed in an icy-blue dress that showed off her slender shoulders, and spilled down around her long, thin heeled shoes. Her platinum blond hair was pulled elegantly back into a tight bun, with an expensive diamond-clip holding it all back, no doubt a gift from his father.

He took a step back, and saw that his Father had caught glimpse of him. He could see his Lucius's breathe hitch in his chest, as he disappeared into the corridor. He soon heard his father following him. Draco coolly entered his most hated room in the manor.

His father's private room…

"Draco, what are you doing home, I thought you were staying at school?" Lucius calmly loosened his silk black tie as he hungrily surveyed his son. He felt like he was peering into a mirror of himself, but younger and much weaker. From Draco's high cheekbones, silver orbs, platinum blonde hair, to the narrowness of his torso and waist, he screamed the creation of Lucius Malfoy.

"I decided to come home to people that loved me," Draco whispered. His Father smiled knowingly, walking carefully towards his son. He hadn't changed much; he looked healthier, if anything, Lucius surveyed. He ran a cool finger down the side of Draco's face.

"And, my son, what do you want for Christmas?" Lucius asked seductively. Draco smirked.

"Whatever pleases you," Draco said. He felt ashamed for coming back, for giving in to his worthless side. He remembered the look on Hermione's face, the disgust and the betrayal. It had confused him at the time. And he didn't know why she had reacted that way.

Now he knew.

"You're a good son, Draco. The best a Father could ever have." Draco closed his eyes against the compliment, wanting to savor whatever Lucius was saying to him. He was standing dangerously close now. Lucius placed his arms around Draco's body, bringing his son's back against his chest.

"Welcome home," he hissed, kissing Draco on the neck.

I know I would apologize if I could see your eyes,
'cause when you showed me myself, you know, I became someone else.
But I was caught in between all you wish for and all you need.
I picture you fast asleep, a nightmare comes, you can't keep awake

I know this chapter must have pissed off a lot of you! But please stay with me! Review, and thank you for reading.