Disclaimer: I just write crazy stories for your enjoyment and there is no way I could make money off this…although it'd be nice…but I do not own Harry Potter so that might be a slight problem…

Rating: I got a couple complaints of putting this story up as a PG fic, so I'll boost it up to PG-13. Don't want to get kicked off this site, now do I?

Note: A rather confusing story…but interesting! It starts off in first person but half way it switches to third person. The reason is the thoughts of the character and he's kind of going crazy…

Author: Pensive Puddles

Virgin Stains

I never liked you. In fact, I hated you. That was obvious. A blind muggle could see it! But you, you never gave up on me. You always mumbled about there being something good about me, ever since I muttered things while I was drugged in the hospital wing. You overheard me. You never let me forget it. You said you felt sorry for me, and that you understood. How could you understand? You never went through the stuff I went through. You never grew up in a cold, unfeeling family. You never had a lonely house. You never were left alone for days at a time, a house elf being your only company to keep you sane. You were never forced to study the Dark Arts during the summer. You never had to worry about Quidditch practices, that losing a game would mean some type of punishment. You never were forced to be the best; you just were. You never had to panic when a letter arrived by owl post. You never had to watch your back constantly, afraid of your own friends, your own father, stabbing you from behind. You never had any of these things happen to you, so how could you understand how I felt?

All because I muttered something about my father beating me when I was a child. It's just a minor problem, nothing I couldn't handle. I didn't need you interfering in my life and changing it. I didn't need you at all. Besides, parents aren't perfect; their child won't say he loves them every day. He'll one day say he hates them. And they just have to take it as it comes because it's just a stage.

I didn't need you. I never needed you. Why can't you see that? You kept your distance. But I saw you. You would cut back on the hurtful remarks. You would stop making fun of me all the time behind my back. You just stopped. And you tried to get others to follow your saintly footsteps.

And I couldn't take it.

Your blood is a nice shade of red. It's a lighter red when it's on snow. I wish you could see it. It's quite pretty actually. But you'll never know.

I couldn't handle your smiles anymore, the smiles you make so soft and gentle. I couldn't stand your pity. I had to get rid of you. You were nothing more than an obstacle in my path. The world does not need pity. It is a weak emotion, an emotion that can be the downfall of a person. I had never been given pity. It was so new, so confusing. I panicked. I didn't know what to do. I had to keep everything the same, everything cold and barren or else he'd know, and I would suffer. Just because of your stupid, pitying smiles, I would suffer greatly. I had to stop it, destroy the look, the emotion that would be my downfall. I was afraid that I would welcome the emotion and I would grow weak. Survival of the fittest, isn't that what Darwin said? He had actually been a dark wizard, he was implying it to the Muggles and Wizards. Wizards will survive because we have magic. But your race will die out because you are the weaker of the two.

I couldn't be one of the weaklings to be picked off the food chain. I had to be strong. I couldn't do it with you weakening me. You had to be destroyed. You would have been destroyed later anyway.

I slipped a knife into my robes at dinner one night. It's a nice knife, gentle looking, but even blunt instruments can cause damage when used correctly. I fingered it whenever I passed you. I was waiting for the opportune moment, the moment I could strike. And when you came by me, looking at me with those understanding eyes, I pulled it from my sleeve and shoved it in you.

I'll admit. I hated the feeling. It made a sickening sound, but not as sick as your moan of pain. I'll probably never forget your eyes, how they welled in tears of pain, clouding in shock. They'll haunt me for the rest of my days. Even when I close my eyes now, your blood spatters my thoughts. I am cursed. I don't care.

I felt like crying when your body seemed to slip off the knife. It left me feeling guilty, a shameful guilt that left as quickly as it came.

Even as you laid in the snow, your lips turning blue from the cold, you still looked at me in pity. You didn't say anything, but you seemed to speak through your eyes. I don't remember what you told me with your gaze. All I know is that a tear slid down my face and melted the snow when it touched the ground.

Blood…red snow…virgin snow no longer virgin. I corrupted it. I raped it.

I remember falling to the ground, my eyes still held to your dying gaze. Potter and Weasley were by your side, tears falling from their eyes. I've never felt so satisfied in my life. I remember thinking that I should have done it countless of other times before. I only had to destroy you to get to them. Too bad I didn't save your death for the war; it would have been a perfect plan.

Hands grabbed me and pulled me away. I still looked at you. I could only see your dying face. It stilled looked so soft. You reminded me of a falling angel as you laid in the snow.

They threw me in this cold room where my breath made clouds. My nails turned blue instantly. I lost feeling in my body. I had already lost feeling in my heart long ago, my body made no difference.

Blood snow…the snows falling again. It's not white. It's red. Nice and red. I made it, you know that don't you? You probably send it from heaven. No one else seems to see that the snow is no longer white. You and I are the only ones.

I told you I hated you. I bet you didn't think I hated you so much that I'd kill you. Didn't think that, did you Mudblood? Well, it's not my fault. You made me do it. If you had just treated me the same, I wouldn't have been so twisted.

Lovely patterns, your blood in the snow. I can't stop thinking of it. You looked so pretty, blood pouring from the wound in your stomach. It leaked from your stomach and it dissolved the white snow. The dead ground's already stained in your blood.

Did you hear that? It sounds like laughter. It's cold. It's like me; it is me. My laughter echoes in the stone room. It hurts my ears.

I can't feel anything. I can only listen. I can hear your blood moan, the ground choking on the bitter taste of your thick hot blood. I can hear our peers' cries. I hear the Weasel's screams of vengeance. I don't hear Potter. He must be too depressed to say anything. I hear falling. They must have knocked the red headed freak out. I don't blame them. They should have done it a long time ago.

My teeth hurt from chattering. Yet it feels so good to chatter. I can't stop.

Red…nice and red…my eyes are hot, pained like a hundred hot needles are pricking at them. I do not feel. My heart is black and dead. I can not feel. I have no emotions.

I do not feel guilty. You made me do it. It's not my fault. The blood is your blood, caused by me, but I created art in that white snow. If it could be frozen and made into some sort of sculpture, it'd be worth millions, a new form of art. Deadly art, that's what it is.

Red…white…stained and bleeding…crying…all because of me and your desire to make me feel again. I told you I was dead, right before I stuck that knife into you. You still didn't believe me. I saw the look die with you. You'll never change your mind, will you? It was your death. My death, too. I know Potter will use his power to have the Demeanors kill me. I don't care. I already was a soulless creature, an empty shell. A Kiss will do nothing to me.

You tried to give me a soul. You tried to get close to me, make me feel. And now you paid the price with the red wine like blood of yours.

The snow's falling again. I look out the window that's uncovered and let the dead crisp air tickle my numb senses. I can smell your blood. I can hear you cry. I can see you cradled in your beloved arms. I can feel your eyes still on me. I can taste the tears. Damn you…damn you and your blood stained snow to the Abyss.

They're taking you away. Students are crying. Slytherins are gossiping. Some are smiling. They're dead like me. Life is easier to live when you're dead.

Cold…I feel cold. That's the only feeling. No guilt. I feel nothing. I am nothing. I am an empty shell of a pitiful body. I killed you. You couldn't heal me. And you died, you paid the price and your blood was the best work of art I have seen. It's my masterpiece. Blood and snow…virgin stains, maybe that's what I'll call it. Virgin stains…

The door opened, groaning on its hinges.

"He's in there," a gruff man motioned to the bundle of black in the corner.

"Draco!" an older man called, walking towards the bundle. The bundle raised its head out of its black sanctuary. His face was as white as the snow outside, dry red blood splattered over his face. His gray eyes were sightless, unfocused. He looked dreamily at the older man.

"You look like me," the blood covered boy remarked, looking at the man.

"Of course I do, you idiot. I'm your father," Lucius Malfoy sneered in disgust at his son. His cold, steel eyes flickered for a moment, a moment of puzzlement and he looked at his son. "Stop acting. You killed the girl. You know you'll be sent to Azkaban for that. I need to talk to you."

"Crazy where the words that dribbled from your mouth…Where and when would I kill her?" Draco sang to himself. He rested his head against the wall. "I over heard that you were unhappy too…but you had your back turned…the end of my days I found out…you where wondering what I thought of you, what I thought of you…"

"Draco! What the hell is wrong with you?" Lucius yelled, clapping his hands in front of the boy's face and shaking his shoulders, trying to bring the boy back to reality. And for once in Lucius' long, heartless life, he felt fear clutch at him, fear for his son. "Draco!"

"I'm afraid he can't hear you, Lucius," the old Headmaster said sadly, the eyes dim and deep in sorrow.

"Don't tell me that! My son has perfectly good hearing! Don't you Draco?" Malfoy Senior demanded.

"Back end of forever, I wish I would never hurt again. I wish I would never hurt again. I wish I would never hurt again. I wish I would never hurt again," Draco repeated again and again, singing in an off tune, cracked voice. He licked his lips, eyes gazing unseeingly at the ceiling and he whispered, "I wish I would never hurt again."

"Son?" Malfoy said quietly in silent despair. Gently, he held his son in his arms, cradling the limp body to his chest. The last time he had done this was when Draco was an infinite that had just returned from the hospital. He had remembered how proud he had been, had promising plans for his son. Now, all were ruined. Everything…gone…and his wife…she'd probably join her son in insanity.

"Lucius, I must talk to Draco," Dumbledore said quietly.

"Do whatever you want with him. My son is dead," Malfoy stated in a tight voice, releasing his insane boy and standing to his feet. He coughed and stormed out of the room, his eyes downcast.

Dumbledore sighed before looking at the frail creature huddled on the floor, cold lips moving wordlessly. The old Headmaster grabbed the boy's head. "Did you kill Hermione?"

Draco looked at the Headmaster and laughed. It was a cold laugh that echoed down the halls, chilling any living thing that it caught in its icy wave. Even Lucius shuddered at the horrid sound.

Draco stopped suddenly, and smiled kindly at the old man, seeing him but not really seeing him. "It's not your fault, Old One."

Draco's head lolled to the wall and his pale eyes looked at the frosty rimed window. "Virgin Stains. So pretty…so sad and pretty."

"Did you kill her, Draco?" another voice repeated the question. Draco blinked. The voice said it with so much grief. Once Draco would have been satisfied at knowing he had been the cause of it. But he did not feel satisfaction. Insanity tends to make people feel that way.

"It was useless of her to bring me back to life." Draco looked at Harry's face that was wet from tears and said the last sane thing he'd say for the rest of his empty life, "I'm already dead."

A/N. o.O Weird? And you know what? I kinda like it! I'm sure most of you are really confused. Why don't you ask your questions in a…oh :::scratches head:::…perhaps a review?

By the way, when Draco's singing the whole "I wish I would never hurt again." It's a song. And thanks to the wonderful Average Jane, who kindly answered my plea and informed me who the band is who sings this song, I'll tell you all so you won't sue me for not putting a little disclaimer up or anything. The song is called "Back end of Forever" by Coheed and Cambria.

Oh! And peaches to Audi Katia (thanks for the rose and for telling your friends about me!) and Pippinfan25 for their really long reviews. I loved them! BIG peaches!