Title: Save Me From The Dark

Author: Princesspepper

Rating: R

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story. They belong to J.K. Rowling.

Pairing: Harry/Draco (suggestion of Ron/Hermione, but, of course, that is not important).

WARNINGS: Sexual content (later), adult language, self-harm (cutting, more specifically), kinda dark, and some Ron-bashing in later chapters.

(A/N): Heloooooooooo people! -waves- this is a re-post, because I was not at all satisfied with the original. I mean, it was good when I wrote it, but now I've improved ever so much, so I want to re-upload the chapters. If this is your first time reading this, I hope you like it! If it isn't… well, I'm sure you like it, because you're reading it again!

On another note, this is indeed SLASH, YAOI, or whatever the hell you want to call it. It focuses around a gay relationship (between Harry and Draco, more specifically) so if you don't like that, or if you are a homophobe, get lost before I sic my attack cats on you!

(Chapter One: Spilt Blood)

Draco lay awake staring at the ceiling, silver eyes ablaze with anger and frustration. His heart was on fire from depravation and loneliness. His skin was crawling with the sickening feeling of Pansy Parkinson's hands gliding over him, tearing at him hungrily.

As he turned his head to look at her sleeping form beside him, Draco was shocked by how alone he felt although she was right there next to him. He silently cursed himself for crawling back to her every time he felt alone, for she only made him feel worse. Of course, crawling was only a figure of speech. Draco Malfoy never crawled to anyone.

No, whenever he wanted something, Draco always made it sound like someone else was trying to give it to him, and he was doing them a favor by taking it. Even though in Parkinson's case that was true, Draco needed her too in a way. Or at least he thought he did. He was not attracted to her by any stretch of the imagination, in fact, he preferred men. But nobody was supposed to know that. His fa—Lucius would never approve. Draco had stopped calling Lucius "father" long ago, for Lucius was never like a father to him, always abusive; in fact, the cause of most of Draco's problems… but that wasn't the point. Because of Lucius's disapproval—and the lack of confidence Draco had in himself—he used Pansy as sort of a distraction, a way for him to hide from reality. But Draco couldn't help noticing that he was always disgusted after one of his "sessions" with Pansy. She, however, did not feel repulsed in the least. She kept coming back for more. Draco smiled to himself as the thought crossed his mind. Nope, nobody could resist the charms of Draco Malfoy. Boys and girls alike got week in the knees every time he gave one of his trademarked smirks.

But Draco became disgusted with himself once again as he realized it was he himself who allowed Parkinson to do these things.

Draco furiously punched his pillow and turned over. His last thought before finally falling asleep was praying that he wouldn't dream.

But dream he did.

He dreamed of piercing emerald green eyes staring deep into his cold, dead silver ones. And silky smooth jet-black hair running through his own pale fingers. And velvety pink lips closing over his own mouth…

Draco awoke with a start, shocked at what he had just dreamed of. He had always known he was gay—that had been apparent for a long time now—but never before had he dreamed about Harry Potter like this. It was what he had least expected, to become infatuated with his long time rival. Sure, he had always found Harry attractive, but that was purely physical. He and Harry had been enemies since the impressionable age of eleven, and now, at sixteen, that hadn't wavered in the slightest.

Draco had begun to talk to himself in this dreamy state of consciousness, but, realizing Pansy was still next to him, he fell silent.

Pansy was still next to him…

Draco was suddenly enraged by the thought. Pansy—a girl—was in his bed. Something would have to be done about that

Draco abruptly shoved the sleeping Pansy Parkinson off the bed, hearing her hit the floor with a dull thud. She groaned and blinked her eyes stupidly a few times, trying to recall where she was. She saw Draco's pale face hovering over her in the dark, and remembered where she was.

"Owww… Dracoooooo…" she whined, "What was that for?"

"Shut the fuck up Parkinson!" snapped Draco furiously, "Last time I recalled, this was my private room, and you were in my bed!"

"But—but—," stammered Pansy, feeling very confused.

"I said SHUT UP!" Roared the infuriated Slytherin, pale face reddening with anger, "Just get OUT!"

Pansy began to stand up, with a hurt expression on her face. "But Dray, don't you remember last night? You were fine with me being in your bed then…-"

But Draco cut her off, "Yes, yes, of course, how could I forget last night? What, with your slimy little hands all over me? That is exactly why I want you to GET OUT!"

And with that, Draco shoved the very confused and barely dressed Pansy towards the portrait hole. "And don't call me 'Dray!'" he shouted after her.

As she made her way out, she shouted, "I know you enjoyed it Draco! Why else would you keep coming back to me?"

This really struck a nerve, but Draco's only response was to chuck the rest of her clothes through the portrait hole, shoving her out after them, and slamming the door behind her.

Well, that takes care of that, Draco thought to himself as he made his way back to his King Sized bed. He grabbed the clock on his nightstand and looked at it. It was nearly six thirty. No time to go back to sleep. With a heavy sigh, Draco reluctantly dragged himself into the bathroom. He stepped into the shower after shedding the little clothes he was wearing and turned it up as hot as he could stand, hoping to burn away the feeling of Pansy touching his bare skin.

Draco sighed in dismay at the memory of the dream he had just had. It made him miserable just thinking about it, for he knew he was beginning to have feelings for someone who would never feel the same way about him. All this misery gave Draco an idea.

As he stepped out of the shower, he lifted the concealment charm he had placed on his left arm and gazed at the reality of his life. He watched as patches of his milky white skin revealed their colorful hidden secret.

Carved into the pale flesh of his arm were dozens of healed-over scratches. Scratches that he had put there himself. Scratches that left scars, which reminded him of his past horrors. Horrors that he feared would never cease. Each little mark told its own story, as each was the result of his untapped despair boiling over. As his eyes traveled down the length of his arm, he was reminded of all the times he had done this. It was like a time line of scratches. He had started up at his shoulder, and made his way almost all the way down to his wrist.

His eyes paused at one mark in particular. The last one he had made in a long time. Although usually he had only pressed on the blade hard enough to feel the pain, to see the blood, this one in particular was much, much deeper. He had been over enthusiastic when he had made that one. That was the one that had almost killed him. And he had almost wanted it to. He shuddered as he recalled the incident that had made him do this clearly…

Draco violently shook his head, as if to discard the memory. He didn't want to remember that. But he would never cut himself that deep ever again. Someone might figure out what he was doing and make a pathetic attempt to help him. But Draco Malfoy didn't need help…

As Draco reached into the third draw from the top, he felt his hand close around something smooth and cool. He remembered his dream about Harry and felt a fresh wave of misery. His decision was made. He drew his hand out from the draw, the hand that was now clasped around the hilt of a silver dagger. Draco's scalp tingled as he awaited the refreshing release of the cool metal against his skin right before it punctured. He drew the knife closer and closer to his arm… Draco Malfoy didn't need any help…

The cool metal of the knife touched his awaiting skin, and in one swift move, Draco pressed lightly and slashed the dagger across the area right above his wrist. He let out a huge sigh of relief as he let the knife fall to the tile floor with a clatter. He watched as the blood slowly oozed out of this new wound, with a hungry expression on his pale face… Draco Malfoy didn't need any help…

Or so he thought.

(A/N): Feedback is much appreciated! Please leave a review, it would mean a whole lot to me. Even if you're just correcting an error that I made (which I would be happy to fix if you point it out). If you don't want to now, please do so once you've finished the last chapter that is up! Just one thing: I'll have to ask you not to flame me. Constructive criticism is perfectly acceptable, but no flames! Okay, thank you! Until next time,

XOXO Princesspepper OXOX