Disclaimer: I don;t own Harry Potter.

Warning! This story is pretty graphic so don't read it if you are squemish or eating.

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Hot, sticky blood coursed in torrents down his moon-white thighs as he slashed even lines down the top of his leg with a razor blade. The skin around the ladder of cuts because red and inflamed with agitation as he knew it would. He had seen it all before. He cut deeper, needing more pain. Pushing the blade further into his flesh, ripping at the skin. The towel resting beneath him on the bed, already a copper colour from washed blood, stained crimson. He shuddered, cutting again and then put down the blade and counted the gashes. Ten. It was always ten. There was not as much blood as there used to be. It gave him the feeling that he was running out. Tears leaked from his silvery eyes. Not from the pain, he was used to that, but from the guilt. He hated cutting but it was a compulsion, an addiction, a quick release from the real world. Bile rose in his throat, burning its way up and he threw up into the sink near his bed, spluttering as he felt blood coat his foot.

Draco was a self harmer and he had been since the night of the battle.

He didn't think of that night too often. He knew that when he did it always led to cutting. It had happened three months ago. Three months ago his life had changed. At first he turned to drink, then sex. But sex was not enough. A week after the battle he had sought out Pansy in the common room. He knew she wouldn't ask too many questions. He led her wordlessly up to his dormitory and pushed her roughly onto the bed. She wanted pleasure, he wanted pain. He gave her what he wanted first. Teasing and pleasing her without thought or emotion until she came like he had done countless times before. But he was a changed man. He needed more.

Pansy had looked in horror when he brought out the knife for the first time and refused to do it but he had persuaded her. She ran the blade softly over his stomach at first, without drawing blood until he screamed at her to cut him. She pressed hard, hating herself as she sliced into his chest, a long gash forming. Boiling blood raised though the valley of the cut, erupting like a volcano and glistening across his chest. It energised him. He could fuck all night after that. And it was their secret. He knew she wouldn't tell a soul.

Tonight Draco had been thinking about the night of the battle. It had been all his fault. He had as good as taken three innocent lives that night. He had fed them to the mercy of Lord Voldemort. He scratched the scars on his chest, thinking about it.

He had gotten cold feet after he had failed to kill Dumbledore and knew that his master would punish him severely. He took to the order of the phoenix and begged forgiveness and they had hidden him. For months he lived at number 12 Grimmauld place with Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys as well as other members of the order. They had grown to trust him on Dumbledore's portraits orders. One night towards the end of the summer Lord Voldemort found out about the hideout. Their secret had been betrayed. An army of Death Eaters had captured him along with Harry, Ron and Hermione and brought him to Lord Voldemort's side.

At this point Draco blinked tears away from his eyes and began to cut his left wrist with a knife.

The Death Eaters encircled them and Lord Voldemort approached them.

'Foolish Draco,' he said, 'you thought you could hide from the greatest sorcerer in the world?'

'N-no,' he cowered.

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'Well then you were right. I have found you. You see Draco, I was most displeased to find out you had failed your mission and even more displeased to find out that you had the nerve, the stupidity to run from me.'

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'M-master. I crave your forgiveness,' Draco crawled to the hem of Lord Voldemorts robes and began to kiss it but Voldemort kicked him away.

'How dare you touch me!' he roared, 'your penalty for failing your mission was torture but your penalty for running is death. Now you shall have both, crucio!'

'No!' called out Ron as Draco writhed on the floor, screaming.

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Voldemort smirked a snake-like smile as Ron placed himself in front of Draco.

'Spare him. Kill me instead.'

Voldemort laughed a cold, mirthless laugh, 'and what use are you to me? But if you wish to be killed I am more than happy to oblige, Avada Kadavra!' Ron crumpled in a heap on the floor, all life taken from him.

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Hermione shrieked and ran forwards to Ron.

'Avada Kadavra!' Voldemoret roared again and Hermione fell, motionless next to Ron.

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Harry stepped forwards, tears nearly blinding him.

'Ron and Hermione may not be of use to you but I am. Spare Malfoy and take me instead.'

'You are in no position to bargain with me Mr Potter.'

'Expelliarmus' Harry called and miraculously Voldemorts wand flew high into the air for him to catch.

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'How about we ask Draco here what to do?' he turned to Draco who was shivering in a pile on the floor,' I shall kill one of you and let the other go. Who should it be?'

Draco looked up and looked at Harry. He turned to Voldemort, 'Harry,' he whispered.

'Avada Kedavra!' he cried into the night and his red eyes gleamed as his nemesis fell to his death.

Cut

Draco couldn't remember what happened after that, only that as Voldemort rounded on him the order of the phoenix turned up and he woke in st. Mungo's two days later.

He sat on his bed, eyes bleary with tears, his arm dripping with blood. He counted eight cuts and sliced twice more into his flesh. Pain coursed down his arms up to his shoulders. He couldn't swallow and saliva dripped from his mouth, mixing with the blood from his arm. He couldn't go on. He couldn't live with the guilt. He had killed them and everyone knew it. The only one who could defeat Voldemort was dead. He turned the knife around and with a shaking hand, plunged it deep into his heart.

I hope you liked my story. Please R&R. This is the first serious fic i have written and would really like some feedback. Soph xxxx