I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER!
Just a new story that has been bouncing around my head. This is the first of three chapters I have written so far.
Warnings include some suicidal stuff....and future yaoi...stuff.
Please read and review. And, as always, if anyone has a request for a story, send me a private message and I will add you to the list. I working through the requests I have. I have finished two and am currently in the works on a third.
Draco was frustrated. He was beyond frustrated. He raked his long fingers through his pale blonde hair as he passed the fire place in the Slytherin common room again. He had been pacing the room for over an hour now and still couldn't think of a solution to his problems.
He knew what the problem was. He was worried. No. He was way past worried. He had been worried before, but never to this extent. He couldn't stand it. The thoughts that were running through his head made him physically sick. For more then one reason.
For over three years he had pretended to hate him. He had been awful to him, rude, and just plain mean. It was how he should feel. How his father had told him to feel after learning that he was at Hogwart's at the same time as Draco, but not in Slytherin. It was how his friends felt, especially the ones who had parents, like his, who were former Death Eaters.
But it wasn't how he felt. Since the first time he had laid eyes on the dark haired boy, while they stood together and were fitted for their school robes, before he even knew who he was, Draco had felt a pull towards him. Something he had never felt for anyone else before or since.
And now he was so worried about him that he was making himself sick. He thought the year before, their third year at Hogwart's, had been bad. When Sirius Black had escaped and it was rumored he was after him, Draco spent most of the year with a need to take potions to make himself sleep.
But this. This was worse. He had heard the stories about past Tri-Wizard contestants being seriously injured or even killed. But that was before Dumbledore was headmaster. He thought that with such a powerful man as headmaster of Hogwart's, that he would be safe. But he wasn't. That day, just that morning, he had sat in the stands, cheering along with his friends as they watched the three other contestants get past the dragons. And then it was his turn.
Draco had felt his body tense, his stomach knot, his mind fog as the fear and worry brought him to the point of passing out. He watched as he walked into the arena. He watched as the dragon spit fire at him. He watched as the dragon almost crushed him, bit him, clawed him, roasted him. His heart had been beating so fast and so hard that he had been clutching his chest from the pain. And all the while his friends had been cheering the dragon on.
When he finally got past the dragon, finally got the egg, and finally got out of the arena, Draco had felt his knees give out and had sat heavily back into his seat. His friends had started at him, asked him what was wrong. As usual, he came up with an excuse on the fly. He told them he was shocked that the dragon had actually lost. That it hadn't killed him. It had partly been the truth. He had been so scared that the dragon would win. His hand had trembled as he had pushed back the hair that the wind had tossed into his eyes.
Now he was frustrated. All he wanted to go was to run to him. To make sure he was okay. To make sure he wasn't badly injured. ……To hold him. That was what he truly wanted. To hold him and make sure he was really still alive. Watching him come so close to death had shaken him badly.
Draco stopped pacing and looked into the fire. He had to do something. He had to do something to make the fear and the worry and the pain stop. He turned from the fire and walked to the stairs that lead to his dorm room. He sighed in relief to find the room empty. He closed the door behind him and knelt in front of the trunk at the foot of his bed. He opened the lid and pulled the fabric away from the right side of the lid. Just underneath was his solution to the pain. It was a temporary solution, but it helped him through the worst of times.
Tucking the item into his pocket, he closed his trunk and left the room. He left the common room and wound through the hallways of the school until he came to an empty bathroom. He slipped inside, being sure no one was around to see him. He locked himself in a stall and knelt on the floor in front of the toilet.
Pulling the straight razor from his pocket, he unfolded the long, sharp blade and watched the sunlight filtering through a nearby window wink off of the silver. Setting the blade on his knees, he rolled back his left sleeve. He felt a tear slide down his cheek as he picked the blade up again.
He hated feeling this way.
Draco slowly drew the sharp blade over the inside of his arm.
He hated being so worried for someone he was supposed to hate.
Draco watched as blood welled into the second path of the blade slicing into him.
He hated feeling powerless to protect him.
Draco closed his eyes as tears spilled hot over his cheeks.
He hated the mind numbing fear.
Draco shivered as he drew the blade a fourth time.
He hated that he loved him so much it hurt.
Draco dropped the blade to the floor. Watched as the silver disappeared into the pool of red. He swayed as his vision turned black.