Picking up the Pieces of Our Lives -Drarry

Chapter 8: Blood, Cuts, and Suicidal Thoughts

**WARNING! SELF HARM AND OTHER RELATED THEMES**

Draco

It was lunch time and Draco sat in his usual spot in the library, only to be interrupted by the Boy-Who-Lived sitting right in front of him. When he finally noticed the blond, Draco wondered why he was in the library rather than the Great Hall. They only spoke for about a minute, and then the conversation was over.

The next day, he had missed Arithmancy, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and now half of Transfiguration, and it was because of many different reasons that seemed to be related. Last night was the first time he had actually been able to sleep and missed Arithmancy. After that, he knew he had missed some classes, so he decided just to stay in the dorms for a little while longer, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey that he kept whenever he felt particularly down. He enchanted the alcohol so it would have no odor, and began to drink. It was going to be almost the end of DADA when Draco decided he should stop drinking so he could make it to Transfiguration.

As Draco stumbled along a deserted hallway, he met four other students Draco was too drunk to know who they were, what house they were in, or even what year they were when they started crowding around him. Shoving him around, taunting him. After a while of them punching and kicking the Slytherin, they started throwing hexes at him saying things to him like 'looks like you can't go running to mummy and daddy this time, you filthy inbred Death Eater!' Or 'why aren't you fighting back, prat? Worried you'll get sent to Azkaban where you belong?' After shooting one final hex at him, one of them sneered as they shouted at Draco saying "you know, you should just kill yourself, it'd do all of us a favor!"

That's when Draco had enough. He watched the four leave, laughing wildly, he slowly got up and decided he wouldn't go to class today. He slowly started limping back to the dormitories when he ran into Potter of all people. The Gryffindork was walking to the bathroom and ran into him, Draco's heart lurched and all he wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms, but no, because Potter definitely wasn't gay, and even if he was, he would never love a foul creature such as himself. When Potter asked what happened to him, it took all of his willpower to not run up to him and tell him everything, to have the Gryffindor envelope him in warmth and tell him everything, because right now, Draco was going to plan his death.

~•~•~•~

Back in the room, Draco pulled out his favorite silver dagger and started pressing it against his skin. He felt the relief almost immediately when he could see the liquid run down his forearm. But soon, the cute he made on his arm weren't enough. He started pulling up his shirt and looked at the skin there.  He could easily just start cutting there. He turned back to his left arm, scars and scabs and cuts littered his arm, but you could still see very plainly the Dark Mark. He began to start making slashes on his hips, yelling out at himself, angry, as he made a new one. "Your worthless!" He said "How could anyone ever love you?" He mocked, himself "Your just a sad excuse for human existence!" He screamed "Your so fat and you don't eat!" Draco now had about thirty cuts on his hips, each one growing deeper than the last. Finally, Draco made one last remark at himself "Y-you should just die!" And with that the depressed Slytherin boy started weeping on his bed. He cried for what felt like hours.

It was almost four in the afternoon, Draco had been drinking his fire whiskey and he almost finished his first bottle, when he heard footsteps leading up to the dorms. The blond pulled the curtains together and hid the liquor under his pillow. The door flew open and his two roommates walked into the room. Draco was completely wasted, so he prayed they had nothing to say to him, in fear they might discover his plans.

All they did was walk into the rooms retrieve their things and leave. The blond breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled out the bottle once more and began drinking, just like he did in sixth year, like he did now. He drank and drank until he could feel no more, until he couldn't think straight, until he heard snores fill the room. That was when he stopped himself from drinking, not because he didn't want to drink anymore, but because he ran out of his supply under his bed. If he wanted more, he'd have to get out of bed and open his trunk. He fully believed that at the moment, he couldn't even stand up, so he laid down and tried to sleep.

~•~•~•~•

He was so hungover. He was sure of it. Luckily, there were two bathrooms for the three of them, a perk of having everyone's favorite Golden Boy as a dorm mate, so he kept himself inside one ever since four in the morning. He hated the taste the bile when he threw it up, but felt like he deserved every bit of pain he got. He was a Death Eater after all, and they should be in Azkaban, surrounded by their worst memories, slowly dying. Since Draco wasn't allowed there, he made himself miserable here.

His head throbbed and his body ached. He had retched few times, confused to why he threw anything up at all. He hadn't eaten in days, and when his stomach was empty, all he could do dry heave now. He sat himself down on Potter's bed. The boys were now long gone, and Draco had the whole room to himself. The blond laid on the Golden Boy's bed and breathed in his scent. Warm, fire, forest, home. He sat there a long time, thinking about how hopelessly in love he was, before telling himself sternly that he could never tell Potter.

If Potter ever knew, he would kill the Slytherin boy before he had a chance to kill himself. He mused the idea of Potter shoving him of a tower when it hit him. That's how he should go. It would be a dramatic death and get it over with fast enough. He sat in the other boy's bed for a little bit longer, until deciding he should do it soon. Draco got up and walked to his own bed, and tried to sleep, only until after lunch he was able to drift off into fitful nightmare riddled rest.