The Darkest Star

Chapter 15: Draco Lucius Malfoy

⚠️❗️TRIGGER WARNING: SELF-HARM ❗️⚠️

Bleed Vos Iustus Scire Te Vivere // You Bleed To Know You Are Alive

Draco Lucius Malfoy's POV
     My whole chest stung as I woke up from my small nap. It was two days after the incident and I was still forced to stay in the hospital Wing so my cuts could properly heal and close over. I should be out by the end of the week, but I was still forbidden from playing quidditch or doing any strenuous activity until they were properly healed, meaning I probably won't be spending time with Jake any time soon. Madame Pomfrey told me I'd most likely have scars, just wonderful. Part of me found irony in the situation. After all the teasing I did to potter about his scar maybe he got fed up and decided to get his revenge. Then I remember that it was an accident. Which almost makes it worse if anything, the fact that he was stupid enough to cast an unknown spell. I want to be mad at him, I want to resent him. I want to hate him. God knows it would be a hell of a lot easier.

     I reached for a glass of water beside my bed. Wincing as I stretched my cuts slightly. I wanted to be out of this dumb bed but it still hurt to move. Lyra has been visiting recently and keeping me up to date on how the vanishing cabinet was coming along. She seemed to be the most worried about me. Probably the only one worried if we're honest. But she's my twin, she has to be worried. As I set my glass down my eyes settled on my wrist. I rolled the sleeve up on my shirt so stare at my arm. My eyes then moved to my other wrist, pulling up the sleeve there as well. On one forearm lay the mark I was forced to bear, on the other lay a small collage of self-induced scars. On one side was what I couldn't control, and the other side was what I could. It was my punishment for being a disappointment. For not being good enough. For being gay as well I suppose. But it was also a relief for everything inside me.
     I can feel the ghost of my father constantly behind me, watching what I do with a disappointed scowl. His cane at his side so he can whip me into shape when he pleases. But I deserve it if I wasn't such a bad son it wouldn't be like this. I just have to be better. But goddammit it's hard. It's so damn hard sometimes.

     I absentmindedly stroke the scars on my forearm as I stare forward in a daze. I feel numb, empty. Echoing footsteps tell me that someone is coming to visit. I don't want to see anyone right now. I pull my sleeves down and look up just in time to see my visitor. And- oh god not him.
     "What do you want," I snarl. Potter approaches me slowly with a shy look on his face.
     "To apologize." He says it so quietly I almost don't hear him. I think I heard wrong, but his embarrassed and guilty face tells me I heard correctly. I'm shocked, kind of confused.
     "Why?" Is the only thing I can comprehend. Potter shrugs (I hate when he does that, it's infuriatingly cute) and precedes to run a hand through his tousled hair (screw him, he isn't even aware of how hot he looks when he does that).
     "Because I feel bad, I didn't mean to hurt you."
     "You could have killed me," I snapped. I continued to glare at the idiot in front of me. I still wasn't sure why he was apologizing. I wasn't mad, I deserved it after everything I've done frankly.
     "I know Malfoy! stop being a git I'm trying to apologize," Potter snaps back. I silence myself and gesture with my hand for him to continue. Potter rolls his abnormally beautiful green eyes and sighs.
     "I- I'm sorry," he says, "I didn't mean to hurt you. And I feel really bad." He lowered his gaze to the floor. I tried to ignore the butterflies in my stomach and the irregular beating of my heart. He looked genuinely guilty.
     "Okay," I responded. Potter looked up with an irritated gaze.
     "Okay?"
     "Yeah, Okay." Potter scoffed and turned to walk off.
     "I try to apologize and all I get is an okay, bloody wanker." Just as Potter is about to leave I make a stupid decision.
     "Potter," I called out. The aforementioned boy stops and turns around with a curious expression. I don't look at him as I speak,
     "I'm sorry," I say sincerely, "for trying to crucify you I mean." I wait for a moment in awkward silence before I dare to look at him. He has a slight smile on his face. It's so fucking beautiful I can't stand it.
     "What the fuck are you smiling about?" I snarl. Potter simply laughs. Laughs. He fucking laughs. I'm so torn being snogging him senseless and murdering him in his sleep.
     "Don't worry your pretty head about it Malfoy, I have to go now. Also, you're forgiven." Potter says cheerfully and turns to strut out of the hospital wing. It takes me a moment to fully realize that not only did potter forgive me, but he called me pretty. I would be lying if I said I didn't have a small gay panic at that moment. Did he mean it? Was he just joking? Does he think I'm pretty? Is he even gay?
     All of my questions were answered not long after when I left the hospital Wing to discover Potter and Weaslette were dating. No. He's not gay. No. He doesn't think I'm pretty. No. He didn't mean it. Yes. He was joking.

     I felt the ache in my heart expanding. I knew I didn't have a chance but every minute Potter was with the girl weasel was another minute of knowing how dumb I was to fall for someone I could never have. When I saw them snogging in the hallway I lost it. I ran away and punched a bookcase in the library. I accidentally opened one of my side wounds again and split my knuckles open. Madame Pomfrey treated me without asking questions and I agreed to stay the night in the Hospital Wing again.

As it gets darker it gets harder to sleep. I lay on the white linen with a lamp beside me as the only source of light in the room. I was shirtless, laying on my right with my left side bandaged where I split open one of my deeper wounds. Most of them were already scars, but a couple were too deep to heal that quickly.
     I brought my left arm up to stare at the snake moving through the skull. If it wasn't his mark I would appreciate the artistry of the mark or the unique design. However, looking at it only reminded me of pain. I felt a familiar tug in my gut as I stared at my wrist a bit more, my eyes focused on the smooth unblemished plane and the veins below. I stood up from my bed and began to look around for something, anything I could use. I found a small shard of broken glass underneath one of the hospital beds, I wasn't sure how it got there but I didn't care. Taking off to the bathroom I leaned against the wall and slowly slid the glass across my right wrist. I didn't ever cut my left in fear of my father or a death eater noticing if I ever had to call the dark lord. I also feared if I had to show my dark mark and someone else noticing my scars, someone who would try to help me.
     I sighed and leaned my head against the wall as blood welled up from the first slit. The pleasure lasted only a moment before guilt started to kick in. I wanted it to go away. All of it. My father's words, the expectations, my gayness. I slid the glass along my wrist a second time, slightly deeper this time. It still wasn't enough. The next was quicker, more frantic. I was crying as I did the next few, fast and far too deep than I should have. I sobbed and threw the piece of glass on the ground and turned on hot tap on the sink. I stuck my arm under and watched as the blood ran down the drain, I felt slightly dizzy but I didn't think much about it. The water got hotter and my arm stung and burned as it started to get too hot. I didn't bother adjusting it, I let my skin get red and hot. The new cuts felt like they were on fire. I didn't move my arm as the steam gathered in the room and my skin began to burn. I sobbed and my voice cracked. Soon the pain in my arm was too much and I frantically switched the tap to cold. The water switched and cold was soothing on my burnt and sliced arm. I continued to cry pathetically and I stared at the red water as my arm continued to bleed. Perhaps I went too deep this time. I felt a little nauseous and a little light-headed. No. I felt more than a little light-headed. The world was spinning and I fumbled to turn the tap off. 

I dried off my arm, but it hadn't stopped bleeding. I grabbed toilet paper and pressed it against the deepest cuts, hissing as it stung my burnt arm. A wave of nausea hit and my legs gave out underneath me. I gripped the sink in front of me, trying not to smash my head on the floor. Still crying I slowly lowered myself onto the ground and continued to put pressure onto my arm. When it became apparent that the bleeding wasn't going to stop I swallowed my fear and pride and called out in desperation, 

    "Somebody! Help!" I wasn't sure if anyone had heard me at all, I tried calling out again hoping someone would hear me but I was crying too hard to form words. I'm not sure when I blacked out, I just remember trying to get anybody's attention. Anybody nearby. A teacher. A student out of bed late. Mr. filch. I would accept Mrs. Norris for fuck's sake. But I heard nobody. And slowly my vision drifted away, my other senses followed closely after.

Sorry for the dark chapter. The quote above is from the song "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls. It's a line in the second verse that I thought really matched the theme of this chapter. 

-River 🌊