Quadrophenia

Chapter Three
My karma tells me,
You've been screwed again.
If you let them do it to you,
You've got yourself to blame.
It's you who feels the pain,
It's you that feels the shame.


The next couple of months passed in a blurred haze of laughter, anger, lust, cruelty but above all fear. It engrossed him, everything that he now felt or even was, was in essence all because of his tremendous fear. The fear of death for not only himself and Dumbledore, but for his mother, the fear he would not succeed, yet the fear that he would infact succeed and become the assassin of a something he was rare to come across - someone who understood him.

He practically lived in the room of requirement, spending endless hours trying to fix a cabinet whose use was the key feature of a pointless cause. And it was true to say that he was for the first time in his life finding a task difficult. He was handling levels of magic that he as a sixth year had never dreamed of even knowing let alone attempting and it was all getting to him, bit by bit he could feel himself falling into a place he did not wish to be.
The fear was getting to him, he would hold it, keep his emotions within like he had always been taught to, he would keep the face that his fa---Lucius had taught him to for so many years. However there would be outbursts, times that he couldnt keep his frustration at not only himself but seemingly with the rest of the world at bay any longer, times where he would in a flash of nothingness emerge to find himself in such a position he as a seemingly calm, well rooted sixteen year old boy would not have ever dreamed to find himself...

Take that very morning for example; He had been sitting, quite seemingly calmly upon his bed, apparantly deep in thought, probably over something unneccesary like his potions essay. That is how it seemed to the rest of the dormitory.
However, quite to the contrary Draco was sitting wondering whether he should contact Borgin and Burkes for help with the vanishing cabinet, write to them for another cursed object, perhaps take another under the imperius curse to do his bidding once again for him, and on top of all of this he was thinking about whether smoking crack cocaine out of his bedroom window would cause a stir or whether he would once again be able to go un noticed. Well it was from the depths of all of this thought he had been cruelly, and prematurely pulled by the smashing of one Theodore Nott's vial for potions, holding some sort of violet concoction which was now all over the stone floor, small shards of glass scattered amongst the purple mess. Nobody was hurt, and the vial was easily repaired and the potion placed back within through the use of a simple spell. However before Draco could even recognise what it was he was going he had a terrified Nott pinned against the cold wall by his neck, his own hand gripping dangerously tight around his airway. In a split second Draco was pulled from this previously mentioned 'trance' and realised what he was doing.
He removed the look of pure venom, one to challenge even Lucius' best, from his face and brushed his friend off, apologizing. He turned to his bed and without a second thought to his sweet salvation sitting in the box under his matress he had grabbed his wand and robes, pulled on his grey jumper over his shirt and school tie and swept from the room, only letting himself slip back into thought when he reached the one place he thought no one would look.

And that is precisley where he stood now, staring at himself in the slightly stained mirror, taking in his too-pale complexion and his white-blond hair. He knew no one would bother him here. He could let himself think. He could allow himself to slip into any amount of anger that he wished to, for this was Myrtle's bathroom, and although she was not here at present - he had checked this quite thoroughly - he knew that no one would come in. He took his own features in and knew it was true. The so called compliment he had been given left right and centre for years.
"Draco, you're the double of your father"
Compliment? Yes, admittedly he had taken it as one for years, always looking up to that man, always striving to be like him. But now? Now that he actually had the chance he had as a child thought would be his life's dream? Hah! This was nothing more than an insult of the cruellest kind.
His eyes caught his own reflected eyes in the mirror. The sparkling yet icy blue drawing him in, allowing him a moment of something close to happiness.
He may have the looks of his father. But his eyes. His eyes were that of his mothers, and to look into his, was like looking straight into hers, something at this moment he wished more than anything he could do.

He could feel his eyes prickling red hot, his reflection in the mirror was becoming blurred.
He had to stop these thoughts now, he was supposedly a man. A grown man. And men don't cry.

He tried to think of something else, anything else. But that, regrettably, proved impossible.
His mind was riddled with the same thoughts, all emerging in an unhealthy circle: His mother and her safety, his own safety, the cabinet and how he could not fix it, the Dark Lord's increasing anger, the pointless task he had been set, the apprehension he felt of having to kill possibly the only man who could help him, the girl whose heart he only days ago broke, the girl who he thought was the only one who could probably understand him and whom he could truely care for, but how to do so would cause her so much danger and pain that it would be unfair to, his hatred of Lucius, who was most definatley in Draco's mind the cause of everything, of all of his frustration and of his total and infinite, his final, permenant thought, fear.

He looked into the mirror once more then closed his eyes, only reopening them after slowly counting to ten under his breath, his voice quavering slightly.
He focused his gaze upon his face which instantly formed itself into a purely hate filled glare.
He could feel himself burning up, his heart racing, beating heavily against his chest. He pulled off his jumper and flung it onto the floor, turned on the taps and splashed himself with the cool water in an attempt to calm himself before placing his hands onto the sides of the grimy basin.
Gripping onto the cool porcelain he raised his head once more, and allowed his eyes to yet again focus onto his own reflected face. He stared at himself, letting his mind fill further with every thought in the trecharous, reaccuring cycle as he felt his eyes fill and watched himself turn into nothing more than a white-blond haze.

'Real mean don't cry'
He thought to himself as he felt the hot tears roll down his pale, almost, he thought at times, pale enough to become transparent, cheeks.
"Well obviously, I'm nothing more than a mere boy" he told himself as his grip tightened upon the sink to such a level that he thought he could feel his knuckles throbbing. He felt a shudder go through his body as he began to gulp and gasp, his tears falling faster now.

"Fuck it" He croakily managed as his voice broke into nothing more than a whisper, as he pulled his head down and felt his own self pity and frustration engulf him.

***********************************************************************

His head was lowered and his body bent, his head held low over the grimy basin. His back, thinner than she had always thought it would be, was placed towards the doorway, facing directly to where she now stood - watching him. He was shaking slightly, his back arching higher and then lower with every intake and release of breath he noisily took.

Icy shudders made their way down her own back as her breathing began to follow the rasping yet deep breaths taken by him. She was uncomfortable; as if she were trespassing even. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt to her as if it were in her throat, and although she made no noise, she was certain that the loud beating that was ringing in her ears would give her away. She could feel her entwined, fiddling fingers and palms becoming cooly clammy, and she knew that to stand here much longer would be dangerous. She swallowed as quietly as possible, wanting to say something, but stopped herself, he would no doubt turn around and send some sort of curse her way. It would be her own fault, if she wasn't so damned nosy she wouldn't have came into the wretched bathroom in the first place. She'd thought someone was hurt, and Hermione, always trying to be the little hero that she really wasn't had quietly came into the bathroom all set to hand out a detention or patch up a wound of a little kid. But she had stopped in the exact space as where she now stood watching something that she definatley did not want to. A bo---man who was usually so collected, if not - she thought- stupid in some of his more recent actions, someone who was nonetheless so seemingly powerful, and to a lot of people, herself when she was younger included in this number, sinister, was falling apart like no more than a small and helpless child infront of her.

She wanted to help him but knew she couldn't. She was intruding on his privacy, this was something no one should see, something that no one was meant to see, but there she was...watching him and it embarrassed her, she could feel herself becoming more uncomfortable by the moment, her cheeks reddening, a cool sweat slowly forming on her back, and for every second longer that she stood in the doorway watching one Draco Malfoy come apart at the seams she was letting herself get into a worse state. Her stomach churning and clenching, picking at the skin of her own fingertips she looked straight into the mirror.

He raised his arm, pulling his white cuff around his pale hand as he did, letting out his last gasps and gulps. He brought it to his streaked face, wiping the tears onto it and with one great, final shudder that encased his whole body he slowly raised his gaze to meet his own, blurred, slightly puffy yet strikingly blue eyes in the mirror. However his gaze rested upon something other than himself and he began to wonder just how long she had been standing there, and just how much of his mutterings she had heard as he stood giving his best glare at the reflection of the interfering, Gryffindor prefect priss that was Hermione Granger.
*****

He flung himself round, reaching for his wand as he turned. She was quicker, she saw his hand move instantly towards his pocketed wand, however she already had hers at the ready. However, in the seconds it took for her to decide whether to stun him or to scream no he had already shot a spell at her. She blocked his attempt and sent expelliarmus his way, however he in turn blocked this.
"Levicorpus"
No, he wasn't going to get caught by that one again, he thought to himself as he blocked it, screaming "Stupify" as he did, yet he missed and hit a sink, sending water rushing from its cracked base all over the floor. Potter had cast that upon him little more than two weeks ago when his back was turned. He'd never seen any spell like it previously and was thoroughly shocked to find himself hanging upside down suspended in mid air by his own left leg. Perhaps Potter should have listened to their fourth year dark arts teacher, that vile ex-auror Moody who had turned him into a ferret for casting a spell behind anothers back, because it was Draco who in the end won when McGonnagall was forced to give the ever glorious Potty a weeks worth of detention for attacking without pretence. In the kerfuffle he had however heard Weasel mention another spell, another which he hadn't heard of.

"Should have used Sectumsempra mate! Finally could have found out what it does, must be funnier than this one, it says its for enemies, bet we could have had a right old laugh."
Draco listened harder, 'Sectumsempra, never heard of it' he thought as he tried to listen to the conversation. Weaselby seemed to have had an idea spring to his mind.
"You know Harry, I bet its undetectable, thats why the Prince is suggesting to use it---"
"Will you shut up Ron! Not here, we'll talk about it in the dorm. Don't want everyone to hear!"

'Undetectable' he thought as he pulled himself out of his short reminiscence just in time to block yet another stunning spell. Did this girl not know anything different?!!
Should he use it? Surely it can't be that bad if its possibly undetectable. And Granger was, in the eyes of other at least, an enemy. It couldnt hurt his reputation to give it a go. If can-do-no-wrong Potter was going to think about using it, the spell surely can't be bad. Probably makes flowers pop out of you ars---. His thoughts were cut off as he had to block yet another stunning spell, this time however followed by the scream of something he thought would never leave her lips
"Cruci----"
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" he cried, his spell hitting her first.
His smile at being able to block the cruciatus curse faded instantly, a look of shock and repulsion replacing the split second grin.
Blood spurted from Hermione's torso, large gashes appearing, exactly as if she had been slashed with an invisible sword. She staggered backwards, hands frantically scrabbling at her blood soaked shirt, moving her hands upwards to try and stem the flow of one cut that was dangerously close to her neck she collapsed onto the waterlogged stone floor, her wand rolling away from her as she began to shake uncontrollably, her blood mingling and splashing with the water on the floor.

"No--I---I didn't--" Draco began as he ran towards her contorting body, slipping and sliding in the culmination of red which was now spreading across the floor.
Her scrabbling hands stopped, her eyes seeking out his own, but when they finally reached he watched hers half close and strain to re-open. Her hands fell into the watery scarlet surrounding them both as he came down onto his knees, grabbing her wrists, feeling for a pulse, a feeble one of which he found.

He didn't know how to fix this, he didn't know a counter charm nor did he know any form of healing incantations to even attempt to close the wounds with. He tried frantically to stem the flow of blood pushing his previously discarded jumper to the seeping gash closest to her neck, the one that was worrying him most, however he knew this would not help for long.
He watched as her eyes flickered shut and her body now shaking again, this time however only gently.
More substance was now to mix with the crimson water; his tears, which were now falling thick and fast.

How could Potter have ever thought of using a spell like this? And why had he himself been so stupid as to have used a spell that he had no knowledge of?! he thought desperatley to himself. Yes, hindsight was a wonderful thing, but dwelling on the matter would not help her sorry condition now.

He left her side, his rage taking over him, his frustration at everything else in the world making him angrier than he already was. Sinking his fist into the mirror he cries out as he feels the glass embed itself into his knuckles then into his arm as his punch slides past the cracked surface.
He turned, looking over to Hermione, still shaking. Shes still alive.
A moment of relief.
He grabs a shard of the mirror from the bloodied floor and pulls it across his arm then trails the sharp edge down towards, and then over, his wrist, the stinging of the creation of the wound quickly discarded as he watches his intensley pale, veiny skin cover in the hot crimson.
He drops the glass and replaces it with his wand, tensing his hand around it so fiercly he can almost feel the throbbing of his blood in his veins.
He needs it now. He can't think of any other way to rid him of this mess. He needs release, he needs relief, and more than a split seconds worth. More than an hours worth, or even eight hours worth. He needs something stronger, something that will hopefully take him into oblivion and allow him to stay there, to let him slip into wherever it may be that he will end up.

He always carries spares with him.

Always.

He reaches into his discarded, sodden robes and pulls a smaller box, no bigger than that of a cigarrette case from a concealed inner pocket. His left hand still tensed around his wand, his arm throbbing almost painfully he one handedly reaches into the case and pulls out a small needle.
He smiles at the knowledge of what its filled with and with a last glance at a still quivering Hermione he slowly injects the liquid into his largely protruding vein, feeling the liquid seemingly sting and physically itch his very blood.
He manages to get everything tidied away before the light headedness takes over him.
And now all he had to do is wait. Wait for the happy darkness to take him.

His head is swimming, figures infront of his eyes dancing, and that is when he realises. And when he does realise, it is very nearly too late. However, luckily he notices this vital error just in time.

He hasnt taken enough to reach his goal.

He crawls over to Hermione, the room spinning around him, and as he reaches her cold, lightly quavering body he pulls his silver, jewel encrusted, seemingly harmless looking dark mark from around his neck.
He pulls out the tiny concealed scoop and inhales the white powdered contents, continuing this practice until the scoop emerges with hardly anything on it.

The room now is nothing but a glimmer of blood and flesh. He curls into the girl beside him.
Yet another victim of his stupidity.
Another victim of a cause that should never have been started in the first place.

He lets the last small amount of powder enter his system, screws the head of the snake back into place, and still holding it in his hand lets his eyes roll backwards and his head fill with nothing but the blessed darkness now encasing him.


**********
A/N(Yes I realise the taking of the heroin isnt exactly how it would be done in life, but he's a wizard, whose to say its muggle heroin he's taking Maybe wizard heroin doesnt need to be heated up etc haha)

Hope you enjoy, thats been a bugger to write lol! Writers block and afew personal issues, funerals and such, but now im back on track with this...hopefully. Although ive just started uni so updates may take a while...depends how busy i get!
*DISCLAIMER: THE SONG LYRICS BELONG TO THE WHO...NOT ME!*