Addiction

Addiction

Chapter 1

Rain pours down from the heavens, disguising my tears. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here. For all I know it’s been years, but I feel certain it’s only been a few hours. The cigarette in between my fingers is still there, unlit and wet. I know I should go inside because I’m probably going to catch a cold, but I can’t bring myself to leave the safety of my mind. I don’t want to go back inside with those fools.

Do they think that I don’t know what their up too? I know that they don’t like me nor do they wish me to live after I defeat Voldemort. It broke my heart when I found out. I was going to tell them my darkest secrets, thinking they deserved to know and would support me, only to eavesdrop on them talking about their plans. That was… a few hours ago, I think. Yes, it’s somewhere around midnight now I think. Damn, it was more then a few hours ago.

It doesn’t matter how long ago I found out. The only thing that matters is that I found out and I need to figure out what I’m going to do now. Surely I can’t follow Dumbledore and his mad plans to get me killed. But go to Voldemort? I’ve thought about it for the longest time but I’m still not sure what to do. Death? That’s been an option to me since I was twelve and first got my addictions.

The rain is pouring down by the bucket-loads now. I can barely see the cigarette in my hand now. I would like to light it, but I don’t think I have the willpower to go somewhere dry and do so. Eventually I will have to go inside and sneak back into my dormitory, but for now, I’ll just dwell on my thoughts.

But these thoughts are painful and make it hard to resist my addictions. I’m barely able to resist reaching into my robe and getting out my dagger. In the end, that’s just what I do. I pull my dagger from my robe pocket. I drop the cigarette I’ve been holding for God knows how long. How deep? How deep will I dig this dagger into my arm this time? I don’t have an answer. Just deep enough to get rid of the hurt, I guess.

I place the dagger vertically on my wrist. This shocks me, for I always place it horizontally so I don’t make the cut fatal. Do I mean to end it for good this time? But is ending it really the coward’s way out? I guess you can call me a coward then. I won’t care when I’m dead.

But before I can make a single cut on my already scar marked arm, a hand gently grabs my hand and takes it slowly from my wrist before taking the dagger from my stiff, cold hand. Looking up I see no one but the rain for it is raining so hard I cannot see. A dry robe charmed with the impervious charm is placed over me to protect me from the icy rain’s icy sting.

“I know what they did to you Potter,” came a voice. The voice was familiar, yet I don’t know who it belongs to. I’m not sure if I’m to far gone to remember or if it is someone I truly do not know, at least not that well. But the voice is calming for some odd reason. It’s silky demeanor almost caresses me with it’s gentle words, but no matter how much I try to remember the voice remains faceless.

“It’s okay Potter. You’re safe now,” the voice says, though even more soothingly then it had last time. It still had neither face nor meaning other then comfort.

The voice said more things, though I do not know what was uttered. I listened only to the sound of the voice, the o so comforting sound. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I apparently did because when I awoke I was somewhere comfortable and dry. I had awoke in my bed which makes me suspicious to who put me there. It was obviously no one I wanted to have found me out there.

Looking around I notice that there is no one there. It must be time for breakfast already for the sun is up as well as my year mates. I also find that I am in my pajamas. The thought that one of the traitors had touched me made me shiver in disgust; I do not want their hands on me.

But as I thought of them as traitors I realized that I was more so one then them. It was I who thought about joining Voldemort, a man so evil and terrifying that they feared to even speak his name. How could I call them traitors? Why am I even bitching about all this? I’m nobody special. I deserve to die. Just because I’m Harry fucking Potter doesn’t mean anything. Nobody likes me. I’m just a freak, a stupid, stupid freak that thought he could make friends with normal people.

But then why did somebody stop me from cutting myself? Maybe even killing myself? Truly this doesn’t prove that somebody cares. They probably mistook me for a friend or something in all that rain. Then why am I here in the Gryffindor seventh year dormitory? I don’t know. I don’t care. I’ll end it eventually. Next time nobody’s going to stop me and nobody’s going to care. I bet that person is kicking himself for letting me live.

I quickly got dressed in my usual uniform. It’s a good thing these robes have such long sleeves. I would never be able to hide these scars and cuts without them. Nobody will ever be able to find the cigarettes I keep hidden with all these pockets either. Or my other wand that I bought illegally so I could practice dark arts without Dumbledore’s charm on it. There was no way I would let him or anybody know I practiced the dark arts for the last three years.

It wouldn’t really matter anyway. They’ll find out when I’m dead and gone. Whether it’ll be by my own hand, by Voldemort’s, or by Dumbledore’s, I’ll die and they’ll find out all the material secrets I have. Of course, there’d be nothing they could do about it as I’ll be on my way to hell.

I don’t understand why I spend so much time complaining to myself. I should just end it and be done with it, but for some reason, I don’t. It’s as though I have to do something first… but what? Why can’t I just leave the world in shambles? It’s only what they deserve. Isn’t it? I would like to say yes, but there are a few, like young children, that are innocent. Something tells me I have to live for a better tomorrow.

Classes have probably started by now, but I don’t feel like attending any of them. It has always been a constant chore having to listen to any of those foolish enough to attempt teach ignorant and careless children. There is little to no reward to come of it. Why bother?

I leave my Mauradors map and invisibility cloak as I leave the castle. I doubt I’ll run in to anybody for most professors are teaching class. The only likely people to catch me would be Filch or Dumbledore, and I’m careful enough, though not cocky, to avoid them. It’s not as though I’d care if I was caught.

It is cold outside, but not unbearably so. Being nearly Christmas I’m sure that it will start to get colder and snow sometime during the next few weeks. The whomping willow is calm except for the occasional rustle from the wind whistling through its branches. There are very few birds around this time of year. The sky is dull gray and the earth damp with rain and dew. The lake is calm and so is the forbidden forest. It seems as though nearly everything sleeps in winter.

I sit below the leafless branches of the tree me and my “friends” always sit at near the lake. Taking out a cigarette, I light it and take a drag. The exhaled smoke takes with it any feeling I have; both physical and emotional. I love the feel of feeling nothing, yet I hate it all the same. I must feel something, anything. No longer having my knife with me, I take out my illegal wand. It is fourteen and a half inch yew wand with a single threstral hair. I cast a mild sectusempra on my wrist. The incision is made horizontally, for I only wish to feel and not yet die.

Closing my eyes, I take another drag from my cigarette. Opening my eyes again, I look down at the damage. My wrist is bleeding, though not in a dangerous amount. I watch as my crimson medicine drips out of the single cut. I wonder how it tastes. Never in all the time I’ve done this have I ever tasted this rich crimson elixir. Pulling my wrist up to my mouth and lick the blood clean, only to have more blood quickly replace it and mix with the saliva. I taste… metallic and… indescribable. But not terrible. It’s almost as though I’m tasting my very life and that in itself comforts me.

I continue to lick away my blood until the bleeding stops. I get up and stomp out the used up cigarette. Does anybody ever get suspicious about there being cigarette buds laying everywhere? Surely the professors want to know which of their precious students is smoking. I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s less of a hassle for me.

I go and lie on the shore of the lake. I stay there for several hours. There are footsteps approaching me around evening just a little before dusk. Stiffly, I sit up and look at who was approaching me. Imagine my surprise to find Draco Malfoy coming towards me, his gray eyes dark with worry.

“Is there something you want Malfoy?” I asked dully before lying back down.

“You should get inside. It’s freezing out here and I bet you haven’t eaten all day,” the blonde says, unexpected worry dominating his tone instead of the usual bite it had to it.

I recognize that voice… where had I heard it? My musings were cut short by the tall blonde’s words of worry.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said.

When he reached out for me I jerked away. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to take me, just that years of being abused just do that to you. Something’s telling me to not trust him. I don’t know if that is just another side effect of abuse or actual instinct, but I don’t trust him. Hell, it could be the years of fighting that have gone on between us. It’s not like it matters though; I still just don’t trust him.

He looks hurt. I just stare at the ground. We stay like that for several minutes before he finally gets the hint and leaves. I sigh and get out a cigarette. Of course he’d leave. Everybody leaves eventually. My parents left me, Dumbledore was never even there, and my so called “friends” left me. I’ve got nobody. I am nobody.

I don’t even have the cigarette in my mouth yet, but I don’t feel like smoking right now. After staring at the glowing ember for a moment, I roll up my sleeve and press it to my skin. The burning warms me up a bit in this cold weather, but lately I’m never really warm. Not on the inside. I let out a hiss as the lit cigarette burns my skin. There’s a gasp from somewhere behind me and I turn and find Malfoy still watching. I remove the cigarette from my arm and throw it into the lake.

“Making sure I don’t try to kill myself.” It wasn’t a question.

He doesn’t say anything but I’m sure that he was.

“Just leave me alone Malfoy,” I say tiredly. “Leave me like everybody else.”

“But I don’t want to leave you,” was the whispered response I got.

I don’t want to believe it, so I don’t. I sneer at him but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. Surely he’ll leave eventually. I just have to wait a while and he’ll leave me. But as the minutes tick by during this battle of wills, he doesn’t leave.

He steps closer to me and as I’m sitting down, I can only scoot back instead of taking a step. Being so near the lake, there’s only so far I can scoot without falling into its icy depths.

I look away from Malfoy and down at the fresh burn mark on my arm. There is only a faint stench of burnt flesh coming from the bright, round patch of skin. I only look up when the cigarette I threw into the lake hits me in the head. As I look at the lake I see ripples from something surfacing. The mermaids obviously do not like people polluting the lake. I gently pick up the soggy cigarette bud and throw it over my shoulder. I do not care where it goes as long as it’s away from me.

I only notice that Malfoy has sat next to me when he touches my shoulder. Jumping in shock, I fall on my back. A small smile appears on the blonde’s pink lips and it almost makes me want to smile. Almost. I do not smile. Instead, I sneer at him and get up, not betraying my embarrassment though I assume it is obvious to my blonde acquaintance.

“We really should go inside,” the blonde says.

“Why?” I ask, truly wondering why. Yes, it is cold, but so what? If I freeze to death then so be it. I do not care and neither should he. And it’s not like wizards can catch colds; our magic protects us from such muggle infections.

The blonde holds out his hand but is hesitant to try and touch me again. Instead of allowing him to harass me again, I get up myself and walk up to the castle without waiting for the blonde. I can hear his footsteps as he follows me, but I pay them no mind.

I don’t know where I’m going. The castle is huge yet there is no place to go. Where can I go to find peace from this stubborn blonde?

A/N: Should I keep going? This is going to be a two or three shot. Maybe a four shot. I’m not entirely sure yet. Do you want me to keep going?

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