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Angel Of Mercy	By : AttentionDeficit Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10159 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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All I Wanted To Do Has Fallen Apart Now
So I am lying on my bed right now fighting back the memories of home life. I don’t want to go home ever again. I don’t want to see my parents anymore. But I know I’ll have to see the route of my problems if I want to get out of here.
Which leads me to lying here with memories upon memories floating around in my head. Kind of like a wheel. Its spins and I’ll watch this memory and then it spins again and I’ll watch another. And of course right now I’m playing through the memories of the holidays at the manor.
Christmas has always been my least favourite time of the year. Everyone smiles at each other and people think this season is filled with joy but when all I want to do is crawl up in a ball and die, it sucks.
I didn’t always hate Christmas. When I was young, maybe ten and younger, the season was filled with joy, laughter and surprise. My parents would always have a large party and it was always entertaining to talk to the other kids. But when the threat of Voldemort returned, everyone became morbid at those parties and nobody would be as joyous and hopeful anymore. Some people that were with Voldemort were happy but you could see the amount of liquor it took to make them happy.
The season was depressing from their on out. The last ten Christmases have been horrid. My father gets drunk and remembers times with Voldemort. My mother acts as though everything is fine and no one is pretending.
Then the abuse comes from my parents. The constant reminder that I am gay and I have to create a heir for the Malfoy fortunes and no gay man will share in the family riches. So my partner is screwed from the beginning because unless he is a hermaphrodite, that can get pregnant, they aren’t going to be called a Malfoy or get any money.
And it always comes down to that, money. “Malfoy’s are money, Son, and don’t you dare forget it.” That’s one of my favourite things to say to me when he is drunk and breaks something.
So as I sit in the imaginary ball, over the holidays, where I am screaming and crying out for someone, anyone to come and pick up the pieces of Dying-Draco. Everyone dances around me: tip toe across the floor, and maybe I won’t notice you there.
“Fuck you all .You stupid people that don’t fucking care. Fuck you. I hope something hurts you as much as you have hurt me.”
I yell out hoping someone will hear me and get me out of this room, this memory, this life: this mess. But as I continue to sit on my bed and wait for release from everything, no one comes. The only sound I hear is my own breathing.
And what a stupid sound it is! As if I ask for my stupid heart to beat and cause more pain then anything. And for my lungs to fill with air just to be released again. I can’t ever hold on to anything, not sanity, love, friendship, a job, a house or air. The only thing I have is money and truthfully what is that getting me? I have nothing to hold on to, fight for, or believe in.
So why can’t they just release me here so I can get out of this world. And go to what ever comes next, heaven, Hell, new life, nothing? I really don’t care what it is as long as I’m away from here.
How pathetic! Fuck I hate myself. I sit and whine. Why the fuck was I born if I am such a let down? Why the hell did I ever have to be a guy? I should have been a fucking girl.
Then there would be no pressure on me. And I would have had other siblings. The Malfoys always give the family business to the first son, so I could be guy crazy in public and swoon like crazy over any hot guy in a magazine, without having to hide it.
What a perfect life I would have had. No pressure, no unwanted attention, and guys lusting after me. I would have been named something like Drayla and I would’ve thought I was named after Dracula, the famous vampire. I would wear crimson and my breasts would always be pushed up. I’d be one hot fucking girl.
But no, I have to have a fucking cock. No tits and only two holes to stick it in. I really don’t think I can stand me much longer. I am my worst enemy.
I am not allowed to have a relationship. I mean a real one with love. I can have sex with men but truly I know love is for straight people. Why else would people be so against homosexual couples?
Think about it, straight people can walk up to each other in public and say I like you or I love you or marry me but homosexuals say anything or do anything and it’s like that person is on fire. It’s something like the person is burning and unaware of it, or they have something hideous growing on their face that they don’t know about with the stares they get. It is unbelievably ridiculous how simple minded people today are.
If a straight couple wants to walk down the street holding hands well then that’s so sweet, so loving, so absolutely perfect. But if two men want to walk down the streets holding hands, well that’s just horrid, just wrong, just plain evil. See how I can’t have a relationship. I can have sex though. Tons of sex enough sex to make me die in ecstasy. But it can never be more which means I have to find someone new all the time which is a waste of time.
There. I am useless and loveless and no good and a failure and better dead. Oh, and I have one talent.
Breathing.
* * *
Back to this God forsaken room. Where I am forced to eat and pretend I am not planning my death with each glance at the people around.
I am sure many of these people are doing the same thing.
I am sitting at the same table as Potter again. He still needs a new nickname. Pallid-Potter? Particular-Potter? Psychotic-Potter? Pathetic-Potter? Peculiar-Potter? Palatable-Potter?
WAIT WHAT!? Potter is not eatable. He is not. NO. UGH.
Oh fuck, no I’m picturing eating Potter and him moaning.
BATHROOM.
So I jump up. I try not to draw attention to myself as I walk calmly but quickly to the bathroom. I enter a stall and unzip my pants and again I think about Potter.
Potter moaning and thrusting as his dick was devoured. It doesn’t take me long to climax. It never has when thinking about eating dick.
I wipe my self off with the toilet paper, flush the toilet, do up my pants, wash my hands and go back to the table.
The guards give me a funny look when I return but they don’t say anything. I sit back down and pick up my plastic and very breakable fork and try to eat my meal.
”And why did you run off?” No-Nickname-Potter asks in a dead flat voice.
Should I see if I can get a rise out of him like I used to? Back when we were in school? Yes, I think I will.
”I had a lovely vision of eating someone.” I say with a sneer. The Malfoy sneer was the best thing I got out of the family.
”And who is this someone?” Nameless-Potter asks.
”You.” I whisper it.
“Oh.” Potty-Head-Potter says flatly.
”Oh? All you can say is “oh”. Come on, Potter where is the rise? Where’s the passion, the fire, the hatred, the emotions? Why the hell are you a fucking eggshell? You’re really pissing me off. Do something. Don’t just sit there. So what if your life sucks. Why do you think we are all in here? Because are lives are the best fucking things to ever happen? HELL NO. Because we know what you’re feeling. You have the weight of your world on your shoulders. I get it! I have the weight of my world on mine. But you can’t just give up. Your Harry-Fucking-Potter, the fucking Boy-Who Wouldn’t-Die, damn it. You are the savior of the fucking world. You destroyed Voldemort. After facing him for almost every year of your school life. You went through every body hating you to everybody wanting you and in the end you try to kill yourself? Why the fuck would you ever do such a thing? Don’t you get it? People care about you. They fucking care. People don’t care about three quarters of the people in here but they care about you so tell me why in hell you would want to die?” I say this to him in a voice that is low but commands attention. And even though the noise in the lunch hall is loud I know he heard every word.
He looks me in the eye for the first time and says. “But they don’t care.” The talking corpse is back. Dead to everything. Moving for the sake of motion. Eating for the sake of feeding. Breathing for the sake of a chest rising and falling. Pointless in every aspect of living. And yet he continues. If there wasn’t a block on our magic he would have had his magic kill him I’m sure. But so would I.
I guess we aren’t that different. We both want it to end and we probably are both counting down the days it will take till we can die. Great I’m just like my school rival. How pathetic.
There will be question upon question tomorrow when I go see Granger but for now all I can think, as I make my way back to my room is that Potter definitely has a new nickname.
Passive-Potter.
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Angel Of Mercy