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Angel Of Mercy	By : AttentionDeficit Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 10158 -:- 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.

Chapter List
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Prelude: The Thread
He walks through the building, moving swiftly. Careful to dodge the flying papers heading for desks of his fellow employees. Life working at the ministry. He doesn’t really like the job. But he needs the money. He has children you see, and a beautiful wife. A wife he adores above all the rest. He know it seems odd to have only one true love, when so many people go through at least two of them but he swears this is his only. He will never love again if she were to die before him. So he does this crappy job for her. He gets paid for her. And he makes sure he’s home on time just to see her shinning eyes smiling up at him as she tells him about her day.
Normally she tells happy stories but lately they are filled with worry. She is losing someone. He can see that. He knows who it is too but he doesn’t want to believe it. This person can’t be slipping away. He won’t allow it. On some level he realizes that it is happening. But he believes he can fight it. They can fight it. Her and Him together forever, fighting for what is right. Just like it used to be. But now they are fighting for the person they both love so much. And they will win. They will get him back. He hopes so. It pains him greatly to even think about losing this person. So he doesn’t. He goes to work, gets paid and comes home to her.
He just so happens to be thinking of her as he makes his way to the office. Ready and prepared for another day of work. Another day for her. But upon passing a close door he hears a noise. A noise like a body dropping to the floor. He knocks on the closed office door but hears no noise. He opens the door.
His first reaction is complete surprise. A grown man, with platinum blonde hair is on the floor. Shinning red liquid is pouring out from his wrists. His porcelain skin is being stained by a deep rich colour. A beautiful colour, he remembers later, a deep, rich, metallic, stunning colour. It attracts his gaze to it for a moment and he is swept away by complete sadness. He feels it radiate around the room. He feels it rise up from the man on the floor and soak up to his own body. For a moment in time he feels the pain, the depression, the self-loathing, the overpowering sadness this man feels. It blows him away. Such strong negative feelings he has never felt and therefore can never start to understand them. But for a moment in time, he feels as if he has lived right next to the man on the floor. He feels as if he has been there through his whole life. Like he didn’t miss one moment.
But he awakes from the feeling of understanding as the man on the floor eye’s close. He stumbles forward and summons two clothes, one for each wrist. He ties one tightly around the left wrist for it is not bleeding as badly as the other. On the other wrist he tightly holds the clothe to the wrist. He then sends for help with his patronus. Hoping that help will come soon, he can’t lose anyone else this way. He won’t allow it.
Luckily helps arrives quickly and the man on the floor is quickly rushed of to St. Mungo’s Hospital. They tell him it will be okay. But he can’t seem to find the use of his legs, arms or mouth. Is that what the person he cares so for much so much was like. Was the pain orbiting around the room when the person to tried to end it too. Did they both think that no one cared. Because he cared. He cared for both. On different levels but he did care. Eventually he was able to tell the people around him he was fine. And if they could just leave him alone for a moment to collect himself and then he would be fine. So the people left the office door and left the door open a little bit.
He stood up shaking only a little. He moved toward the desk. It had a few papers scattered around it. Most of them about the project the man was working on. But underneath all of those was a poem. A poem that filled him with an overpowering sense of a calm sadness. Unlike anything he ever felt before. With the power of this emotion and this poem, he cried for the first time sense hearing the new of what his best friend had tried to do.
The Thread
Wish
you could turn off
the questions, turn
off the voices,
turn of all sound.
Yearn
to close out
the ugliness, close
out the filthiness,
close out all light
Long
to cast away
yesterday, cast
away memory,
cast away all jeopardy.
Pray
you could somehow stop
the uncertainty, somehow
stop the loathing,
somehow stop the pain.
Act
on your impulse,
swallow the bottle,
cut a little deeper,
put the gun to your chest.
This is not in Draco’s point of view. The rest of the story will be. Except for two others.
I am also aware that Draco is a wizard and would not have used a gun or even thought of a gun. Put that poem is the reason I wrote this. Thanks to Ellen Hopkins for writing this poem.
I am not an expert on depression or suicide. I don't know everything. What I do know is from my readings, or knowledge I have gained from battling depression for the last three years.
I apologize if this story offends you or hurts you in anyway. Know that I don't want to hurt you and I love you even if I don't know you or say I hate you.
Always know someone out there loves you and if you feel like committing the big S. don't. Talk to someone. Somebody will care.
-Laura
-Attention Deficit.
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Angel Of Mercy