Permanent Scars

Chapter seven

Ever since the accident, Harry had had terrible nightmares. He would see the accident over and over in his mind. No matter how much he had disliked Malfoy, he had never wanted anything like this to happen to him. The thought that he had scarred Malfoy for life through his carelessness brought the nightmares on night after night.

Since Malfoy had been released from the infirmary, Harry had tried to find some way of getting him alone so that he could apologize. But he hadn't had a chance. When Malfoy wasn't in class, he went straight to his room.

Harry had started scanning the Marauder's Map as much as possible, keeping track of where Malfoy went in the hopes he would get his chance to speak to Malfoy alone.

He knew Malfoy would rather kill him than forgive him, but he felt he had to do SOMETHING. He couldn't live with things like they were now. The guilt was wearing him down.

So when Harry finally spotted Malfoy on the Marauder's map, alone near the Potions classroom, he knew this might be his only chance. He put on his shoes, and raced as quickly as he could down the stairs. Heart pounding at what was to come; he headed for the room he had seen on the map.

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Draco walked down the hallway, heading towards Filch's old storeroom. He had spent many an hour there with Pansy, but now he wanted to be alone to think.

He opened the heavy wooden door, and everything was the same. Same manacles, same cuffs. It was he who was different.

He entered the room, closing the door behind him. He walked over to where the leather cuffs were hooked to the wall.

He thought about how many times he had brought Pansy here. How he had treated her.

He had beat her, humiliated her. He felt queasy at the thought of how brutal he'd been.

Lost in thought, he absent-mindedly began rubbing the leather of the cuff between his fingers.

As he slowly rubbed the cuff, suddenly a horrible realization came over him. He realized that he was the no different than the Death Eaters that had killed his parents.

He started shaking. The Death Eaters thought that being pure-blooded counted for everything, and so did he. They thought Muggle-borns and half-bloods were vermin, and so did he. Draco felt sick. He might hate the Death Eaters for killing his parents, but except for the Dark Mark, he was one of them.

Draco felt an overwhelming wave of despondency and despair. He felt trapped. Everything he had learned, everything he had believed was falling down around his ears. He couldn't go back to his old life.

He felt such hopelessness, such anguish that he took out his wand.

"Sectumsempra!" he cried, slashing the wand downwards onto his wrists.

As his blood spilled out, Draco sank down to the cold stone floor. The last thing he thought of before he lost consciousness was how beautiful his mother had looked with the sunlight streaming through her hair.