To Eat Death or Not To Eat Death?

Interlude: How I Used to Be

Draco lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. It was the middle of a fine Saturday morning, and though the sun shone cheerfully outside that day, Draco didn't feel quite as happy. It was eleven-thirty and Draco was restless. He rolled his body up to sitting position, put on some shoes and grabbed his robes - time for a walk.

Draco wandered to the Quittich field and lay down in the middle watching his breath form small clouds as he breathed. It was November and the air was more than a little crisp but Draco didn't mind the cold. Draco couldn't feel anything anymore. He couldn't be angered. He couldn't cry. He could barely get up and out of bed anymore. He wanted to rot away under worn warm sheets. He realized he had nothing. He didn't want to live. He didn't want to die. He wanted to forget he existed. He wanted to be forgotten. He prayed to fates that something would change - anything at all.

Now as he lay there eyes closed he could feel them watching him from the great hall. He could feel eyes staring out the window, as they ate, at his relaxed body lying on the ground dirtying his clothing. He knew his friends thought he'd gone mad, he knew they all had suspicions. He didn't know what was wrong with him. Why those few words had struck such a deep chord within making him like this. Making him so different from how he used to be.

That Mudblood's words changed his life. Actually they stopped his life. He wished he never had initiated that stand off...

~*.*~

Draco sauntered into the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. He could see his favorite target, Potter and his pathetic friends. He walked right over to them, Crabbe and Goyle behind him, protecting him from any damage they may try to retaliate.

"Well Hello there Potter, Weasel, and Mudblood," Draco drawled as he took the empty seat beside Harry and sitting across from Hermione.

"What do you want Malfoy," Ron snapped.

"Why I want the pleasure of your company," Draco's voice said dripping in false innocence.

"Oh, so the Slytherins can't even stand you anymore? I see. Well don't think for a minute we want you." Ron glared at Draco. "Malfoy, why don't you get out of here before you cause any trouble? I really don't feel like hexing anyone today, and I don't feel like staring at your wretched face. Kay? So beat it." Crabbe and Goyle started making fists and punching their hands to remind Ron that they were there.

"Trust me Weasel, I can do far better than this pathetic lot. I just wanted to--"

Hermione interrupted him suddenly wearing a tired expression her face. It sudden occurred to him she didn't look well.

"Draco, why do you always do this? I don't understand it. You always try to get us into trouble and upset. I don't understand why it pleases you so much. I get that we're your enemies and all, so we get more of your rubbish, but you do it to everyone. You revel in other people pain so."

It occurred t Draco Hermione pitied him and he wasn't going to stand for it. "Oh so we're on first name biases now, Granger. I'd like to see you in pain," Draco tried to interrupt glaring but Hermione intercepted.

"No Malfoy, I'm not done. I want you to understand something so shut up for a moment. Draco what do you think any of this does? It's pointless. It doesn't really get to any of us, except maybe Ron but he's a red head. You never win anyway. Not really. You're just jealous of Harry. Everyone loves him and I bet no one's ever really loved you. Probably your mother and your father can't even do it proper. They just keep you rich and spoiled. This whole rival started because you insulted Ron and Harry didn't want your friendship after that, and now you can't out shine him. But nothing has ever shined about you. Except that you take joy in pain. What do you even live life for? Your words are just a waste of oxygen. That's not going to change. So say what you want and then get out of here."

Draco blinked stunned by Hermione's speech. The stun didn't take long to wear off.

"You know what I don't understand, Granger?" Draco's face twisted in angst. How a Mudblood like you could even think your worthy of a place like Hogwarts. You're a Mudblood. Dirty blood. You don't belong here or anywhere else. You're not a muggle. You're not a witch. You're just dirty and belong with other mudbloods like you and squibs!" Draco stood up and stalked to his table, robes billowing behind with Crabbe and Goyle. He could hear the three of them still talking.

"Wow, Monie, don't you think that was a bit harsh," Harry questioned.

"Nah," Ron started. "Hermione just said what everyone knows but won't say. Malfoy might be rich and as pureblooded as the come, but none of that makes him worth a Knut. Even if he has got millions. And he does not get to me."

Harry and Hermione burst out laughing.

"Yeah... sure he doesn't," Harry chimed.

For some reason the sound of their laughter hurt. He didn't touch any of the feast that night. For some reason his mood was ruined. Granger's word just wouldn't leave his head.

~*.*~

That was the first time anyone had confirmed any of his fears. His father was always reprimanding him for being a disgrace and telling him he didn't deserve the Malfoy name. His father patronized for ranking second in his class after that Mudblood Granger and for always falling short of that boy-who-lived Potter in Quittich. Also ever since he came to Hogwarts the Slytherins haven't gotten the house cup. So yes. He *was* jealous of Potter, diseased with envy and rejection. So what?

Potter rejected him. His father rejected him. His mother thought of him like a doll. Something to take out and play with. And love? He knew nothing of it. Long past were the days of hugs and kisses in his house, not one after seven. After that you were trained and part of training was obedience. Part of obedience was pain. Maybe he enjoyed others pain because his father enjoyed his. How many times had he been subjected to the Imperius or Cruciatus curses in the name of 'training'?

Hermione didn't understand how hard it was to be him. He had so much to live up to. He had so much he had to do. He didn't grow up like other kids. Even Vince and Greg grew up in a warmer environment then he did. He couldn't let his father down. He didn't want to let his father down. His approval meant everything to Draco. He lived for his father and his family name.

Malfoy, bad faith, it was ironic that's what it meant. All his life no one's had faith in him. No faith he'd make his father proud. No faith he might do the right thing. No faith that he might have feelings. And now he had no more faith in himself. He had no faith in living anymore. Granger was right. It was pointless, not about Potter and them although that too. It was pointless to try anymore. He'd been reaching a breaking point for a long time but somehow those words opened a floodgate.

Draco rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and robe. The dark red-brown color of a fresh scab was there now, dried blood on his arm from when it was still oozing and smeared. The slash went from the bend of his elbow to his wrist. He ran a finger down it. Next he reached in his robes and pulled out a small razor blade. He promised himself after last night he wouldn't do this again, but how nice it'd be to feel again, to let tears fall from the pain. Yes, Hermione, I do get pleasure from pain but not just from others, he thought. How long had he been doing this? Two years? Three Years? However, it seemed he'd done this more in the past two weeks then in all of those years. If fact he was sure of this.

Draco took the blade in his hand and dug it deeply into the flesh of his arm. He dragged it along side the wound that was healing. A thick crimson line pooled until it pushed out of its invisible confines and streaming down his arm and on to the black fabric of his robes. Maybe, he thought, maybe he'll let all the numbness bleed out of him. "At least for a little while," he murmured aloud.

He knew from this distance no one would know what he was doing. He thought that was perfect. Out in the open he thought. No one would ever suspect he was watching himself bleed. He would always heal the wounds a little though. Right before he'd almost pass out. The black would start seeping into his vision and his own thoughts would reappear in his mind. I don't want to live. I don't want to die. Then he'd mumble a few words and the wound would close up leaving a scab and later a scar to remind him of the 'I don't want to live' part. Afterwards he'd lie in bed tracing the wounds with trembling fingers until sleep took over.

Ah, glorious sleep. It was the only thing he wanted to do anymore. Sleep, his only escape. Sometimes he'd dream. Last night he had dreamed. It was a taunting dream. He dreamt that he had blacked out before he could fix his handy work and died. Crabbe and Goyle came in and found him. They barely were intelligent enough to know he was dead, but Goyle said he look just like the people he knocked off for Lucius so he had to be dead. All Crabbe said was oh.

Next he was at his funeral. It was held at Hogwarts so all the student body HAD to be there. His father didn't want it held at the Malfoy family graveyard. It was too close to the Malfoy Manor. His father didn't think Draco was worth redoing the unplottable charms and spells. It was a lovely service except the weird thing was Hagrid was the preacher. A bunch of blast-ended strewts were sitting in the front pew cannibalizing each other. Draco wondered what that would turn out to mean in dream interpretation

Afterwards he could hear everyone talking about him at the memorial dinner. Weasel was saying how he always admired his quick retorts and come backs. Blaise Zambini wondered if he could be captain of the Slytherin Quittich team now. *Asshole.* Crabbe and Goyle were stuffing their faces, unaware they should be mourning for their friend. Hermione admitted she thought he was the most handsome boy in the whole school and that she felt guilty for all the spiteful things she said. He liked that part. Ha ha, Mudblood bitch. I'm dead now. He frowned at that. Harry said he didn't know who'd he'd have wizard duels with now. Then his father came in the conversation just as it looked like his enemies were going to start in tears. Oh don't be foolish he was saying. Draco was a disgrace. He couldn't even keep up with you on a broom, nonetheless a wizard duel. Then he turned to Hermione and told her that he was in awe of the scores she received. He told her that even though she was a Mudblood, they could use someone like her, smart, witty, and attractive. She had blushed. His father said something about needing an heir and adopting her. It was a strange and taunting dream indeed. Then they bounded off happily, the four of them.

Draco was so wrapped up in his recollections and bleeding he was unaware of the fact someone had walked onto the field and was beside him. Or of the fact that tears were streaming down his face.

"Malfoy," Harry gasped. "What are you doing?!"