Bleeding Hearts

(A/N -This is something I just decided to think up.)

For all who really care to know, my name is Draco Malfoy, and this happens to be my very own suicide letter. Why am I commiting suicide, you might ask yourself? For a good variety of reasons. If I'm going to do something so damned worthless then I better have more than one damn good reason for it. My first reason is that I cannot live any longer except in the horrid misery of Azkaban.

In case you are a Muggle reading this, I must explain myself. I heard once from Harry Potter (explanation later) that there was once a fortress-prison on an island called Alcatraz. Well, same idea. Azkaban is the wizard's prison. I will go there if, by chance, the Aurors manage to reach me before I kill myself. Oh, how I wonder how the bastards will react to my lifeless body lying there...

And yes, I am a wizard. There are wizards, and magic, contrary to what you might believe. You want proof? Fine. I'll give you some. Go to London, find a large bookshop (I never cared to learn the names) and a record store next to each other. You will not see anything in between, but I will guarantee you, there is a small pub there called the Leaky Cauldron. That should be enough to convince you. If not, ask to get to Diagon Alley.

I said before that I am a wizard, and that there is magic. Well, I am not a 'good' wizard. I am an evil wizard, a Death Eater, a follower of an evil being called Voldemort. I would like to say, in my suicide letter as I will already be dead and in hell, that I have never enjoyed being under Voldemort's service. I hated it, in fact, and it was due to my late father, Lucius Malfoy, that I am one at all. I hate you, father.

It's for a master I don't care about and a life in ruin, that I will destroy myself once my hand lays down my quill. It's better than wallowing in misery as Dementors force me to relive every horrific event of my life.

I will recount the events leading up to my initiation as a Death Eater, as it is something a person might call a story.

'Son, brat!' my father yelled and I obeyed the order, coming downstairs as fast as my legs could take me. I was all of eighteen years, I would be twenty-three in a week if I had managed to squirm away from death tonight. It was not because I expected anything good from my father that I made such haste, it was because my father would punish me if I didn't hurry as fast as I could.

I stopped and looked down, watching the quivering man in a ratty cloak shake on the oriental rug. I think, that that rug flies. It is so well charmed even a Muggle could use it. Say 'fly,' then your destination, in rapid succession or else the rug flies off at random at a quite alarming rate. I discovered that as a small child, and had I been a Muggle child would have had nasty scars from the crash I took.

That man was Peter Pettigrew. If I can do something right in my life, I will say this. If Sirius Black survived, I don't know and don't care if he did, he is innocent of the charges lain on him. Pettigrew in fact was the one who killed thirteen people in one curse, Black did perform a countercurse and to avoid it, Pettigrew used his Animagus form (a rat) to escape. He is unregistered, you Ministry fools, don't say I lie.

I believe Harry Potter has the full story.

I did not like Wormtail (Pettigrew) then, and detest him to this day. A pathetic, spineless backstabber.

A cold chill ran up my spine as I realized who Pettigrew traveled with and whose feet he groveled at. Voldemort. He was once a man, who had used a girl named Ginny Weasley to try to kill Hogwarts students.

For a chance Muggle reading this, Hogwarts is the premier england-based wizarding school. I suppose you will hear more about that girl later, it is part of why I kill myself later.

I had been terrified of Voldemort ever since my first year at Hogwarts, where I had seen a man called Quirrel drink the blood of a unicorn for him in the Forbidden Forest.

But I had grown very good at masking my emotions and my father had an excited gleam in his eyes as he pulled me forward. 'Master!' he said and yanked me one final time. 'Here is my son, Draco.'

'Your son...'

Those two words have burned into my mind. Oh well, can't do a thing about it. An awful voice.

What happened next was a blur, my father asked Voldemort to give me the Dark Mark, make me a Death Eater. The Dark Mark is a snake coming out of a skull tattoo on the inner upper left arm, and is a symbol that one is loyal to the Dark Lord Voldemort, and that mark can only be bestowed by Voldemort himself. The spell to summon the Dark Mark--a green firework-like display of the same design, fired from a wizard's wand, is 'morsmorde.'

I wish to heaven, hell, or whatever there is, that I had never had to go through that. It hurts like hell, it does. It's a literal searing of the flesh, only a magical searing.

I will not deny that I thoroughly enjoyed torturing Muggles, Mudbloods, and everything else besides Death Eaters. I guess it is because I was raised to enjoy the pain of others. But I wish I had never done it.

I screwed my life, to put it in an American term I once heard.

I wish I had never done those things, I would still be Draco Malfoy, snobby rich brat stalking the halls of Hogwarts as if I owned it. I am no longer innocent, and I do deserve punishment.

But let it be said for all eternity. Oh, and this too. I suppose I should say that I am an unregistered animagus. What I turn into...Potter, you should get a kick out of this. A white ferret. But I am eternally sorry for what I did. I wish I could have undone everything I did, bring back to life the people I killed. I know I killed people, and I was not under the Imperius Curse. None of my family ever was.

I want the forgiveness of one person. I want to say...if those Aurors (they're closer, I can sense it) catch me and this note is read, and the one I ask eventually hears, I just might die of shame.

But I want Ginny Weasley's forgiveness. I'll never get it, but that doesn't stop me from asking for it.

Since this is my suicide note, and I will soon be dead, I will say and write what I have never written or said before.

I love you.

Those three words are the hardest thing I have ever had to force past my lips. I have had to force myself to say things, but those are the hardest I have ever been faced with.

I don't expect you to understand, but I do. I don't know when I started, I suppose it was when I became angry at the Yule Ball in my fourth year. You went with that idiot Neville Longbottom. I had to go with Pansy Parkinson, that night was hell. She stepped on my toes almost continually.

I started to toy with the idea of switching partners with one of the Ravenclaws, mostly to distract myself from Pansy's annoying grip and chattering voice. Then the idiot Neville ran into Pansy, dislodging her. Longbottom almost tripped over himself apologizing.

For lack of anything better to do, I looked at you. You, of course, were watching your precious Potter. I got to wondering what you saw in him. I came up with nothing.

Eventually I got to wondering what it would feel like to have you in my arms instead of Pansy, as abhorring as the idea, at the time, of a Weasley in my arms happened to be.

I was grateful for the three remaining years at Hogwarts that I masked my emotions so well nobody could tell. Thank Kami. Some Muggle brat said that meant 'god' or something close. Spirit, god, whatever.

Something ethereal. But you never managed to snag Potter, did you? But I bet you never bet that I would be the thing you caught. I was angry as hell when I realized it, and considered killing you straight out.

But I didn't, and it was probably because Pansy popped in at that moment and waylaid me, and decided to try to get me to make out with her. Sick. I still shudder at the memory, and I just did now.

That's all I have to say, and those are my reasons. Because my life is irrevocably fucked, and because I could never manage to fix it, I don't have my late father's knack for weasling (no pun intended) his way out of punishment. I refuse to escape in my animagus form, I do have my honor. If Fate wishes it so, I will die as I plan. If Fate has a sicker destiny for me, bring it on.

My last, and most painful reason is that I will never have a life worth living, even if by the astronomical chance I am cleared of the charges against me. That's as likely as my going to heaven. Even if I escaped Azkaban, I would never have a life worth living. I could never have the thing I want, she would never tolerate me. She's hated me since before she even came to Hogwarts.

Christ, my bloody father nearly got her killed! Ginny wouldn't give me the time of day, and who on this planet would blame her?

Enough of this sultry shit! I am Draco Malfoy, official ex-Death Eater, owner of the most fucked-up life ever lived on this twisted, sadistical plane of existence, in the hour of his death this 17 of December.

P.S. - Harry Potter is a very famous wizard. He defeated and destroyed Voldemort. (for a Muggle reading)

Draco put down the grey quill. His hand was paler than ivory, and a thin line of bright crimson streamed down his arm and dripped freely on the cold floor of his home.

He had not had his own wand since his father had been destroyed, along wih Draco's own wand. He used his father's wand from necessity, and Draco picked it up and looked it over. Amazing, he thought as he pointed it at his head like a Muggle would point a gun. This wand caused me more pains than anyone could imagine.

He could easily heal the self-inflicted injury to his left arm, but he preferred this way. He guessed that this was the only way to get rid of the Dark Mark, but he wasn't going to live long enough to know if it worked.

He stared into his mirror and his face settled into an emotionless stare as his lips parted and he drew in a breath to say two words...

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

Draco stumbled backwards into his desk and his wand went spinning into the air. Draco got to his feet and looked up. Damn! The Aurors were here!

His hand searched the floor for the knife he had used to cut up his arm, and found it.

He got to his feet and his eyes scanned the five Aurors--his eyebrows went up as he realized that two of them did not carry wands and were dressed in Muggle clothes--and his eyes focused instantly on Harry Potter. They had been enemies ever since Potter had thrown Malfoy's offer of friendship back in his face in the first year of school.

Draco's hate of Potter had only grown when he realized that Potter was a major obstacle if he would ever have a chance with Ginny. It was raging now.

He recognized the other two magic using people with him--Hermione Granger, aka 'Mudblood,' and Ron Weasley, Ginny's older brother. The other two were irrelevant, one of them held a lethal looking katana in their hand and looked as if they knew how to use it. "Out, Potter! Let me die in peace goddamn it!" Draco snarled. He had gotten up too fast, his head was spinning like a top.

"No way, Malfoy! You're going to Azkaban!" Potter replied calmly and held out his wand to Draco. "Don't more or I'll kill you."

"Go ahead, I will not go to Azkaban!" he hissed fiercely. He jumped forward, and Harry and his group leapt out of the way. The jet black haired Muggle with the sheathed sword whipped it out and gave the back of his hand a little nick. He panicked and let go of the knife. She stepped on the knife's blade with her toe and resheathed her sword, and looked back at Harry. She reached down and picked up the knife.

"S'already been used once," she said and Harry asked why she thought so. "It's covered in blood." She held it up for demonstration, and yes, it was slick up to the hilt in sticky red wetness. "D'ja kill someone?" she asked him as she stabbed the table next to her with the knife, leaving it sticking up in the air and walked to the fireplace after Ron.

Draco watched them suspiciously, Ron bent down and picked up some parchments, and Hermione came over at Ron's beckoning. "What's this? You were about to commit suicide?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Draco challenged, cringing at the evil look that the black haired Muggle was giving him. Red eyes like the ones Hannibal had on the cover of that Muggle horror flick weren't that nice. It was worse because Potter was giving him a twenty-times-worse one from behind, and Draco had no way to defend himself. "Why do you care, Weasley?"

"Hey, everyone just chill, we went through hell to get here, so nobody knocks off the prize," the other Muggle said, this one had pale violet, rather like lavender, eyes. He was at least six and a half feet tall with shoulder length dark auburn hair. He had the Muggle contraption of a gun in one hand.

Ron laughed and thumped Draco between the shoulderblades, causing Draco to fall flat on his face, which got nasty sniggers from the rest of the group, except for the red eyed Muggle, who ignored them. "Yeah, okay, Scott. You get a reprieve, Malfoy."

Then Ron waved the heavily written on peice of parchment that was Draco's suicide note. Draco's face was silent but the fury he felt was radiating off of him like heat waves in Texas. This sucked, he was more than sure Ginny was alive, he had made sure of that all through the years, and if Ron read it he was likely to, at the first, beat the living shit out of Draco, and then tell Ginny. He couldn't figure out which was worse.

"Come on Malfoy, you're coming with us," Harry said and looked at Scott. "Come on, you hold him. You're the strongest," Harry said and Scott shrugged.

"Faith, you still got those handcuffs your cousin gave you?"

"After he escaped from prison? Yeah," the red eyed Muggle said and tossed him the cuffs.

Scott slapped them on Draco's wrists expertly, and Draco struggled briefly before being blindsided by Ron Weasley. After that he blacked out entiredly. "Damn...Mumphlsss..." His words muddled together as he went under.

"This place is wicked," Faith said as she stepped out of Malfoy's bedroom. "Can I have it?"

"Faith!" four voices snapped and she grinned stupidly as she helped her fiance, Scott, carry Malfoy out of Malfoy Manor.

"Sorry, that was stupid. Back to the Ministry now, Harry?" Faith said and looked back at Harry. "I hope so?"

"Voldemort's gone and we've got Malfoy, so yes, we're going back to the Ministry, you two can get there by flight, I suppose?"

The two Muggles nodded and Ron tossed Malfoy over his shoulder. Ron was a little shorter than the aristocratic bastard, but Draco did not quite compare to Ron in strength.

Draco's limp arms flopped over Ron's back and Ron was the last to Apparate back to the Ministry.