Cigarettes & Tiny Liquor Bottles (Drarry AU)

Chapter 1

His hands rustled around in his pocket for something that he didn't want to find.

He felt the cardboard packaging surrounding the small cigarettes, and pulled them out of his robe pocket. He wanted to stop.

He lifted the smoke up to his lips and quickly cast a spell that set the tip of the cigarette into a burning ember, and inhaled.

When satisfied, he slid down the tree trunk he was hunkered down behind, overlooking the Black Lake.

It had been 2 months since the beginning of term, and Harry didn't know whether or not he wanted to drown himself of run away altogether.

When he first arrived at school for his make-up 8th year, he realized that everyone cowered at the very sight of him. He tried to talk to some of him old friends on the first day, but none complied to his offers of small talk.

Nothing had been the same since Ron and Hermione's deaths. You can't save everyone, right?

It had been the night of the war, and Harry was turned a different way, and he hadn't seen Amycus Carrow sneak behind him and strike Ron and Hermione with Avada Kedavra's.

Harry cried for hours upon hours, and he couldn't breathe and he didn't know what to do, because those where his best friends and they died for him and it was all his fault.

So there Harry sat, smoking cigarette upon cigarette, switching between inhaling the nicotine and plucking the grass out from underneath him.

Harry stretched his arms above his head, in need of a stretch, and the sleeves on his loose blue jumper slid down to his elbows, revealing intricate red lines across and down his left and right arms. He brought his arm down into his eyesight and shuddered.

"Why do I do this to myself?" Harry asked no one. He had been doing that a lot lately. Talking to no one.

He traced the patterns of faded and fresh cuts that ran along his arms.

He had been cutting since the beginning of term. One night, Harry had been shaving, and looked at the razor and had an idea, and it had stemmed from there, to Harry's disgust. He just got into sort of a habit, and couldn't stop slicing into his arms at every chance he had.

He finished off the cigarette he had dangling from his lips and flicked the butt away from him.

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Harry had been looking at Draco Malfoy seriously for about a month now. And not looking like glancing at him from across the Great Hall sometimes, but looking at him in a way that meant "I want to bend you over this table right here, right now" kind of way.

Of course, this was just looking. Harry figured that if he just stared at Draco for long periods of time, it would substitute for an actual relationship with the blonde.

Harry soon figured this to be impossible.

Harry had very many classes with the Slytherins -- much to Harry's joy. More chances to see the beautiful creature that is Draco Malfoy.

But as time went on, and he saw physically and mentally how much Draco had changed after the war; he never bullied anyone in the halls, he actually smiled. Like really smiled. And Harry noticed that the Dark Mark on his arm was still present, but surrounded by other tattoos so you could barely see it.

Harry felt himself falling quick and hard, and he knew that it was going to hurt like hell and a half when he finally hit he ground.

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