Disclaimer: Don't own characters. I technically own some settings, as this isn't in Hogwarts.
Just something I wrote when I was really depressed the other day, mostly because- But, I'm sure you have no interest in my petty problems.
So whatever, stupid little thingsbrought a bout of a depression that sprung ... this.
Realize, I have only what knowledge of drugs I can find in the school hallways (which is actually a lot, my school has a drug problem) and in books like Go Ask Alice, ect.
I don't know why I called it a reformatory center, they're not called that are they? Oh well. Too flippin' bad.
Rating for suicidal and drug themes, review if you think it should be M, liked it, disliked it... Just review, it makes me feel loved.
It was another day of hell in the dim-lit halls of the Wizarding Reformatory Center.
Wizards, both pure-blood and Mudblood and all inclined to uphold their civic duty, come here and attempt to reform the drug-addicted and depressed masses of this corrupt and falling world. They didn't seem to realize their motivational speeches and occasional grains of wisdom were nothing more than a headache of noise and sand in our hair. It meant nothing to us; all that mattered now was the next high.
And we didn't appreciate them trying to keep us from it. Although the attempts didn't do much good, judging by the ringing in my head right then.
I heard a spell shoot down the hallway, another noise to assault my aching head. I must've been being punished for another night of inebriations, but I couldn't remember being inebriated at any point. I suppose it must've happened, though.
In a better state of mind, I might've considered taking a look into that hallway and seeing whom the duel was occurring between: a patient and a counselor? Two patients? As it was, however, I felt not even the slightest hint of curiosity for the fight that was taking place almost at the door of my pathetic little dorm.
I flipped over, dizzying myself. I stared up at a familiar bland colored ceiling; chipping paint uncovered a gray looking material. I had never bothered to ponder what. The noise continued outside, ringing in my ears. The shouting hinted at a sort of riot, but I didn't really care.
The feel of the bed - cot actually fitted the furnishing more - was lumpy, uncomfortable, and, even after all these months, unfamiliar. Places like these were places you could never feel at home - never feel welcome. There was no point in attempting sociability, as everyone left soon. They overdosed, were transferred, or commit suicide. Some such trails as that.
"Draco?"
The name still felt foreign and strange on the lips of… anyone. After running away and changing my name, I was more used to my various alias and nicknames. Even if I had only been gone a year and a half, I had grown accustomed to them. Even if they changed and varied from one person to whom I talked to the next, it always felt more like it belonged to me than Draco Malfoy ever did.
The speaker repeated the strange name in her soft, fragile voice, and I turned to her slightly.
"I just wanted to see if you were awake. Are you okay? You were pretty wasted last night, when you passed out I thought you'd - well…" She looked down, her dirty locks of hair falling into her vaguely greasy face. The look in her dim blue eyes gave the same thought to me as did her voice: the thought that she was like a glass vase teetering on the edge of its nightstand.
"I think I'm fine. Just… little out of it now. Something like that."
She fidgeted and nodded. "Well. I just thought that you might be interested in knowing -"
"I honestly don't care about the fight in the halls, Kyla," I mumbled, turning away.
"No, no, of course not, this is something else," she continued, eager to keep me pleased. I humored her and rolled lethargically back over to look at her.
"Harry Potter's here."
My bleary, half-shut eyes widened a moment before becoming incredulous. "Potter? Golden Boy, Potter? Boy-Who-Lived, Potter?"
"Yeah! They're saying he tried to commit suicide," she said, nodding eagerly.
Through my swimming head, I hardly managed to grasp this. Potter? Suicide? Finally I managed a grinning smirk.
"Well, what d' you know. Pressure's finally gotten to Boy Wonder. How long did it take?"
"Well, I don't know, but I would've done it a long time ago if I were him. And done it right." Kyla looked away as though she felt that wasn't what I wanted to hear.
After a beat of silence, I conceded: "So would I."
Anyway. I'm sort of writing another chapter, but no guaruntees. Just some sadness I felt like letting out, I suppose it hardly makes sense or anything - do any of my angsty oneshots? Nope, and there's only been 2 (both in one story, Slipping Halo) others.
Please review, makes me feel loved, happy, some of that crap-jazz.