07/31/2002 02:11am -- Happy birthday, Harry.



author: Hanna
email: hannalicious@jippii.fi
website: http://www30.brinkster.com/lokakuu/
pairing: Draco/Harry
rating: PG-13
summary: Draco writes love letters and sleeps with his own imagination.
disclaimer: Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing her characters. No harm intended.





Paper Cuts


School would begin again in a month. Draco felt like the first half of summer had passed in a haze, trapped in the Malfoy Manor and hiding from the sun in the shadows of the house. The air smelled like blood. Every now and then Draco could hear the screams of the house-elves through the closed doors. Lucius' mood wasn't so good for the most of the time.

Narcissa didn't seem to care. Her sophisticated and quiet laughter drifted through the glass doors leading to the garden. She sat on the porch with her friends, sipping tea from a white porcelain cup, staining it with her red lipstick. Holding the cup elegantly with her right hand and resting her left hand, heavy with silver bracelets, on the tablecloth. People always said that Draco had inherited her hands. Slim wrists, long fingers and pale skin.

But now the skin of his hands was marred with dark ink and paper cuts.

Sometimes he had watched Harry cutting and chopping in Potions, impatiently waiting for the knife to slip. It had never happened.

When you watch someone constantly for years, you learn to know them like no one else does. Every expression on their face and everything they do becomes art. Draco could imagine Harry reaching out in desperation as he died and even that would be like poetry.

The way Harry's spidery fingers curled around his broomstick was hypnotic. His knuckles white, gripping the wood hard in concentration and his right hand straying up momentarily, brushing his sweaty hair away from his eyes. On their fifth year Draco had watched Harry in the showers after a Quidditch match. Stretching under the spray of warm water, his fingers sliding over his skin. Draco's hands were sweaty and damp, teeth slowly biting through his bottom-lip. Harry's skin was white and translucent. Draco had spent the rest of the evening sitting in front of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, drawing a map of Harry's veins.

The next day Draco had followed Harry and Ron into the Forbidden Forest. The two of them had been looking around nervously, talking in hushed tones and trying to see if anyone else was around. Holding burning cigarettes, bringing them to their mouths, inhaling and trying not to cough. Harry had licked his lips, and Draco had pressed his body against a tree, wishing to remain unseen. He had hated them so much that he had almost screamed. Draco had never felt so jealous in his entire life.

Once again Draco's eyes strayed to glance at the clock on the wall. Three minutes past twelve. It was Harry's birthday. He had spend days wondering what he could give to Harry as a present. A human heart wrapped in pink paper. Love potion. Pet snakes in a jar. He had been unable to make the decision.

Earlier that evening he had taken parchment from his mother's drawer. It was expensive and the best quality imaginable. She used it only for the most important letters. He had cut it into a heart-shaped piece and written 'I hate you' on it with Slytherin green ink. He had stared after his owl as it took on its wings and flew into the darkening sky.

Draco put out sixteen candles with his fingers one by one and smiled.

Happy birthday, Potter.