AN: This was on another account of mine but I decided to transfer it over to this one! :3 Anywho, this started of as an RP between a friend and I but it didn;t get very far. I liked the concept behind it and decided to continue it. So, let's see how this goes! Please R&R, I like to know if it;s going well or not so I know whether I should bother continuing it. So, the first bit of this chapter is an Rp and from then on it's just me.
Overall warnings: Some language, Yaoi in later chapters, blood, violence.
Disclaimer: These babies belong to J.K Rowling, I'm only borrowing them!
It was a normal day in Hogwarts castle – waking up to Ron snoring obnoxiously (almost violently) in his sleep, the smell of Christmas in the air, the sweaty, sticky, skin from too many heaped on covers – indeed, it was a normal day, for Harry Potter, waking up on Christmas Eve. Snowflakes flurried and danced daintily among the Hogwarts grounds, outside the wrought iron windows of the dorms. Instantly, Harry flung the silk sheets off his bed, rolled into his clothing, celebrated the fact that he was on holiday, and hurried down to breakfast. No doubt, just like every other morn, Hogwarts would have a variety of succulent foods to feast upon. How could life get any better?
Waking up the Fat Lady, almost tumbling directly into Ginny, then stumbling down the moving staircases, Harry was hurrying valiantly to get to the Great Hall – and in his haste, he ran smack dab into someone.
"Er," He said, forever eloquent, and then upon looking over the girl, realized he'd never seen her before. She was short, with dark brown curls running down her back, a slight tan, and light brown eyes. Her eyes were traveling everywhere – like she was both in completely, utter, amazement, and lost, all the same time. "Hogwarts likes to overly-decorate," He explained, assuming that she was a first year; she wore that same dazed look he'd had, "But it's…er, nice, isn't it?" She nodded mutely, "Well…sorry for stumbling into you. I was in a rush," Another mute nod, "Er, I've got to go eat. I'll see you around!" And with that, he rushed off, and upon entering the Great Hall, the strange girl was totally forgotten.
Unfortunately for Harry, not many people seemed to be here this early, with the exception of a few teachers (and Dumbledore) and…well…the Slytherins. Harry pretended, as he sat down and rewrapped his Gryffindor scarf around his neck, to not hear their jibes and murmurs at his appearance – but as luck would have it, he wasn't exactly deaf as he tried to be.
Slowly lifting his head, the blonde raised an eyebrow upon seeing someone rush into the room. At seeing who it was, a slight sneer fell upon his face, of course it was Potter, who else would be so obnoxious when entering a room? Rolling his eyes he inspected the other's appearance with distaste. Could the arse dress decently for once? Draco shook his head slightly before sitting up straighter and reaching for some fruit. Picking out a grape he pulled it forward and inspected it for a moment. Only the nicest fruit would be given the privilege to be eaten by him. Deeming it good enough he ate it slowly and thoughtfully; as useless as this school was Draco couldn't deny that Hogwarts did have good food.
Stifling a yawn Draco turned his head slightly and half-heartedly listened to the conversations of his "friends." It seemed they were thinking some of the things that Draco was: they also were finding ways to insult Potter's appalling appearance. "Mmm, he really should have taken my offer of friendship, maybe then I would have been able to teach him how to dress properly," he added into the conversation, earning laughs and nods of agreement.
Yawning, Draco stood up slowly, wanting to get away from the dullness that was this school. He glared slightly when Crabb and Goyle attempted to follow him, and quickly halted their actions. He gracefully swept away from the table and made his way out of the hall. As he left, he noticed a small girl looking bewildered. Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head before wrapping his coat tightly around him and exiting out the front doors into the snowy courtyard.
Surprised that Draco had made fun of him – but hadn't bothered to approach him, and harass Harry to his face – Harry was…well, he was oddly insulted. Did Malfoy think that he wasn't even good enough to approach and insult anymore? He hastily grabbed a pumpkin tart, shoved the flaky goodness into his swishy robe pockets, and stormed off after Draco. The teen almost ran into that girl again – but damn it all, he was so angry.
"Malfoy!" He called out, as he traipsed out into the courtyard as well. Flurries of owls were mixing with the snowflakes; Harry had the briefest lapse in attention span to search the grey skies for Hedwig, but as it turns out, snowflakes were cluttering up and melting streaks on his glasses, and he couldn't see very well at all. Soaked, angry, and cold, he couldn't believe he'd followed Malfoy out into the courtyard – it was probably just a goddamned trap in the first place, to lure Harry out into the cold.
Draco was peacefully lost in his thoughts, thoughts about nothing in particular, but it calmed him, that was until he was interrupted by a loud and annoyingly familiar voice. Draco abruptly came to a halt and turned around to glare at Potter. Tilting his head he crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot.
"Really Potter? Stalking? Just when I think you can't be any more of a freak than you already are, you do this," he bit out with a smirk. "Didn't your mother teach you that stalking is not appropriate?" The blonde added before slowly lowering his arms and pulling his wand out of his robes, just as a precaution. Carefully he made his way over to the other male until he was standing less than a foot away, "Oh, that's right, I forgot, she died before she was able to teach you anything. Pity, maybe you could have learned some semblance of style if she were still around, but it's doubtful." His smirk grew and he gave Harry a look, challenging him to make a move.
If looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would've crumpled into the snow, screaming, writhing, and finally exploded into a million, burning, brightly light ashes full of anger and hate – but as it was, the white-haired little ferret still stood in front of Harry, immaculate as ever. Harry would not draw his wand, would not draw it, even as his hand was going towards it –
"At least my mother loved me," He said softly, like it was a naughty, dirty little secret, "Draco," He added, for effect, and watched those hard, glinting grey eyes, "At least my father doesn't see me as a failure," And with that, Harry's wand hand had stopped – and he just simply rested them both in his pocket, with his wand hand ready and wound up to strike if need be. Harry had learned, long ago, the best way to deal with Malfoy was to just pretend he didn't care, even though the words did hurt and he wanted nothing more than to fight back by screaming and spell-casting. "At least I don't have to pretend that I'm not gay…I've seen the way you ogle some guys…" And, he knew, that Malfoy would be the one to start this fight, and that, especially with that little jibe at the end – which Harry was almost sure was a lie. After all, Draco had never outwardly exhibited homosexual traits, so…why did Draco's already pale skin shift into snow white to that last remark, when it had been flushed red earlier?
"Y-you…" Draco didn't know how to finish his sentence; no word seemed good enough for what Harry was being. He didn't want to admit it, and never would say it out loud, but those words hit hard. Before he could control himself, Draco began shaking with rage.
"Who do you think you are? How dare you insult me when you yourself are nothing but that bloody headmaster's toy? You who befriended that disgusting blood traitor and filthy Mudblood? You are nothing." His words dripped with venom. He wanted to make the other hurt, and wanted it bad. He wanted the other to suffer. "Your mother is probably turning in her grave knowing that she sacrificed her life for someone as utterly pathetic as you."
He paused for a moment before lifting his foot and kicking Harry right in the gut, making sure that the brunette fell to the ground in the process. Before Harry had the chance to react Draco went forward and stepped down on Harry's chest, pointing his wand down at him. "Let me show you what real pain is, Crucio." He muttered quietly. He would make him scream.
And scream Harry did. It felt like – like he was being burned alive, or like he'd been crudely sown together and now all of the seams on his skin were forcefully being ripped apart and his blood and organs and muscles and bones were being forcefully carved out of him with a toothbrush – Draco's words no longer even registered, no longer even held any bearing in his mind. His body was on the ground, causing little clouds of snow to be thrown into the air with every single spasm, every single writhe, and had Harry been able to think or see beyond the metaphorical sensation of his nerves literally being pulled out from under his skin, he would've seen that Draco was sweating, was pale, and that his face was not contorted into one of pure anger, but instead, was set in a dead, apathetic expression. Eventually, though, even the pain of the Cruciatus curse had to wear off, and the instant it began to wear off,
"Sectumsempra," He'd whispered, almost in a reverent tone, and Draco, apparently possessing excellent reflexes, had dodged it…
But a high scream had Draco whipped around, and Harry dreaded it. He softly sobbed; why the fuck had he used that curse, why, why, why? He hadn't even known there was anyone else in the courtyard, and now Harry couldn't even get off the ground – the livid, consuming, hateful fire of Cruciatus was still licking at his body, hungrily – he was still convulsing around the ground, still unable to control his body.
Draco, it seemed, looked like he'd been struck with the petrificus totalis curse – he was frozen, rooted to the spot, and weak, wet, sobbing erupted from somewhere a few feet away.
"Potter," Draco said, quietly, like he was going to either throw up, or go down in a fit, "You hit her with your Sectumsempra." Another choked, wet sob, and then a few more moments of silence, before Draco finally darted into action – Harry could've choked him, some innocent girl was now in danger of dying because the git couldn't even move – and Harry closed his eyes, hoping to hell that Draco got the poor girl to Madam Promfrey as soon as possible, and if not…
Harry choked, choked because Cruciatus wasn't exactly done yet, and it was still mind-crippling pain, choked because if that girl died…
If that girl died, it was his fault. He choked again, and would've promptly turned his head and been sick, had the Cruciatus curse not decided to send his body reeling into another set of excruciating fits.
Draco quickly released Harry of the curse before running over to the girl. His stomach lurched painfully at the sight and smell of all the blood, there was so much, and it wasn't stopping. "You fool!" he screamed at Harry over his shoulder. Draco's silver eyes shone with fear as they darted back and forth, inspecting the girl's body carefully. It didn't take a genius to realize that Draco, even as skilled as he was, was not going to be able to stop the bleeding on his own. Taking a deep breath he lifted the girl carefully, the blood spilling onto his clean clothes. Draco was going to have to remember to make Harry by him new clothes once this was over.
"Stop whining and get your bloody ass over here and help me! This is all your damn fault you insolent prat!" he screamed at the brunette who was still lying on the ground. The girl wasn't heavy or anything, but Draco didn't know how long his stomach was going to hold its contents, the smell of blood was just too strong.
The blonde turned and looked at the girl closely, she was fading fast but there was something off about her, other than the bloody gashes all across her body. Something about her didn't seem right and Draco couldn't quite place what it was. Shaking his head he pulled the girl closer to himself as he made his way over to Harry. Glaring he kicked the other on the leg urging him to move. "Potter, I swear, if you don't get up right now and help me I will use something a lot worse than the Cruciatus on you."
As he waited Draco noticed that other students were starting to gather upon them and notice what had happened. He growled lightly and pulled the girl away and into the school. He didn't have any more time to waste, so he would do his best to get her to the Infirmary, hoping that the dizziness he was feeling wouldn't get to him before he had a chance to help her.
But of course, Harry would've pried Malfoy's oh-so-loving arms off her, rushed to her side and ran to the Infirmary, if only Malfoy hadn't lovingly cast the Cruciatus curse on him. He swore, lowly, and realized, as he saw McGonagall's grim face, and he brushed snow off of his robes, that he wouldn't be able to chase after the girl. For now, he had to trust Draco to get the girl to the Infirmary – because he knew, Merlin did he know, that he would not get out of this crowd without explaining, at least partially, what had happened. Harry did his absolute best to ignore his sweat-slicked back, his harsh breathing, his too-wide of eyes, his still twitching bicep muscles, his slowly buckling knees.
"Mr. Potter," Her voice was shaking with rage, "What – no, come with me, this instant," And he did nothing but incline his head in acknowledgement, and follow after her. If he could've gotten away, if only he could've…
But no, one harsh lecture from McGonagall (she hadn't seen the girl, or Malfoy, so she thought he'd somehow hexed himself), one just-as-harsh hex-checking, and a somehow tender good-bye later, he'd bolted up to the Infirmary.
Inside, all of the white, pristine hospital beds were just that, except for one in the far corner. It was covered with a white sheet, presumably to protect privacy, and Harry entered, after a long, slow moment of hesitation.
Of course, out of all the words to describe Draco, Harry would not have described sentimental, or comforting, or caring – instead, it was usually whiny, bitchy, and stuck-up. But, instead, Draco Malfoy himself was sitting next to the unconscious girl, not exactly holding her hand or looking at her, but Harry could tell from his pale face that he was there for her. To say this surprised Harry was a massive understatement.
Draco ran his hand through his haired and yawned before noticing that someone else had just walked up to them. Quickly shutting him mouth he looked up and titled his head to the side. His anger from the brunette's earlier statement had subsided at seeing the bloody girl, but seeing that stupid face again reminded Draco why he had gotten so mad. The blonde gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes at the other, "Bastard," he mumbled quietly, not having the energy to do much more.
Draco turned his head away from the other and looked down at the injured girl. At the sight of her a twinge of pain went through his stomach, he knew all too well what she had gone through. He remembered that searing pain as he felt his insides being torn and ripped, the feel of the blood dripping down his chest and all over the floor and spread like wildfire. He carefully lifted his hand and placed it over his chest, remembering the scars that marred his body. He snapped out of his stupor when he felt the now dried blood still on his clothes. He snapped his head up and looked back at Harry with a venomous look.
He cleared his throat to get the other's attention before speaking in a voice that was not to be argued with. "You….I expect you to either do my laundry or buy me new clothes. It's your fault my current ones are covered in blood. You see, unlike that scum you associate yourself with my clothes are high quality and are not cheap. Therefore I expect you to fix what you've ruined." He looked at Harry with a smug look and crossed his arms across his chest.
Harry nodded, mutely, not even really listening to the words, before just sitting in the chair. Sitting next to this innocent girl – somehow, somehow, it made it real. Harry had used Sectumsempra. He'd shed innocent blood. He'd intended – he'd intended –
A sucking sound, a sharp intake of breath – he'd intended, for a second, to kill Malfoy. No matter how much of a git he was, no matter how much of a slimy, stuck-up bastard he was, he just couldn't believe that he'd tried to kill him. Thank god he wasn't evil, or else…
Or else, Avada Kedavra might've come out of his mouth instead, and this girl would've been dead.
"My fault," Harry's own throat croaked out, and a hand covered his face. His eyes fluttered, then closed, and he groaned, "I might kill this girl. I've scarred her for the rest of her life," But the guilt hadn't surfaced, not fully, not yet. "Has she stopped bleeding, at least? What did Madam Promfrey say?"
"Damn right it's your fault," he bit back and rolled his eyes. Honestly. Could anyone be so dumb? He gritted his teeth and looked over at the other male, frowning at what he saw. Harry actually looked really hurt by what he had done. Draco wondered curiously about how Harry would have reacted if he had hit him instead of the girl, well, hit him again. That brought him to thinking about what Harry's reaction had been the first time he had hit Draco with Sectumsempra. He bit his lip and frowned deeper: he must have not had much remorse, considering Harry had tried to do the exact same thing again.
"I got her here just in time to stop the bleeding before it was fatal. The girl will forever be reminded of what you did, however." He explained. He wanted the other to suffer for what he had done. He turned his head back to the girl and shook his head. Draco would never admit it, but he felt bad for her, really bad. Sighing he closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair. Truthfully, he couldn't understand why he was even here, the girl wasn't anything to Draco, and it hadn't been his fault…had it?
He stifled a yawn and looked over at Harry. For some odd reason he was extremely curious about what the other was thinking.
To be honest, Harry wasn't thinking at all – just feeling, feeling too much, feeling everything at once, overwhelmed, overcome. Harry could only close his eyes, and breathe in deeply through his nose. He'd done this before, and he'd regretted it ever since. Even if Draco was his worst every-day enemy (obviously, Voldemort had the first slot, but he didn't exactly see Harry every day, and even though Snape came second, again, Draco was more predisposed to taunt and goad him openly and without remorse), the kind he could always count on to break his back when he was weak, he didn't deserve it, and Harry knew this; but he'd still used it anyways. His mouth felt like it was stuffed full of cotton balls, soaking up not just his saliva, but all of his happiness and the carefree attitude he'd had just this morning.
Was it good enough to say he was sorry, if he'd meant it at the time? Of course, it hadn't been intended for the young witch, but still, he'd meant it…and that made everything worse.
"Stop staring," Harry whispered, softly, self-deprivation shining through his low tone, "It's rude." A pause, a lapse in thinking, and Harry added, "Thanks," Spoken in the same, oddly-soft tone.
Draco snorted in annoyance before turning his head and looking down at the floor. He wasn't staring, who did Harry think he was, and why was he thanking him? Draco had to admit, he was confused. "Don't thank me you git," he replied and rolled his eyes. Really? What was with the brunette? He was acting so strange and Draco didn't know how to deal with this side of him. Tapping his foot impatiently he looked up at the white ceiling. He did feel bad for the girl but this was getting boring, not to mention awkward. He wasn't used to Harry being so….civil, and the quiet was making him uncomfortable. He ran his hand through his hair once more only to notice that he had somehow gotten blood into it as well. Lowering his hand he stared at in shock and felt his heart sink. His clothes were one thing…but his hair? "God Dammit!" he yelled and stomped his foot on the ground, completely forgetting that he was in the hospital wing.
Quickly standing up he walked up to Harry and glared down at him. "Do you see this? Do you know how long it takes me to get my hair like this?" He had to clench his fist to stop himself from punching the other. Draco couldn't see himself but he guessed that his hair must be sticking up all over the place, covered in spots of dried blood - it was horrifying.
I'd meant to thank you for carrying her up here, but it seems that's impossible, Harry thought.
Harry had looked up, briefly, enough to see that Draco's hair did, indeed, have some blood on it, before he looked back at the girl. "You're going to wake her up," Came the demure response. How could Draco freak out over his hair and clothes when this girl is dying right in front of him? Can't he see that? Or was Draco really as shallow as everyone led him to believe? Harry had always, for some reason, given Malfoy the benefit of the doubt: that he wasn't as shallow as he led everyone to believe, that there was some intelligence beneath that superficial exterior. It appeared as though Harry had been wrong.
"If it bothers you that much, go leave and get cleaned up." Harry reached out, and grabbed the young witch's hand. It was warm, but he could feel the cool touch of healing magic trying to desperately do some damage control. "It's not like you're needed here," And Harry said this with a touch of sarcasm, because truth be told, he wasn't needed here, either.
But I need to do something. I don't…can't…just pretend it didn't happen. I don't work that way. Apparently, neither does Malfoy. But then again, a small quirk of his lips, he and I are not so different. I'm just as shallow as he is, just in different ways. He cares about his clothing and hair. I care about feeling guilty because it's the right thing to feel – not because I actually feel it.
Draco narrowed his eye and backed away from the brunette. He seriously couldn't understand what was wrong with him. He should be fighting back, not sitting there like some pathetic fool. "I planned on it Potter. Why should I even be here? I didn't hurt her, it was all you." He bit out then sneer dangerously at Harry. He rolled his eyes and quickly walked out of the hospital ward. Now that he was away from the overbearing scent of clean the blood made itself known once again. Draco stopped in the middle of the hallway and leaned against the nearest wall, feeling like he could pass out at any moment. "Have to get this blood off of me," he mumbled and shook his head in hopes of clearing it. The blonde took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the wall and made his way down the stairs. He tried to ignore the shocked and scared looks he was getting. Draco smirked slightly when he thought about what he must look like to them, covered in blood, paler than normal. He glared at a particularly nosy looking first-year and turned down the hallway that led to the dungeons. He felt his stomach sink with relief when he saw the door to the Slytherin common room. He walked up to the door and quietly murmured the password, the door opening promptly on his command.
The second he entered the room Pansy Parkinson shot up and ran over to Draco, her face plastered with concern and fear. "Draco! What..!" She began but was caught off when Draco stopped and whipped his head around to glare at her.
"Leave it…" he growled and made his way up to the boy's dorm. He was in no mood to deal with the nosey pug-faced female at the moment. He reached his room and quickly made his way over to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.