Harry let out a strangled sob as he flopped into a corner in Room of Requirements. Since Sirius died, it had become a safe haven for him. It was the only place where he could let down his 'hero mask' and more importantly, his glamour. He began to fumble through the worn out pockets of his worn out jeans and pulled out what he was looking for, his razor. Being raised by muggles, none of his friends questioned him as to why he bought them, still occasionally trying to get him to try a shaving charm.
Holding the blade between his fingers and putting it to his forearm, he looked at the other scars. He ran the edge of the razor against his arm, watching as the blood began to seep out of the fresh cuts and a couple of the fresher ones that had been reopened. Between his uncle, the expectations put on him by the entire wizarding world, and the crush that simply wouldn't go away, he needed the release.
He made more marks as he thought to himself. This needs to stop. If someone were to cast a finite on you, the whole school would know within the hour. But it helped. It took away the emotional pain. It took away the memories of his uncle, of him screaming that he was sorry, that it hurt, that he would be good, to please, please stop. Most of all, it took away the thoughts of that damned Slytherin that just wouldn't leave his mind. "DAMNIT!" he screamed into his knees that he had drawn to his chest as he sobbed.
"Potter?" He heard a slightly familiar voice and his head snapped up. Speak of the devil.
Draco walked down the almost empty hallways in his usual dignified, pureblood manner, glaring at anyone who dared look at him the wrong way. Today had been a bad day, not that any other day was good. This had just been an exceptionally bad day. He needed release. Everywhere he had turned, something reminded him of the epiphany he had had the night before.
"Dude, do you have a thing for Potter or something?" His best friend, Blaise, cut him off mid rant about how Potter pranced around the school like he owned it. It was the third one this week, so he supposed he understood if they were getting annoyed, but he would bring Merlin back to life before he admitted that out loud.
"What?" he was stunned.
"You heard me, I asked if you fancied Potter." His voice was slightly irritated.
"Why the hell would you ask that? Of course I don't have a 'thing' for Potter." Draco gave Blaise his best sneer, one that he reserved for crucial moments like this one.
"Drake, you are constantly talking about him. I mean, you never shut up about him. It's really annoying. It's always 'Potter this, Potter that, You'll never guess what Potter did this time. Seriously, If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're whipped."
"I am not…" he trailed off as his thoughts wandered to the green eyed boy. The way they would light up a room, the way he looked when he smiled, the constant need to be noticed by him. "Holy shit."
He finally arrived at the wall he was looking for. Or, what was supposed to be a wall. "Damn." He muttered under his breath, seeing that the room had already been opened. Should he just leave? No. Fuck this. I will tell them to get out, I need this.
He pushed open the door, mouth open, prepared to shout at the person occupying the room to leave, the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks. He had opened the door to a barren room with a small, skinny boy sitting in the corner with a razor to his wrist. It took a moment for him to process what he was seeing and in that time the boy had put the razor down and pulled his legs up to his chest, still sobbing.
"DAMNIT!" That voice. He knew that voice.
"Potter?" He watched as the boys head popped up and his tear stained face turned towards him with a look of horror.
"Malfoy. Going to laugh now? Go ahead. Tell the whole fucking school while you're at it. The wussy Potter boy was sitting by himself carving into his skin with a muggle razor.
Draco stared at him with his mouth hanging open. How could this boy, this beautiful boy think that he would do that to him? Snapping out of his stupor, he walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He walked over to the Gryffindor and sat down next to him, observing the flinch and the hesitancy in his eyes. "I'm not going to laugh at you."
"Why? I mean, here's your perfect chance to get back at me for whatever I did to make you hate me so much, and you're just going to pass it up?" He could hear the bitterness in the words.
"Because…" He bit his lip, thinking. Should he tell him? It could ruin him should Harry tell, but if worse came to worse, he could always use his own secret against him. "Because of these." He removed his robe and pulled out his wand before rolling up his shirt sleeves. Feeling the other boy tense beside him, he put his wand to his wrist and then the other mumbling 'Finite'. Holding out his scar covered wrists for the other boy to see, he waited for the response.
"Why? Why are you telling me this? I'm Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-be-hated-by-Draco-Malfoy, and you're, well, Draco Malfoy! Why are you confiding in me about this?"
"Because I feel your pain. I don't know what exactly you're going through, but I know it must be pretty bad. I know for a fact that you're not a weak person, so in order for you to resort to this," he gestured to the other boy's arms, "it must be horrible."
"You obviously don't know. I am weak. I know that I deserve everything that I've gotten, I'm a freak. I'm dirty, I've been used. The worst part is, I just let it happen. I didn't even try to fight back. I had already given up all hope. I know I'll never be loved, I mean who could love someone like me? I'm disgusting. People deserve better than me. I've thought more than once, 'What if I just ended it all?' I would, everybody would be better off without me, but that's only after I kill that evil bastard." He stopped, realizing that he had just poured his heart and soul out to the boy that had hated him since first year. "Oh Merlin, and here I am telling you this."
"P-" he stopped himself. "Harry…" The boy looked up in surprise and stiffened as an arm was put around him and he was drawn closer but he soon melted into the embrace. "You're not weak. Based off of what I have heard, you've suffered through way more than I have, and that's saying something. Whatever happened, you didn't deserve it. You are definitely not a freak, nor are you dirty. I don't know who told you that, but they're wrong. So very wrong."
"What makes you think that?" There was skepticism in his voice.
Again he bit his lip, thinking. There was this almost unbearable urge to kiss the boy next to him and he was contemplating following through with it. Would he push him away? Would he freak out? Would it bring back bad memories for him? He could see the other boy starting to get nervous. Without giving it another thought, he leaned in and brushed his lips against Harry's. He tensed but then gave in and let the kiss overtake him. It was a fairly short kiss, but it left them both feeling light headed.
"That's what makes me think that.
Should anyone else walk in, they would be in for a very big shock. In a barren room sat Harry Potter with bloody wrists and a tear streaked face, snuggled against Draco Malfoy, his robe thrown haphazardly on the floor and his sleeves rolled up, bearing the scars that littered his skin with a used razor blade resting in between the two. If somebody were to find them, it would be the talk of the century but in that moment, the two boys could care less. They finally had someone, they had eachother. They were finally compete.