CHAPTER TWO

Loving Draco wasn't quite like loving anyone else. The blond had conflicting moods often and seemed to want strange things. Several times he refused to eat anything other than kiwis at lunch or made Harry call him 'Dray'. Harry enjoyed learning more about him. The way he acted all cool and cold but would get pink and warm if you said the right things. It was an adventure.

If everything wasn't going so wrong he would have enjoyed the sunlight filled days. Ron wasn't speaking to Harry anymore. The loss of his friend hurt constantly. It had been a full month since they'd exchanged words. That brought up the total of months since Cedric's death to two. Dealing with the loss of two friends was extremely difficult. He wanted Ron back but he wasn't going to give up Draco.

Hermione seemed to take Harry's relationship much better. She supported Harry wholly but didn't like Draco very much. Draco had stopped calling her offending names but Harry could tell he was struggling with his prejudice. It infuriated him how his father had tainted him so much. The worst part was that Draco couldn't even see that there was something wrong.

One rainy March afternoon Harry found himself hurrying across the courtyard alone. Everyone had made it to class but he was running late. He had spilled juice on his robes at lunch and stopped to get a new pair and drop his off at the laundry. As he was crossing the slick ground to get to a secret passage he heard a laugh. Someone said the word 'faggot' and he heard his name. He twitched but didn't turn, although his ears had turned red. The voices grew louder and someone tapped him on the shoulder.

It was a group of ugly looking Slytherins. He didn't know their names but he knew well enough from their faces what they wanted. News had gotten around about him and Draco. They hadn't exactly been discrete in making out. Normally people pointed and whispered, not openly confronted him. The group of guys were all big and mean looking. The biggest of them stepped forward and asked Harry if he enjoyed riding the pureblood pony. Slights on Draco made his ears ring.

He told the goons to go fuck themselves and turned to leave but something hit the back of his head. One of the goons had thrown a rock. They had whipped it with enough force that his head ached and he groaned softly. Slowly he turned, drawing his wand. All of the goons had their wands drawn. The pain in his head made him extra vehement when he yelled his jinx. The one that resembled a troll ducked his curse and shot one back. The jet of light hit him in the right shoulder and he felt his body go stiff. He fell backwards and landed on the muddy ground.

The sky was a gloomy grey above him as he was forced to stare up at it. Fat drops of rain splattered across his face. Something kicked him in the side. He made an odd groaning noise through his gritted teeth and closed his eyes. It hurt. Then the kicks began to rain down on all sides. His stomach screamed in protest as a mighty kick rendered him blank with shock. Someone kicked his ribs twice and he felt something snap. It felt like eternity as he laid there being kicked to pieces. Everything hurt. One kick broke his nose and glasses. The crunch made him want to vomit. Tears mingled with his blood. It was humiliating to be beaten senseless like this. He had faced Voldemort for fucks sake. Voldemort.

He heard someone yell a stunner and the goons broke up. They yelled something back but Harry was beyond caring. He was too busy marvelling at how cold he felt while feeling fevered. His wounds burned but he felt so cold. It was like he wasn't truly there. He opened his eyes, scanning to see who had come to save him. He saw a pale freckled face with shock and fear written all over it. He made a strangled noise that sounded something like 'Ron'. His best friend gasped his name in a scared sort of way and he felt the curse lift. He didn't move. He didn't know if he could even if he tried.

A frizzy haired girl came into view, crying earnestly; Hermione. He smiled at her but he could feel a tooth missing so he doubted it made her feel better. He wondered why they had ditched class, why Ron had ditched class. Surely he didn't care about the faggot Harry Potter? Harry gurgled a few words, explaining what happened. Ron looked angrier and angrier with each passing second. When he finished his story Ron was in a rage and swore he'd end the bastards who hurt Harry.

This made Harry laugh, what did he care? He told him his thoughts and Ron turned his burning blue eyes on him. Ron spoke in a hoarse whisper as he told how he had slowly begun to forgive Harry. He just wasn't sure how to say he was sorry. Harry forgave him instantly. He felt like he was dying so it didn't really matter did it? Hermione hurried off for the nurse. Harry raised a shaking hand and wiped his tears away. Ron watched him silently. His face burned at his best friend seeing him so beat up.

His feeling of invincibility had disappeared. No longer did he feel like the Harry Potter who had escaped Voldemort thrice. He was just a piece of shit lying on a muddy ground with the rain stabbing him like needles. He felt like a broken doll, completely useless. How stupid he had been to think he was untouchable. Somehow he forgot the lessons Dudley taught him. He was worthless and disgusting; he should just disappear into the earth. Then he caught a glimpse of Ron's expression and he shook himself –metaphorically- out of it. He was worth plenty.

Hermione reappeared with Madam Pomfery. The nurse paled at the sight of him and conjured a stretcher out of nothing. She levitated Harry onto it. His wounds felt like they were on fire with every jostle or bump. She magically carried him to the infirmary, keeping up a stream of questions the entire way there. He answered them all honestly. Hermione and Ron stayed by his side the entire time. When he was lowered onto a bed he swore in pain.

Madam Pomfery began feeding him a bunch of different elixirs and potions. Apparently he'd amassed several broken ribs and fractured limbs. The potions covered his body in a tingle and gave him an unrealistic feeling. Finally she gave him one for sleep. It was deep blue and had white sparks leaping up from the liquid. He drank it quickly, it was bitter like cough syrup. When he finished he laid back and closed his eyes.

His dream was him standing in the Great Hall. He was up at the teacher's table. There was a single butcher knife on the table. He felt the odd tugging sensation in his gut as he picked it up. The blade gleamed in the soft light coming from the candles hovering high above his head. It looked very sharp and felt scarily familiar in his hand. Someone yelled his name. He looked down the Great Hall and saw the goons sitting at the Slytherins' table.

They called him faggot again and asked if his daddy touched him. He felt blood rush to his face. He was pissed at them for what they did to him. His rage was so great he tasted copper and everything swam before his eyes. He leapt over the table and rushed down the hall. The biggest one fired a spell at him. Harry deflected it off his blade, his reflexes surprising even him. The thug could only yell in shock as he barreled into him. Without hesitating he brought down the knife and stabbed him directly in the chest. He twisted the blade before pulling it out and stabbing again. He stabbed him so many times he felt sick. The blood splashed all over him, bright red artery blood and warm. The goon's screams echoed in his hears even after the goon had stopped moving. Disgusted, he took his blade from his flesh for the final time and got off the body.

The two other goons were standing frozen in shock. He leapt towards the nearest one and stabbed them in the neck. Blood sprayed into his face. It was all so stupid, he began laughing. How funny this dream was. The power was intoxicating, he felt high. He ripped his knife from the goon's neck and sank it into the final goon's stomach. He doubled over, blood dripping from his mouth. Harry tore the blade upward leaving a huge gaping gash in his stomach. He then brought the knife down, stabbing him in the eye. The boy screamed loud and high. He screamed along with him, knowing nobody would hear them. How thrilling, he had made precautions.

The goons all lay on the floor around him in pools of blood. He felt fevered and couldn't stop smiling. He just felt so happy, so content. What a day to be alive. His revenge was complete, his bloodlust sated. He laughed and laughed, his laughter echoing around the hall. Finally when his stomach hurt from laughing he subsided into a fit of giggles. It was so amazing, he wasn't thinking at all, just feeling. Just feeling the power of murder. He was Harry Potter 'The Boy Who Killed'.

When he woke up he was surprised to see a very strained looking Hermione. She told him the news. The three goons who had beaten him up had been found dead in the Great Hall. Harry's stomach flipped over. He felt the remnants of a dream clinging to his mind. It had something to do with a very large knife. He asked how they had been killed. Apparently they were killed by stab wounds, just like Cedric. Oddly enough he felt no remorse, just boredom. He brushed it off because they had just beaten him up. How was he supposed to feel bad about their deaths?

He knew he really had to see Draco. He asked if Draco had been in to see him. Apparently he had been and had said he'd be sitting by the lake if Harry needed to see him. Hermione protested but Harry got up and rushed out. He felt scared, he knew he was forgetting something. It was like a bomb was waiting to be dropped on his mind. His sense of urgency was fueled by it. He needed to move. When he finally burst outside he was relieved to see a bright blue sky.

He found Draco sitting underneath a tree by the lake. Harry paused, the tugging feeling amazingly powerful in his gut. His hand drifted to his pocket. Instead of finding his wand he felt the handle of something very cold. A knife. He flinched and drew his hand away. An idea of what had happened was starting to rise and he felt terrified. He needed to erase the feelings through Draco's lips.

Draco rose to his feet when he saw Harry approaching. Harry just hugged him. There was an empty feeling in his gut, he felt nothing. Panicked, he kissed him. It was like taking a step forward into the dark and suddenly falling. It was all wrong. He pulled away quickly and saw hurt in Draco's eyes. He didn't try to explain.

He drew the knife and saw Draco's eyes widen and his jaw drop. Dried blood caked the blade. He remembered everything. Killing Cedric, those assholes, he remembered everything. He flew at Draco and plunged the blade into his heart. Draco gave a strangled gasp. Harry stabbed him again and again, even after he had fallen and no longer moved. He didn't laugh or smile. It didn't hurt, it wasn't sad, but maybe the human part of him was remembering something happier. A time of heavenly kisses and light. Not blood and darkness. He looked down at Draco's lifeless eyes.

"I love you," He whispered.

A/N So I doubt anyone saw that ending coming. I originally planned for Harry to kill more people but you know, it was supposed to be short. Basically Harry went coo coo cachou. I just really wanted him to kill Draco because I believe that was the ultimate sign of love. He wanted to make him his forever. I don't promote murder, I just wanted to express some emotions.

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