Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
(This is a revised version of my past and unfinished story Desecrated , this one will be updated and hopefully finished. )
(it comes in two Pov. Draco's and Harry's, they are easy to tell who is who, so I'm not gonna tell you.)
Chapter Three: I Had Only Wanted…
Waking up was an unpleasant affair from the beginning. But waking up after two sleepless nights, was more than unpleasant, it was down right rotten.
"…nuuuugh... "
Rolling over onto my stomach, I buried my face into my pillow, muffling the moans of disagreement at being woken up.
"Oh! Harry, I didn't think you'd be up here."
Neville's voice was rather squeaky and a mite shocked, so I turned my head and peeked an eye open,
"Huh?"
He was standing at the doorway, twiddling his hands, "well, you missed practice so we all thought you went to your detention with Snape…"
If Neville's clumsy steps didn't wake me up that certainly did.
I jolted out of my stupor, blinking sleep from my eyes.
"What?"
"Your detention with Snape, for not going to class…. Ron was supposed to tell y- Oh, see- look a note is in your shoe."
He walked over and snatched the rolled up paper and waved it about, " guess Ron didn't want to wake you, we all know how little sleep you get…" his cheeks flushed and he stopped waving the paper as he realized what he had said. No one talked about Harry's nightly terrors. No one. It was an unspoken pact in the dorm to just wake him up when his thrashing and screaming seem life-endangering.
I had snatched the paper from his hands and was tying my shoes up before he finished his sentence.
"Thanks for waking me up Nev, see yah later."
As I passed through the doorway I heard a little squeak, "didn't we have a red room?"
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I had missed dinner, practice and half of Snape's detention. Honestly I wasn't all that up to seeing that slimy git, but I tumbled my way down to the dudgeons, sleep pulled at my head causing a rather unpleasant headache. My minds eye was sifting through some thoughts when I came across an image I was not happy to recollect. To be true I had tried desperately to burry the past nights actions, but that stunning image of my feet covered in blood, leaving blood foot prints on the stone floor, I shuddered; it was never going to leave me. Malfoy had to be doing better now, Madam Pomfrey was a miracle worker, and in a couple days he'd be up and out of my thoughts as quick as you could say 'evil git'. I knew I was fooling myself, I had already made plans to go up to the hospital wing to see him, to be honest, I was worried. God all that blood coming out of one person? Impossible.
At one of the many twists and turns you had to take to get to the Potions room, I became a bit dizzy (both from the headache and the disturbing thoughts) and tripped. Before I knew what was going on I was slammed into the wall then tipped head-over-heels down a flights of cold, hard, stone steps.
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I wanted to sit in the chair.
Honestly how hard was that?
A couple steps, sitting and oh look, I'm there.
But no, no Madam Pomfrey insisted I stayed in my bed.
"Mr. Malfoy, goodness, a few hours ago you were bleeding buckets and unconscious, magic is good but not that good!" she huffed, setting the tray she was holding down a little to hard on the side table, the metal cup rattled nosily.
"But honestly, Madam Pomfrey, it's just by the window, barely ten feet, I can walk that far I swear."
I pinched at the bread that sat mournfully on the edge of the plate. It was soaked in tea so that I could eat it easier and I don't put unneeded stress on my internal organs; or so everyone has informed me after I threw the first soggy dough ball at the house elf that had the gall to call it food.
She clicked her tongue at me and busied off, "Eat your bread Mr. Malfoy and don't even think of moving from that bed."
I sulked, mostly for appearances, but a little for not being able to move. It wasn't that I was in any great hurry to run off, or even move from the cocoon of warmth that the blankets created, but the sun was setting, light turning to a mellow orange and the trees casting a silhouette upon the hillside that peaked out behind the field that was just beside the forbidden forest. I just had to look out that window.
The chair really wasn't all that far and the sun had almost set. I couldn't miss this. I just couldn't.
I pushed up off the pillows, struggled weakly with the tightly wrapped blankets and finally made it so a drained and slightly shaky toe touched the frozen stone floor. I know it was just a sun set, something that happens every day at the same time and was rather short lived, but this wasn't a sunset. Not really. It was hard, really hard, to forget why I was here, to forget the summer. But I was doing it and I didn't care what I had to do to block the memories but I was going to forget and move on.
Ice cold fingers run along my cheek; wet, sticky hands grip my kicking shins and drag me down the bed.
I had made it to the edge of the bed, tendrils of the suns light licking at my toes. I wiggled them, feeling the warmth. No, I had to block the memories and stay strong, so that I never have to be that weak ever again.
"Draco, I'm disappointed in you, I thought you would enjoy this." A tongue runs up my cheek as I chock back nausea.
The chairs back came into my hands and I gratefully sank into the seat, turning the chair towards the window.
I just had to stay strong.
So no could ever break me again.
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Professor Snape was perplexed. Pacing the length of the potions classroom, the clicking of his heels reminding you of an old grandfather clock, ticking away the time. Perhaps perplexed was the wrong word. Upset, could work, or even worried. But even those emotions did not seem to fit, for he was contemplating Potter and if there was ever an emotion that the Professor didn't feel for the wretch, it was worried.
He had assumed that this little detention would remind Potter that even if he helped in Draco's recovery it wasn't a free ticket to skip his class. The idiotic boy had stumbled across something that was so incredibly private that it was the equivalent of reading a diary or looking into someone's pensive.
Not only was the twit late, curfew would come into effect soon and no one had seen hide nor hair of the Wonder Boy. Normally this would be perfect for Snape, more punishment for the tardy hero and many more clean cauldrons in the future, but the boy had seen Draco spewing blood, dying and if there was one thing Potter didn't take well it was death.
He was pivoting on his fiftieth lap when his doors slammed open and a panicked Hufflepuff tumbled in.
"P-P-Potters unconscious on the stairs! There's b-b-blood!!!"
He stuttered out, gasping for breath.
Bloody hell.
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I remember rather clearly being picked up, but not feeling hands. I remember wondering why this didn't worry me. Cold trickled down my cheek in streaks and ran along the crease of my lips. I had felt this feeling before just a little while ago but then it hadn't been my blood, it had been Malfoys'.
I remember being startled at the thought of it being my blood.
I tried to open my eyes but that seemed too much for me and I blacked out.
I remember wondering if I was going to live, but not why.
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