A/N: Remember, the first section of each chap inbetween the xxxx's in italics is actually the ending of the chapter. And it was Draco who mouthed 'Fix it.' to Harry at the end of the last chapter. Anywho, major thank you's to: Blue Lycan, brionyjae, Meg Finn, HPfreakout, yehudi13, Dracori & aishteru! Thanx, and enjoy!

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Chapter 4 …Blame It All Upon A Rush Of Blood To the Head…

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I give up on trying to yell and mouth the words. I pull out my wand and write in forest green mist in the air, 'Ask him when he saw me last, and what exactly he did. He did this and he knows it, so now he has to fix it or pay.'

'You,' I point at him, 'gave me this.' I pull out the scrap of parchment, his eyes widening in fear at the sight of it. 'Give it to someone who gives a flying fuck.' I ball it up and throw it at his chest, he grabbing it midair in it's decent.

"Gentlemen," a deep voice sounds from behind us, "I believe that to be enough. Follow me."

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"STOP IT! STOP SPEAKING, JUST STOP!"

Harry screams at me, his eyes pleading and his voice hoarse with emotion. I instantly stop all sound, scared at the level of intensity with which he demands my silence.

He turns, dropping a slip of parchment onto the floor behind and whips out of my doorway in a flash. I start towards the door to follow him, turn him in, but the steady sound of his footsteps slapping against the stone stops me.

If he didn't come here to knife me through and through, then why'd he come at all?

I shut the door quietly, not wanting any uninvited guests wandering into my room to ask any questions about the noise. The door and walls actually stop all sound from room to room, so I have nothing to worry about.

I turn to scan what state my room has been left in. Nothing seems too out of place, although the slip of parchment lays on the floor so I pick it up along with the silvery fluid like invisibility cloak and carefully fold them both, laying them in a neat pile on my bedside table. I'll decide what to do with them after.

I climb into bed and decide to at least investigate the parchment, see if it was some silly note or important letter. I have to squint in the semi-darkness, the words fragmented and written crazily, some sentences cutting off midway, blotches of ink smeared everywhere from the use of a very jittery handled quill.

"Terrible grammar…" I mutter to myself, the sounds dying on my lips

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Draco is a bad person he is evil he is mean he is so mean. How does he know everything about me and why wont he leave me alone? I just want to be alone all the time and DRACO DRACO DRACO is everywhere an in my mind and in the stairwell and

He is always there to bother me when I'm alone he always brings me down. I hate him, hate him, HATE HIM. I HATE DRACO MALFOY. I wish him to die and die over again in pain and always be silent and far away from me. I think he hates me too but he doesn't care to show it by killing me. That would be nice. I could go and see everyone and he would get in trouble. BIG trouble. We would both win if he would just Avad

I wish he'd go away. Why is he so loud and abrasive and loud and talkative and pushy and evil and everywhere? He is everywhere! I can't get him out of my mind even when I want to He makes me yell. And SCREAM scream scream at him all the time, but he's always yelling nonetheless overtop of me and my words and my silence and my thoughts

I want to be alone and quiet and to not remember anyone that I love and not think of them and how I am their killer and not see them or hear them or speak to them through people. I don't want to remember or think or hear. I want to be ALONE ALONE ALONE. And quiet quiet quiet, all by myself with my thoughts and wind and maybe draco and ron and mione and voldemort can come as long as they're quiet and don't make me remember things or talk or move or speak

I want to not feel anything at all, to be silent and live in silence and anyone can join me as long as they don't make me feel anything. If that is what dying is like, then I can't wait. That would be nice after all this time and living in all this shit and problems and

Just. Silence.

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I sit and re-read the note again, then once more just to be sure that I understood every part. I refold it carefully and place it next to the cloak, settling into my bed and covering my face with the covers until all I hear is nothing and all I see is black.

I caused him so much pain, I am the root of so many of his evils. That note was like a look into Harry's everyday thoughts, his innermost feelings and wishes and hopes.

My throat feels sore and my eyes itch. I'm not sure why, I don't think that I'm allergic to anything. I can hear a choking sound, like a repressed sob. My throat aches and I don't want to know why, or to understand why my cheeks are so wet.

I turn over and bury my face into my pillow, the sobbing sounds and the wet feelings nearly erased but not quite completely gone. I think of tomorrow, of what I will do when I wake up, of what to wear. I decide that tomorrow I will wear something new so that I don't remember anything by wearing something with memories attached. I decide on how to do my hair and what to eat at breakfast and how to act in class once I discover that Potter isn't there anymore.

My throat feels better after I think of all these things, my face isn't wet anymore. I turn and face up, pull the covers down and take a deep, cool breath.

Tomorrow will go as planned. Tomorrow has a plan, tomorrow is just as safe as yesterday.

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I rub the sleep out of my eyes and turn on the showerhead as hot as I can stand it, my morning ritual to the everyday me. I shampoo my hair, rinse it out and reach for the conditioner.

I start to hum a little tune, but can't hear myself. I turn down the power of the jets, try to hum louder. I reach for my own throat and feel the vibrations within in, feeling my Adams apple bob as I try to make sounds. Nothing comes out.

"STOP IT! STOP SPEAKING, JUST STOP!"

I turn off the water, stand stock still in the tile cubicle and breathe deeply. Turning around I scream at the wall, craving the sound of my voice echoing back from the hard surface. I contort my face and open my mouth wide and force the sound out, but silence envelops me. I turn quickly, slip on the floor and listen to the resounding knocking sound of my head hitting the slick floor.

A real yelp is what I feel on my lips, but nothing connects with my ears.

I lay on the floor rather than get up, and think. The throbbing at the back of my head is ignored, something to rub for now and deal with seriously later.

"STOP IT! STOP SPEAKING, JUST STOP!"

Perhaps it was more than words? Perhaps he wanted me to stop speaking and I can't until he tells me I can? Perhaps I have gone deaf and simply can no longer hear myself.

I scoff silently at this, remembering the sound of the waters jets and dull knocking sound of my head meeting the tile floor. I can still hear knocking come to think of it, persistent knocking outside of the bathroom walls.

I throw a thick grey terrycloth robe on and open my bedroom door to a disgruntled looking Professor Snape.

"Good morning Draco." His monotone voice reverberates all around us on the stone walls, a sound I wish I could reciprocate.

"Can't talk." I mouth, pointing to my throat and making as though it is very painful to say the words.

"That is fine, you need not talk anyway. I need you to deliver this to Granger and Weasley in the Infirmary this morning however, within the first two classes. I'll give you permission for the day off, seeing as your throat is useless. Good day." He leaves quickly, pushing a package of homework assignments into my hands. I leave it on my bed and go to towel off and dress for the day. My elbows are scratched from hitting the tiles and burn against the fabric of my shirt, and my head throbs at the back where it connected with the floor. I ignore these insignificances, check myself over in the mirror one last time before leaving the room with package in tow, headed for the Infirmary.

I avoid any human life as I stroll through the empty corridors of Hogwarts, all students and teachers currently busy with classes. As I enter the Infirmary I can feel my pulse rushing a little faster, my hands tingling with worry.

What do I do? What can I say, how do I explain any of this?

I decide against any explanation at all, instead heading straight for Granger and Weasley without a word having to be exchanged with Pomphrey. They look like living death, Weasley still freshly scrubbed from a morning shower and still looking as though he's been deprived of coffee and sleep for days. His female counterpart is still donning her nightgown from the night before, her hair a bush of knotted curls and her eyes worried with the unknown.

Had I been able to talk I might have said something snide to get a reaction out of Weasley, but even without the ability to I don't think I would have the heart.

"What do you want Malfoy?" he's already ready for a confrontation, but I ignore his taunt and lay the twine bound package at Grangers feet instead, shrugging it off. I smile at them and turn to leave the way I came, the closest I feel I will ever get to support them or Harry in any way.

"Uh…thanks?" Granger manages as I leave, a smile crawling across my lips at her bewilderment. She is one rarely to be confused, but I managed to leave her a puzzle to unfold with Weasley for the rest of the weekend.

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I spend all day in my bedroom, sending a note with a house-elf for food at breakfast, lunch and dinner, but never speaking a word to any of them. I analyze Harry's note over and over again, count the number of times he mentions my name (6) and how much he thinks I am evil, mean, and generally hates me (16). After I finish my solitary dinner I try the Invisibility cloak on and walk unbidden through the corridors for a little while, the feeling of being surrounded by talking people and completely unnoticed astoundingly powerful. I crave the feeling of being with other people, of talking but this is my closest option without having to explain on paper why I can't talk.

"I heard," I can hear Pansy Parkinson gossiping in the common room and I follow her voice into it, " that he slashed himself up."

"No fucking way!" a few boys and girls from our year stop their lazing on the chairs to form a rank about her, breathing in every harsh word she speaks as though the gossip were oxygen.

"No, it's completely true! Seamus Finnigan told this Hufflepuff who's a really good friend of his and we used a few drops of Veritaserum and a well placed Obliviation charm on him to get the information!" She seems oddly proud of this feat, something I normally would have thought of doing. Now it makes me sick, the thought of prying so deeply into other people's affairs seeming to be going to far.

"But Harry bloody Potter knifing himself up? Over what? What the hell does he have to worry bout?" they all laugh, cold hard cruel laughter that fills the room. The unspoken word is 'Voldemort', someone none of us will ever need to fear, other than in obedience.

I slip out quickly and back into my room, my stomach churning over the thought of this. I empty my dinner down the porcelain toilet in my bedroom moments later, returning to my desk in deep thought.

I count the number of times he mentions hating Voldemort or being scared of him in the note. It doesn't come up once.

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I feel as though I am becoming a hermit.

Draco the Hermit.

I don't like the ring of it, though the description seems fitting. I spend all day in my room, ordering food through notes to the kitchens and working on my homework in complete silence. The same walls that keep any sounds I could make in also keep all the outside noises out. I slip out every so often to remember that I am still a human in the school full of other people, to hear real voices talking. I've started to wear thick socks in my room because the sound of my footsteps annoys me.

I spend a straight hour on Sunday trying to scream out of frustration. I try to whisper, sing, hum, cough, speak etc… until the only thing I could possibly use to communicate with others would be sign language, which gets me absolutely nowhere.

I decide to stop dwelling on the note that sits atop the cloak, stop counting other references. So far I have a complete list with:

My name: 6

Voldemort: 1

Hate me: too many references

Silence/quiet:8

Number of times I've read it: 47

Every time I go through I erase the last number and up it, but my own limit is 50. I can't become obsessed with this is what I tell myself. I lay out tomorrow's outfit to give me something to do, something real to look forward to. I plan to make a statement, to emerge from the life of solitude once and for all.

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Monday morning is much less eventful than last Friday was. I shower in the heat, wash and brush my hair carefully. I pick the lint off my cloak by hand, flicking away non existent pieces in an odd habit I've picked up. Checking my shoes for spots of dirt or general grime, I brush my teeth and check my hair one last time before leaving.

I wait to make sure that there isn't a living soul lift in our common room. I am basically right, seeing as the only girl left in the room has killed approximately 19 of Hogwarts house elves and doesn't seem to have much of a soul (or brain) left.

Every single one of my steps on the stone makes me angrier, the sound reminding me of the one thing I cannot do. I skip breakfast, opting for as little human interaction as necessary.

I hear the voices down by Hagrid's hut before I see the people, hear the chatter and gossip beginning as I stroll in. I examine the area, spotting Granger sitting and working on some essay or another, Weasley carrying out something with Hagrid around the back. And then, I spot my target.

Harry Potter.

I didn't actually expect to see him here, rather thought I would visit him at lunch or on break. He is walking around a small clearing on the edge of the woods, not speaking to or near any student that would get in the way of me throttling him.

I walk quickly down towards him, every stride deliberate and fast. He turns before I am close enough to get my point across to him.

I walk straight up to him and shove him as hard as I possibly can, hoping against hope that his head will connect with a stone or branch and create a magnificent cracking sound. No such luck.

The crowd behind us is already stampeding, Ron and Hermione no doubt in the lead. I don't turn or give them the time of day, rather stare into Harry's eyes to get him to understand how serious this is, how angry he has made me. He has the nerve to glare back, not even drawing his wand to fend off mine. He stands slowly, the posse of our class now settling behind him

"You did this!" I point at my mouth for emphasis. "Fix it."

"What the bloody fuck to you think you are doing Malfoy?" Ron is yelling at me, the sound loud and abrasive in my ears. His voice makes me angry, the nerve he has to yell at me…

"He did this!" I try and yell and still not a sound, not a single fucking sound. "YOU did this! Now fix it!" I speak each word slowly, easily enough to read each one on my lips.

Harry turns away and shakes his head, like he doesn't want to believe it, to take my word on it.

"How did Harry do that? How exactly did he manage that? He hasn't seen you since Thursday when you were quite plainly talking and being a general prick!" Ron's voice is followed by a chorus of rowdy Gryffindors their hands pulled tight in fists.

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I give up on trying to yell and mouth the words. I pull out my wand and write in forest green mist in the air, 'Ask him when he saw me last, and what exactly he did. He did this and he knows it, so now he has to fix it or pay.'

'You,' I point at him, 'gave me this.' I pull out the scrap of parchment, his eyes widening in fear at the sight of it. 'Give it to someone who gives a flying fuck.' I ball it up and throw it at his chest, he grabbing it midair in its decent.

"Gentlemen," a deep voice sounds from behind us, "I believe that to be enough. Follow me."

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A/N: Please review, as always.

mintapotter