13
would you take my breath away?
Harry wakes up the next day to the blinding light that pierces through the drapes. He groans rolling over, burying his head into the pillow he finds and breathes in the nice scent of something earthy and fresh, he nuzzles the pillow, feeling content as the fog of sleep lifts from his mind and he begins to think clearly. He jolts his head up sharply as the memories of last night assaults him and he groans.
"Draco?" Harry calls out, tentatively, realizing the blond wasn't next to him. He can hear the distinct sound of water running. He clutches his stomach as it twist painfully and he wonders if this is what guilt feels like. "Shit."
The guilt that eats at his very soul leaves a putrid and acidic taste in his mouth. He is ashamed of his actions and the influence his emotions have on him. He has a gigantic mess in his hand and he's stumbling, trying desperately to make everything right. "Stupid, so stupid." He berates himself as he slides out of the bed and stretches before he walks to where he thinks the water is coming from.
"Draco?" he calls out again as he walks to the bathroom, a deep sense of worry gnawing at him when the blond doesn't respond. "Are you alright?"
"Draco, about last-" He trails off as he enters the bathroom to find it in total disarray. Draco was leaning heavily on the sink, sobbing incoherently as he scrubbed his left arm, the water overflowing to the tiled floor with soap suds and tinged red with blood.
Harry curses as he moves forward quickly, turning off the tap and pulling Draco in his arms, "Draco, stop!" His eyes burn with tears as the blond struggles in his grasp, mumbling under his breath.
"Clean...need to get clean...or h-he will leave me..."
"Draco," Harry wraps his arms around him, desperately. "We need to get you cleaned up." His voice sounds rough and unused even to his own ears.
He feels sick at the amount of damage Draco has done to his left forearm where a distorted dark mark mocks him. The blood flowing like rivulet out of the deep wound makes him nauseous and he takes deep breaths through his mouth. The stench of metallic, hours old blood thick in the air. "We need Essence of Dittany; do you have any, Draco?"
Draco is silent, his eyes staring blankly at him and Harry shakes him, gently, "Draco, please! This is a deep wound, you nearly clawed out the mark and shredded your arm - you can bleed out from this." His voice chokes at that but he holds his composure no matter how much he wants to curl in a ball and cry. "Draco!" He calls out as blood drips to the ground and stains his socks.
"The cabinet under the sink," Draco chokes out.
Harry nods, curtly; he ignores the tears that are falling rapidly down his cheeks and blurring his vision as he opens the cabinet and pulls out a white box. He leads Draco out of the bathroom, his steps measured as he wills his knees not to buckle as he coax Draco to sit on the edge of the bed before he kneels in front of him.
He hisses as he examines the arm before he opens the box, grabbing the Essence and dropping a few on the wound and watches as the skin knits itself back together. Draco wince but doesn't say anything as Harry tends to his wound, cleaning the excess blood, tenderly, before wrapping it with white gauze.
"It'll be sore for a few days so try not to bother it," Harry looks at him with sad, green eyes, "How long were you in the bathroom, Draco?"
"E-eight hours, thirteen minutes and seven seconds." Draco tells him, automatically. He trembles, his body vibrating as Harry places a hand on his knee.
Harry cast a wandless tempus charm and curses when he sees it's already three in the afternoon, he slept the whole day away.
"This is my fault," Harry lays his head on Draco's knee, "I should have left, I freaked you out. I'm sorry, Draco, I'm sorry."
"No, no, no," Draco mutters, tangling his head in the messy, black hair. "I...Blaise didn't come home - I freaked myself out."
Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, wiping away his tears and regaining his composure as he says, "I don't want you doing that anymore - as your Healer and your friend, when you have a compulsion like that again come to me or distract yourself from it by doing your potions or reading. We need to add more activities to your day, too."
Draco merely nods.
"Why did you feel you had to do that, Draco?
"I'm tainted, Harry," Draco whispers,
"No, you're not," Harry strokes Draco's arm, comfortingly, "You've atoned for your sins, Draco, you don't need to punish yourself."
"So, why isn't he here?" Harry swallows thickly - he knows already who he was.
"He wants to be."
Draco looks at him, his gray eyes now red but clear and something inside Harry aches. Draco smells of soap and pine trees, it fills Harry's scenes and he shudders. "Will you stay tonight?"
"If you want me to." Harry whispers.
"I do."
"Okay."
Draco lifts a hand to stroke a thumb across his cheek and Harry jolts at the contact; he looks up at Draco in confusion, "Draco?"
Draco leans towards him until their foreheads are pressed against each others and their breathing mingles - they are so close, now, that Harry can see the specks of blue in Draco's gray eyes. Harry is captivated, he can't look away and and, for a brief moment, a tingling sensation starts from his chest and spreads through his body like a warm fire as Draco's thumb brushes against his lips and he shivers at the intense sensation.
"Harry…" Draco whispers, his cool breath brushes like a gentle touch against his lips and it would be so easy to just close the gap between them. Harry's eyes flutters shut and he can feel Draco's breath hitch. "I...I want to kiss you."
Harry pulls away.
"I want to cut my hours," Blaise says as he rinse his hand in the basin, they had just finished a operation and he figured this would be the best time to ask. Natasha stood next to him and barely acknowledged his words as she shook her hands of the excess water and turned away from him.
"Denied." Natasha says, crisply.
"Natasha, I barely have time to go home and shower," Blaise says with a growl. "For the last 48 hours, I've been sleeping in the spare room. It's cooled down for a bit and all I ask is half of my hours."
"You work what Granger work," Natasha says, simply "You two are a team."
Blaise grits his teeth, "You know that insane woman wouldn't lessen her hours for the world."
"The insane woman is right here," Granger snaps, "And I quite like my hours, thank you."
"There, you have your answer, Zabini." Natasha says, tersely. "Now, please, go stitch up Patient 338 and, maybe, I will consider letting go early." He hopes so. Maybe, he can cuddle up with Draco for a few hours before Natasha calls him in again.
"This is all your fault." Blaise growls at Granger.
She huffs and fully turns to him, "I like my hours!"
"Because you're a monster," Blaise says, he pauses and peers at her closely. "Are you wearing makeup?"
Granger lights up, a smile tugging on her red lips. "Well, yes...do you like it?"
"Not particularly, no," Blaise says, disinterestedly, turning away from her. "The color is horrid on you."
Granger huffs, angrily.
"How about we talk about this over dinner," Granger says, after a moment, and he turns to her, calmly. "I'm sure we can come up with some sort of compromise."
"How about...no."
Blaise is exhausted when he reaches home, it's already dark out and the house is dark except for the small fire in the living room, illuminating the room with a warm glow. it almost feels foreign being home, as if it isn't his own anymore. He hates Granger for wanting to work so much and Natasha, as well, for allowing it. This much work is unhealthy.
He trudges up the stairs with weary muscles, the wood creaking under his feet, his eyes were already heavy lidded and he was ready to curl up next to Draco and catch some sleep before his next 48 hour shift. He pushes the door to their bedroom slightly and smiles at the sight of the fall and rise of his boyfriend's chest. He kicks off his boots and slid off his robes, he walks to the bed and freeze when he spots a head of messy, raven hair and he takes a step back.
There curled up in Harry Potter's arms was his boyfriend and he just stares blankly at the sight.
He knows he should feel something – rage, pain, anything.
But he doesn't. He just feels numb.
So achingly numb.