The tears pooled onto the floor, his perception twisting and filling his mind with ideas of drowning. He just wanted to sink to the bottom of his puddle of tears.
Harry curled up futher on the floor of the quidditch showers, clutching his shaking knees with sheer desperation. All this pent up emotion had finally let rip and now he could hardly breathe for the overflow of sadness that was attacking him.
He had had to wait for the changing rooms to empty, allowing him the peace of showering without wide eyed stares and each grimace of shock. He knew his back was a state, the pattern of a heavy belt buckle imprinted into his flesh. But there was another reason he had to shower alone.
His thighs were littered with spindly lines, some red or purple with bruising, others aged and wrinkled. Ever since September, when he discovered a spell in a dusty book from the library which helped him, Harry had been cutting. He didn't quite understand the reasoning but he had grown so used to being hurt everyday that he could not go about normally if he hadn't quite felt anything. He did wonder wether it was his body's way of checking he could still feel and function.
So there he was, in a pile of water, tears and blood on the shower floor.
He had been pretty sure no one would be coming in so late at night.
On the other hand, Harry wondered, perhaps it would be better if someone did come in and see him. Perhaps then he could get help without having to seek it himself. He had too much pride for that.
Harry's wish couldn't have been so badly granted. Draco Malfoy slumped into the changing rooms, seemingly unnoticing the dark shape in the showers. He was swaying slightly and grinning broadly. Harry had the snide suspicion that he was very much drunk, which was then proved correct when Draco shrugged a flask from under his robes. He took a deep swig and grimaced, rubbing the bronze liquid from his plump rosey lips.
Harry leapt to his feet as swiftly as he could, trying to kick the bloody water down the plug hole as fast as he could before trying to wipe his legs clean of red. Draco had spotted him now and was wobbling forward, teetering slightly on the slippy tiles. Harry quickly wrapped his towel around him, preparing himself for the onslaught that never came.
Draco flopped over and basically fell into Harry, causing them both to slip onto the floor. Draco giggled uncharacteristically, rolling over and lying on his back, still gripping Harry's towel in his hand. Trying to keep himself covered, Harry yanked at the towel which refused to move.
Without warning, he toppled over, losing any cover he once had. Before he had even tried to pull himself up, Draco was on top of him, laughing giddily as he removed his robe. Somehow his entire set of clothes had been lost and Harry was conscious of a very naked Draco straddling his very naked body. Trying to push him off, Harry collapsed with the effort, worn out and scared.
Draco bent over his shivering body, sliding his tongue into Harry's ear and licking his lips.
"You are so gorgeous, but I'll never be able to tell you because you hate me so god damn much." His silver eyelashes flicked over Harry's ear, tickling the sensitive skin before Draco sat back up. He took Harry into his hands and slowly relieved the pressure that had somehow built up. Harry layed there, shocked and surprised.
He had been sent a beautiful silver, slightly -who was he kidding?- very pissed angel. Just when he was falling into despair he had been rescued somehow, it was yet to sink in.
Draco was mumbling more incoherent words.
" Thank God this is a dream, imagine if I was really doing this to you, think what my father would say." Glancing down, he marvelled at Harry, "It's much bigger than I've previously dreamt, and this all feels so real." Harry didn't have the heart to tell him what was really going on.
Perhaps 15 minutes later, when Harry was done and dressed, Draco passed out onto the tiled floors and the changing rooms tidied, Harry dragged Draco up to the castle.
He dumped him in Snape's office, who was rather dissapointed with the state of his godson, and climbed the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Harry had made a pact, that he would never tell Ron or Hermione, even if it killed him. He wasn't going to admit it but he felt the best he had in a long time.
Much later, after being woken by a draught of Snape's concoction, that cured all hangovers and over indulgence, and being told who brought him to his office, would Draco realise that perhaps it had not been a dirty dream but rather an embarrassing reality.