Author's Notes: This extra chapter is dedicated to all of you really nice people who reviewed.
Boggled Muggle: Really? Do you think so? Thanks so much for reviewing! I hope this is just as good as the first chapter…
Dragix: I really admire that you're not into the boy/boy thing, and you still read this. That really made me feel…appreciated.
Mrs Muffin Man: I don't think so…I've read a lot of Harry/Draco that I admire, and I find it much better than mine. But maybe that's just because I wrote it…Anyway, thanks for reviewing!
LEPBL: I'm glad you liked it! It's feels great to know that people actually like my work.
I'd like to thank all of you again, it was so great to read your reviews! Also, another note: This is still in the third person, and still deals with Draco more than Harry. I think it's lighter (I attempt at humor…), but still has a few dark parts. It's also still a boy/boy, you've been warned. Flames will be used to burn random objects, but reviews will be used to feed to my ego (and therefore, would be very nice and much appreciated). The lyrics at the beginning come from the White Stripes' album, Elephant. The lyrics were written by Jack White. The lyrics at the end come from the Bon Jovi song 'Livin' On a Prayer'. Characters belong to J.K Rowling and all of those corporate evils as of now. I'm still on the awkward-ness of the boys not kissing. Weird…
Anyway, I still have one more question, to anyone who reads this; should I continue and make this a longer story, or do something else? Comments would be appreciated. This is also longer than Fears In the Past. Yay. I have a feeling that it's not as good as the first chapter, but…here goes nothing.
Poison Blood
(An additional part to Fears in the Past)
("And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, right before the Lord.")
He looked down, and saw that his chest had been butchered, slashed and sliced, so that he could see his very heart. It was still throbbing with life, but it was pumping out black blood. Yet he felt no pain, but somehow knew that he couldn't. Or that he ever would.
Black poison oozed out of his heart, slipping down to taint his white skin, as it was sucked in greedily by his pale flesh. Was this what it needed to survive, what he needed? He opened his mouth in horror, and could feel the black surge in his bloodstream. It conquered his eyes, and he felt the world go shades of gray and white. The black consumed his soul and mind, and he couldn't see anything in the pitch black darkness that seemed to control him.
He looked above him, to see that he was nailed to something that looked like a crucifix, his feet nailed at the bottom, one on top of another.
He could see black blood streaming from his hands and feet. He could feel the very life draining out of him, and he felt spasms of pain (though he could feel none), shoot through his whole body every so often. His head was filled with grotesque thoughts of how he had got here, what his punishment was. Had he killed someone? Had he done an unforgivable sin? He could only guess.
Black ribbons shot out from the darkness, wrapping hungrily around him, and bound him tighter to the cross. Three went for his heart, and he gasped in fear, for they wound it up, until it no longer looked like an organ of his body, but a breathing shadow.
Black ink was spilling from his raven eyes, black as midnight, the same pitch black that had consumed him, was now running in his system He was crying, bleeding and seeing the same, horrible, unchanging color.
He wanted to die…
Someone was caressing his face, with only a thumb. He turned to see who it was, who his Savior was. Another black sash surged forth from the darkness, and blindfolded his midnight eyes, and he finally made a noise. He whimpered in fear, feeling his tears slip off his cheek and fall into the eternal abyss.
All he saw was that his Savior was shrouded in white light, and had a hauntingly beautiful smile.
--
The boy woke, covered in cold sweat which chilled his body to the bone. He was panting, his breaths short and uneven. He ran a hand through his gold and silver hair, sweat making it damp.
"Oh! Dear, you're awake!" Came a shrill voice. He blinked twice, and waited for the blurry, merged world to focus. He moaned in pain as a burning sensation tingled down his body.
'Sleep…' His body and mind begged, trying to pull the ghost boy into a world where nothing could truly hurt him, where reality was left behind, to ponder its real meaning.
"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy. Stay still!" The white and blue form turned into a lady in a blue and white striped dress, with a white apron on over it. She was clucking to herself, starting to mumble about dreamless sleep, while she unwrapped the bandaged around his wrists, and ankles, along with a gash on his cheek. He sucked in air as she dabbed at them with some kind of medicine, jolts of pain racing in his body.
Malfoy…was that his name? No, no. It was…Dray…Draco. Draconius Malfoy. That was it. Draco, himself, believed that he was going insane. Could you just wake up and have amnesia? The boy didn't know, but he was having a hard time trying to remember where he was, who he was, and why he was here. So he guessed yes, you could.
"Poor boy, he stayed with you all night. And he was up until the moon was set in the horizon." Draco stared at the woman, who he assumed was the Matron. Yes, yes. Madame Pomefry.
Draco's head snapped over to the other side of the room. There was another boy, his face hidden by a mass of uncombed black hair. He was sitting, leaning back on a quite comfortable chair that was very close to the right side of the bed. He noticed that this boy was holding his right hand. He could feel a slight heat rise up in his cheeks, but Madame Pomfrey just smiled innocently, before a determined look hardened her features and she went around the bed to wake the boy up.
Harry Potter.
"Mr. Potter, please, get up." She shook his shoulder lightly, holding his back and his chest to move him into an upright position. He groaned, and his head jolted up, his hand automatically moving to the wand that was slid into the tassel that bound his robe, out of an automatic reflex. When he realized who it was, he sighed heavily and relaxed.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy is in perfect health, besides the cuts and bruises. It might hurt to walk or write for a little while, but he'll manage." Taking a side look at the blonde boy, she leant down and whispered, "If he becomes strangely depressed, or has very wide mood swings, come back to see me immediately. All of the teachers have been told, so you won't have any problem. Promise me, Mr. Potter." Her voice rose with something that Harry thought he could classify as fear and worry. The Matron's eyes darted from Harry, to Draco, and back to Harry again.
"I promise." He hissed back, but couldn't help but wonder what the Matron was on about.
This left a strange feeling at the bottom of Harry's stomach, and a lump in his throat.
---
Ron and Hermione had soon taken to Harry's…'mothering' of Draco. Well, Ron had called it;
"Honestly, Mio, it's like he's is god damn…mother! Or something…"
"Oh, Ron. Let him be. Harry's just concerned."
"Yeah. Concerned. Hmm."
The two had got used to it, though. Ron started to notice the little things, though.
Like how the two boys, after a while, when they were walking down the halls, soon fell into step with each other. How they would get tense at one little brush of the hand. How even their breathing seemed to match. When Harry exhaled, Draco inhaled, and visa versa.
Harry and Draco, Draco and Harry. You couldn't say one without mentioning the other. They might as well of been Fred and George.
They could have been brothers, and as Ron sometimes joked;
"Heh, you two could be boyfriends, eh, Harry?" This only made the boy blush, but his eyes would sparkle in amusement, and he took it good-heartedly.
"Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy." Ron had told Hermione one day, Harry had shrugged, and continued walking down the hall.
Hermione had to agree with Harry. Draco hadn't been as nasty to them, and she hadn't felt the need to slap him every time he entered a 10 mile radius that much. Yet, he still had the same smirk, the same taunting, drawling voice. It just wasn't directed towards them as much anymore.
Hermione had noticed something else, too, that she had never noticed before. She always considered Draco to be rather good-looking. Still, he had a pretty-boy look and feel to him. His eyelashes were quite long, his body built slim. Harry, she noticed, often bordered on pretty-boy status sometimes, but was sometimes saved by .
Draco was definitely more…feminine, she decided. She dipped her quill back in the ink bottle, and chewed the Sugar Quill thoughtfully.
---
He found himself in a pool of black ink. How he knew it was ink, he didn't know. It just knew.
His fingers teased the water's surface, and his breathing troubled the gray mirror. He stared at what he saw as his reflection with confused eyes.
He saw and older him, a weathered him, with kind eyes but a sad smile. His reflection shook its head back at him, before closing its eyes, and fading into the young, youthful Harry.
Yet his eyes were the same.
Crimson and black butterflies fluttered, from somewhere in the black around him. One landed on his outstretched hand, and peered up at him. He stared at it, studying it. Did this butterfly have a life of its own, its own dreams, wants and needs? Did it have goals in life, even though it seemed to be just another stupid creature?
He found his hand closing around the defenseless creature, and could feel its fragile body bend to his will, his fingers finally closing to make a fist, the final crunch of its body signaling its death, and the dark around him trembled slightly. It never fought against him. When he opened his hand, blood streaked down it, black and red, along with white powder, which he poured into the midnight ink. The surface rippled, before the white powder disappeared in its depths.
He could feel his body shake, and found himself laughing, silently, at the fact that he had so much power over such an insignificant thing. Was this the absolute corruption of absolute power?
Sorrow overcame his power lust, and he started to cry, confused and conflicting emotions overcoming any barriers he could have put up. Tears came to his eyes in a split second, and he cried, his tears a dazzling white. It made tremors on the liquid's surface, and it suddenly lit the lake in a light that made him wince, and he used his hands to shield him from it.
Something wrapped its thin arms around his waist, but he didn't even tense at the touch. He relaxed immediately, leaning into the body, who had a black aura surrounding it. The figure pressed its mouth to his neck, and then whispered something in his ear.
"Will you surrender to your darkest dreams?"
---
Draco found Harry in one of the rooms near Dumbledore's office. It was during lesson time, but had been able to slip out of Advanced Potions. Harry must have had Care of Magical Creatures, for only Hagrid would of let Harry Potter out alone.
Harry played the harp, he knew, but he had never heard the boy play anything. Harry was currently looking away from the front of the room, his eyes and mind outside, as he gazed through the opening of the stone walls, sitting on the windowsill. The gold harp was lent against his body, his fingers plucking out an absent-minded tune, that Draco thought sounded quite nice.
Draco couldn't tell if Harry had registered his entrance, but he began to play, seriously, his eyelids flickering, his emerald eyes showing he knew this piece well, as they fully closed, and never opened until the final notes were picked out.
Harry adored this piece, it was sad, with hints of hope that died away after the fourth system. It seemed to cry out for something to believe in, but he couldn't give it any thing to hold onto. He could only strike the notes with melancholy, not make them ring with faith. He wondered if the composer even did? He seemed to get the impression that this musician was dying, and could feel his very soul being pulled from his very self. So he wrote music, perhaps the one thing that remained constant in his life, for the notes on a stave never change. A whole note never means a half. A scale of G will always have an F sharp. It's a musical rule that can't be denied.
Life isn't that certain, that constant. So he drowned himself in music instead, a never-failing escape plan.
When his eyelids shot open, they immediately went to Draco, who had remained stunned in the doorway, his fingers gripping the wood of the frame. His eyes had changed color since the 'incident'. They were now a now more calm, but still icy, light blue, yet they still hid emotion like a natural instinct. It was better than that stormy gray blue, Harry noticed.
Harry Potter stood up, and a faint smile playing on his lips. He walked quickly over to Draco, who stared at him with now narrow eyes.
"Who in Hell taught you to play like that?"
Harry laughed, a laugh that didn't seen to sound fully good-hearted. "A man known only as Professor Snape."
Draco started to nod, expecting someone from his Muggle life. When he heard Snape's name, his head snapped to face Harry, who was looking at him with his 'Dumbledore eyes'. That meant they were on the verge of laughter, and yet they had a sad tone to them.
"Yeah. Who woulda thunk? The man's a pro. When I told Dumbledore I wanted to learn a musical instrument, he said that Snape was the only teacher who had any musical experience, with a harp," He paused, and added as a thoughtful after-note, "Though, he had told me he could once play a mean didgeridoo."
The two boys, now in perfect step with each other, only had to sneak a look at the other, and they burst into peals of hysterical laughter. They traveled down the stairs to the main hall, and still were in breathless laughter, their sides aching. This was where they parted.
"See you later, then, Draco?" He choked out, laughing silently, as he made the effort to push open the heavy doors.
"Sure, Potter." The boy disappeared as he went down the spiraling steps that lead to the dungeons. His laughs echoed back to Harry, who stumbled forward as the doors opened unexpectedly.
---
"Headmaster, sir, I can't find Potter or Malfoy anywhere-!" The Potions Master burst into Dumbledore's office, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the headmaster holding a long, wooden tube.
"Oh, really, Serverus? Have you tried all of the abandoned closets?" The aged Headmaster's rather sick mind giggled like a school girl as the man opposite him flushed a light pink, the corners of his mouth twitching.
"May I ask, Albus, what is-" The man was desperate to change the subject. Albus took the bait, even if he was aware of it.
"-This rather interesting instrument I'm holding in my hands? It is, my dear friend, a didgeridoo. It's an Australian instrument originally played by the Aborigines, the natives of the country. You simple blow into it, and…" The man did so, and the hum of the instrument soon filled his office.
Serverus often did wonder if this man was sane. Brilliant, yes. Random, yes. Sane? It was questionable. He often guessed no.
"Sir, Malfoy took Potter to the Matron, he was complaining of a stomach ache-" He was interrupted by the chuckle that escaped from the Headmaster, as the instrument left his lips.
"Fifth floor, ninth door on the left."
---
"Potter, Malfoy, out." The pale, tired Potions teacher pointed towards the hall, and a voice that undeniably Malfoy's came from the closet.
"Sir, two more minutes, please?"
"No, Malfoy. Or I'll start taking House Points." Serverus could feel a heat rising to his cheeks.
A snigger that was obviously Potter's came faintly through the darkness of the closet.
"Oh, do shut up, Potter."
Silence.
Two clumsily dressed boys made their way out of the closet, both grinning like madmen. Both faces were flushed, lips bright pink. Their eyes were on fire.
Serverus Snape shuddered. Bad images. Don't turn into Dumbledore. Bad images. Go away. Please, God…
When Serverus walked behind the boys, he didn't see Harry nudge Draco with his elbow, or Draco turn his head to grin madly at Harry, but he did see the boys hold hands, entwining their fingers.
He halted, and rubbed his temples, resisting the temptation to whack his head against the nearest wall many times.
"Anything wrong, sir?" Came Potter's slightly taunting voice, daring him to say anything slightly suspicious. He winked at Draco, who barely caught an escaping laugh. The boys were still holding hands.
"No, Potter. Nothing. At. All." Serverus bit his tongue, and gritted his teeth hard.
'Mental Note: Never, ever, let Malfoy and Potter out of class together. Ever again.'
"Genius, Harry. Total genius." Draco hissed into Harry's ear as they neared the classroom.
Harry stuck out his toungue, his eyes laughing. Draco smirked, his eyebrows raised.
As they entered the classroom, Draco decided Harry wasn't that bad after all. He let go of the other boy's hand, though…it was a rather reluctant move.
---
"Malfoy, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, Snape can get pretty pissed."
"Come on. All of Hogwarts would pay to see Snape flustered. It'll be priceless." The boys walked down the halls, originally going to the Matron. Of course, they turned instead of going up another flight of stairs.
"Fine. Come on, Filch doesn't use this one anymore." He grabbed Draco's wrist, and opened the eaten away door as well, and pulled Draco in as quickly as he could.
Harry tripped over an abandoned bucket, which caused him to reach out and grab the nearest support, but;
He was also still holding Draco's wrist. Harry caught himself quick, and soon was standing normally…but he hadn't thought of the weight he was pulling, and Draco came from somewhere nearer the door, and in a split second, Harry let go of his wrist.
This only made the boy loose total control as he fell forward.
Harry only caught him by pure Seeker reflex. His arms wrapped around Draco's back, both boys' eyes wide. If either could see in the dark, they would of noticed blush on the other's cheeks.
Harry only noticed a few seconds later that he could feel Draco's jagged breathing on his face, and realized that his was just as uneven.
Harry neared his face to Draco's, his eyes glittering. When his face (and mouth, Draco noticed) was only a few millimeters from his, he laughed, and swept his foot to hit Draco's leg, causing his to trip again.
Draco gasped, before becoming dead set on revenge. He pushed Harry lightly, but this only caused him to loose his footing, and fall to the ground, but he again by reflex, brought Draco down with him.
In this turmoil, Draco thought he felt something brush against his forehead. When he looked at the accused, he was stood up, and dusting himself off.
Both stared at each other for a length of time that wasn't measurable.
"Potter, Malfoy, out." Snape's voice cut through the silence, and they both grinned.
Now, Harry had thought the holding hands thing was just the icing on the cake. Snape was at a loss for words, and was still faintly flushed. Mission accomplished.
That…and he hadn't half minded holding Draco's hand. He smiled, and bit the nail on his thumb in deep thought.
---
"Harry, do you ever wonder why we're living? My Father once said it was to die." The boy's voice was monotone, his eyes blank. They were outside, Draco sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall of the school, his hands entwined and his arms resting on his knees, which were slightly outstretched. Harry was sitting on a small wall that lead to the stairs across from Draco.
Draco was wearing dark blue jean shorts that were messily cut at the end, and a black shirt that sometimes shimmered magically silver. The mood pendant around his neck was an eerie silver-gray color, a warning of depression, that matched the chain it was on. Harry had gotten it for him on his birthday, which was the day after Easter. His head was tilted to face the clouds, his lips parted. He had stopped slicking his hair back, and his hair now framed his face, the careful arrangement now slightly teased out by the wind. His lips occasionally moved as the boy talked to himself. His stormy eyes never blinked, nor shifted gaze.
Harry was still dressed for spring, even if it was late May. His birthday seemed to approaching at an easy speed. His black jeans clung slightly to his lower body. He had caught Hermione checking him out earlier, and when he looked up, she looked at him innocently, before nodding approvingly. He blushed a few shades of pink, and she had laughed. He was also wearing a Quidditch top from last year, which gave a faint outline of his chest. It was gold, and another color that could only be described as 'Gryffindor Red'. The lion patch on it sometimes growled. He was twirling a silver crucifix between his fingers, which was being held by an identical thin chain. A heavy sigh escaped from Harry, as he moved to stand above Draco.
"Please, Draco." He pleaded, trying to make that silvery gray turn into blue. Bright, happy blue. He'd never seen it that color. Misty blue, pale blue, blue-silver. Never a color that you could classify as a vibrant blue.
"Is it, Potter? Is the meaning of life to die? It's the only constant thing that every single living things does." Draco's head rolled to face Potter, an action that seemed to drain his energy, as what little spark that was left in his eyes was doused.
"I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey." Harry grabbed the boy's wrists and then tried to lift the boy up, but he was deadweight.
He leant down to pick him up by lifting under his shoulders, but Draco only fell forwards onto him when he had managed to get the boy off the ground. The mood pendant shimmered as it met Harry's gaze.
Black.
Draco's eyes were a stormy silver, dull and lifeless. They begged Harry to take him away from everything that could hurt him, to give him something to believe in.
Like the harp.
Harry shook his head, and sat the boy down again, one arm around his neck as a support, and the other hand clasping his wrist.
Neither boy seemed to mind.
"She can't cure me, Harry."
Draco lays his head on Harry's shoulder, closing his eyes, and whispering to himself again, but his time, a small smile was on his lips.
Harry looked up at the sky, that had fascinated Draco, and rested his head lightly on Draco's, and thought he smelt of cinnamon. His arm decided that Draco's shoulder was much more comfortable, and his hand now held the other boy's more possessively.
The crucifix glittered in the sunshine that wasn't spring, but wasn't summer.
A small, contented sigh escaped from Draco, and he moved closer to the other boy. Harry looked to the sky again, and then looked down at Draco, his mind wondering how this boy could live.
---
He's back on the cross again, his voice lost in the abyss. Sobs make his body shake, his eyes closed, he doesn't want to see the place that has caused him so much agony.
When he feels the same sensation on his cheek that he did the last time, he is expecting the sash to blind him. To see only a smile that will haunt the rest of his dreams.
When the sash does come, the figure next to him gives him sight again, cutting away the darkness with a knife.
"Will you come with me?"
By some fate, he's off the cross, and wraps his arms around his Savior's neck, and tries to see his eyes.
He's bathed in a white light, and Draco notices a black aura coming from him, his broken heart.
"Please…" The voice asks again, and he nods, tears filling his eyes for a reason that escapes him, yet crying seems to be the only action that he's capable of. He digs his nails into the back of the figure's neck, and he gasps.
Why is he doing this, why? He cries harder, tears pouring from his eyes, a human waterfall.
"Can you take me away from everything that will, or could, ever hurt me?" He finds his voices and hisses, yet the tears still come, flooding his mind and eyes. His voice sounds strange, unfamiliar.
"I can't lie to you…" He chokes out, which automatically freezes the boy who's trying to escape.
He steps back, his eyes wide, as the man doesn't move, and only watches him with a concerned gaze.
When he finally regains his senses, tears still washing away any rational thought, he stands in front of the man, his breathing irregular.
---
Harry is still sitting with Draco on that Saturday afternoon. Harry looks at Draco, his face calm, while he's in his dream world.
He sees a crimson slash on the back of his neck, and his thumb traces the mark, his eyes concerned. Draco shivers in his sleep, but doesn't wake.
"Don't give up Draco. I couldn't live without you."
("We've got to hold on, ready or not, you live for the fight when it's all that you've got.")
-Le Fin-