Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. The lady who does own it seems be rich. I, am broke.

Author's Note: This fanfiction is going to be slash, and involves slashy stuff between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, so if it's not your style, don't read it, for goodness' sakes! May or may not involve, sadism, masochism, sado-masochism, drugs, sex, cutting, torture, blood, violence, etc. Merry reading!

kawaii kalika:thank you for your flattering review

A/N: Sorry, I sort of stuffed the previous chapter, I will fix up the ending.

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Harry yawned lightly when he awoke the next morning. Stretching his limbs slowly, he wallowed in the warmth of the place. Professor Flitwick must have increased the potency of the warming spells, he thought to himself, and began to sit up and rub his eyes.

He was immediately hailed with a sense of disorientation, and after a few seconds of befuddlement, he realised that he must have somehow moved so much that night that he had spun himself right around. He wondered for a moment and realised his sheets were mostly all over the floor, as was his pillow. He chuckled loosely and was glad there was no one there but him.

He had come to a final conclusion, that night, waking up at Pigwidgeon knew what hour, to realise it was all right with him. Draco, he meant. What was it his business what Draco did or did not do? His life.

He smiled when he saw Hedwig tapping at the window. Hedwig had been sent off two days ago with mail to Ron. He untied two letters from Hedwig; one was from Ron and one from Hermione. The letters were mainly how great it was that as a Christmas surprise, their families had chosen to spend Christmas together. He stroked Hedwig's white feathers, and sat down to write replies, as there would be time for breakfast, it began in another half-hour.

He made a note of Draco's unusual presence at school during the holidays, but no more. He also carefully worded his delight at them being able to spend their time together. He carefully worded out that he wished he were with them as well.

He ignored Draco during Breakfast. He wryly noted Draco's tendency to do the same. An eye for an eye, he guessed.

The next few days drifted along like honey, smoothly flowing from one day to the next. Christmas approaching in a wave of singing ghosts and suits of armour, decked in lavish finery,

Peeves had concocted an ingenious plan to fill the bonbons with a black substance, which wafted through the air and smelt unpleasant. After the first few bonbons and rounds of hacking coughs, the rest remained pristine, and unopened.

He had also hexed the Christmas baubles, which now exploded on contact with the Christmas tree. Professor Flitwick hung them up with the holly instead, and decked the Christmas tree with snow and berries.

With only five days to Christmas (he knew this because the ghosts were singing 'On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love.'even though that would make the song last until several days after Christmas) he had seen only the barest glimpse of Draco Malfoy. Who, although looking as illustrious as ever, had taken on a gaunt aspect to his countenance.

Late that night, Harry was just adding the final flourish to his two- foot long essay on 'the history of muggle and wizard relationships, during 1500's to the present'.

He was sidetracking from the Gryffindor Common Room to the nearest toilet. When he was finished, he washed his hands in the basin when he saw blood in the basin next to his. A deep ruby hue, and still shiny and wet. Several metres away, on the floor, lay three more drops in succession, bright against the stone paving.

He was chilled by the memory of Voldemort for a moment, and imagination runs wild with fear and adrenaline. He touched his scar instinctively, but gave it a moment or two, and realised he had felt nothing, but could still heart his heart throbbing in his ears. Voldemort was dead, gone. Vanquished, as some saw it.

He opened his eyes, which he had not known were shut, and saw the blood was drying already, becoming forming crusty edges. He followed the blood trail around the corner, where he saw Draco, slumped against the wall, barely on his feet.

"Draco!" he exclaimed, obviously surprised. He was in denial about the concern, though.
Draco was infront of the Slytherin Common Room Portrait, who had his eyebrow raised, and told Harry "This one cut a bit too deep, this time". Harry ignored it, refusing to accept the idea that other people did this. The blood from Draco's arm was running down the wall and creating a little pool at his feet.

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Harry, under his invisibility cloak, quickly sneaked dome bandages from a shelf in the Hospital Wing. He ran back to Draco as fast as he could, feet pounding on the cold stone floor, the torches on either side of him flickering as he raced past.

Carefully, he bandaged Draco's arm, as Draco watched silently, making no move to help or hinder. The slashes were straight lines, from Draco's shoulders to the back of his wrists.

"Not terribly creative, I know. It's almost impossible to put something legibly on your shoulder, though," He commented placidly. Harry assumed it was the blood loss.

Ten minutes later, Draco extracted his wand from his robes. "Evaporo," a quick incantation and the blood was gone.

"Well Potter. Should I ever feel any gratitude for your gallant attempts to help, I will know exactly who it was who drove me insane enough to say that," and was gone, his fleeting shadow vanishing through the portrait, who gave an arrogant, twisted smile

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