Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, and kept reading this story in spite of my horrible inability to update regularly. If anyone has issues with blood, I suggest you only skim over the last half of this chapter, because there's blood, and lots of it.

¤¤¤¤¤

Chapter Ten: Penetrate.

¤¤¤¤¤

The sunlight crept its way between the two not-quite-touching pieces of heavy fabric that surrounded Harry's bed, creating a perfect line of sunlight over the top half of his face. Scrunching his face up in annoyance, the dark-haired Gryffindor mumbled incoherently and rolled on to his side, away from the offending light, determined to fall back asleep for as long as possible.

Long minutes passed as Harry lay, an immobile blob, sufficiently tangled in his sheets. He sighed in defeat, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, and removed himself from the mess of blankets that adorned his bed. Harry yawned loudly, his right hand moving up to rub the back of his neck while he pondered if he really wanted to take a shower today or not. He looked from the closed door across the room, to his open trunk, silently debating. Coming to the conclusion that his trunk was much closer than any shower, the young Gryffindor got dressed, not particularly caring if he were dirty for the day or not.

Harry generally enjoyed the weekends, simply because there was no exceedingly harsh agenda that he was forced to follow. There were the occasional weekends where Hermione would all but jump him, and demand that he finish his homework without his typical half-assed answers. Harry Potter was many things, but an overtly hard working student wasn't one of them.

Most of his day had been spent in the common room, half doing homework, half spacing out. After complaining about not seeing him very often, Hermione and Ron had hunted the other Gryffindor down which is why the three of them now sat in the worn, squashy chairs by the fireplace, silently doing homework. Well, Harry was staring blankly at his Potion's book while Hermione kept telling Ron everything that was wrong with his essay. Harry's eye twitched in retaliation to lack of movement. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, and when he opened then, he found himself looking into the fireplace, remembering his time talking to Sirius through it back in fifth year. The Gryffindor sighed and sunk down into the chair, he usually appreciated the weekends, but today has been nothing but boring.

"You alright, mate?" Harry heard Ron's voice speaking to the left of him. Turning his head he saw two pairs of eyes staring back at him.

"I'm fine," he muttered, "I just hate Potions."

"Oh, Harry, you're still working on that?" Harry nodded and Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "And I thought Ron was being difficult, give it here." She grabbed Harry's partially written essay and sat down in her chair, pushing her bushy brown hair out of her face. Harry noticed Ron looking longingly from his homework back to Hermione, clearly at a loss of what to do. The dark haired Gryffindor smiled in amusement. The three of them weren't nearly as close as they used to be, and Hermione took Harry's sudden desire to be reclusive as a result from Sirius' death. She was probably half right, but there was a part of Harry that just wasn't the same person that was once friends with the two that now sat next to him. Being with them was almost a painful reminder that he'd changed somehow, a change that he still can't figure out.

Lifting his legs from the floor, Harry curled up into the chair, turning just enough so he was again looking into the blackness of the fireplace. Draco hadn't been entirely correct when he made the observation of the three Gryffindor's faltering friendship. True, they weren't as close as they used to be. Ron and Hermione seemed absorbed in each other, and Harry had simply become less sociable. Obviously they still spent time together, but since the end of fifth year, things just haven't been the same.

An accomplished sigh came out of Harry's mouth when he looked at his finished essay. "Well, this exceeds my work limit for the day," the dark haired Gryffindor said, packing away his schoolwork. He noticed Ron's frown as he stood and started walking towards the dorm they shared. When he reached the stairs he heard Hermione speaking quietly to Ron, distinctly hearing the words, "Not now."

Harry's shoulders sagged as soon as he walked through the door to his room, and dropped his bag near the floor. It was still pretty early in the day, mid afternoon, he figured from looking outside. Maybe he'd go out on his broom later… The young wizard sighed, lying down on his bed, just as Draco wascoming up in his thoughts.

Before Harry really realized what he was doing, he found himself inside the Slytherin common room, in front of Draco's bedroom door. He hesitated. Sure, he knew the password, Draco wasn't as quiet as he thought when he'd muttered it into the door, but… how would he react to seeing Harry just walk, unannounced, into his room? He bit his lip, still unsure. Harry liked being around the Slytherin, he knew that much, but they still did fight a lot. Plus, he thought, Draco had been avoiding him. The realization hit Harry hard, and he frowned. He felt stupid just standing in front of a door, even if he were under his invisibility cloak, which was actually starting to get uncomfortably warm.

Harry made a half-turn away from the door, thinking it would be best to just leave. If Draco didn't want to see him, there was no way he would be able to get the blonde to talk to him. He sighed loudly, not noticing the Slytherins at a near by table looking towards his invisible figure, confused. He turned and looked back at Draco's door. He was already here, so why not at least try? Harry muttered the password and entered carefully, softly shutting the door behind him. He noticed the second he was in, that something was off.

He pulled his cloak off, not being able to think properly with the suffocating material covering his entire body. The room was uncharacteristically messy, a few books lay strewn across the floor, a chair was tipped over, and papers flooded the area around Draco's desk. Harry stepped further into the room, looking down when he stepped on something soft. It was clothes. School robes, a white, button down shirt, and a tie. Harry's eyebrows furrowed, and his frown deepened. His attention was pulled from the floor to Draco's unmade bed, where he heard a sharp intake of breath. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

Draco sat at the end corner of his bed, his back to Harry. The first thing that caught Harry's eye was Draco's pale back. He sat, hunched over something, his hair falling in an unorganized mess atop his head, and around his shoulders. His spine was sharp, sticking out in an almost grotesque way, looking as if it could split through the flesh that lined his back. Long, skinny arms were tightly pressed up against Draco's sides, making his lax position appear rigid, almost like he was in pain.

Harry's reaction was instant, his left hand covering his mouth while he held back a gag. Draco wouldn't be doing that, would he? His eyes looked sad and uncertain, what do you do in a situation like this? "Draco?" Harry barely whispered through his fingers.

Draco's entire body stiffened and Harry knew the blonde had heard him. Before Harry had even finished calling Draco's name, the Slytherin's back raised slightly, every muscle clenching tightly, like it was the hardest thing he ever had to do. Long, uncomfortable moments passed, both boys remaining motionless.

"Potter?" Harry's frown deepened, Draco's voice was precariously weak.

Harry watched as Draco set something down on the bed, and, still unsure of himself, he started taking slow steps around the large bed to face Draco. The movement caught Draco's attention, making him twitch. He slowly stood from the bed, his hands sliding in front of his stomach, almost like he was trying to shield the cuts from Harry's view. The blood smeared, coating both of his hands and it looked surreal to Harry, almost like something you would see in a movie. Was Draco supposed to be bleeding that much? He watch in fascinated horror as blood pooled in between pale fingers, then slowly began to slide across his knuckles, making obscene trails of blood across Draco's fingers. It vaguely reminded Harry of fifth year, having to do lines, having to cut into his own flesh. He shuddered, was that the same pain that Draco felt when he cut himself? For himself, it wasn't done willingly, so how could it be the same? Harry wondered if it felt worse… or better.

"What does it feel like?" Harry's eyes stayed fixed on Draco's bloody torso.

"Like having control," Draco whispered back, looking at the floor, some point beyond Harry.

Silent minutes passed between the two, though not exactly awkward, but far from being comfortable. Draco's hands fell from his stomach, a soundless defeat that was almost touching to Harry. Pale arms hung limp at Draco's sides, and Harry noticed a small drop of flood fall from one of Draco's long fingers, down to the thick carpet below them, before his eyes traveled back to the expanse of Draco's torso. There were dozens of cuts. Some were just small scratches, others probably deep enough to require a trip up to the infirmary.

Taking in a long, shaky breath, Harry raised his head and caught Draco's eyes. "Cut me," he spoke softly, not breaking past the mere whispers they have been speaking to each other since Harry had entered the room, almost for fear of breaking the personal moments they were sharing. Something flashed in Draco's eyes, something Harry didn't recognize. They stared at each other, both searching for something, but it was something neither of them could find. Draco bent towards the bed, grasping a small razor into his bloodied fingers.

"Come closer," he spoke slowly, not making an attempt to cover the uncertainty that laced his voice.

Harry was hesitant at first. He assumed that Draco would have yelled at him, or at least told him no. Biting the inside of his lip, Harry moved so he was mere inches apart from Draco. Wordlessly, Draco unbuttoned the clasp to Harry's robes, and pushed them off his shoulders, letting the black material fall to the ground. His right hand slid down Harry's left arm, the white fabric soaking up the slowly drying blood from Draco's hand, his movements were slow, and Harry watched intently. Draco unbuttoned and rolled up the sleeve of Harry's shirt, letting his fingers trail over the darker flesh than his own that made up Harry's forearm.

Draco's fingers curled around the base of Harry's hand, his pinky slipping in between the Gryffindor's thumb and forefinger. His thumb brushed gently over the unmarked skin, and gave Harry's hand a light squeeze before raising it between the two of them. Pale grey eyes met green, and found that Harry's earlier hesitation had vanished. Still silently, Draco looked back down to the wrist that lay in his hand, slowly bringing the razor from his left hand to hover over the skin. Harry took in a sharp breath at the sensation of the cool metal dragging across his skin. It was barely pressing down but the feeling of skin being sliced open was more than enough reassurance that the cut had been made. Draco repeated the action, so that two thin slices lay together, quietly beginning to bleed. Both of Draco's hands held up Harry's cut arm, and he watched the dark haired boy stare at his arm. Morbid fascination washed over Harry as blood slowly bubbled up through the cuts, the strange stinging sensation felt welcome, making his arm tingle.

The sensation was soon lost on Harry. The pain faded to a dull ache, which seemed more like a nuisance than anything else. Holding in a sigh, Harry couldn't help but wonder why the blonde in front of him felt the need to slice himself up, if this was the only effect it really had. He hadn't known what to expect, but he had at least hoped it would have been satisfying… even if only to help justify Draco's actions to his own mind. But he still couldn't, though it made him feel a nameless emotion that felt awkward inside of his body.

The weight of his arm pushed the three hands down, until Draco's fell back to his sides. Harry could feel blood sliding down his wrist, pooling into the palm of his hand. They stared at each other, neither quite understanding what just happened. Harry stepped closer and found his lips on Draco's. The blonde hissed lightly when Harry's finger trailed over Draco's stomach. It was a soft kiss, reassuring almost. Draco pulled back, looking at Harry blankly. More awkward silence fell between them.

"Why do you do this?" Harry asked, picking the razor out of Draco's hands. Draco's mouth opened slightly, but something in his eyes made him falter. Harry knew at that moment Draco was trying to respond to a question that he didn't have the answer to. The blonde struggled with himself, instead of admitting that he didn't know.

"No," Draco spat, turning away from Harry's gaze and began to walk away from him. Harry turned with Draco and grabbed his arm, his fingers easily wrapping around it.

"No?" Harry repeated. Draco pivoted on his heel sharply, tearing Harry's hand off of his arm. Harry winced, realizing he had just done something stupid. "I have absolutely no obligation to answer any of your bloody questions, Potter. You can't just stalk in here and expect me to talk about things I clearly don't want to discuss, especially with you."

Harry groaned. "You're a frustrating, irritable, little git! All I want to do is help!"

"You can't keep acting like some stupid, self-righteous Gryffindor. You're just a pathetic drug addict that can't control your own life, so you try to keep your fingers wrapped around everyone else's!" Draco shoved Harry away from him then stalked off into his adjoining bathroom. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang, rattling in its wooden frame. Draco might have regretted what he said if he had seen the crushed expression on Harry's face.

Draco kicked the door that now stood in between him and the offending Gryffindor in the other room. A frustrated growl followed in suit. Forcing a long breath of air through his lips, Draco closed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair; Harry was more effort than he was worth. His tall frame stood in front of the vanity in the bathroom, his fingers tightly gripping the edges. He looked at his reflection through his eyelashes, not being bothered by the amount of blood that was smeared on everything from his hair, to his trousers. The image that looked back at him through the mirror looked insanely sadistic. Messy chunks of red and blonde hair fell in front of his face, hands were streaked with blood, which paled in comparison from the shallow to deep gashes that ran in a chaotic mess across his torso, a few still trickling blood.

Yet the image didn't satisfy. There weren't enough cuts; he didn't hurt enough. Draco's hands trembled as he dug through his things, searching. His entire body shook with a need he hadn't felt since his first time. A forced sigh of relief forced its way through his pale lips as his fingers gripped around the small, silver object he had been so fervently looking for. His body stilled for a soft moment, and the room fell in to a strained silence. Long, heavy breaths came out of Draco's mouth has he raised his strangely steady hand to his pale, as yetunmarked arm. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Draco pushed the blade into his skin. The once sharp edge was dull, Draco pressed harder, watching, with a self-satisfied smirk, as his skin swallowed the razor. A shudder ran down his spine as he dragged the razor down the inside of his forearm, reveling in the tearing sensation the dull blade made.

The small piece of metal made a loud clanking noise as it fell from Draco's fingers into the porcelain white sink, when Draco leaned forward to grip onto the vanity once again, this time not out of anger, but for support. He felt his face start to tingle, and he started to feel lightheaded. Upon shaking legs that threatened to give out on him, Draco tried to walk towards the toilet, wanting to sit down, but his legs stumbled, and he fell to the ground in a pale, bloody heap. Curling up on his left side, Draco made no attempt to stand. His bleeding arm resting against the wooden base of his bathroom vanity was the last thing he saw before his world faded to black.

¤¤¤¤¤

End: Chapter Ten.

¤¤¤¤¤