Don't expect me just to open up

Maybe I'm just a little scared

Please don't tell me what you think I want to hear

Every second feels like a minute and every minute feels like an hour. Every hour feels like a day and every day feels like a week. Every week feels like a month and the month that had passed since the 'great plate' incident as it is now known, felt like a century.

At least I'd had the detentions to keep me busy. A year ago I would have never believed it but I now actually missed seeing old McGonagall's disapproving face every time I walked into her office for the hourly punishment. It gave me some stability; a permanent fixture that I was accustomed to seeing and an escape from Pansy fucking Parkinson.

She doesn't get it. She just doesn't get it. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who I consider the most useless and stupidest lumpish oafs in the world had given me my own space during the past week. I'd grown extra irritable and it was quite commonplace for them to receive at least three threats of crucacius curses a day. Pansy got the same treatment - and sometimes more - but instead of backing away, she attached herself closer to me. She even tried to get approval to join me in my month's worth of detentions.

Never had I been so grateful to see McGonagall's thin-lipped, cold-eyed stare of refusal as she denied Pansy her wish. She was actually doing it again now, not at Pansy though. At me.

"And would you be so kind as to explain why you have not completed your homework, Mr. Malfoy?" She asked sardonically.

I shrugged in a defeated manner, hearing my shoulder joints audibly crack as I did so. The sound was drowned out by the snickers of the Gryffindors at seeing me taken down a peg or two. Pansy threw them furious looks before delivering one to me as well. McGonagall continued with the lesson after issuing me with another three nights of detention and I knew Pansy was going to pounce on me for something by the way her eyes kept darting from McGonagall's hawk-like eyes to my deadened ones. Sure enough, the moment her back was turned Pansy's lips were inches from my ear like a shot.

"Why are you not maintaining our image?" she hissed violently. "We have a reputation to protect and you are tarnishing it."

"Fuck you," was all I whispered. She gave a heavily exaggerated sigh and crossed her arms huffily. She was certainly going to bring this up again. She was right though, of course. She had an annoying way of accurately pinpointing my problems or concerns and then zeroing in on them without even realising it. And she was deadly on target this time as well. I was letting the Slytherin name slip. I had been looked upon as the leader of Slytherin house since fourth year on account of my family name. Now I was in the seventh year this had only been more established and those who had returned from last year, eager to see what trouble I plotted for the Gryffindors were probably most disappointed. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything now. A Slytherin versus Gryffindor war couldn't cure me.

True to form, Pansy clung onto my side like a leech when we were let out of McGonagall's class.

"Fuck you? Fuck you?" she screeched as we walked down the corridor. "That's all you can say? Well listen here Draco because I have plenty to say."

I bet.

"What's happened to us? What's happened to you? You're letting us down. I can't hold up the Slytherin name single-handedly you know! I'm not that capable."

Boy, do I know.

"You're being unfair, Draco. You may be in some - some -" she struggled to find the words, "- chronically depressiveness ... shit but you're dragging all of us down with you. Finnigan called me a bitch the other day and you didn't even threaten to hex him."

That's because I agreed.

"And lately, you haven't even said a word to Potter ..." she continued. I let her drone on annoyingly. I didn't want to hear anymore - she was once again fatally precise with her accusations. I hadn't said a word to Potter in a month. The last time I said something to him was immediately after the 'great plate' incident. Days after that encounter I couldn't stop thinking about our brief conversation, if you could call it that. In a flood of people that I came into contact with every day that couldn't fucking see that there was something wrong, there was Potter, concerned. I still wanted to see him writhe in pain and die torturously, but there was something in him that I hadn't seen before. And I didn't know what it was.

I felt strangely compelled to know more about him though. I found that all my thoughts linked back to him somehow. I took a bath this morning - a now twice daily routine - and saw a scab forming on my bare arm. Scratching it maliciously it dawned on me that this time next year, a mark would be branded there permanently. Then it dawned on me that this time next year, I wouldn't even be alive to receive the dark mark. It got me thinking; I probably wouldn't be alive to fight the war. I wouldn't be alive to serve the dark lord. I wouldn't be alive to see Potter's downfall. Then, even more strangely I linked my disease with him. I wonder if this is how he feels; one singular person battling against an opponent he isn't sure he could beat.

"... And maybe if you just ate something once in a while, you wouldn't be so cranky ..."

Was she still talking?

"... Look like a skeleton. You've gotten so pale as well. I used to like that about you but now you just look positively transparent."

"Tactful as ever, Pansy," I couldn't help muttering. She stopped walking and pulled me to a standstill.

"Drake," she began gently, taking my hands in hers. I pulled them away disgustedly.

"My fucking name is Draco," I spat. She let out an animalistic snarl.

"I don't know what's with you and your mood swings lately Draco Malfoy, but this has got to stop." She stomped away before shouting over her shoulder. "One day, I might get fed up of your crappy temper and leave you alone."

"I could only fucking wish!" I shouted after her. She gave no indication whether she heard as she continued her stride down the corridor. She was probably going to the common room. I didn't want to go in there, surrounded by people. I dreamily thought of my isolated bedroom, despite the fact that it was early afternoon, but I'd have to pass through the common room to get there and I couldn't stand seeing that pug-faced pig snout so quickly after getting rid of it. So where else could I go where I'd be alone?

"Hey Draco," Blaise called from behind. I turned around and saw he was with Millicent and Warren. "We're going into Hogsmeade. Apparently that dodgy guy who always tries to sell us second hand sweets on the corner of Blotts has some revision quills that really make you brainier for N.E.W.T's! Fancy coming?"

"No, I er, actually was planning on er ..." I cast a glance to the cloudy sky. It looked quite temperamental, like it was unsure of itself. It was comforting. "... Practicing quidditch, actually."

I hadn't ridden my broom at all this term but it felt good to feel it buzzing with life as I removed it from the broom shed. It vibrated jauntily at my touch and I smiled for what seemed like the first time since July 29th. I found that sometimes, even to smile made my face ache.

I commanded it to the ground so I could step one leg over it without discomfort but it disobediently rose up to arm level again.

"Lower," I snapped authoritatively and it dropped at once. I stepped one leg over so I could straddle it.

"Slowly rise," I said, in a more soothing tone. It made a miniature ascent until I was sitting comfortably and my feet were tiptoeing on the ground.

"Now go," I directed almost excitedly, and I felt bliss as I soared into the air, Hogwarts becoming but a distant memory, a pinprick on the fabric of life. I almost threw my head back and laughed into the clouds. I let my senses drop and enjoyed the feeling of the wind rushing through my hair, cooling my face with its gentle blows. I flew upwards for probably five minutes without stopping before seeing something that made me jerk my broom to a hasty stop. Someone rather.

Potter.

No snappy remark came to me. I didn't need one. He was sitting on his broom with his back to me, alone. I didn't need to disturb him. I could fly somewhere else and not bother him. But I didn't. I stayed there for a while, hovering silently, watching him think. His unruly patch of hair on the back of his head blew wildly in the wind and his hand kept smoothing it down, only for it to blow back up the second he took it away.

I was so lost in watching his actions I didn't have time to react when he turned around without warning and almost flew into me. His broom was way too fucking fast. His eyes wore a startled expression as though I'd scared him. A hundred things to say flew into my brain and I had almost settled on an awkward hi until he spoke first.

"What are you doing here?" His tone was defensive. I swallowed my original greeting.

"Coming to see what you half-bloods do in your spare time," I sneered. "Not much by the looks of things."

He didn't want to fight. "Just leave me alone Malfoy," he said wearily. I didn't want to fight either.

"Leave me alone Malfoy," I mimicked in a high pitched voice. "What if I don't want to leave you alone?" I bumped into his broom slightly with my own. "What are you going to do?" I nudged it again, harder. "Make me?"

He didn't fight back. He turned away.

"Scared, Potter?"

No response.

"Is big brave goody-goody Dumbledore-loving Potter scared?" I asked cruelly, hating my verbal bullying. I heard a sob catch in his throat. Shit. Stop Draco, just fucking stop. But I couldn't.

"Ha! Are you crying?" I zoomed to the other side of him and stared in his face. A solitary tear made a journey from his left eye, down the side of his nose and onto his lip where it hung momentarily before falling gracefully into the open sky. What had I done?

"You fucking wimp," I sneered artificially. "Wait until everybody hears about this. Potter snivelling like a little baby! Cry me a river -"

"Shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP MALFOY!"

His words came fast and powerful and they left me slightly open mouthed and speechless. I didn't have a chance to respond because he started to talk to me.

"Dear brave Malfoy," he began, roughly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and flying a few feet away from me before turning around and facing my stare accusingly. "Daddies little rich boy, gets everything he wants from his parents. Never works for anything, just snaps his fingers and gets what he wants on command."

"At least I have parents," I murmured involuntary. He didn't acknowledge I spoke as he started to encircle me slowly.

"Everything except for love. I've seen the way old daddy treats you. Doesn't give you the time of day, does he Malfoy? Seems like the little façade is slowly slipping. Is that why you were crying in the corridor that day we spoke?"

"I wasn't fucking -"

"Or was it because of the fact that everybody is slowly seeing you for what you are, Malfoy? A conceited -"

He's right.

" - Arrogant -"

He's right.

" - Fucking prick who -"

Fuck, he's right. I don't want to hear this. It fucking hurts...

" - Hides behind -"

...but I deserve it.

" - Daddy because he doesn't want to see or hear the truth."

And I don't. I don't want to see or hear the truth, but it was too late. Potter was going to deliver it to me whether I liked it or not and I could have easily zoomed over to him, less than a foot away now, and knocked him off his broom. Like a car crash, I shouldn't have wanted to see it, but I didn't want to stop him. I deserved this. I needed to hear it.

"Nobody likes you Malfoy," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Even your friends are leaving you. And one day you'll find yourself completely alone."

I fought back the tears and listened to what he had to say, perfectly able to shut him up.

"And when you're an old man on your deathbed, no wife, no kids, nobody at all to love you, remember these words. Remember my words as you cry yourself to sleep at night. Remember my words when you sit desolately and wonder why nobody wants to be around you or your fucking family's wealth. Remember my words Malfoy. Every time you hurt people with your actions, the way you looked down on me and Hermione because we didn't have so called 'pure blood'..."

My blood is the one that's tainted now.

"... And each time you hurt Ron with your fucking arrogant ways. Remember all of these things Malfoy. Remember our first encounter when you just had to lord it over everyone else, trying to bully me into making friends with you and not Ron. When you take your last rasping breath of air and your life flashes before your eyes and you see all of the mistakes you made ... Remember these words."

And I don't know what happened. Each word hit me like a bullet in the chest and I remember losing all muscle control. My bones seized up like they'd never done before and I even felt my face pulsate with pain. I blinked at a perplexed Potter through blurry vision and slumped from my broom. A scream erupted - Potter's or mine, I don't know - and felt strangely calm as I fell through the sky. Something zoomed in front of me.

Everything went black.

"Shit. Oh shit fucking shit, please be alright. Malfoy, wake up. Malfoy?"

A hand slapped me lightly across the face.

"Oh fuck, please Malfoy, please wake up."

A hand slapped me roughly across the face.

"You hit me again and I'll hex you into oblivion," I slurred groggily.

"Oh shit, thank god."

I slowly opened my eyes to the sight of Potter crouching over me, his face too blurrily close. The clouds had broken up to reveal the sun that now cast an angelic halo behind Potter. He was anything but. He was a fucking heartless shit. He must be to say the things he said. Repeated stabs embedded into my heart like knife wounds and twisted cruelly as I once more went over the truths he pointed out.

"You hurt me," I croaked. "You really hurt me."

"We had to make a crash landing, you just suddenly fell," Potter gabbled.

"That ..."

That wasn't what I meant, asshole. You fucking hurt me emotionally. Each word you spat venomously hurt me more than any fucking disease could. I'm dying inside and you're causing an earlier death you fucking bastard I fucking hate your guts just fucking die.

" ... Must be why," I finished lamely. Potter nodded nervously, chewing on his lip.

"Let's get you up and inside," he said in a manner that he knew what he was doing. He held onto my arm and tried to pull me up. I got less than an inch off the ground before my leg wobbled dangerously and suddenly gave way. I sharply sucked in air as the pain throbbed up and down my leg.

"Get off," I shrieked at Potter, trying to wrench my arm from his grip. He did so, and I fell back to a lying position. He looked worried, concerned ... Slightly sympathetic. I didn't need any fucking sympathy.

"Just go away, I'll get myself up," I said with a wave of my hand. He didn't budge as he stared at me incredulously.

"You've just fell hundreds of feet through the air, I'm not leaving you," he said matter-of-factly. He reached to take a hold of my arm again but I drew it close to my chest.

"Just leave," I said again. "Really, I can manage." That last part sounded like a slight plea.

"There's no way I'm leaving you here," said Potter. He shifted position as he rethought out a plan. "But if you can't move, I'll get someone to come here." He turned around and went to run for help.

"NO," I shouted forcefully, shocking myself with the sharpness of my tone. It stopped him in his tracks and he turned and looked at me questioningly.

" ... No, I'm ... I'm alright," I confirmed, trying to sit up. My body felt like a ten ton weight as I propped myself up on my elbows. They wobbled dangerously but I grit my teeth and squeezed my eyes together tightly as I heaved myself upwards. I'd done it. Every bone in my body was now hurting like hell but I'd done it. I felt proud of myself managing to complete such a feat.

"You see?" I said, opening my eyes and looking up at Potter, but he crouched down again with a concerned look on his face. "What?" I asked, not liking his face being so close to mine.

"You're bleeding," he said. "Shit, you're bleeding like mad."

My hand flew to my nose and I felt the slightly sticky river that was threatening to douse my lips in its crimson lake. "No, this is ... This is nothing," I defended, wiping it away furiously. It was something. A symptom. I fucking hate that word. As well as aching joints and loss of appetite, I also suffered from bouts of bleeding, mostly from the nose and gums.

Shit, he's not meant to see me like this.

"Shit, what shall I do?" Potter was no use in an emergency, though I guess he didn't have many options, what with me refusing point blank to let him bring someone over.

"Don't you know any incantations or something?" I snapped.

He shook his head dazedly. "Malfoy, let me go and get someone," he begged. I shook my head furiously, my neck bones creaking audibly like rusty machinery. "Then I'm going to have to get you up," he concluded.

"No," I started to protest, but he dug his hands under my armpits and tried to drag me into a standing position. He was struggling with my weight, I could tell, but he didn't give up. With a final surge he managed to get me standing and immediately ducked his head under my arm and put it around his shoulder.

Fuck, what if anybody sees?

"I'm alright, Potter," I snarled, snatching my arm away from his shoulder as though it was red hot. "I can fucking walk on my own, I'm not an invalid." This was a matter of opinion. I couldn't feel my legs at all, they might have well have been stumps for all they were worth at the moment. I forced one foot in front of the other, shutting my eyes in pain as I tentatively lowered my body weight onto each respective foot with every step I took. I shuffled along in this manner for three footsteps, Potter watching me cautiously from behind. On the fourth step, my ankle buckled and if it wasn't for Potter there as quick as a shot, I would have fell back down.

"I've got you," he said. "I won't let you fall."

It must have took twenty minutes to get back to school. He left me outside the side entrance and rushed in to get a spell book after I protested that I didn't want anybody to see me like this. I leant against a pillar and tried to act as nonchalant as I could to any passers-by. Luckily, there weren't many; the few that passed were lower formers who had no business to stop and speak to me anyway. Most of our year were either in class or on a N.E.W.T's revision study period.

Potter breathlessly appeared a couple of minutes later, a tattered old spell book in hand. He turned to a previously marked page and muttered a few words, pointing his famous wand at my legs.

Shit. In my haste I forgot that no spells would heal me anyway, what with Leukaemia being a stupid fucking muggle disease. He looked at me anxiously, awaiting my response.

"Fine," I said to the floor. "I'm better now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said forcefully. "I am."

There was a scuffling sound and I saw Potter's feet shuffling slightly. "Are you positive?" he asked.

"Yes," I snapped. "Positive. Now go."

He hesitated. "Are you absolutely sure you're okay?" I didn't answer. He stayed there for a few seconds longer before I heard him walk away. I let a minute pass before I dared to look up.

He was walking up the stairs into the entrance when I whispered my answer.

"No," I croaked softly. "No, I'm not."

Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. The next update is probably going to be a longer wait than this one, mainly because I think it will be a hard one to write. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and please review. Love you all, take care. Love Jordan xx