Chapter Three:
Potions Class
It was Potions class and Harry was having a very hard time concentrating. Draco had decided to sit next to Harry that day. When the class had started to brew their potions, Harry couldn't resist taking a quick peek at Draco's arse. The one quick peek soon turned into several and, only five minutes into the class, Harry was staring at Draco.
Snape noticed.
He stalked over to Harry, robes billowing out behind him, even though he had barely taken five steps. Snape sneered down his hooked nose at Harry. Harry peeked up through his bangs at Snape. "Mr. Potter," Snape hissed, his voice no more than a whisper, "Please concentrate on your potion making, and not Mr. Malfoy."
Harry felt his face grow hot and hung his head low, now miserable. Draco sneered at Harry, mouthing the word "faggot". Harry felt a tear trail down his flushed cheek. He scraped at it furiously with his sleeve, trying his best to concentrate on his potion. The tears kept on falling, trailing down Harry's cheeks and neck. He gave up on the potion all together, and drooped in his chair with his head in his hands.
The tears didn't stop until lunch.
Harry had raced down the hall after Transfiguration, the tears still staining his cheeks. He ran straight to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, slammed himself into the wall and cut, repeatedly, on his upturned fore arm.
Harry whimpered meekly as the blood bubbled up through the new crevices in his skin.
When Harry's blood began pouring over the edge of his arm, dripping slowly onto the floor, staining the puddle he sat in, his tears stopped. He lapped up the blood with his tongue, and then pressed his palm down against the cuts until they stopped bleeding.
Harry slumped down in the puddle, curling his knees up under his chin. He smiled softly to himself before drifting off to sleep.