Hello! It's your friend, C, and this is Chapter 6 of Hairy Pawter! WHEW, this took a long time! I had a major writer's block right at the beginning, so for a while I only had about 600 words! I'm very proud of this chapter, however, because I was able to come up with a major plot twist that I think will mind-fuck you. Oh, and I believe that will be the only swear in the whole chapter. I wasn't very foul-mouthed this time ;)

Now for BP!

Draco: 4 BP.

Harry: 5 3/4 BP

Hermione: 1 BP.

Mr. Monarch/Dust Bunny: 1 BP

Snape: 3/4 BP.

Blaise: 1/2 BP.

Pomfrey: 1/4 BP

Me: 1/2 BP (yay!)

That's right! NO ONE GAVE BP THIS CHAPTER D:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters/settings/etc. All rights go to J.K. Rowling.

WARNING (PLEASE READ): This chapter contains vivid descriptions of self-mutilation (as in cutting or self-harm) and may be disturbing to some readers. If self-harm is a sensitive topic to some readers, please do not read unless you are sure that you will be fine. I don't want Reader-chan to be sad. It also contains gore in the beginning (not too bad because I suck at writing).

With that, I leave you Hairy Pawter, Chapter 6! Read and Review, please! And don't forget to leave Brownie Points for Harry and Draco and all of those other characters...

Enjoy!

It was an intense sort of day at Hogwarts, after the night of screaming. Almost no one saw the mess of the girl who sat in Gryffindor Tower the previous evening, no one really wanted to, but the few who had faked injuries and caught a glimpse refused to speak. The dorm itself was closed off, though it reeked horribly. The teachers had rushed to the dorm too late, not only was the fifth-year… affected, but one of the girl's friends had seen the mess. There was damage done to her mentally that was just as bad as the other one physically.

Only the heads of the Houses and Dumbledore had been permitted to help with this. The five teachers stared in awe at the floor, which was currently covered in the blood of the poor fifth-year. Every inch of the room was. The girl lay, mangled, on the floor, and for her sake, the teachers prayed that she was dead.

The best way to describe what happened to Briar Lashwood is by going through from least severe to most, I suppose. Her smallest markings were some large gashes on what looked like her face; they weren't sure at the moment. Briar's features were rather… absent, to say the least, a gaping hole left in their place. They only found this out when they turned her over. The only way that they could tell that it was, in fact, Briar Lashwood, was that the thing responsible for this mess had… had carved her name into her back… it had already scarred over, though, so it couldn't have been… carved… in the past month, even... Her legs were - not facing the right direction, on was twisted back so far that skin was breaking. Her other leg… was most likely somewhere in the room with them. Her arms weren't exactly in their correct place either. There were many more wounds to be found, but the one responsible had done a good job of holding her insides in for the moment; however, this was only temporary, and they would be coming out in not too long. None of the teachers wanted to stick around for when that happened.

Disturbing had gone to a whole new level when they found what was outside the window.

McGonagall had been examining the room for any traces of uncovered spells, but she gasped and called the rest of the teachers over to the window, hyperventilating. While Dumbledore calmed her down, the rest of the group peered at the stone wall.

A long, thick stream on blood, no, a trail that had been left, was slashed all the way down the building. Blood had to come from somewhere…

"Let me go, Hermione, I have to find Harry!" Ron yelped as Hermione latched one hand onto his arm, the other onto one of the chairs in the Common Room.

"We were told to stay in our dormitories today, Ronald! I'm sure Harry is fine where he's at right now, there's no need to worry," Hermione lied through her teeth. There was every reason to worry. It wasn't every day when you're friend, who happens to be the Chosen One, disappears, while someone else, who happens to be in the same year as you, gets brutally killed. It would be idiotic not to worry. "Ron… Just please, please sit down. I know you're worried, but Harry's tough, remember? He can handle himself. If he's in trouble, of which the chances are very slim," Lies. Everything you're saying is a lie, Hermione told herself. "I'm sure he'll find some way out of it." She grimaced. That was the worst one yet. She almost hoped that Ron didn't believe it.

She felt the ginger tense. His face was hopeless and horribly despair-ridden. I'm sorry, she whispered in her head, to no one in particular. As Ron sat, he stayed strong for a moment, his face returning to an expressionless mask, but soon broke into tears. "Oh, Ron," Hermione rasped before pulling her friend into a hug. Trying to sound strong was a hard thing to do when her voice broke right in the middle of her sentence. She felt so useless… there wasn't anything she could do about this but wait it out and hope for the best. Seeing one of her strongest friends break down like this didn't show any good signs, either. Ron sobbed onto her shoulder as she stroked his hair comfortingly. So Ron wasn't as shallow as she had previously thought, provided that it didn't have anything to do with romance. She almost smiled when she thought about it. "It'll be okay, Ron. He's going to come back. It's fine, it's fine," she assured, even if she was now crying herself.

Though this was a dark and distant time at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger never felt closer to Ron Weasley.

Dolores Umbridge did not appear as a human when she strode around the school. She looked like a pink blur, more hurried than usual. The Minister was very disappointed in her for the Briar Lashwood incident. She had to hurry if she wanted to stay on his good side. Hustling to her office as the students around her sniggered, off she was to report the statistics on her newest Educational Decree. Her rules had only become stricter after last night's happenings; curfews were half an hour after the last class of the day, owls were to be checked before going in or out of the castle, the windows were not to be opened anymore in the dormitories, in the exception of sending or receiving an owl. The students at Hogwarts were more miserable than ever.

Rita Skeeter had been banned from Hogwarts once again. She had been caught in her Animagus form (or rather, Hermione had followed through with her blackmail and squealed on her, even though Rita had said nothing offensive) and was now facing charges with the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore had been surprisingly calm when given the information that Skeeter was at Hogwarts, but Hermione was sure that he would be firm when it came to charges, at least, she hoped that it would be that way.

However, he would not let up on his decision to remain calm about the Harry Potter situation. Ron and Hermione had paid him another visit, just to see how the search was going. Dumbledore chuckled and said that he was observing the situation, whatever that meant, and found it intriguing. Informing them that he wanted to study this a bit longer, he sent them on their way and continued with his work. Sometimes Hermione seriously doubted that man. Strangely, they arrived, again, right after Snape, and their conversation resembled the one that they had heard in the past, only this time more urgent and pushy. What was keeping Snape on his toes like this?

Having to look at this girl's insides was really getting to Madame Pomfrey now. They were leaking out in the most unpleasant of ways and getting all over her freshly-cleaned white sheets. Why hadn't Dumbledore warned her that it would be this messy?

She felt worse for Briar's parents, though. Their visit had included crying, pleading, and puking when they had come in to look at her daughter one last time, despite the Headmaster's warnings. Their impression on the wizarding world was now ruined, as Briar had been a Muggle-born. Dumbledore and Madame Pomfrey watched sadly as Mrs. Lashwood puked into a bucket that the white-clad nurse had summoned, her husband holding her hair out of the way.

Why was everything so confusing right now? Draco wondered, grimacing at the fire that was ablaze in the Slytherin common room. It felt like there was a war going on inside him. He swung his feet over the back of the armchair, blonde hair tickling the wooden floor. Suddenly, footsteps pounded down the stairs from his dormitory. Pansy, Blaise and Theodore appeared. Not this again.

"Draco, we want to talk to you." Pansy mumbled, barely audible. The upside-down boy rolled his eyes. That seemed pretty obvious. He waved them in and they marched towards their separate armchairs like soldiers. Taking a shuddering breath, Pansy began. "Draco, are you… are you happy?"

The unexpected question caught Draco by surprise. He stopped dangling his arms off of the armchair and placed them on his stomach. He hadn't eaten again today… or yesterday… He snorted, causing the other three to snap their heads in his direction.

"Pansy, you're being an idiot. Of course I'm happy; how could I not be?" He continued his perfected fake laugh as he sat up and turned around in his chair, leaning back and closely resembling a king on his throne. Blaise, Theodore and Pansy all looked extremely uncomfortable. Apparently, Draco had decided to go bipolar again.

"But you were in the Hospital Wing - you looked so-"

"Pansy," Draco purred, cutting her off. He smirked and looked her in the eye, a trick that never seemed to fail. "I'm perfectly fine. Thanks for worrying about me, but you're just wasting your breath. If something was wrong, I would tell you. I have in the past."

Sounds of agreement were heard from the three. "Got that right," Blaise muttered and sighed. Pansy didn't look so convinced, her hair dropping in front of her eyes as she lowered her head. Who cares?

"Now get out of here. I'm trying to think, and you're clogging up my thinking space." They shuffled out, and Draco flipped back into his original position, watching for when they took their leave. Pansy stole one last glance at him, and for a moment Draco's lies almost shattered. Her eyes were so full of hurt and worry; it killed him. But it was best that she didn't know what was going on right now. It would only hurt her more. Draco wanted to feel proud about his impressive lying skills, but then it hit him what he was lying about.

It was coming back.

Everything was coming back.

Draco grabbed his head and screwed his eyes shut. He knew that this would happen eventually; he was just ignoring it and pretending that it didn't exist. The pain, the sadness that had disappeared for a moment, it was back again and worse than before. How could he be such an idiot, thinking that it would all go away like that? He felt like such a disappointment, so worthless and low. Tears squeezed out of his eyes while he clasped his hands over his face tightly so no one would see. Casting a Silencing Charm as quietly as he could, the Slytherin checked that no one was around. He saw that no one was, and did the only thing that made sense at the time.

He screamed until he was hoarse, completely unable to speak. He clutched his sides, fingernails breaking skin, and cried, but even the tears that hit the ground were silent, and evaporated by the fire almost instantly. Sobs racked out of him that only he could hear, sobs that sounded so weak and broken. That they were audible to only him was something that he was glad of.

He just wanted to die. That seemed like the only way out, the only way that he could make everything go away, even though it was ridiculously selfish. If only life had a do-over. Draco was surprised that he lasted this long.

His father's fire-call burned in the fireplace, and Draco wiped his tears, answering reluctantly.

"Hello, Draco. How are you this evening?" Lucius Malfoy prompted. Though his voice was calm and deadly quiet, it was also threatening, looming at the same time. Draco's eyes widened behind the veil of hair that covered his eyes, something that Pansy had done just shy of a quarter hour ago.

Any chances of getting through this "visit" without being insulted by his father were put to an end when Draco wasn't able to speak. Damn, he forgot to remove the Silencing Charm! He fumbled for his wand and was able to take it off, though it was painfully obvious.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Draco, why did you have a Silencing Charm? It seems like a pretty useless thing to do," he says, faking the pleasant voice that slipped through his lips.

Draco was wordless. There was no believable explanation for this.

In the midst of this incredible awkwardness, Lucius fanned the subject away. "Nevermind that. You'll explain later, yes?" Draco nodded. How much time did he have to think up a lie? "I must talk to you about your mother." This got Draco's attention. This was one of those "we need to talk" situations, wasn't it? He gulped and lifted his eyes to meet his father's, something he hadn't been brave enough to do for a long time. "Her situation… it's… it's gotten worse, Draco," Lucius managed to choke out, his expressionless mask failing him. Draco lowered his eyes to the ground again.

"But… I…"

"Silence, Draco. That's not fit to talk about right now, is it?" Lucius hissed. He cleared his throat and continued. "Yes, I know. I did what I had to do, and I know that you behaved, as well. I'm afraid… he's just not pleased with me at the moment. And now your mother is paying the price. Her body isn't able to keep up with her conditions. I'm afraid that soon, she might…" His voice faded off, and he gave up. "I'm sorry, Draco. I just need you to keep your behavior in check for the moment. If you do that, there is a chance of her surviving." Nodding, Draco willed the tears not to come out of his eyes. He felt like a member of the family for once, he was not going to ruin it now.

There was no more conversation. Lucius ended the call after small talk with his son and Draco soon retreated to his room. He took a shower, but didn't go out of the bathroom right after.

Glancing at one of the drawers, he swallowed roughly. He hadn't done this in a few days. He was hoping that it wouldn't come to this, but…

Draco yanked open the drawer, hungrily searching for the tiny piece of metal that he was looking for. When he found it, he snatched a dark towel that was hanging up and locked the door, seating himself on the floor. Deep breaths were taken in; he closed his eyes while a second thought barely crossed his mind.

After making sure that the blade was facing the right way, he slowly dragged it across his wrist, and oh God, how much he missed this in the past few days. How did he manage without this, his only escape from the numbness?

Like an artist, he decorated his wrist and stomach with cuts, some small and delicate, pink slices on pale skin, some huge and gashing, crimson slashes that were so beautiful. It was addictive. His stomach and wrists stung, but that was the fun part. When he was done, he patted the cuts dry (though that didn't seem to help all that much), and stood up in front of the mirror to admire his work. Somehow, he didn't feel complete without his precious cuts.

He walked out of the bathroom calmly, fully-clothed and significantly less stressed, and strangely, though he had lost blood and skin in the past half hour, he felt more complete than ever.

I was not kidding when I said that there would be self-harm in this chapter. What does Dumbledore mean when he says that he wants to study the situation with Harry for a while longer? What's going to happen to Draco's mother? WHERE THE HELL WAS HARRY IN THIS CHAPTER?!

All in good time, my dear.

Anyway, please review and I will see you next chapter! Asta la pasta!

~C