(no subject)
Title: Lean On Me
Author: bluemonkeyz8
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Blood/Self-Injury, Bathroom!Scene, Harry/Draco, one-shot, Crying!Draco, set during HBP
Summary: Something about seeing him sitting beside a dusty toilet, clutching a bloody arm to his body took any breath Harry could've held away.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. I just like to play with him.
A/N: So I got the idea awhile back, but wrote the fic just last month, and I am now posting it.
It's also posted in my personal journal... so sorry for the clutter on your F-lists.
-~0!0~-
Harry sighed before pushing open the door. He hated this, but Myrtle's stall was still the safest place he knew of, especially since Malfoy had gone and found out about the Room of Requirement.
The sound of crying greeted his ears as he stepped into the bathroom. This wasn't unusual, since the main occupant of the bathroom was a ghost known for her tears. Still, Harry did not want to put up with a crying female this afternoon. He cursed females and their overabundance of emotions as he walked into the cold bathroom.
"Myrtle?" he called out warily. Expecting an exclaim of "Harry!" or a ghostly attack of questions as to his lack of appearance in her stall, he was quite surprised to hear a snap of robes and a slammed door. Harry frowned and walked towards the sinks. "Myrtle? It's me, Harry. Can I talk to you for a moment?"
No reply. Harry spotted a watery red liquid in the bottom of one of the sinks as he walked by, and he wondered briefly if there was someone trying to join Myrtle in here. Slightly fearful, Harry continued to the first stall. He slowly pushed against the door, wincing at the loud creaking noise radiating from the rusted hinges of the stall's door. "Hello? Is someone in here?"
"Go away. I don't need your help." Despite the weak nature of the sound, Harry could tell it was a male voice, and this disturbed him even more. He stepped closer to the sound, now cursing his hero complex.
"It's okay. I want to help you," he said in what he hoped sounded soothing. Reaching the last stall, home to the wounded sound, he paused, listening for the other child's voice.
"No, please... I'm f-fine. Just- just leave me alone," the boy managed, his voice broken and mangled with tears. Harry could see drops of blood outside the door, and could smell it mingling with the aroma of vomit in the air. He could hear the child's crying on the other side of the door, and pondered whether or not he should just leave. Obviously the boy didn't want anyone to bother him, or else he wouldn't have chosen a girl's loo and a haunted one at that.
Yet logical thought was not meant to tamper with Gryffindor naivety, and Harry's hand pressed against the door, pushing it open until it bumped against someone's leg.
"Malfoy." It wasn't so much a name or word as it was a breathless gasp. Something in Harry's chest shattered as he took in the sight of his enemy before him. Something about seeing him sitting beside a dusty toilet, clutching a bloody arm to his body took any breath Harry could've held away. The way Malfoy refused to meet his eyes, choosing to stare at the ground as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He was defenseless and vulnerable, perfect if Harry had wanted to exact revenge for any number of events, but anger was the least of the emotions Harry could feel running amok within him.
Harry stepped into the stall, remembering how cramped it had been in second year, and was even more so four years later. Malfoy tried to fold himself into the space between the wall and the toilet, but it was in vain. Harry accepted what little room there was and sank to his knees beside Malfoy. He went to grab for Malfoy's arm, but the blond only moved closer to the wall and clutched the arm closer.
"Please go," he said softly. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not. May I see your arm?" Harry moved closer.
"No."
"Draco, I won't hurt you. Just let me see what you've done," Harry told him, not wanting to sound so harsh but not quite stopping it, either. Malfoy shook his head, causing more tears to fall. "Fine. Then may I sit here?"
He watched Malfoy's gaze dart momentarily to the spot beside him, then to Harry's hand. He sighed, as if in acceptance that Harry wasn't going to listen to his plea to be alone, then replied, "It's dirty."
Harry smiled at him. "I don't think I'll mind," he answered before sitting down beside the boy. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Malfoy not moving from his spot against the wall, and Harry staring at the wall in front of him. As concerned as he was for the kid, Malfoy was awake enough to talk and that was a good enough sign for him. Harry figured that if silence was what it took to make sure he could stay beside the wizard without getting hexed, then he would gladly accept its presence.
He eventually got himself so lost in his thoughts that he barely recognized Malfoy's voice when his companion next spoke. "What?"
"Why?"
Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that, so he settled for an answer that held just as few details. "I don't know."
"You hate me." Again with the lack of emotion in his voice. What was wrong with him?
"I don't hate you."
"You said you did." Harry's mouth opened, but he closed it. It stung to realise that Malfoy was right. Earlier in the week Harry had told Malfoy he hated him, but he didn't really mean it. Was it possible that Malfoy was in here because of that? Had their fighting finally brought about real damage, rather than empty threats and useless taunts?
"I didn't mean it." Harry watched as Malfoy looked at Harry's hand, then slowly let his eyes travel up to Harry's face. Their eyes connected for a mere second before Malfoy sharply turned away.
"Oh."
"Draco..." Harry wanted to say something, but he couldn't get his mouth to form the words. He felt horrible inside, blaming himself for the broken shell of a child in front of him. "I'm sorry," he managed at last.
"Don't."
Harry sighed. He placed a hand on Malfoy's knee, wincing when Malfoy did, but leaving it there. "No, really, Draco, I am. I didn't mean it. I was just mad and I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm truly sorry." He knew he was rambling, but it didn't matter as long as Malfoy heard him and knew he meant it. He closed his eyes briefly, hoping something about this situation would change. When he opened them, it was without surprise that the only difference came when Malfoy's body began trembling softly. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"
"I'm cold."
"Oh. Well, do you want to lean against me? I mean, I'm sure you think it's weird, but I'm probably a lot warmer and more comfortable than that nasty wall you're leaning against." As if to prove his point, Harry shifted away from Draco a few inches and stretched his legs out. He gestured towards his lap, smiling at the curious look in Draco's eyes. Finally the boy seemed to succumb to his aching muscles and change positions, so that his legs were still bunched up against the wall, but his head was now lying in Harry's lap. Harry noted that Draco was still keeping his arm close to him, refusing to let Harry see whatever was on it. There was caked blood in the fine hairs on his arm, and Harry could see a dark stain on Draco's sweater.
Draco was breathing deeply, soaking in the scent of Harry as he focused on the row of cream porcelain in front of him. He allowed a few moments to pass before asking Harry a question.
"Why did you come in here?"
"I had to ask Myrtle something," the brunet replied. "Why were you in here?"
"No reason."
"Okay." Draco was surprised when Harry didn't demand an answer, but instead accepted no answer at all as a perfectly valid one.
"What about your friends? Won't they be worried?"
"Shh... don't worry about them. They can get over it," soothed Harry, his fingers entering the matted strands of Draco's hair. "Besides, I'm more worried about you." Draco also appreciated having Harry dote on him like this, and didn't want the moment to end. He relaxed a bit more as Harry's hand traveled down his spine to the middle of his back, where Harry traced soft circles with the edges of his nails. It was an interesting feeling, not the least bit arousing, but almost loving in a way. He was amazed that he had not seen this side to the Gryffindor before, although it would have been much easier had he not been trying so hard to make those green eyes flash dangerously and those slightly chapped lips spout vile words. Despite Draco's urge to blame the whole thing on Harry, he couldn't help but acknowledge that he had done nothing to stop the downward spiral of events that gradually led them here.
It wasn't long before Draco had fallen asleep, perfectly safe and content in Harry's lap. When Harry was sure that Draco was sleeping soundly, he moved the Slytherin's hand, freeing the trapped arm. A groan escaped the blond's lips, masking Harry's gasp. Harry couldn't stop the tear that perched threateningly in the corner of his eye as he saw the damage before him.
There, on the perfect pale skin of his former enemy, was the black symbol Harry had come to hate. Voldemort had finally branded the youngest Malfoy. Harry was not shocked to see it, but was instead taken aback at the horrid measures its owner had taken in attempts to remove it from his skin. Harry watched, transfixed, as the snake twitched on Draco's skin, as if to mock his failure. There were scars and cuts all along the surface of the skull and serpent, some healing and some fresh. Every time Harry thought of the tool that Draco had sliced his skin with, it was as if someone had done the same to Harry's chest. He watched the tattoo on Draco's skin for some time, unable to tear his eyes away from it, and unable to fight the tears that were now flowing freely from his eyes. The tears dropped down his cheeks and into Draco's hair, and Harry did nothing to stop them, instead thinking of all the vile things he would love to do to the creature that had caused Draco this pain.