Veritas Vos Liberabit [Drarry Fanfiction]

Their Shattered Little World

The morning was a mess, he barely dragged manic Potter from the fireplace, the Gryffindor was trying to 'fix everything' like he always did. Apparently asking Lovegood to print something in her father's shady rag was his bright idea.

Draco put his hand on the injured shoulder and Harry winced in pain, floo powder jar broke, shimmering sand was now scattered all over that wretched Persian rug.

"Ow! What did you do that for?!" the dark-haired lad complained, prying his fingers away and giving him a hurt look.

"Stop! Harry, what were you trying to accomplish by talking to her out of all people?!" the blonde snapped.

"I was trying to help! They tried to silence you, but they cannot do that to me," Potter exclaimed.

Draco huffed in exasperation. He was sure that as soon as he left him alone the plonker would be sending owls and making visits and stirring up the doxies' nest.

"You need to stop," he said warily, "You just... can you please stay out of it for once?!"

"But why, Draco?" the Gryffindor asked a bit desperately, he was nursing his sore shoulder and his bandages started to seep through, Draco must have pulled him too hard.

"Because shit doesn't stick to you, Potter! It just doesn't! You had about a dozen Unforgivables made with your wand and DLME didn't even bother to check it, but they sure had questions about all those Sectumsepras you cast with mine!..." he accused, passing around angrily.

"They probably..." Harry said weekly, twirling his wand in his hands awkwardly.

"And when I was at that concert... nobody would've known about me playing there until your arse was there and so were the reporters! Can't you see that every time you're trying to help it just costs me and my family! You stalled the trials and my father was murdered by the vengeful Auror because we didn't get what we deserved!" he was screaming, angry tears spilling from his eyes, and fists clenched ready for a punch. "You fucked with my memories... you could just let me rot in Azkaban, but no, you had to go there and be a bloody knight in shining armor! I am not your little project, Potter! You need to stop!"

"But... I did it because I care about you! Did you want to be in Azkaban?! Wasn't your stay the Ministry hold up enough?!" the Gryffindor yelled back, his eyes glinting dangerously.

Draco noticed a dark red drop trickling down Potter's arm and falling on the rug, making a splatter on the expensive wool. The bandages were soaked in blood, his wound must have reopened. A wave of nausea hit the blonde and he wanted to run away and hide, but he couldn't just leave Harry alone.

"Potter... your wound," he mumbled, trying to fight his panic.

"We're not done! I am trying to explain..." the git kept shouting, oblivious to his problem.

"Shut up! You're bleeding," he said sharply, grabbed the boy by his healthy arm, and dragged him to the bathroom.

The tiles were cold under his feet, his nose was hit with that peculiar smell of muggle toiletries, the enchanted mirror complained about the mess they left on the floor and all over the bathtub, where Draco unceremoniously dumped all the soiled wound dressings.

He unraveled strip after strip of dark crimson gauze and then he saw it. The nasty torn gash, half-healed, and covered in the thin layer of silver dust to keep it from festering. Another wave of sickness and terror overwhelmed him and before his eyes, he saw blood and torn intestines and Harry's face pale and still as death. After that Draco knew he needed his fix of drugs to forget it all one way or another.