Beautiful World ~ 𝑫𝑹𝑨𝑹𝑹𝒀

Chapter 13

Harry was incredibly tired. Not the sort of tired that was 'I need to sleep. I can't keep my eyes open.' but more like 'I don't want to be here anymore. I don't think I can stand to keep my eyes open without them welling up with tears.' Ever since Hermione had started forcing him to go to class and his first session with Sirius, all rebelliousness had drained out of him and he'd just been existing, a shattered reflection of Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, Sort Of.

As he trudged to the Great Hall to meet up with Draco and Filch for that night's detention, Harry watched the cracks and scars in the stone floor as his feet passed over them. Another way to measure heartbeats. Skipping stones, raindrops, footsteps.

They were assigned to scrub the flagstones in the entry hall. Harry, not really wanting to prompt Draco into another conversation like the one earlier, went about his work silently, on his hands and knees with a sponge. The only sound was the scraping of the sponge against stone, and it was only a few minutes later that Harry realized that he was the only one scrubbing. He glanced up at Draco.

"What?"

The other boy looked appalled. "Scrubbing?" he said faintly. "On hands and knees?"

"Well, yes. Filch said that's what we've got to do."

"But...I've never scrubbed a floor in my life!"

"It's not hard." Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's the principle of the thing! Malfoys don't scrub floors."

"Well I'm certainly not doing it all myself."

Draco snorted, sitting down on the floor on the other side of the spot Harry had been scrubbing. "Why not? This is all your fault."

"Nothing is ever your fault, is it?" Harry snapped, suddenly furious. He got to his feet and threw the sponge to the floor, splattering Draco with the water.

Draco didn't notice. He was staring at Harry's arm with something like shock in his eyes. "Potter," he said quietly, getting to his feet. "You've gone mad, haven't you?"

Pausing, Harry's eyes narrowed. "What?"

Not bothering with a reply, Draco reached out and grabbed Harry's hand. Before the other boy could jerk it away, he'd pushed the sleeve back, exposing Harry's arm. There were cuts all over it, not a ladder of cuts that would have given evidence to a suicide attempt, but more random cuts, varying in depth and length, as if Harry had been painting with a knife on his arm. It was still crusted with blood.

Harry yanked his arm out of Draco's reach and turned away. "Potter," Draco snarled. "Just what the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't got one."

"What, as soon as I'm not around for a bit to save your worthless life, you start up with something stupid like that? Is that it?"

"It has nothing to do with you," Harry screamed, spinning on his heel and shoving Draco hard. The other boy stumbled backwards and stepped on the sponge, his feet flying out from under him. He fell back and smacked his head on the stone floor with a dull crack.

There was a long pause, during which nothing moved. Harry froze, staring at Draco, who lay very still on the ground, his eyes open, body immobile.

"Oh god," Harry breathed shakily, falling to his knees beside him. "Oh god, Malfoy, I didn't mean to. Malfoy, don't be dead. Oh god." He was touching Draco's face, stroking it desperately, nearly crying, and it was only when Draco's eyes fluttered a bit and he blinked that Harry stopped, holding his breath. His hands were still touching him, one lifting his head up off the floor and pillowing it, the other on his cheek.