Hanahaki • Drarry

C H A P T E R N I N E

TW: MENTIONS OF BLOOD &
CRAPPY WRITING
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Pansy sat with her head in her arms. Her shoulders shaking slightly while fresh tears fell down her face - all because she was listening to the cries and coughs ringing behind the bathroom door.

Draco had started sleeping in his private dorms again - afraid that he might wake up with blood stained pillows and a mattress of wilting petals. He didn't want people questioning him either.

What would he say?

Something in the lines of, “ oh, I'm in love with Harry Potter, but he's in love with the Weaslette and, as a result, I'm suffering from a fictional disease - that isn't so fictional when it comes to the wizarding world - causing me to fall victim to a slow and, very, unpleasant death. How's that essay coming along by the way? ”

Pansy had almost laughed when Draco had said that. Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, Draco spat out another petal. He fought the urge to scream in defeat as he slumped against the door.

“ Draco? ” Pansy's voice hiccuped from behind the door. “ I-I'm going to get us something to eat from the Great hall, okay? I'll ask Gra- Hermione if she can brew you another dose of pain numbing potions. ”

“ Yeah, alright ” he answered. Anyone with ears could hear that he was terrified. Broken. Perhaps even hopeless. Not that he had much hope in general, anyway. Of all the ways he had thought he would've gone down, he would never have imagined it would be like this.

Because of some stupid flowers.

Because of some stupid boy.

He looked down at his hand. A delicate petal lied between the pool of blood and thorns. He winced as a small smile formed - Narcissas always seemed to have that effect on him.

Gasping for air as his body hit the cold tiles, he felt the world fade away into a spinning vortex of blackness. He suddenly found himself wondering if his mother still insisted on doing the gardening herself instead of asking a house elf to do it...

- Meanwhile

Harry glanced towards the Slytherin table, almost like it was second nature, as he sat down for dinner in the Great hall. His eyes searched for the familiar scowl of a blond, but he couldn't find him. Normally, this would bring Harry some sort of relief.

So why was he feeling like there was something tearing into his chest? Something that resembled disappointment? Shaking his head, Harry turned to Hermione.

The girl had her head propped in her hand as she stared at the page in front of her. She had been reading that book for who knows how long. The same chapter every time.

“ I know you like to skim through old books once and a while, but ” Harry chuckled awkwardly. “ I bet you can recite that one word for word by now. ”

“ I can ” Hermione answered, however, her voice held no usual triumph.

Harry's brows furrowed, pondering over what he could possibly say. It was obvious that something was bothering her - no doubt, it had something to do with her recent conversations with Malfoy and Parkinson. With the amount of time she had been ditching him and Ron to talk with them, he wouldn't be surprised if she had suddenly started calling them friends. Then another thought crossed his mind. “ Hermione? ”

She hummed in response.

“ What did you mean when you said that there was nothing I could do to help? ” He asked cautiously. This made Hermione look up at him, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips.

“ Like I said, I meant exactly what I said ” she stated. “ I know you want to help, Harry, but you can't. Not in the way we need you to. ”

“ W- ”

“ - I have to go ” she said, closing the book and rushing to get away from the table. Harry watched as she approached Parkinson; the Slytherin's shoulders slumped and her face pale.

What is going on? Harry thought angrily, completely ignoring Ginny's presence when she sat down beside him.

“ Harry, drink up. You know how pumpkin juice gets when it's left out for too long... ”

His worry sparked once again as he watched Hermione place a comforting hand on Pansy's shoulder before nodding, and marching out the Great hall. Pansy then turned to look at him, seeming to feel the pull of his gaze, and glared.

If looks could kill...