An Angel's smile//Drarry

VI

What an arrogant little arse Potter was. Smirking at me like that after he just saw me at my most vulnerable... again! God, I don't think there was anybody else in the whole world that I wanted to hit so badly, not even my dad. As soon as Blaise entered the room, I stood up angrily and walked towards him, "Why the fuck did you tell Potter to help me breathe! You know how I feel about Potter.", I scowled at him, but he simply raised a brow. "You are unbelievable Draco. Why the fuck is it always me that has to take care of you and your shit! It's not my problem Draco, it could've been if you hadn't rejected me, but that's long gone now. I just want a bit of space from your shit honestly, it's affecting me too. ", Blaise answered, clearly frustrated with me. I shook my head in disbelief, was he trying to guilt-trip me, Draco Malfoy, the boy with no feelings? He must be mad. But then again so was I. My robes were still on, but I ducked under my covers, closed my eyes, and slept.

Sleeping had never been a problem, the nightmares on the other hand were. Maybe I'd been cursed? Or maybe I was being haunted by the lives lost at war? It wouldn't surprise me. Everybody in the whole wizarding world hated me, wanted me to die. It's a wonder that me and my mom were able to escape going to jail. A miracle honestly.

***

I couldn't bother going to class sometimes. I went to some of them, but I already knew everything they taught. What's the point in going to class when you're as intelligent as me? I didn't think I was though. There were many things I didn't know, but they just didn't teach that here. I constantly went back to the girl's lavatory, to the diary, but I got no answer. A few days had already passed and there was just no answer. I wondered if the person had already forgotten me, given me false hope, or found out my identity, something that would definitely scare someone away.

I decided to go one last time, to check, and then perhaps to find a new hiding spot for the diary so I could write in it without disturbance. I flipped to the page next to the one holding my question and to my inevitable surprise, there was an answer.

I don't think it's a good idea if you knew me. I'm down bad and I don't want to be vulnerable and at constant risk of rumors. If I told you my name, you wouldn't believe it, you never would. Even I wouldn't if I were in the same situation. I imagine you must be curious and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about your identity too, but we don't know each other. Let's not let our names influence whatever this is. I think you understand what I mean.

I read it over and over again. They were right, I was curious indeed and this only made that feeling grow. I was rarely as curious as I was now, normally I just wouldn't have cared, but now... now I did care for some reason. I scribbled what could be seen as a useless announcement, but then again, isn't that what starts conversations?

***

I was skipping Herbology, as one does on Thursday mornings when I caught a glimpse of dark hair. I tried to get a better look at who it was and surely, it was none other than Potter. What was he doing out of class? I'm pretty sure he didn't have a free period at this time of day. I observed him further, he seemed pissed off, mumbling things to himself that were incomprehensible to anybody besides him. I was snapped out of my thoughts when I noticed he was coming this way so I tried to look as normal as I possibly could and blend in with the wall.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy ?", he asked, looking straight into my blue eyes. His voice was still raspy and husky-like, it... suited him. "What does it look like I'm doing, Scarface?", I answered calmly, trying to sound calm and arrogant so he'd go away. He smirked, "You're a lot less intimidating now that daddy's in jail, Malfoy. You better watch your back, I bite.", he sniggered, biting the air in front of me, coming awfully close to my face. Then he left as if nothing even happened.

Harry Potter was the most confusing boy I'd ever met. I hated him. Absolutely despised him, but I still, after 8 fucking years, wanted him to be my friend. I noticed the little things about him, the things only I could appreciate, like the way he tapped his index finger on his desk when he was thinking about something stressful, or the sound of his quill against parchment. Why did I notice these things, I couldn't help but wonder? Why did Harry Potter, of all people, make my heart race as if there was no tomorrow but make me want to strangle myself at the same time. Well, that is, more than usual at least.

***

After my encounter with him, I went to my dorm. I decided to take a shower, it was a weird moment for it, but I felt in constant need of taking a shower. It had started a couple of years ago, 2 to be exact. Right after I got my mark. I felt a constant need to try and wash it off, to try to scrub my own skin off and hope it went better. I wanted to be clean, free of this dark mark that haunted my everyday life. Sometimes I scrubbed so hard that my skin came off. I'd just stand there, bleeding, my blood pouring into the drain alongside the water from the shower. It didn't really hurt. I was used to pain. Living without it seemed impossible to me by now. I'd been raised with it after all.

Coming out of the shower, I was met with Blaise. His eyes lowered to my arms as he stood there, his arms crossed. "Pervert.", I mumbled, trying to make a joke in this awkward situation. He looked back at me, "Draco...you've got to stop. This isn't okay.", he whispered. Did he seriously think I thought it was okay? That I didn't know how bad I was doing? Blaise used to always be able to calm me down and help me out of these situations, but recently I'd be doing worse than before. I think it's because I was back at Hogwarts, where it all started and ended.

He turned around so I could put a towel around my waist, then he made me sit on my bed. He took some paper and tried to wipe away the blood. Not the right way to clean a wound or heal it, but I let him nonetheless because of the pain it caused. Suddenly there was a knock at our dorm's door. Blaise stood up hesitantly and opened the door just wide enough to see who it was. "McGonagall sent me to talk to Malfoy. Is he here?", Potter asked, pushing the door open more. Blaise was pushed aside immediately, my rival definitely had some strength. His eyes widened when he saw me sitting on my bed in only a towel and my arms pouring blood onto the floor. Then his eyes flickered to the paper on the floor that Blaise was using. Why did it have to be him that saw me this way? Why did the one person that I didn't want to see me this way, show up wherever I was?

"Using paper isn't going to help, you need to properly clean the wound first.", Potter said to Blaise who seemed confused. I, myself, was fairly surprised too. I mean, I guess I understood why he knew things about wounds. He entered our room while Blaise tried to hold him back but it was no use. He went into our bathroom and came out with a wet towel, then he kneeled beside me and started slowly, carefully, dabbing the wound. It stung, but it didn't hurt as badly as when Blaise handled it.

I looked at his face, he seemed normal, other than the bags under his eyes. Up close, he was fairly handsome, but that's not what this was about. When he'd managed to stop the bleeding, he took off his robe and tore off one of the sleeves of his shirt which I definitely did not expect. He bandaged my arm with it, glancing at my face all the while. He stood up, put his robe back on, then before leaving he said: "McGonagall wants to see you about skipping class.", then he left.

He didn't even say a word, ask what was wrong with me, nothing. Deep inside I couldn't help, but wonder if he was going to tell his friends or everyone at school. "You should've told me I was doing it wrong.", Blaise angrily commented as I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, you know I'd never have told you.", I answered. He started stomping around the room, then turned around to face me. "Seriously Draco, you have got to stop! We're all worried about you! This can't continue!", he yelled. I flinched. I hated it when people raised their voices at me, it reminded me of my past.

I used to be spoiled with gifts from my parents, I'd have everything I ever wanted except for a hug or perhaps some family time. I rarely saw my parents except at supper sometimes or as I walked by them in the hallway. One time, I walked in on my parents using the cruciatus curse on a little boy that happened to be my friend. He was a muggle-born. I cried, I was scared. My father yelled at me, dragging me to my room by the arm. 'Malfoy's don't cry' is what he used to say to me, but I couldn't help it. Each time I cried he'd hit me harder than the time before until I finally realized that I shouldn't cry. I hadn't cried since, not once, except for when Dumbledore died.