Icicle Fingers (Drarry)

Chapter 19

A/N
Lots of time skips here because I'm suuuper lazy. Just a huge dump of angst and Draco being tortured, you can totes skip it I'll add a tl:dr for any important bits.
This probably doesn't flow well at all, but I felt that if I spent another second editing it I would never finish. :P

•Draco•

⚠️ Basically the whole chapter⚠️

Draco didn't get any sleep that night, thoughts of Malfoy Manor keeping him awake. Paired quite horrendously with of course, the one and only, Harry James Potter. The boy who seemed to live forever in the walls of his mind.

He had yet to determine what made him feel worse. Imagining how the almost clawed hand of Lucius Malfoy would wrap around a thick wad of his hair, using it to yank his head upwards. Forcing Draco to meet that chilling stare. 
Or, instead picturing a Harry that would dig his hands; calloused yet soft, through it. Gently, lovingly. A tender look in his eyes.

It almost scared him more how much he longed for that kind of contact. For a loving expression reserved for him only.

Draco couldn't help but reach for the blond mess spread across his pillow, newly washed from the filth of the snow. He dug his hands in right behind his ears, and then kept them there. Cradling his head as if he were something loved.

An empty imitation of affection would have to suffice.

***

As light seeped in through the sloppily drawn curtains -seemingly just to hit him right in the eyes- he peeled himself off of the mattress.

Draco was weirdly glad to be so tired. Simply floating through the day; mind  stuffed with cotton, and worries not very good at burrowing through it.

He spent breakfast staring at the wall behind Morcott and pretending to be a part of conversation. It was tiring enough to nod along and force his eyes to remain open, so he hoped he'd manage to get some rest on the train.

He could swear he occasionally felt someone staring at him, maybe even two someones.
He couldn’t be bothered to think about it any longer, and simply decided not to care. After all, the only things he really had space for in his brain were eating toast, blinking properly, and the echoing taps of a snake-headed cane.  

Draco shivered, as if he already were lying flat on the freezing, marble floor. The warmth of his flesh seeping into the cold, solid stone.

The crisp, slightly burnt bread scratched his throat on the way down. Perhaps he would put some marmalade on his next piece, make it easier to swallow.

•Harry•

No teacher had been waiting for him the day he had rushed out of the statue. Strange, had Malfoy not seen him after all?

Harry couldn't help but continue to wonder at breakfast the morning after. He could swear that the slytherin had looked right at him, even if it had only been for a second.

He peered at the Slytherin table to see a Draco Malfoy that almost looked dead. His hair was back to striking silver, but his under-eyes were hollower now, almost purple. Was he not sleeping properly?

Harry shook his head, making Ron shoot him a weird look. Why would he care whether or not Malfoy was taking care of himself, they were the farthest from friends they had ever been! Well, not really, but he wasn’t going to think about that now!