On The Skin Of A Soulmate | Drarry

{04} - Of Soulmates and Flashbacks

I don't know if this will be readable or not but in case of confusion; the italics are Harry's flashbacks, and the normal text is a few months after Harry's last chapter, during those months Pansy has forced him to get over himself and start seeing a Mind Healer for the first time.

ALSO, the flashbacks are written in past tense, in case it sorta confuses some people.

--+--

The boys of the Gryffindor 6th-year dorm were all fast asleep in their beds, unbeknownst to the turmoil of one Slytherin boy. All, but one.

Harry - 16-year-old Harry - wrapped his arms around his knees and tried not to close his eyes. If he did, all he'd see were Malfoy's grey eyes as he crumpled to the ground, bleeding in long, arching strokes across the third-floor girl's' bathroom.

If he did, all he'd hear would be Myrtle's screams of 'you killed him! My Draco, you killed him!"

He'd see Malfoy's pale hair spread across the white tiles, contrasting so much the strands glow blonde instead of near-white.

And Harry'd made those mistakes before, anyhow - had closed his eyes, expecting sleep, but instead had been ambushed by strangling nightmares. He'd never make that mistake again. So he stayed up, mind racing, his thoughts on whether Malfoy was in the Infirmary or with Snape, treating to his wounds.

Ron snored from the bed beside Harry's, and he let out a mangled sob into the crook of his arm. Why the fuck was everything going to shit, just when he'd thought it couldn't get any worse?

Coldness seeped through into Harry's bones and cut off his breathing with a harsh choke. He tried to breathe through his nose, but it was no use. His thoughts were too powerful, almost as though they were sentient beings ready to murder him with their mangled horror.

Beyond Ron's bed, Seamus and Dean slept wrapped in each other's arms, and Harry's heart ached as he watched them snuggled together. They were another couple that everyone knew were going to be soulmates - other than Hermione and Ron, of course - and the very sight of them made Harry want to hit something.

How come they got to feel the close embrace of one-another while Harry shivered in bed, yet still sweating with the covers thrown off of him?

Harry inhaled and reached across to the nightstand where his glasses and wand were. He grasped for a spare quill and closed the curtains around his bed with a quiet swoosh. Then Harry flicked his wrist and sent a glowing blue fire shooting up near the top of the curtains before he brought out his arm and gazed at the tanned flesh.

If only he was 18, right? He'd be able to write to his soulmate and...maybe not feel so alone.

I really fucking hate myself, he wrote on his palm. He didn't really expect an answer - not really.

After a moment, Harry blinked. Words materialized in front of his eyes; I'm with you on that one. Now fuck off. Next to it, a very detailed prick was drawn.

Harry stifled a quiet laugh and wondered at the lightness in his chest. Of course, he was fucking Harry Potter. When did the rules ever apply to him?

With that, Harry cradled his arm and went to sleep stroking the haggard script.

---

"Come on, Harry, I didn't seek out Hermione as my soulmate for you to flake out on us the moment you have a chance."

Harry sighs and pushes his long hair out of his face as he regards Pansy through narrowed eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll come - stop your nagging."

Over the past few months - after Harry's soulmate had had an actual meltdown - he and Pansy had grown close enough to call each other by their first names, and apparently, that gave the cow permission to try to order him about.

Harry huffs. He supposes she - out of everyone - has the right, she got him out of his depressive state at Grimmauld Place and helped him find a Healer that was alright about keeping the secrets of her clients.

"Excellent!" Pansy kisses his cheek, no doubt leaving a lipstick stain on Harry's skin.

She smells of expensive perfume and pats him on the shoulder, smoothing down her hair before she leaves with a swish of her designer robes. Harry almost instantly regrets agreeing to have dinner with the two utmost scariest women in his life right now.

Contemplating his life choices, Harry takes out a quill from his suit breast pocket and jots down the details of his first Healer's appointment and Hermione's dinner.

After that, Harry forces himself to commit to the Ministry gathering and slides into the throng of important bodies. He's a long night ahead of him, and he can't allow himself to stare overtop the heads of everyone, trying to get a glimpse of white-blonde hair that he hasn't seen for ages.

His fingers graze the skin on his left wrist, and Harry tries not to think about both his soulmate and Draco Malfoy in the same thought span. He can't - if he does, he thinks his whole world will explode.

When Harry talks to Robards, he ignores the fluttery feeling he feels whenever he thinks he sees someone who could be Malfoy. It fucking pisses him off, but what else is there to do, other than sip at his champagne and mingle with old ladies who try to feel him up?

Fuck Malfoy and his ability to infiltrate Harry's every fucking move in life. Why can't the git just leave him well alone?

Why can't he leave Harry's damn heart alone?