Blood Looks Good on You

The blanket is strewn across the floor, the material rippling outwards from where I had stumbled out the bed. There's blood on the pillow, it could have been from the fight or maybe the doorknob. Maybe she was imagining it-- I didn't think I was.

"Harry?" she calls out. There is a pause in her tone. "Harry? There's blood, what happened?" Her voice is shrill but I still try to ignore it. But she doesn't leave and the words won't come out of my mouth so I hug myself a little tighter and pretend I can't hear her.

I hear her making her way across the apartment. Her shoes click dully on the hardwood floor and her clothes whisper to me. Without even looking I can tell her hair is in a bun and I think wildy for a moment- that I'm not the person she's looking for. She opens the bathroom door looking half-terrified but then she looks down to where I'm huddled on the floor and then she just looks stern.

"Harry..."

I don't bother to respond. I know my own name. I'm not as stupid as she thinks I am.

"Oh Harry," she says again, not in her usual airs but with pity. The concern in her eyes rips through me like thorns. "Is it Draco again?"

No, it's not Draco! Why does everything have to be about him?

"...Maybe. I don't know."

She kneels before me but I can see the disgust in her eyes. I must reek something awful; I can feel the bile rising but I swallow it back. I cringe. That wasn't smart of me. But then again, maybe I should rethink the not being stupid thing.

"Let's get you cleaned up, Harry."

She might be referring to the fractured sheet of dried blood trailing from my nose down to my bare chest. Or maybe she's talking about the empty bottle that exploded into tiny shards. Maybe even my relationship with Draco-- she must be glad, she always liked being right.

She's not even looking at me in the eye but instead talking to the wall. I don't move; it is my apartment after all.

"I'm fine, Hermione." I tell her, but I don't think she hears the warning in my voice. "I'm a grown man, I can take care of it myself."

"But-"

"Just get out!" I snap, jumping up only to bang my head against the ice-cold porcelain of the sink. She winces and opens her mouth to say something but instead turns around and storms out.

I don't notice though because my head has cracked open and there's a tiny trickle of warm blood matting my hair and no doubt staining my sink. My vision blurs and the bathroom floor has never looked so comfortable.

Curling up into a corner, I hug my knees tightly and think 'All I need is a staircase and cupboard and I'd be right back home.'

*~*~*

Black hair, dorky glasses and hell, even green eyes, but he's nothing like Harry.

"What's your name?" he asks, with a shy gaze that makes me want to puke. Harry's the only one that can pull off that look. I simply glare at him and he falters taking a whole minute or two to clear the table and get the hell away from me.

...

I slump down, resting my head against the beige plastic. If the chemicals in the cleaning fluid kill me, they'd be doing me a favor. Draco Malfoy, in a bloody fast food place.

Not what you expected, is it?

It's definitely not what I had in mind.

Harry shouldn't be in my mind this much period. Obsessions are unhealthy - I learned that the hard way.

There's something tangible about Harry: it changes you slowly, right before your eyes and you still don't even recognize it. Until it's too late of course, then you're slumped over somewhere wondering what in Voldemort's name made you punch Harry and storm out of the apartment.

And it's bloody half my apartment as well.

That bugger is probably still home; I can't even sneak back in. He has absolutely no life - but all the more fun for me I suppose.

Well, not anymore, as it is. I don't want to go anywhere or see anyone or do anything that reminds me of Harry. But that's impossible. Everyone looks like him, smells like him, acts like him. . . even if I close my eyes and snort really hard, even this goddamned disinfectant smells like him. God damn it.

...It makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Damn the boy. I shouldn't have ever yielded to his drunken advances. I shouldn't have ever decided to move in with him. I should have just cast Silencio when he was telling me about Muggle inventions. I should have killed myself when the War was won and the two societies assimilated.

But I hadn't.

That's what Harry does. Takes over your senses, rewrites your impulses and changes you irreversibly. Once upon a time, when I was still myself, I would have been out in some random club. Screwing some guy senseless no doubt. And I would have never thought twice about it.

Now I can't even look at another person without regretting it.

Damn Harry bloody Potter for all that he is. For all that he represents, for all that he's done and for doing this to me.

I sigh.

I need to go back home now.

I can't take it any longer.

*~*~*

I wake up when the door slams, sending shockwaves of pain careening towards my head. My muscles protest, and even shielding my eyes from the artificial light doesn't seem worth the effort.

"Ugh," I manage to groan out.

Footsteps. Coming closer.

"Uuuugh. . ."

Draco. Fight. Vodka. Hermione...

"Oh god."

He throws the door open, his eyes glancing over my sad state, to come to the saddest thing of all:

"What the fuck did you do to the sink?"

His hair is windblown, his skin glowing and he looks down at me with great satisfaction. Prick. Prick. Prick. He probably partied all night, with some lowlife scum that was only interested in his body...

And he liked it that way. Bloody prick.

"Not. Now. Draco."

He snorts and kneels next to me, poking at my dried blood with morbid curiosity. I swat his hand away and glare at him but he looks unphased.

"Blood looks good on you."

I snort derisively. But then regret it. Severely.

"Tsk, tsk," he says gleefully. "What were you doing last night? Got smashed and pissed the sink off, didn't you?"

"You're not funny." He thinks I'm joking, but I'm not. "Really."

He smirks and thwacks me on the head with his wand.

I cry out with surprise but I shut my mouth abruptly as I realize my headache is gone. Bloody prick: twenty-two years old and still as annoying as he was at twelve.

"I bloody hate you." I tell him resolutely. "I wish I never met you."

"I could say the same to you, you know?" He says, surprising me as his tone suddenly turns serious. He sits back next to me, trying to look impassive but failing horribly. This probably isn't the right moment. I lean against him, resting my now pain-free head against his shoulder.

His warmth is too tempting, especially the minute rising and lowering of his chest. I watch as he swallows, his breath suddenly hitching in his lungs.

"Where would you be right now?"

"You mean if it wasn't for you and your bloody alcohol problem?" He snorts at his own joke but continues on, shifting to rest his head against mine, even though he doesn't realize it. "I'd be out somewhere... still living in the Mansion most likely."

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. He probably would be. Tucked away all safe and secure in his family's money. "Well... I'm glad you're not."

He doesn't speak for a minute. But when he does the rooms turns ten degrees colder.

"I'd be dead."

I don't know what to say to him but suddenly he turns to me. His eyes are sincere, all trace of jokes and haughtiness gone. Now I'm the one fighting to swallow but his gaze doesn't relent.

"Thank you, Harry."

I try to say something but he silences me with a kiss. It turns to something heavier-- but suddenly I break away.

"Bloody hell! I have to apologize to Hermione. She's going to be pissed."

Draco merely tsks, muttering, "Bloody prick" under his breath.

I did get my cursing from him, after all.

*~*~*

The silence brings the tension and the tension brings the gloat in Draco's eyes. Hermione doesn't look amused; she hadn't expected him here. To be honest, I hadn't expected him to stay for this either.

"Look Hermione, I'm really sorry about before."

She's looking at the way Draco's hand is clamped over my shoulder. The way his other hand is crawling slowly down my side. Don't think she can't see it Draco. Her eyes can pierce through me. They are in fact. She's sees my blush. She sees my shame.

She frowns at me meaningfully.

"Draco! Would you stop for a moment?" Draco looks hurt. "Please?" I amend. "Hermione and I have something to talk about. I'll make it up to you later, okay?"

He smirks at Hermione and I know she can see the taunt "Mudblood" in his eyes. Finally, he looks away and nods serenely at me while retreating into the next room.

"I'm sorry Hermione."

She merely raises her eyebrow.

"You know I am. Draco's just stubborn, but eventually, he'll get better."

She doesn't say anything, but the look in her eyes says it for her.

"Why can't you even try to listen?"

Her eyes narrow at this and she grimaces.

She looks more like the older Draco than my lover does. But I bite my tongue.

"I can't apologize enough, Herm! Please, just give it a while longer..."

A beat passes and she turns to leave

"It's all right, Harry. I understand"

But she doesn't.

And she probably never will.