Cut My Heart Out

Harry had requested to be left alone for a while, so Hermione had thrown some blankets over him and gone for a walk. Everyone was still at the dance and the corridors were deserted. Hermione leant her back against a wall and sank down. She was exhausted. She had managed to clean all Harry's blood from the floor and his robes but it had proved an incredible effort, especially as Harry had barely been able to lift his head.

Someone crouched down beside her and a concerned face hovered over hers.

"Hermione... you're covered in blood."

Hermione noticed the stains on her hands and front. She winced

"Let's go get you cleaned up - I think the nearest toilet is just down here..."

Hermione let herself be led to the girls' toilets, explaining that it wasn't actually her blood. Calliope didn't ask questions.

"Harry just came back from the dance in such a mess... I don't know what happened. He won't talk to me," said a frustrated Hermione.

Calliope's face darkened. "Yes, that dance was one big mistake."

"What happened?"

Calliope looked at her feet and pushed open the toilet door. "Draco... well, it was a mistake. I regretted it instantly."

Hermione followed her into the bathroom. She felt oddly numb.

Calliope pulled herself up beside one of the sinks. Hermione followed and stood in front of her. Calliope smiled down. From this angle, Hermione thought, the light shone through her dark hair and set it alight. It made her seem so angelic... almost... divine. She quickly expelled the thought from her head.

"You look very pretty today, Hermione, have you changed you eyes?"

Hermione shook her head. Words seemed to have deserted her.

"Well, you always look pretty. Maybe it's just this light that makes your eyes look different."

Hermione whispered softly, " You think I'm pretty?"

Calliope looked gentle but serious. Her pale fingers ran through Hermione's bush-like hair. She swallowed and nodded.

Hermione wished she were taller so that she could her face closer to the other girl's. Her expression was so intense... Hermione lifted her hand and let it stroke Calliope's chin. She didn't seem to have control of it. The skin was smooth and even. Perfect. She wished she could have skin like that.

"I wish I was as pretty as you," she thought out loud. Then she was silent as Calliope leaned forward and kissed her left cheek very lightly.

"You're the prettiest thing in the world," she said simply, before leaning in again and pressing her lips to Hermione's.

Hermione had never been kissed before. In the short time she's been with Viktor Krum she had never let him lay a finger on her. It was clear he had felt much more for her than she had for him, and it hadn't worked out. She'd broken up with him, partly for Ron's sake, partly for her own sanity. Ron had never shown that he liked her and Hermione hadn't cared. Since she's met Calliope she had been thinking differently. She hadn't understood why she looked forward to doing her Arithmancy homework with her, or why could remember every detail of her smile, or why she itched to hold on to Calliope and never have to let her go. How very stupid she had been.

The kiss was awkward and uncomfortable. Unsure of what to do, Hermione just stood there, shuddering. When Calliope broke away, Hermione was worried. Had she done it wrong? Was she disappointed? Would they ever speak again?

Calliope blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, you don't want this..." she tripped over her words as she started to get down. Her shoulders were trembling slightly and there were goose bumps on her pale arms.

Hermione quickly stepped forward and placed a tentative hand on Calliope's thigh. "Wait," she took a deep breath, "please, I do want... this," she smile, and reached to put her other hand on the back of Calliope's neck, applying the slightest pressure and gently pulling her towards her. Their foreheads touched and they smiled at each other in unison.

* * *

A meadow thickly caked with fine, powdered snow. Soft music ran through Harry's head. A gentle, rhythmic beat accompanied by an ethereal wailing. It reminded Harry of the Mersong he had heard from a dragon egg, back in his fourth year. It had that haunting quality that sent chills up his spine.

He stepped onto the snow, relishing the satisfying crunch as his foot sank into the dazzling white. A cold hand grasped his, gently but firmly. Harry turned to see two intense, mirror-like eyes boring into him.

Together they walked through the snow. It wasn't cold, as Harry would have thought. The sun was shining but the snow remained dry and thick. Trees surrounded the meadow, bare branches swaying gently in the breeze that Harry couldn't feel. More dry snow sprinkled down on them. It settled on Harry's eyelashes and decorated him like sugar. He turned to look at his partner again. She smiled, her mousy hair filled with snowflakes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Who are you?" Harry asked, but she didn't seem to hear him.

The wailing in his head grew louder, ripping through Harry like a chainsaw. It felt like a nursery rhyme...

Strip me down and

Bare my soul

All Harry could see were his own footprints, ruining the perfect scene. He felt so guilty. He'd tainted his paradise... he'd destroyed it all... Darkness enveloped him. He couldn't move. He was choking on shadow.

Cut my heart out

Eat me whole

Harry started to panic. He was blind. All he could sense was some force trapping him, torturing him. He felt like he was beginning to splinter.

Taunt and bait me

Invalidate me

A knife stabbed into his back. The blood that coursed down his spine was cold and viscous. Pain spidered down every nerve and the ghostly wailing filled his soul.

Cold fish

Cold fish

Harry screamed. His sight suddenly returned. A world of mirrors around him shattered and fragmented into nothing. The music stopped. The pain stopped.

Harry opened his eyes and glared round at the common room. Hermione had cleaned him up and laid him by the fire, under some blankets. The rest of Gryffindor was still asleep as there were no lessons today, but Harry estimated they would begin waking up within the next half an hour. He flexed his fingers. The deep slices on his left wrist were still painful. The half-formed scabs cracked as he moved, causing Harry to yelp slightly. He heard the first sounds of a Gryffindor stirring upstairs and made a decision. He seized someone's black cloak from a chair, pulled it around him to conceal the mossy green dress robes and left the tower.

* * *

He knew exactly what he had to do. A full ten hours had passed since he'd last spoken to Draco and the anger inside him was electrifying. It made him feel powerful. He would kill that manipulative fuck. All this, and he didn't love him? The bastard. The fucking cunt.

Harry paced up and down the corridors near his tower. He couldn't wait much longer. Restless and desperate, Harry started to head towards the Slytherin tower. He was just round the corner from the entrance when he heard something. He froze, pressed against the stone wall.

There was a small giggle. Some Slytherins had got up early.

"Argerson has nice legs."

Harry heard scraping as the secret door slid smoothly open to admit them. He waited a full seven seconds before walking around the corner and facing the grey stone defiantly.

"Argerson had nice legs," he growled. Normally, he would have found this quite an amusing password, but today, somehow, he wasn't in the mood.

The hidden door moved somewhat grudgingly aside and let him enter. He kept his head down as he crossed the common room and made a beeline for the stairs at the back. He was amazed no one gave him a second glance. He supposed they were all to hung-over to pay any attention.

He climbed the stairs hurriedly, throwing open the first door he came to. He was mortified to be confronted with a scantily clad Millicent Bulstrode giving Gregory Goyle a lap dance. They blinked at him a couple of times. Harry put a finger to his lips and closed the door, before rushing to find another. After another few unfortunate encounters he found Draco's dormitory. The blond figure was sitting on the edge of his large four poster bed, which was covered with green and silver bedclothes and was somewhat more ornate than Harry's. Draco had his head in his hands. His position reminded Harry of the photograph Draco had given him. The photo was now in his robes and he could feel it burning against his ribs.

Draco turned his head and scowled. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry was swaying slightly. His eyes were unfocused and he felt light-headed. He stumbled towards Draco and snarled menacingly.

"Calliope."

Draco's face hardened. "Fuck off, Potter."

"She doesn't want you."

"I said fuck off, Potter. I'm warning you."

"What's the matter Malfoy? Do you love her?"

"Shut up."

"Even though you know she will NEVER love you?"

Draco jumped up and strode forward. He put a hand roughly over Harry's mouth and backed him against the wall. His eyes were narrowed and cruel.

"If you say another word," he hissed, spitting the words at Harry, "I swear I'll kill you. I swear."

Sweat ran down Harry's face. He closed his eyes to avoid Draco's boiling silver ones. He felt a clammy hand slap him across the face.

"Look at me, you bastard!"

Harry could feel Draco's pulse in his thumb where it was pressed against Harry's nose. His left cheek stung. He could feel the other boy's breath, irregular and ragged on his skin. Harry opened his eyes warily to see Draco draw closer. The hands began to loosen and he leaned in, the way he always used to...

Harry pushed him away, disgusted. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, before fleeing from the Tower.

Once outside, Harry leant against a pillar and rested. He couldn't believe what had just happened. To think I once believed I was in love with that psychotic prick he thought.

In an effort to clear his head of the torturous thoughts, Harry took a walk. He didn't register where he was going, or whom he passed, but he felt himself stopping when he reached a large pine door. The Prefect's bathroom.

As if on auto-pilot he found his lips forming the password.

"Hippogriff."

The door fell ajar. Harry pushed it open and walked in slowly. The gleaming bathroom hadn't changed since the last time he had seen it. Well, the last time he's seen it there'd been condensation coating the walls and on the huge shell-rimmed mirror, which had had 'DM woz 'ere screwin' HP' traced out in crude letters.

Harry stared stonily at his own reflection. Jet black hair had flopped into some ridiculous mop cap. His eyes were screwed up in the bright light that seemed to radiate from the walls. His skin seemed unhealthily red. He peered closer... was that a tearstain? He wiped his face furiously with the back of his hand. He had NOT been crying.

He took a deep breath and looked again. To his horror, he saw a silvery white arm emerge from his stomach and give his the thumbs up. He was too shocked even to shout. The arm withdrew and Moaning Myrtle's face appeared hovering behind Harry's. Harry gasped in relief and fell onto the soft bathmat.

"Myrtle! You scared me half to death!"

The ghost glided around the room, giggling impishly.

"I had you genuinely petrified? You thought you were some ghoulish mutant? HA! I fooled Harry Potter!"

She settled on a tap and crowed happily. Harry leant back and hoped that, by some miracle one of his vertebrae might spontaneously disintegrate rendering him paralysed so he would never have to move again. This didn't happen. Mildly disappointed, Harry pulled himself up and started to wander in circles. Something fluttered out of his robes and landed gracefully at his feet. Before he could reach down to pick it up, Myrtle had descended on it like vulture. She blew it across the floor to the other end of the bathroom where she zoomed over to get a good look.

"Hmm. I've seen one like this before. That Creevey boy has lots like this," she mused. She winked at him conspiratorially. "You should ask to see the rest. I think you'd like then. Hey, why is this one covered in blood?"

Harry shook his head before walking over and retrieving the photograph. He didn't want to see any pictures of Draco. The thought of it made him sick.

* * *

Harry shaded his eyes from the harsh light. He was determined to get back on track and carry on life as normal - starting with his Divination homework.

'Explain how methods of scrying have changed over the years.'

It may as well have asked Harry to explain how fractional distillation works in zero gravity. Harry groaned outwardly and started to doodle on his parchment. Slow squiggles and broken sentences formed as he sought for an opening sentence to his essay. He glanced momentarily at what he'd scrawled.

I wish, I wish, I wish

Curiously, Harry continued to scribble, pouring out everything he was feeling onto the parchment. It seemed so natural to express all the pent up emotion on paper in words, drawings and nonsense. When he was finished, Harry help up the parchment and blew the ink dry. He smiled. He would keep this under his mattress.

A voice behind him made Harry spring up in alarm. Colin Creevey's over enthusiastic grin homed in on him, closely followed by Dennis Creevey's almost identical one.

"Harry! Doing homework again? Is it Potions? Can I take one picture? Harry?"

Harry tired to regain his composure.

"A picture? I'd be happy to oblige-" (the flashes dazzled him for a few seconds) "-if you show me some certain photographs from your collection."

Colin looked suitably thrilled. Chattering madly, he led Harry to his dormitory.

"I keep all my pictures in dated albums - where did you want to start? I have one of Dennis when he was still learning to walk... come on, Dennis, let's find the early ones..."

Dennis had come with them and the brothers proceeded to explore the albums covers thoroughly.

"There's a specific - or possibly few - I'm looking for. It was taken last year. Of Malfoy."

The Creevey's started eagerly flicking through pages, occasionally pointing out the odd picture of Seamus Finnigan attempting yoga.

"Is this it? Dennis squeaked, shoving a photo under Harry's nose. Harry look down. It was almost identical to his own photograph, only Draco was wearing different robes and the camera was at a slightly different angle.

"Where did you get this?" Harry asked. Dennis dropped the open album into his lap. Harry's eyes bulged as he saw a collection of moving copies of Draco sitting in the same chair looking downcast. It seemed there was one for every day...

"He was there at the same time four days a week, regular as clockwork. He never seemed to notice me."

Harry turned the page to see even more. Draco biting his lip. Draco smoothing his hair. Draco massaging his temples. Draco staring avidly at - something.

Harry flicked through until he found one that revealed what Draco was staring at.

He was looking out of the window. Confused, Harry traced Draco's line of sight with his finger - from desperately staring grey eyes to an empty sky outside. Suddenly, something flashed past the window. Harry kept his eyes glued until it came again. He gasped. It was him, practising Quidditch with the Gryffindor team.

His hair was obscuring his face but Harry could see his own proud smile as he grasped the Snitch tightly. Draco's eyes lit up as he as he concentrated on Harry's profile, memorising every detail. His face fell when Harry happily zoomed away.

"I said, 'Are you okay?' Harry?"

Harry jolted awake.

"Huh?"

"I think that's enough pictures for one night," advised Colin widely. "Maybe you should be getting to bed."

Harry nodded and bade the boys good night.