You're Dead, Potter

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"You're dead, Potter."

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Harry sat in History of Magic. There was nothing better to do but sleep, but he was afraid to do that anymore.

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"Funny, you would think I'd stop walking around..."

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His fingers curled around his quill, which was soggy and clumpy with sweat. It was winter. Snow fell gently outside in the grounds and as Harry stared at it, he shivered. Cold drops of sweat smeared the ink on the notes he copied from Hermione for the last hour.

His hands felt clammy.

He felt hot.

When the bell rang Harry was the first to rush out. Students bumped into him as he rushed past, trying to get away from them. From everything.

A flash of silvery blond hair dragged his eyes away from where he was going; and a pair of pale, gray eyes made him stumble over his robes.

Draco Malfoy smirked as Harry ambled straight into a first year.

"Better watch where you walk, Potter," he sneered as he brushed past. A subtle scent of cologne followed him and Harry ran.

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"Funny, you would think I'd stop walking around..."

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The common room was warm, but Harry didn't feel it. He just sat, faking smiles for Hermione, losing at chess for Ron, and hiding the bruises on his neck with a red and gold muffler Hermione knit for him.

People started leaving the common room for their dorms. It was getting late. Harry sat stiffly, holding a book open in his hands that he had no intention of reading. He said he was tired, and Ron and Hermione believed him. They always believed him and his selfish little lies. Some people thought others were infinitely innocent until the truth ripped their feeble minded fantasies apart. Hermione and Ron were those people sometimes.

The next moment Harry lay in his bed under the covers. All his clothes were still on, except for his school robe, and his eyes were wide open. The curtains were spelled to alert him of anyone who came too close to his bed.

He didn't like to be off his guard.

Everyone was waiting until he made a mistake; until he accidentally revealed his secret.

No, he wanted to keep it.

He had to keep it.

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"You're dead, Potter."

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The sounds of heavy breathing floated into Harry's ears. From one bed or another, a snore erupted suddenly and made him jump. He threw off the bedding and cautiously pulled open the curtains. Everyone was asleep in their beds. No nightmares or secrets to haunt their simple student lives. Harry envied them. He wanted to be one of them. But he wasn't, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

Automatically, his invisibility cloak was pulled on and Harry Potter disappeared.

Oh, how he longed to disappear...

It was colder than ever out in the halls, and even more so in the dungeons. Soon Harry came across the entrance to the Slytherin common room. They changed the password a few days ago, but Harry was warned before hand by the one who made it up.

Draco Malfoy.

"Potter stinks."

A little repetitive, Slytherins were.

As he stepped inside, Harry's stomach tied itself into knots. He wanted to leave. He didn't want to be here. But he couldn't stay away.

He needed this.

It kept him occupied.

It kept him sane.

A few Slytherins lounging around glanced uneasily at the invisible presence that just entered their domain. Soon they looked away, wands clutched under their robes. This has been happening a lot, but no one was sure if it was just a ghost, or... something more. Harry swept past them and felt drowned by the dark colors swirling in his vision. It kept reminding him how different their houses were.

Each step he took seemed to echo off the walls until he stood before the seventh year boys' dorm.

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"You're dead, Potter."

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A blond head looked up and smirked as an invisible Harry sat on his bed and pulled the curtains shut before putting his cloak on a corner of the emerald clad bed.

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"Funny, you would think I'd stop walking around..."

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Cold sweat made black tendrils of hair stick to his face. Harry faced him with over bright eyes and a flushed face. Draco lay sprawled on his back, looking as graceful and catlike as always. His face was full of superiority. A forced guise, Harry knew. Every visit was the same. Draco charmed the curtains shut. He spoke a silencing charm. Then he waited until Harry couldn't contain himself anymore.

It was too much.

Something was different.

Harry didn't care. He just wanted Draco.

So he took him.

Mouth. Tongue. Teeth gnashing and clashing against each other. Tastes of saliva and sweet, sweet blood from the biting and chewing of their lips.

It was good.

It was so good.

The throbbing heat and the need. The need of another body to touch and lick and grab. Harry kissed and touched uncontrollable lust until Draco ripped the buttons of his shirt and reversed their positions until the blond lay on top.

And Harry wanted more.

More heat. More need. More pain and more passion.

But the only way Draco was passionate was in hate and in revenge. The cold steel against Harry's chest did not phase him. It was normal. Draco gave pain and he received it. It was all so normal.

The sharpened blade pressing into his skin; the gasping moans of pain and pleasure so impossibly blurred... It was need. It was hate. It was revenge and it was passion.

Dark blood drops that fell and smeared and trailed down his body. Sometimes Draco licked the blood, his heavily lidded eyes livid and elated all at once. Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he just stabbed and sliced with such fury it would hurt Harry to move in the morning.

This was his nightmare.

This was his secret.

This was his bliss.

But it was different tonight.

"You killed my father, Potter."

"I know."

"You killed my mother."

"I know."

"You're killing them all."

"I know," Harry panted.

"Why?"

There was no emotional attachment. Harry would kill as he saw fit. He had to if he wanted to survive. But he didn't. The Dark Lord was dead. There wasn't a point to it anymore. He wanted to get rid of them. All of them. Even if nightmares of screaming and agony and... death took away all his sleep at night.

"Because I wanted to."

And Draco took the knife and slashed deeper, harder, longer.

"Why?" He asked again, his hand shaking.

"Because I don't love you."

Cuts, jagged and deep bled all over the silver of the dagger.

"Why?"

"Because you're an asshole and you're a Slytherin and you're a death eater."

"Why?" Draco asked again, his voice torn by emotion and shaken by sadness. The knife grazed Harry's neck, and Harry just smiled serenely back at him.

"Because you aren't worth it."

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"You're-"

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He shoved the knife down hard, the splattering of blood hitting him in the face and mixing with his tears. He couldn't seem to stop cutting.

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-dead-"

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The blood quickly became a puddle and Draco looked into Harry's unseeing green eyes. Then he looked away. The peacefulness and beauty of him hurt worse than the death of a thousand unloving relatives.

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-Potter."

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Forcing a second glance at the corpse, Draco felt his lips move. A tormented whisper escaped.

"You're dead, Potter."

This time there wasn't a reply, and Draco was left with no one but himself.

Somehow, revenge didn't feel as good as so many made it out to be.

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"Funny, you would think I'd stop walking around..."

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END