Fitful Sleep

He stands by the tall narrow windows of the astronomy tower, weight supported by the ancient stones and the cracked wooden floor. He stares at the thick clouds in the gray skies but sees nothing. He never blinks as the wind insistently rips at his hair, and thick, cruel sheets of rain throw themselves at him like tidal waves and whip his cheeks. The droplets cascade down his face like rain water tears, as he remains, unmoving, fingers clasped tightly around the window ledge.

He watches a group of shrieking first years race to the huge front doors, drenched robes clinging to them as they shiver, glad that their first flying lesson has ended early. He basks in his solitude - no one ever uses the astronomy tower at this time of day. A glance to his left reveals a figure emerging from the Forbidden Forest’s outer edge. Intrigued he grabs a small telescope carelessly left in a corner - by some first year, no doubt. He lifts it to his eye, squinting, trying to focus clearly through the storm.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

He leapt around, startled at the sudden break in the calm. “Oh! Professor Snape.”

“Mr. Malfoy, would you care to explain why you failed to grace us with your presence today? You do realize that you are required to attend class everyday that it is in session? Miss Parkinson seemed particularly concerned by your absence.”

Draco stares at the his hands. He’s never liked his fingers - they’re short and crooked, the knuckles swollen, and the nails ragged. They don’t seem to mesh with his linear features, and wiry build. He shakes his head slowly.

“Draco.” Snape’s voice is concerned, comforting. He steps forward, tilting Draco’s chin upwards. “Are you alright? Are you having troubles at home? Your father...He expects so much. You can talk to me, Draco.”

Draco glances at him, surprised. Who’d have though that over-sized bat could actually show compassion. He flinches and pulls away. “No sir.”

Snape looks angry. “In that case Mr. Malfoy, I have no choice but to assign you detention for truancy. You will be serving it this evening alongside Mr. Potter, who seemed to find flinging dragon bile at poor Miss Bulstrode utterly hilarious. I trust you will be prompt.” Snape exits the tower sharply, his robes flowing behind him like a monstrous shadow.

Returning to the window, telescope still in hand, Draco nearly chokes.
“Potter.” Harry stands at the edge of the forest, his arm around a shorter figure, whose face is obscured by her dark hair. Both look fairly disheveled, tangled hair, and wrinkled robes, and half buttoned jumpers. Draco drops the telescope, leaning against the wall, chin resting on his fists. “Harry.”

&.

Later, Draco waits in the dungeons, outside Snape’s classroom. A figure approaches, and he pulls Draco to him forcefully, placing a rough kiss on Draco’s cracked lips. “Hullo,” Harry says. Draco stares at him.

“I saw you. By the forest.” Harry shrugs, and opens his mouth to reply, when the potions door is flung open.

“Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Potter, late as usual I see. Come. We’ll be spending our evening in the forest looking for belladonna, whose silvery leaves are best distinguished by moonlight.” Snape turns, and the two boys follow him reluctantly out into the cold night air.

Draco is unable to find any belladonna - this vexes him. Potter has found a pouch full already, and Draco strives to be the best. With a cry of triumph, he pounces on something that could be silver. A tie. It’s golden and scarlet stripes reveal it to belong to a Gryffindor. Draco turns it over in his hand - he can faintly make out two initials stitched on the back in thick brown thread. H. G. His mind whirls before settling on a fitting name.

“Granger?!?” He grasp’s Harry’s arm. “That Mudblood!” Harry grins at him. “So?” He scratches his nails along Draco’s wrist, pleased with the raised welts and small bead of blood that result. Ownership. Harry turns and saunters off in search of more belladonna.

&.

Harry moans, writhing atop Draco’s numb body. He has lost all feeling as he lays beneath Harry, listening to his growls, and moans. Harry’s nails mar his perfect alabaster skin, and bite marks flaw his shoulders and neck. He sobs silently as Harry comes, chewing his lip to keep from voicing his hurt, anger, frustration. He lies still as a corpse while Harry dresses silently, and leaves him mussed and sticky on the bed.

Harry feels satisfied as he returns to Gryffindor tower. Ron waited up for him, and he groans softly as Harry crawls up beside him roughly ripping fabric and tearing away buttons. Ron’s eyes are blank as Harry climbs atop him. Ron is vocal, and Harry no longer feels like he’s fucking a corpse. As he stares at the wall above Ron’s head, harry remembers the unspilled tears in Draco’s eyes.

Draco perches nude on the table by his bed posts. He watches Vincent mutter in his sleep, and Gregory toss silently beneath his sheets. Draco traces the scabs on his arms, and he reaches into the pocket of his discarded robes, pulling out a handful of silvery leaves. Belladonna. It’s poison is strong, he knows this. He crumbles a leaf into the glass of water some house elf had thoughtfully placed beside his bed. It would be so easy. But his hand quivers as he raises the glass to his lips, and it falls, shattering on the cold stones. Draco crawls beneath the blankets, and listens to his breath as it slows into a steady rhythm. He twists and moans and sobs between his covers. Slytherins are restless sleepers.