Skewed Reality

Chapter 2 - Pink Ribbon Scars

Rays of light crept through the hangings on Harry's bed. He batted aimlessly at them and pulled his pillow over his head.

"Oi, Harry!"

"Lemme 'lone.... 'm sleeping," came Harry's muffled reply.

Ron sighed. Mornings like this were never conducive to getting breakfast. "Harry."

Harry simply rolled away from the sound of Ron's voice and began to snore.

"Harry?" Ron tentatively shook the lump that was his friend.

He was answered by more snored.

"Okay, fine. Don't tell me that you didn't deserve this..."

Ron took a few steps back from the bed, then ran forward and leapt onto Harry with a warrior's cry.

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!" Harry attempted to sit up, but Ron had him plastered to the bed.

"Ron, get off me."

"Not until you promise that you'll get up when I do." Ron grinned.

"Grr.... Okay, fine. But I'll get you for this. Mark my words."

After Ron was back on his own two feet, he offered a hand to Harry, who eyed it as if it were a sweet given to him by Fred and George. After a second, Harry go out of bed on his own.

Ron stretched. "Well, anyway. Sure is a nice morning!"

"Grmmphgr." Harry noticed that his friend was already dressed, and looked as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.

"I'm sorry, mate. Didn't quite catch that!"

Harry stopped fighting with his robes for a second to fix his one visible eye on Ron. "Graaaaaargh. Let's just get some breakfast before my head implodes and I paint the dorm room with my brains."

Ron nodded quickly. "Good idea, that."

He helped Harry straighten his robes, and then they wandered down to the common room, where they met up with Hermione.

"Hey, guys! You sure seem chipper..."

"Yeah, 'Mione. Meet Harry, the infamous Mister Storm Cloud," Ron grumbled.

Hermione giggled behind her hand, and led the way out to the Great Hall.

Upon getting there, Ron and Hermione slipped into seats next to each other, and looked up at their companion expectantly.

Harry slouched down in his seat and began shoveling his eggs into his mouth at approximately the rate of a carnivorous dinosaur that hadn't eaten in three weeks. However, this did not take his full brain capacity, so he contented himself with looking around shiftily at his fellow Gryffindors. A first year looked at the egg dribbling from his mouth and threw him a slightly disgusted look. Harry fixed her with his best evil eye, and stopped eating long enough to plaster a rather vicious scowl on his face. She promptly squealed and skittered away to her seat. Satisfied with his terrorization, he got back to his breakfast.

Hermione and Ron glanced at each other and had a silent argument about who should confront Harry. Ron, as usual, lost.

He edged a bit closer to Harry and tapped his shoulder.

"Grphmrrggg."

"Ehm... Harry? You feeling okay?"

Harry glowered a bit before answering, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just had this weird dream last night about us all being attacked in our dorm room by pink, lacey curtains."

Ron looked horrified. "Oh."

"Oh is right. Now can you see why I'm not in the best of moods?" Harry held back a slight twitch.

Nodding, Ron thought about the horror of pink curtains. It brought back memories of hearts and toothy smiles and hats at jaunty angles. Gilderoy Lockheart to boot. He shuddered.

"Anyway! So Seamus is going to be the drummer for our band?"

Harry brightened visibly. "Yeah, it'll be awesome." He then furrowed his brow and frowned again. "We need to find a bloody singer, though...."

"Come off it, Harry. It's only been about 12 hours since your band idea first came up in conversation. We'll find a singer in time."

"Yeah...." Harry breathed, not wanting to be a prat about it. He quickly decided to change the subject. With a quickly whispered 'Wingardium Leviosa', Harry's breakfast hovered a foot off his plate. "Oh, look! My eggs have turned into a smallish mass, and they are hovering above my breakfast dishes! It's like a UFO, only it's not an Object, it's Egg! A UFE, if you will!"

Hermione's voice cut through Harry's rambling in a warning tone. "Harry.... What do you plan on doing with that...?"

"Nothing you'll object to!"

Harry muttered a charm and sent the egg flying across the room, where it effectively collided with one Draco Malfoy's forehead.

Draco wiped the egg off his face with as much poise as one could muster when covered in yellow chicken-like goo, and looked up. Potter. It was Potter.

Yes, of course it was. He was wearing that stupid victorious grin and getting up to leave. Draco immediately wished it wasn't a Saturday. If it had been a weekday, at least then he'd see Potter in class and be able to get his revenge for the egg.

He sighed as he watched Harry and his silly Gryffindor friends leave the hall, chatting and laughing amiably.

"Crabbe, Goyle," he snapped. "We're leaving."

"But.... There's more pancakes and eggs left!" Goyle protested. "We should finish them before we go!"

Draco resisted the urge to hit him over the head. Repeatedly. "Of course there's still food left, you dolt! Do the words 'magically refilled' mean anything to you? Bloody fucking Christ, I'm hanging about with a bunch of raving morons."

Crabbe and Goyle, having gone back to eating and guffawing stupidly between every few mouthfuls, didn't catch Draco's comment. He gave a long-suffering sigh and gracefully got up from his chair.

"Goyle. Crabbe. I'm leaving now. Don't come looking for me, or I swear that I'll have my father kill you both."

They both stopped shoveling food in their mouths long enough to give a nod, and then continued. Draco rolled his eyes and quickly departed for the Slytherin common room.

He slipped through the crowds of people filling the entrance hall and slinked down to the dungeons. Damn, I wish they would heat this place, Draco thought with a shiver. He pulled his robes around him more closely as he continued his descent. Stopping, he muttered, "Pureblood," and his common room appeared.

Not one to waste time, Draco made a beeline for the stairs up to his dormitory. He entered his room, glad that no one else was present. With a quick search in his trunk, Draco found what he was looking for.

He pulled out a guitar case and a small notebook that looked suspiciously like a journal. Draco sighed as he tucked the notebook under his arm and reached for the handle of the guitar case.

He put a shrinking charm on the guitar and stuffed it in his pocket, glad that he didn't have to lug the thing through the Slytherin common room. That would be sure to raise questions. And, well, quite possibly get him beaten up.

Draco walked purposefully down the stairs and out of his common room, headed for the school grounds. He managed to avoid being trampled by the crowd still milling around the entrance hall, and pushed open the doors. He located a particularly big bush towards the Forbidden Forest, and settled on going over there. Draco seated himself cross-legged behind the shrubbery, and took his guitar out of his pocket, releasing the charm and allowing it to grow back to its full size with a small popping sound.

Laying the case out in front of him, he undid the latches and opened the lid. Inside, on soft purple velvet lining, lay a clearly well loved acoustic guitar.

"Thank God," Draco breathed as his fingers gently traced the strings. "I've missed playing you, dammit..."

With that, he took the guitar out of its casing and placed it on his lap. Strumming it aimlessly for a few seconds, he tried to think of a song to play. I need to get my emotions out somehow...Gah, but I need the right song...

As he thought of it, he plucked a few notes and began to sing. Draco loved singing possibly even more than he loved playing his guitar. He poured his whole heart into it when he was alone. Which was when he usually sang - Only his mother liked his singing. His father wouldn't even begin to tolerate it, and in fact gave him a nice little reminder, complete with beating, that Malfoys never show emotion, let alone sing.

I listen to the words he'd say

But in his voice I heard decay

The plastic face forced to portray

All the insides left cold and grey

Draco thought he heard something move behind him, but he brushed it off. It was probably just the wind. And besides, he was in the middle of a song. Those muggles could write lyrics quite well, really. So he struck a few chords and kept on.

There is a place that still remains

It eats the fear it eats the pain

The sweetest price he'll have to pay

The day the whole world we-

"Malfoy?!" a surprised voice sounded from behind him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

After breakfast, Harry decided to go for a walk around the grounds. He waved off the offered company of Ron and Hermione, saying that he wanted to think. They attempted to cover up their relief at this, as Harry wasn't quite being the best of companions today.

He walked outside, breathing in the fresh air, and began to stroll around. The giant squid lazily propelled itself across the lake as a light wind picked up. Across the air currents, Harry thought he heard faint music. Immediately curious, he wandered a few paces closer to the sound and listened.

It was beautiful, like nothing he'd ever heard before. The guitar was being played skillfully, and sounded effortless. But what really caught him was the voice. That voice, it sounded so truly melancholy, so sadly magical, that Harry had to resist the urge to sit down where he was and weep. Yes, Harry decided, that voice is almost ethereal. It's... beautiful.

Without even realizing what he was doing, Harry began to walk further towards the source of the music. He found himself at a bush near the forest. The person was behind it, still singing away.

He couldn't resist anymore. Harry walked around the side of the bush, just to watch this person play. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks.

"Malfoy?!" he spat incredulously.

Draco immediately stopped playing, his heart beating furiously. He choked, slowly looking up. Harry Potter stood before him with a clearly stunned look on his face.

Malfoy, Harry thought. Malfoy! What the... He can SING? But he has no damn emotion! Ever! Agh!

But as Harry looked at Malfoy's upturned face, he was completely stunned for the second time in the past minute. Malfoy's storm cloud eyes were not a blank, glinting grey as they usually were. They were swirling with emotion and raw pain. And fear. Fear of him, Harry.

Draco finally summoned up some words and spat them out to end the awkward silence. But he winced when he found they weren't at all cutting and malicious. "Y - you're not going to tell anyone, right...?"

Harry just stared at Draco, taking in his scared and slightly broken voice. Not tell anyone? Why would it matter? And this was definitely NOT the usual Malfoy...

"Um... No, I guess not..."

Draco sighed with slight relief, but almost immediately caught himself. "Well, that's good, Potty. Now run along back to the Gryffindorks before I feel the need to get my wand out and teach you why you shouldn't eavesdrop."

Noticing how Draco's eyes had suddenly been wiped clear of the emotion they had held moments ago, Harry flinched as he heard the usual vicious tone. He sighed. "Alright, Draco." He paused. "You have a really nice voice, though..."

With that, Harry turned on his heel and left, leaving a suddenly very confused Draco behind.

He just complimented me... He just called me...

"Draco." Goyle came up from behind the bush.

"What, Goyle?" Draco sighed and ran his fingers through his silvery hair. "I thought I told you not to come looking for me.

Goyle grunted. "Yeah, but there's people making fun of you over there. Want me an' Crabbe to take care of them?" He cracked his knuckles and snarled.

"No," Draco said simply.

Goyle looked crestfallen. "But... but.... They were - "

"Goyle, I said no. I'm not in the mood to see blood spilled today, okay?! Now go!"

Goyle looked disgruntled, but he obeyed and left Draco sitting there.

After making sure Gregory was gone, Draco bit his lip and looked down at his guitar, glad that his companion had been to preoccupied with bloodshed to realize it. He put his guitar back into its case and put a shrinking spell on it again before slipping it into his back pocket.

Draco stood up and stretched slowly, a glimmer of his pale stomach showing underneath his black sweater. He then picked up his notebook and relocated himself to a very sheltered area under a tree near the lake.

He put his notebook in his lap, opened it to a fresh page, and sighed. God, they wouldn't even let me finish a song...

He took a quill out of one of his front pockets, grateful for self-inking charms, and put it to the page.

Butterfly kiss the fingertips

Of a forgotten (thinner than thicker)

Little unseeing line of scarring tissue

(is your epidermis jumping?)

All you ever wanted

//And so, with that thought//

We can regulate the caffeine flow to the world

Then harden the kiss with razor lips

Dry blood never starts to scream

Draco's eyes swept over his poem briefly before he flipped briefly through the rest of his journal, which contained song lyrics, poems, and other assorted ramblings. He finally closed it and stood up, ready to go back into the castle.

He meandered up the slight slope of the school grounds, taking in the sight of the people around him, who appeared so joyful. Alone in a crowded room, he thought. I guess that's me.

Upon getting back into his dormitory, Draco flopped onto his bed and reached under it. He pulled out a little box, then opened a drawer in his nightstand and took out a key. It jingled on the key ring ever so slightly as he brought it to the small lock on the box. It unlocked with a click, and he opened the lid.

Draco looked over to the door of the dorm, making sure it was securely locked, before reaching into the box and taking out a knife. He allowed a tear to roll down his cheek as he rolled up the right sleeve on his sweater, revealing countless scars, some nearly completely faded, some blaringly red and clearly new.

"This is for you, father," he whispered as he sliced a new line open on his wrist. The deep red that trickled from the wound strangely complimented his nearly white glowing skin.

"And Harry," he continued in the same ragged whisper, tears now pouring freely down his cheeks. "And Harry. All I can ever think about is you. But I'm too weak to tell you that. I can only manage to hurt you, so it's only fair that I hurt myself as well. Harry, I'm sorry..."

He slowly but surely made a new cut, and another under that, and then another before dropping the knife and dissolving into tears.

"And I don't even have the strength to kill myself. I can only do this all the time," he murmured into his pillow before his platinum and silver hair helped his tears to completely obscure his view.