Blood Clot

BLOOD CLOT

A lost soul strives for redemption

Draco's POV

PART ONE

Frozen

Slowly spinning, the quill weaved it's way, twisting through the pattern of pale, slender fingers. The pattern never ended, never stopped; the quill's path ended at the right only to weave backwards again to the left.

A low, deep voice droned on and on, but all sounds were tuned out of my ears. I leaned forward, as if intently focusing on class. Yet instead, my gaze meandered to alight on a wild ebony mane. Harshly, at first, my blue-grey eyes scrutinized, my stare so sharp, I wanted to pierce a hole through his head. Could he feel my eyes on him? Of course he could.

After a few moments, having felt me staring him down, he turned to glare at me. I returned it with a haughty smirk--the kind he hates. As soon as he turned back around, however, the fake symbol of mirth flew from my features and my thoughts wandered towards him again.

How was it he could be so perfect, so balanced in life? Darkness constantly surrounded him, and yet he went on as if nothing was abnormal. Talking with friends, practicing Quidditch, studying, reading, eating...if only I could see him in his sleep. Surely he had nightmares. I wanted to see him vulnerable, bear his weakness to the open, or proudly hold aloft the object he held precious, or mercilessly taunt him by taking ownership over whomever he loved most.

Rage, pure and hot as molten lava, coursed briskly through my veins. I hated him, for being and having everything I wasn't and didn't. Biting back a snarl of fury, I snapped my quill in half, and in a fit of uncontrollable anger, viciously stabbed the sharp end into the palm of my hand. Silent, I watched in morbid fascination as the crimson liquid ebbed from me, gliding smoothly against my pale skin, tickling each fine blonde hair, trickling to drop smoothly in a pool on the floor. Blood...what a hellish, merciless, hateful, cruel thing. Somehow though, it appealed to me, uplifted me.

For it made him seem not so very different from me. Crimson liquid, from my very own pureblood veins...blood, normal, red...pure as his very own. He was my equal. And yet he was a mystery to me...This intrigued me, the enigma that he was, intrigued me so much that I was constantly pursuing this curiosity. I always seemed hateful towards him, or maybe, in the eyes of those perceptive, jealous. And I was! But I didn't want to be him, oh no.

Draco Malfoy, want to be Harry Potter? Shameful.

No, I was fine as myself, but I had one wish...to understand him. I wanted to understand him, know his thoughts, be able to comprehend why he did what he did, as if oblivious to the disaster that was his life. Regardless of this, he always managed to do the right thing, and do it perfectly, when the time came that more than he, alone, was at stake.

-----*-----

Class ended.

Finish.

End.

Finite.

That is what I wanted to happen. I wanted to stop my life, freeze it, and then go back, do things over, rewind. If only I took back my tongue's moment of obstinacy, if only I had held back that one lash...Potter, his thoughts, his association, his body, his spirit, his secrets...all would be mine.

I wanted to mean something to him. That's all. One smile, one acknowledgement of being something other than his sworn enemy...significance. I wanted to know him, and for him to know me, as brother to brother, ally to ally, Seeker to Seeker, man to man, wand to wand, equal to equal...I didn't care, as long as it was anything but foe to foe. If only I could be anyone but someone whom he directed hatred towards.

I didn't know how to explain what I felt towards Harry Potter. It used to be, before I met him, admiration. I had wanted to be his friend, but not genuinely, just to be elevated on his platform of fame by becoming close to him. Then, that admiration had turned to hatred, disgust. But eventually, I had learned, and my feelings had changed. I wanted there to be a tie, unbreakable, between he and I. So that I could understand him, feel what he felt, react as he reacted, see what he saw. Now, no more did I admire, or hate...I wished.

But I couldn't stop the ruthlessness in me, the darkness that threatened to swallow me up, consume me. I couldn't be his best friend, so I had trained myself, gotten readily prepared, and now I was his best enemy. Oh yes. Best.

Anything to make him acknowledge my presence, look my way, anything to make me be the cause of something he felt, did, said. And so, as he walked out of class, I tripped the redhead, Weasley. God, but that oaf could be useful. For indeed, Potter looked my way, giving me a hard glare, stopping momentarily. In that moment, I presented a pale finger, blood trickling from it, and giving him a devilish grin, I delicately sucked the blood from my skin, tasting it's salty sourness.

The look he gave me was one of pure astonishment, which I reveled in, for it was not one of hatred; but then that look turned dour, and shooting a disgusted look at me, he hastened away.

Damnit.

All I wanted was to be of his world, an outcast no longer. Why did his very existence always bruise my life?

-----*-----

Softly, laughter escaped my lips. The sound did not comfort me though, did not distract me from the swirling thoughts that whirled through my mind. Damn Potter. Damn him to hell. I wish I could watch him die, and then laugh, laugh like this, as his blood flooded down my hands, slippery, sliding down my wrists. I wanted his blood to stain my heart; I wanted to be part of him, of his life, and if not that, than to own him.

Curling up, I hugged myself, closing my eyes, letting the silent darkness sweep around me like a lush blanket, warm. It consumed me, flooded through me, oh, how I loved the night. It comforted me like no hug ever could, melded itself into me, merged with me, made me feel finally whole.

Shivering, I drew my cloak closer around me, but then stilled. Raising my eyes to the sky, I stared up at the stars of the castle ceiling, heart thudding as the twinkling beacons seemed to speak to me.

I never thought that my life would ever flash before my eyes, like people always said it did when you died. But I knew somehow that I wasn't dying, although, god, it felt so much like I was. My life flashed before my eyes, my own harsh words emblazing themselves on my soul, echoing in my ears. Wrenching my head down, my gaze flitted anxiously, before landing to stare at my hands.

Pale, thin, long, slender, aristocratic, elegant. I clenched my hands into fists, willing away the tears brimming in my eyes. Why had I thought so much about my life, my words, my past, and thought so deeply? Why was I letting my identity sink into oblivion as I dreamed of what wasn't and punished myself over what was? It made me vulnerable, had caused the ice, a makeshift shield, to begin to steadily crack.

Tears reluctantly glittered softly in the moonlight on my cheeks, and as all my sins were bared to my mind, my eyes, realization hit me. This realization, this complete and utter knowing of how much I had wasted on hurting others, it had been in my soul for some time. I had gone through life, knowing how cruel I was to others, reveling in my power, prestige. I had wanted to hurt others, anything to vent out the anger that threatened to boil over out of my heart to take form verbally in my hurtful words.

I wasn't sensitive, wasn't fragile, never had been. That anger, immense and unstoppable, was still in me. But taking it out on others...what use was that? No matter how many things I said and did to show people I hated them, it wouldn't help. I was constantly pained, the darkness inside me threatening to drown me, the anger hard to contain. But inflicting pain on others so that they, too, could not go through life without at least some bother, that was pointless. I realized that there was no use hurting these people, teasing them, if they didn't understand why I did it. That's why I wanted Potter. If he would let me step into his world, if I could become something to him, then he could be the person to understand me.

This realization, it was like blood. Blood, always so thirstily it weaves it's way through people's lives...crueler than the grave, crueler than regret, contrition, it seeps, flooding everywhere...I froze, icy and cold...my soul seemed to sink lifelessly, and all comprehension of anything other than the pain I had so easily inflicted flitted away...

I want to change the world

I won't hesitate again. If I can shape a future with you,

then I can fly anywhere.

-- from "Change the World"

Draco's POV

PART TWO

Margin

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the surrender, the humiliation, and the sacrifices to come. This was what I needed to do. To repent for all the wounds I had put on other's lives, I needed to be kind. No, I refused to be fragile, refused to beg forgiveness, yet slowly, if I did favors, gained their trust, perhaps I would begin walking the path of giving--giving to others, not taking.

Of course, for me, the path of giving was the road not taken.

But for once, I had thought my own thoughts, seen the world through my eyes, and realized that hurting others forever would gain me nothing. I tried to think that, overall, I was doing this all for myself. I was not going to become a Gryffindor, or a Hufflepuff. I was not going to transform suddenly into a kind person. No. This was for my benefit, and mine alone.

I needed someone who would trust me, who would understand me, and at the same time who could give me something I'd never had. Not goodness; I didn't want a good heart. But I wanted to be able to understand the good people, the virtuous, and the kind-hearted. I wanted to understand my enemies, to learn things from them, teach them things, and also have someone to hear me vent everything I usually kept inside. The more I understood them, the simpler it would be to deceive them and place my burden of pain on their shoulders. If I understood my enemies, I could break them more easily.

And so, closing my eyes, I readied myself for Good Step Number One.

I had decided to begin with Potter.

After all, deep down his life was as miserable as mine, though he did a much better job at ignoring it than I. I knew that I was one of the causes of darkness swirling around him. He would be the toughest, though. For I knew he would have a hard time forgiving me, believing that this wasn't a deceitful game, a ploy.

And so, as he walked right past me, broom in hand, readily dressed in Quidditch uniform, I slipped out from behind the pillar, following him. I didn't need to wait long for him to notice me.

"What do you think you're doing, following me, Malfoy?"

I hastily shoved down the urge to sneer, to smirk, to lash out with harsh, nasty, condescending words. No, I had to begin doing things the hard way. I tried to sound sincere; I was, in a way, sincere. Anything to encourage him to begin trusting and liking me. I wanted him to forgive me, so I could repent. But this was so unfamiliar, I wasn't sure if it would come out properly, sound right.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck, Potter. You can beat Ravenclaw easily. After all, you're a skilled Seeker...a challenge for anyone, Potter, especially them. No need to let the confidence slip, you've got the advantages needed to win."

Of course, predictable as always, astonished, he stared at me, in that truly innocent, almost beguiling fashion. Then, distrust glittered in that emerald gaze, and he replied warily, "I doubt you'd wish the same if it were you I was up against, Malfoy. Stop following me around, and don't look at me in class like you did. Also..." he scowled, "stop being so sick."

He murmured something which sounded an awful lot like, "Death Eaters and their bloodthirsty sons," before stalking off.

Burning with fury, I briskly left the area, cursing.

This was a horrid beginning to my repentance plan.

-----*-----

The month had not gone well. None of them trusted me, and especially not Potter. He was the smartest of them all; his wits were almost on equal par with mine. He thought I was tricking him and the others, though. He'd even unknowingly formed a little group: People Who Draco Malfoy Hates But Is Currently Tricking By Being Nice.

I had almost wanted to give up, go back to my nasty self, but the guilt and need for something more in life would swarm up in me and I'd bite my lip and begin again. Damn my life. Damn my reputation, my name. Damn my world.

If only it was easy to get into Potter's world, happy, content...usually I would cringe at just the thought of anything Potter related, but now...I would do anything to make him see me as more than an enemy, significant, not to be ignored and hated. In Potter's world, at his side, my soul could finally be at peace, and I wouldn't feel that patch of emptiness in my heart anymore.

-----*-----

Christmastime.

Quidditch season was over, so no longer could I wish him good luck, or praise his Seeker skills, or make him notice that I had refrained from jeering at the Gryffindors when they flew.

No more tripping Weasley in class.

No more comments of "Mudblood!" shot at Granger.

No more flashing haughty smirks at the Gryffindors.

No more making any student of any House do my work in Potions.

No more being annoying by staring a hole in the back of Potter's head.

It almost felt like no more Draco Malfoy.

But damnit, I kept telling myself, it would all be worth it in the end. The demon that I was had begun to grow angel's wings, and even if those wings were currently grey, I'd be nice to St. Potter enough times that eventually they'd be pure white.

As of recently, though, something had come over me. I was shy to continue my niceties toward Potter, because every time I saw him, I felt this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach, and every glance of those emerald eyes made my heart jump. So, no more niceties. Of course, that didn't mean I was going back to evil nasty Draco Malfoy. Oh no. That boy was gone, banished.

I was turning over a new leaf. In fact, had been trying to turn the leaf over for a few months, but Potter and the others still resisted, still came to conclusions that I was pretending and it was a gigantic trick I was using to lure them into some evil trap. Which I was. I wanted to dump my troubles on the goody-two-shoes. But also, some small part of me wanted to get a taste of the unfamiliarity of...whatever it was. It was so many things! Giving, consideration, repentance, trying to understand others...I wanted fulfillment in life, wanted to fill in that empty hole of my soul, and get a taste of the unknown; that was all! Well, perhaps a bit of dumping my troubles on the goody-two-shoes on the way.

But they were all unnecessarily suspicious. They expected me to play pranks like I used to in previous years. Especially Potter. Damn Gryffindor. He was the one most stubborn, and he also just happened to be the one I wanted to get closest to. It was the only way to understand him, was to become...something. Friend, ally, brother, whatever the word was, I would become it.

But now, although I tried to avoid him for fear of my sudden strange reactions to him, every time those emerald eyes, glittering and suspicious, even glanced at me, my breath caught in my throat. I didn't know why, didn't want to think about it, didn't even mull over it until one day...

I was sitting in the library, reading a book on dragons just to pass some time, my legs stretched out, booted feet on the table. The table and chairs were in a hidden corner, so nobody could disturb me and the annoying librarian--what was her name again? I couldn't remember--wouldn't make a huge fuss.

The damn book page wouldn't turn. I licked a finger and had just successfully turned the page, eager to read who the virgin Julianne would choose, the dark elf or the half-dragon prince...when there he was. Lurking behind a bookshelf, his head bent down. I couldn't tell if he was actually reading the book in his hands, or pretending to and secretly watching me. I hoped it was the latter.

Putting down the book, I snapped my fingers to get his attention, calling out quietly, "Potter."

He took a few steps away, walking to the other side of the bookshelf. Frustrated, I called out again, and it was then that he peeked his head out from behind the shelf, looking at me. With that sparkling gorgeous gaze on me, I was suddenly rendered speechless. Then...

He smiled.

At me.

Harry Potter smiled at me. Hands gripping the edge of the table, underneath, hidden from view, I was sure my knuckles turned white. But then he walked away, leaving me breathless with that smile image plastered in my mind. Shit, no...this was bad. Very bad.

I had known for almost a year that I was homosexual, but the realization had never bothered me. I had come to the conclusion easily, for I had never been really drawn to girls, their physical and mental attributes pointed out to me by other boys not making me interested at all. I hadn't cared that I was gay, didn't ever really pay attention to the fact, hadn't even worried about consequences or imagined disastrous scenarios. Plus, I had never found myself attracted to a single fellow student of the Hogwarts male population...until now.

Deep down, I had known this all along, had felt it for some time, but hadn't entirely admitted it to myself. I had thought about it lightly, but never actually did my brain scream to me, "You are attracted to Harry Potter!" But that smile of his, that smile did it all. My decision was made. I would pursue my adulation of the Boy-Who-Lived.

-----*-----

Insomnia hit me like the plague that week. It was horrid, but I survived. It had been so long since I'd said anything evil to Potter or his friends...I found myself not wanting to anymore though. I still wanted to be able to understand him. But now, in addition, I didn't quite understand myself.

How utterly preposterous, insane, that I was looking at Potter in that way. I began to watch his every move, cringe (mentally, of course) at his every glare, feel like melting at his every smile--whether directed at me, or not. None of them were ever directed at me again, in fact.

I lived with it.

I bore the hurt, the frustration that came with my plan of gaining his trust not working, every day silencing my heart and ripping apart my soul even more. However, one night, it all came rushing out...

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the castle

Not one person was stirring as I dealt with my hassle

The ribbons were hanging, Christmas spirit about

I sauntered around, on my face placed a pout

Exhausted I was yet unable to sleep

I was very absorbed in my thoughts so deep

That I barely noticed where it was that I stood

And when I looked up, things started to get good

For who near my wondering eyes should appear

But Potter, oh Potter, whom I held so dear

He gave me a look with those emerald eyes

My mind filled with excuses, all of them lies

But I remained silent and instead looked up

Hanging there was mistletoe, innocent as a pup

Pointing up to the ceiling calmly I said,

"Well Potter just my luck that you weren't in bed"

Gasping and staring at me, astounded

He realized what had happened and defiance was founded

But before he could run I gave in to what I'd felt for some time

These feelings that coursed through me so very sublime

I knew I was using the mistletoe as an excuse to do this

But unable to help it I pulled him into a kiss...

I really couldn't stand it anymore, watching him day by day never noticing me, never speaking to me. Not caring about anything except the strange attraction towards Potter that I felt, I grabbed his collar, pulling him forward into the required kiss.

Never had I ever kissed another boy before, and never had I kissed anyone so vehemently, with such emotion. I wasn't one for pecks on the cheek, or pecks anywhere, for that matter. I was one for passionate kisses, violent and brutal, or long and breathless. And this was special. This was what I'd wanted, all that time, denying my feelings, denying that the looks I gave him were looks of desire and need. Now the opportunity had come...and I eagerly seized it.

It was the most unfamiliar experience, kissing Harry Potter, feeling another male body so very close. Breathing in his scent, that spicy cinnamon cologne, able to feel his heart thumping wildly...I unashamedly gave in to my need, my desire, to be like this, so near, so intimate, with him.

My hand that wasn't tightly gripping his collar sidled down to rest against his collarbone, unbuttoning the top button or two of the other boy's shirt so my fingers could slide in and rub against that soft, smooth, tanned skin. Brazenly I pressed my mouth hard against his, his lips smooth, and warm, and moist...god, he tasted delicious. I soon found this out as my tongue first slowly glided against his lower lip, before slipping into the warm, wet caress of his mouth.

He didn't know how to kiss, of course, didn't know which way to move his lips, his tongue, or when and if he should move them at all. I wasn't sure he even had the capability to move, so shocked he was. He hadn't expected this type of kiss, I knew, if any kiss at all.

I didn't need him active though, all I needed was he, Harry Potter, more sexy than I'd ever imagined, and, for me, the most desirable and unattainable person in school. Sure, this could destroy everything I'd worked for, he might hate me even more...but relishing that kiss, I knew no sorrow, for it gave me bliss unlike anything I'd ever felt.

Flicking my tongue against his, exploring every corner and crevice of his mouth, I wanted more, but tensely held myself back. For, according to his standards, I'd probably already gone much too far, and mistletoe only required a kiss, nothing more, unfortunately. It was pure pleasure hearing him emit a stifled moan. But it was then that I decided to finish, for I had gone much too far, I realized, and began to question my sanity.

Reluctantly my tongue slipped out of his mouth, and I pulled away, breaking the kiss as well as my grip on his collar. He stumbled backward for a moment, but then righted himself. Staring at me, gorgeous emerald eyes wide, he stood there, likely the most bewildered soul on earth at that moment.

Then, he balked, and sped away.

Yet, although I realized that might have put everything I'd been trying to gain in jeopardy, the incident was remembered with tenderness in my mind. Placing my fingers upon my lips that had been so fortunate, I slowly walked away, glancing back to give the mistletoe a grateful smile.

Although it had been but a kiss, and one placed by my will, not his, by being so close, so intimate, I had taken a margin of a step into Harry Potter's world.

We keep swimming the same world

until the day we reach our dreams.

All of us bear the same worries

When you stop and look, I'll be right here

gazing at you.

--from "Change the World"

Draco's POV

PART THREE

Bitter

Weeks were uneventful and moving along slowly since that special night before Christmas. I didn't make any more advances on winning Harry Potter's like, and reverted back to my old, cold, smirking and condescending self. It suited me better; it wasn't a chore any longer.

However, I didn't like or agree with any of the insults I threw at Potter. Of course I still hated Weasley and Granger, but they stayed out of my way for the most part. Unfortunately, so did Potter. But eventually spring came around and I got to see him fly again...I admitted it. He was better than me at flying, and at Quidditch, and always had been. He had a natural talent for it.

Thus, it was all I could do to stop myself from watching him hover on his broom or fly through the air instead of focusing on the Snitch.

It was tough having Harry Potter constantly on the mind, whether it was appropriate at the time, or not.

-----*-----

Crackle. Crunch. Hiss.

Hiss. Crunch. Crackle.

Crunch. Crackle. Hiss.

Hiss. Crackle. Crunch.

Crunch. Hiss. Crackle.

Crackle. Hiss. Crunch.

My feet steadily making tracks in the snow made their own music, as, weary, I slid open one of the back entrances of Hogwarts as inconspicuously and quietly as possible. In the tired state I was, this wasn't half as quiet as I would have liked; it was, instead, barely audible.

So absorbed was I in thoughts that I barely noticed where I walked until with a great clatter, a chandelier crashed to the floor in front of me, glass shattering with a hellish sound and splintering, flying every which way. Luckily my reflexes were still intact, and I managed to dodge aside and guard myself from the sharp splintered missiles.

Standing there, I was frozen in place, the sleeve of my coat against my face as my arm remained in its guarding position. Finally, I returned to my senses, and slowly lowered my arms and straightened, out of the defensive role. I looked up, and staring back at me was Potter, his emerald eyes glowing in the thin shafts of moonlight that glowed through the windows. We stood on opposite sides of the chandelier, not actually paying attention to the horrid mess Peeves had made.

My eyes locked with his, and suddenly all I could think of, see, all that made me able to breathe, to feel my heart beating, know that blood was coursing through me--none of it would be possible if those emerald orbs were hidden from my sight!

He didn't run, he didn't hide, or stare at me in that stupid fashion I hated. Suddenly, an emotion flitted across his face that I was never before so fortunate to see: understanding. As if in slow motion, I was aware that he began to walk around the large space of destruction the chandelier had made, and was awoken from my stupor only upon feeling a light touch on my shoulder.

Turning sharply to face him, my nose only inches from his, my breath caught, because his eyes were even more vivid and gorgeous closer up. Flecks of gold sparkled in those kind eyes, and giving me a tentative smile, he said, "Shall we form a truce, Malfoy?"

My mind was a whirl; I could hardly stand up on my own, as the impossibility of he finally taking a liking to me and offering harmony between us suddenly became possible, no more a beacon of light barely visible from a dark pit. Slowly, I nodded, reaching my right hand down to lightly touch his; I wasn't one to hold hands, and manly shakes were too cliché, not my style. But the light tap of my fingers on the top of his hand somehow formed the meaning and unspoken answer: yes. I accepted the peace treaty. He didn't know how long I'd ached for this: to be viewed as more than an enemy in his eyes.

Backing away, his smile disappeared, and surveying the mess he said grimly, "Thanks for agreeing to help me. It'll take a long time to clean up this mess. We have to work to be an efficient team."

Staring at him for a few moments and then accusingly at the chandelier, the realization came to me. My heart sunk; he hadn't actually meant that there would be peace between us enemies, nothing so meaningful or important. No, he'd simply meant we'd team up for the night to clean Peeves' mess and be done with it. Bitterly I thought, afterwards, everything would go back to normal, and we'd be enemies again.

I then had to ask myself: Should I take advantage of this situation, or not?