Blood Clot

Harry's POV

PART TWENTY TWO

Delicious

It felt like my head was being squeezed, I could barely breath for fear and nervousness at what I was about to do. But the kid, that stupid kid who had doomed me to this fate, pieces of his words rang in my ears..."...or you must French-kiss...Draco Malfoy...no foolish pranks...don't lie.......no excuses..." Maybe deep down though, I...wanted this? The blackmail, or whatever had made me do this, I couldn't quite remember what, was my excuse to...experiment? Was it? My brain shut down, yelling a furious, "NO!" I had to focus on the task ahead.

My heart thumped wildly, unlike ever before, at what I had to do. But steeling myself for the sensation, although not sure what it would be like, I leaned forward, and pressed my lips, softly, to his.

It was an automatic action to close my eyes as I did this, as it was to place one hand, supportively, against his neck, and the other on his shoulder. I thought how strange it would be to open one's eyes while kissing, which was another reason for closing mine. Also, putting my hands in positions like that seemed natural, comfortable.

Somehow, even after, in the past, having always hated any connection between kissing and Draco Malfoy, I didn't hate it now. No malice, disgust, or revulsion was in me. Although I doubted I would get used to this sensation in a million years, it wasn't an awfully horrible sensation, and I didn't hate myself for kissing him.

But there was a knot of apprehension tied tightly inside me. Feeling fear clench on my heart, and almost unable to believe I was doing it, I pressed my mouth harder to his, opening it slightly. Suddenly the world seemed to revolve around Malfoy's mouth, the sweet taste, moist warmth, and smooth lips of his.

Knowing I had to complete the entire French kiss, as had been agreed, I opened my mouth more and slowly, reluctantly slid out my tongue. It was the strangest sensation to feel my tongue glide against his full bottom lip, and as I went further, I shuddered as his tongue stroked mine. I was surprised in the first place that he had graciously allowed me entrance; but this realization brought questions to my mind, and made me decide to not think, but simply to act. Tentatively I explored the cavern of his mouth. It was as unfamiliar to me as Muggles were to magic, but somehow I relished it; I felt as if he was begging for more.

I could barely breathe, and felt so dizzy, but regardless of this I continued, and as the passion deepened, so did the kiss, and I found myself swallowed up with need. Soon I flew out of control with the kiss, my mouth and tongue wild and frenzied in movement, but it was only when he moaned that I realized I--and perhaps he, too--was incensed with lust.

His moan only made it worse. The pleasure encased in that deep sound made me get the urge to hug him closer, to clutch at him desperately and never let him go. It made me feel truly connected with him; I suddenly felt as if I was intimately united with him. For encased in that moan was every drop of the intensity of all the longing, need, desperation, hesitation, anger, and frustration I had ever felt. Burning with desire, I think we were both filled with the want for more--or at least, I wished we both were.

But with heat and libido attacking me so fiercely, I became overwhelmed, and was lifted from my trance. It was fear, hesitation, and unwillingness to follow up on my frustration and see if his frustration was the same type as mine--of wanting more--that made me stop. Breathless, I reluctantly broke the kiss, making sure to do it quick so that I would actually be able to end it. I refused to give in to such rusty, disused feelings. I admitted to my inexperience, and took shelter of it so that I had an excuse to stop, a reason to feel this fear deep down. Upon stepping back, I realized how close we had been, that our bodies had been pressed together hard. This only made me more mixed up inside. The realization confused me, but also made me want to wail, I felt so needy.

I stood there for a moment staring at him, his sparkling gaze steady. I couldn't read what emotion he felt, if any, but knew that I longed to lunge and kiss him again, to leave him hot and gasping from my passion. Instead, I stepped back, and exhausted from trying to discover why I disliked and simultaneously desired him so much, I turned around and ran.

Pushing through the doorway, I felt cowardly and confused, yet also glad I had been able to go through with doing that. I banged through into my room and took shelter behind my door. Once I'd gulped in enough oxygen to breathe properly again, I remained leaning against the door, waiting for Malfoy to come after me. Whether he would humiliate me, kill me, or kiss me, I didn't know.

I waited there, stiff with tension, allowing my mind to become blank, trying to calm myself. After a while, with nothing happening, I closed my eyes, letting out a relieved breath. I began to go over the snogging scene in my mind, reliving the experience, thinking of what I would have liked to have done there, what I shouldn't have done at that point.

I had just gotten past the part when he had moaned and then I had realized exactly how that made me feel, when I became aware of something: I currently had a major erection. Murmuring a sound that was half-moan, half-gasp, I decided it best to leave it alone, and rushed to lie on my bed. I couldn't believe it. Malfoy had aroused me! But how?

That kiss had been a dare that a fourth year had swindled me into on one of my bad days. I didn't know how the kid forced me to, I wasn't sure if it was a hex, blackmail, or what he'd been planning to do if I didn't do it, but I had done it anyway. Perhaps my confusion and little remembrance of it all were part of the coma's effects. My exhaustion and forgetfulness probably made me accept the dare that some student played on me as a joke. So it wasn't stupidity that had made me agree. That was relieving. I had chosen the kiss as an alternative to flirting with all females in school for a day. It had been a required kiss! No part of me should have enjoyed that! This was ridiculous. Impossible! I was not a hormonally-smothered teenage anymore! Nineteen should count me as an adult!

I sighed. Apparently, regardless of all the trouble Malfoy gave me, some about him drove my.....well, a certain part of my anatomy, um, wild. Just thinking about it made beads of sweat pour off of me in torrents. Blimey, what was I supposed to DO? All had been fine--well, sort of--after our argument. Malfoy had avoided me. There had been no problems. Oh, wait, a nasty part of my mind said, the argument itself was a problem!

It was all because of that horrible train accident. My life had been destroyed the moment I fell unconscious. If it wasn't for...Oh, shut up, Harry, I told myself. What was the point of dwelling on what could have happened? What-ifs weren't good for me. They only made me more miserable. Grumbling, I slid underneath my sheets, and placed my head on the pillow for a night of fitful sleep.

-----*-----

The next day I went about my customary activities feeling cranky and shaky most of the time. I ate, read random fiction novels, researched spells and wizard history in the library all with great petulancy. After a while I, fatigued, found the nearest couch and lay down on it, having felt suddenly breathless. I didn't care that no one else could use it due to my stretching along the whole length, feet propped up on one armrest.

My breathing had just become steady, and in an attempt to drive away my headache, I was trying to get some sleep. I had just begun to sink into non-awareness of my surroundings, reveling in the peacefulness, when I felt a light slap on my arm. Sighing, I opened my eyes, and found that Marbledon Erthnen, Mr. Swindler Personified, was leaning against the couch.

The kid was by far an all-out stereotypical gothic. His hair, a slimy, greasy, lanky chin-length mass of dyed black, reminded me of Snape. His skin was quite pale, long lashes enhanced by what I was almost sure was mascara, and hazel eyes outlined by black make-up of some sort. He wore all black: a long buttoned up coat, that, on his short and angular frame, looked like a trench-coat, and the normal black cotton Hogwarts robes, with the Slytherin crest on it.

His eyebrows, as always when he looked at me, dived down violently, two thick curves of grisliness. Turning that slightly up-turned nose of his even more towards the cloudy ceiling, he pursed his thin mouth, giving me a look that was altogether unpleasant. Sniffing in that all-too-annoying way of his, he leaned even more into the couch, so that a lock of his greasy hair came dangerously close to touching my arm. Finally, after staring me in the eye for some time, his gaze wandered, and trying to look inconspicuous, he looked all around the room as he mumbled to me in his raspy, nasal voice.

"Hey Potty, I was wanting to know whether you--"

"Followed through on your...how would you like to call it..."

"Dare? Yes, dare. Were you daring enough to be a daredevil and do the dare?"

He seemed to take pleasure in repeating a word at least three times in his sentences. What's more, the kid despised Quidditch, and always gave that sniff of disapproval whenever anything related to it came into a conversation. It was quite irritating, and the closeness of that greasy lanky hair chunk made me jittery. Lowering my voice, although with really no reason to, I answered, "Yeah Marbles, I did your dare."

He turned to me, fuming that I had called him Marbles, the name he hated. Thus, of course, everyone always called him Marbles. He was an outcast, through and through. His family was notorious for their thievery of ancient magical artifacts, and it was even said once that an uncle of his tried to steal from the famous Amel the Androgynous' museum once. Marbles was used to people putting him down, knew that mocking words were whispered about him. But to have somehow who he seemed to think he could control--and who hadn't said the famous suggestion that he'd lost his marbles--call him the name he hated was absolutely infuriating. Sniffing again, he said, "Well Potty, I think that, well, if you call me that again then I'll, well, give you another dare, well, maybe."

I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking. Who did this kid think he was? He was definitely a control-freak, that's what he was. He had managed to force me into having to choose one of two dares, but he wouldn't force me into another one. I was just about to answer, when I followed his gaze to a group of giggling sixth-year girls, and followed their eyes to see what they were looking at, my heart practically flew into my mouth: Malfoy.

He was standing leaning against the counter, obviously flirting with the librarian's assistant, the innocent dark-haired Head Girl. He had one hand on his hip, the other propping up his chin, for his elbow--which just barely touched the girl's wrist, even as she gripped his bicep, apparently fascinated by some tale of his--rested ungentlemanly-like against the countertop. Strangely, I noticed, he, bearing an eerie resemblance to Marbles, was wearing all black. It was something I had never noticed before, but thinking back on it, I realized that the ex-Slytherin never wore green anymore. He always strolled around wearing dark colours of black, gray, and the occasional deep navy almost-black blue.

My gaze remained on the flaxen-haired man, riveted to that luscious, full mouth of his. I remembered how delicious he had tasted the night before. Sweet, but simultaneously sour, like limeade with extra sugar added in. I began to want him again, oh, yes, I would feel those lips, soft and warm and moist, pressing against mine, and then I would place my hands--

My reverie was broken as Marbles' voice broke into my thoughts, whispering, a smirk definitely on his face. "That Malfoy there, eh? Hmm, not bad. So, Potty, got a little attached to the blonde, didja? But, you know, I heard that blonde's can be, eh, quite the ditzes sometimes--mrglflnl--awrpgh--"

He choked, gasping for air, as my wand poked dangerously at his throat. Giving him my most irritable glare, I whispered menacingly, "If anyone finds out I did this to you, no one can say I wasn't provoked!" Then I did a quick Silencing Charm on him to shut him up, before discreetly placing a Full-Body-Bind on the twit and then shoving him under the couch to get his hideousness out of my sight.

When I stood up, triumphant, it was only to fall to my knees consumed by a pulsing headache, and then retch horribly.

Harry's POV

PART TWENTY THREE

Curiousity

Upon awakening, I found a somewhat familiar face looking down at me. Slowly sitting up, with the help of someone, I opened my eyes. Blinking, I found myself looking up into the eyes of an extremely cheery, slightly plump woman, who looked to be thirty or so.

The smile was contagious. Pulling the blankets up a bit, I looked up at her, asking, "Are you in any way related to Madam Pomfrey? She used--"

"To work here at Hogwarts, I know." The woman's voice was high and mellow. Winking at me, she smiled, and words flying from her mouth like rockets, she said, "I'm her sister. Eleanore Pomfrey, at your service. But you can call me Ellen."

After she made sure all my gifts and candies were where I could reach them, Ellen bustled away, humming a spirited tune to herself. I glanced at the wrapped gifts and boxes of candy I had gotten, but didn't feel like any of them were particularly mouth-watering or anything to be curious about. I looked up as Ellen huffled--yes, huffled was the word, this woman had definitely been a Hufflepuff--past, telling me, "Oh by the way Potkins, Hermione stopped by to tell me that your friend Ronald Weasley would be coming in a few days to visit you."

I felt a warmth in my stomach at the news. It had been so long since I had seen Ron; I missed his company dearly. As she passed by again, I voiced the question that had sprang upon me: "Is Hermione staying here, too?"

Ellen nodded before briskly walking past, obviously busy. When she passed by again she spared me a glance, replying, "Yes, she's working here as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, didn't she tell you?"

I shook my head, nonplussed. Ellen 'tsk' ed at me, saying, "Well, young man, perhaps she mentioned it and you didn't notice," she sighed, continuing, "Or perhaps she was so busy worrying about you and Weasley that she clean forgot. The poor woman; always has too many things on her mind, always has a list of 'To-Do's in that gigantic brain of hers."

I nodded back at her, not really hearing most of it, my mind caught up in memories and images of the now-grown people I had known in the past. It brought so many questions into my mind. Inside, I felt cranky again. If only there was something that could distract me for some time until the answers came along...

-----*-----

That evening Ellen told me I was free to go. As I got out of bed she told me how it had been all because of that coma, and most likely wouldn't happen again anytime soon. She told me not to worry and not let the effects of the coma bother me.

We parted with friendly words, hoping to see each other again in better circumstances. She placed some chocolate frogs in my hand before giving me one last glowing grin and shutting the infirmary door. I sighed happily, eating my chocolate frogs, and eventually reached my room.

After a refreshing shower and placing my assortment of gifts on the coffee table, I plopped down onto my bedroom chair, sighing. I had just finished stretching, and was in the middle of a wide yawn, when I heard the sound of an explosion, loud and sudden, coming from down the hallway towards Malfoy's room. Inquisitive and slightly worried, I opened the door to the hallway, and stopped as I saw that there was streak of black beneath my feet. It ran all the way down the hallway, and closer to Malfoy's door, the floor was charred.

Now unable to hold in my curiousity, I walked over to Malfoy's door, side-stepping the most charred bits of floor so I wouldn't make any noise. Feeling nervous and sneaky, I leaned in so my ear was against the door, listening. Immediately I could hear the loud yells of Malfoy, shrieking curses and apparently ordering house elves around, and casting an occasional 'Reparo' spell. I heard the clunk of what sounded like things being put back in place, Malfoy casting Wingardium Leviosa when needed--probably when the house elves couldn't lift something--and I had to quickly step aside as a wand poked out from beneath the door. With a whoosh and a whispered spell, the floor was back in shape.

Eventually, sounds quieted, and I heard the voices of the last few house elves leaving the room, and then the door thumped shut behind them. Seconds later, I heard the ringing sound of steel against steel, creating an ear-piercing echo. For a while there was no sound at all, and I leaned more against the door, catching my breath. I could barely believe I was doing this. I shouldn't be so curious about Malfoy, I thought, yet another part of me said that this was unfinished business, a situation I had to resolve.

I heard another door close, and found it to be the bathroom door, for then was the sound of gushing water. Hoping that the water tap would remain on for a while, I closed my eyes and prayed for good luck. Then I slowly, ever so slowly as to make no sound, opened the door, and just as slowly closed it.

The room wasn't much different. Whatever had fallen or broken due to the explosion was repaired and back in it's normal place. The suitcase that I had seen when I first came in was gone--not in use anymore since he had long since unpacked--but the closet was closed so I had no opportunity to admire Malfoy's wardrobe. Besides, I told myself fiercely, I wasn't that curious about what he wore...

The bed was neatly made, the chair and table in fine condition, a few bottles of various potion ingredients I had not seen before clustered by the door. But strewn upon the desk, and partly on the floor, was a bunch of papers, halfway stuffed into a folder. Walking to the desk and peering closely, I saw the folder had Malfoy's full name on it. Did Hogwarts keep folders of all the guests? My heart beat in excitement as I opened the folder, glancing at some papers but making sure not to make them move noticeably.

What I saw changed me forever.

Harry's POV

PART TWENTY FOUR

Discovery

I had known that Malfoy had been a captain in the war, that he had fought for most of the 7-day battle towards the end. I knew also that he had been the leader of an offense charge and defense rush. But there was more...

Apparently, towards the beginning of the official war, Narcissa Malfoy had mysteriously died, and Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be found... During the war, Draco Malfoy had easily and quickly moved up in the ranks to become a highly respected captain. He was always organized, clever, and serious about his job, however there was one time noted where he remained in his tent for almost the entire day without eating or drinking, apparently sleeping for hours...I skipped back a few years.

Malfoy had successfully 'graduated' from Hogwarts, and rented a castle in London while his parents lived on at Malfoy Manor. He had lived all alone for a year and three months, and, surprisingly, with not a single house-elf to aid him. He had had no owl, hadn't communicated with anyone for years, and was never seen outside his castle. I shuddered at the thought, trying to imagine living in a possibly cold, dank, gigantic castle with not even a pet for company. I skipped forward a year or so from there.

My eyes widened in shock. Malfoy had been diagnosed with Addiction, Paranoia, the Self-Harm Complex, and Disorganized Schizophrenia.

According to the information in the folder, Malfoy had been most commonly known to sit in a chair in the lobby, his gaze almost always fixated on a woman named Katrina. This woman had been known to prophesize people's deaths, having been diagnosed with a type of mood disorder called Manic Depression.

Apparently, Malfoy had been known for his impulsive, sudden grabbing at random people, filled with the urge for finding a sharp object. In his first few days at Mungo's he was constantly trying to find something with which to cut himself. Although for most of the time he spoke not a word, he was known for his intense fits of rage and mistrust when anyone touched him or looked him directly in the eye. His schizophrenia meant that even if he had tried to talk, he probably wouldn't have been able to, or the words would have been jumbled. No one, throughout all of his long stay, had ever visited him. He had remained at Mungo's for a year and a half, and been released days before the war, and had immediately signed up when the last battles began.

I sat down on the chair, almost unaware of my surroundings. What was I getting into here? Associating with Malfoy was the worst thing I could do! And just look what my curiousity had led me to: answers to questions I wished I had never asked. Just the thought of what Malfoy was capable of made me feel a tiny bit of fear, but it was hard to imagine him dangerous, because he had never posed a real threat to me during youth. However, now he was definitely someone not to be reckoned with.

I drew my hands through my hair, feeling depression wash over me. This was horrible. Not only was I now horrified and shaky with nervousness, but I was confused as to what was the right thing to do and to feel. I leaned back in the chair, looking at the world upside-down, hoping that with some part of my physicality reversed, my mentality would begin to make sense.

Suddenly, something glinted in the slight sunlight. I turned back upright, and stood up, wondering what it was that lay on the bed. Upon coming closer, I gulped, realizing what it was: a dagger. Beautifully crafted, sharp and shiny, and obviously not neglected, the polished silver surface of the weapon shone. The hilt had a black leather grip, engraved with the shape of a dragon, and the tip of the blade was sharp and stunningly lethal. But I took the sight of all this in one glance. What really made me feel faint was the streak of blood that tainted it.

My brain froze. I felt a dull blankness fill my head, a roaring fill my ears. I asked myself: What am I doing here? Why am I here? Reality didn't seem to exist anymore. It was just me and that horrible blood-tainted dagger. I was at a loss of what to do.

Deep down inside me, I desired so much to pick up that dagger. I wanted to inspect it closely, to brush my fingers against the smooth coldness of the blade. But I knew I shouldn't. Never. It would be a disgraceful act, shameful. This was not my proper place, none of this belonged to me, and I was not in my proper state of mind.

I fought down the urges silently. There was no way I was going to pick up that dagger. Impossible. A lead weight was under my hands, stopping my from moving them southward at all. Malfoy was the git who had taunted me in my youth. He was the stranger I had never known. He was the fraud who faked his identity. He was an insane man. He was a war captain. I wasn't sure what he was. But I knew who he was: Draco Malfoy. Therefore, there was one word I knew fit him perfectly: Irresistible.

The dagger, too, was hard to resist. I felt almost as if the bones in my fingers twitched to hold that dagger. It was horrible, feeling so much conflict inside, and over such a simple thing. But somehow, I knew there would be a certain special pleasure from holding that dagger, a power that would surge from it. I would finally be able to get a taste of the unknown.

Part of me wanted to run away. I wanted to erase all of this from my memory, to forget this awful nightmare. However, my urge to know, to understand what had been always strange to me, would not be fulfilled. I didn't mean to be reckless, I knew caution was important, that I should think before I acted. But having found out Malfoy's mysterious past, his character was now even more interesting and fascinating to me. I wanted to touch this possession of his that was so evidently precious to him. Awed and fearful, yet feeling the uncontrollable urge to touch the masterpiece of a weapon, I reached for it, my fingers trembling with anticipation...

But a deep, growling voice stopped my movement in its tracks. Filled with barely contained wrath, that silky voice objected, "Don't. Touch. That."

I was caught!