Bleed Me An Ocean

It had been well over an hour since Harry had gone back to his room and he couldn't sleep at all. He tossed and turned as he thought of Draco, and how he had bolted soon after he had. Guilt washed over him then, as Harry realized he had gone against what he had set out to do in the first place. He had made it his own personal mission to keep an eye on Draco and he had left the poor, torn up boy to his own devices. And after such an intimate encounter. A sudden thought entered his mind and a coil of fear wrapped around his heart. What if Draco had ended up at the mercy of whoever had beaten him so badly in the first place once more? His hasty retreat should have been a sign then that the pale young man was far from being okay and Harry mentally kicked himself for such a blunder. What if Draco had cut himself again?

Sitting up and brushing his unruly hair from his eyes, he groped yet again for the map. Tapping the parchment and uttering the words that set it into motion he gazed around for Malfoy. Ah . . . there he was . . . in the dungeon lavatory. And he wasn't moving. Harry started chewing his bottom lip again as a million possible scenarios raced through his head, none of them good. He finally settled on the most likely one - Draco had yet again passed out in a random part of the castle. Doesn't he know he's likely to get busted sleeping in a bathroom of all places?, Harry bitched silently.

The fact that the bathroom in the dungeons was seldom used was no excuse, though Harry was almost sure that is what Draco had been thinking. Why can't he just stagger back to his room like a good little lush?, he pondered even as he swung his feet over the side of his bed and felt for his cloak. He wasn't sure what he was going to do when he got there, but the urge to check on Draco in person was overwhelming. So, that is what he was going to do. Mind made up and cloak on, Harry wearily trudged from the tower towards the dungeons.

Slipping down the stairs that led to the dungeons, Harry stumbled, biting back a furious oath as his palm scraped the damp stone walls. Why was he doing this? He could not, for the life of him, come up with a legitimate excuse. He knew that Malfoy needed help, and desperately, but Harry wondered just how qualified he was to be the one offering that help. That thought was followed by another one - if he left Malfoy in the bathroom, maybe a teacher would find him and they could do more than he could, surely. But, no, something compelled Harry to keep watch over him. He was beginning to feel strangely protective of the broken young man.

Broken, why did I just think of him as broken?, he questioned himself, That isn't fair. He's just . . . somewhat damaged. Yes, yes, that's it. Exactly., Harry reassured himself, latching onto the notion with surprising tenacity.

Walking down the dim corridor that led to the bathroom, Harry mused about all that had transpired in just a couple of days. He had a feeling that he had seen more of the real Draco Malfoy than anyone had in years. The person I have been watching is who he really is. Sad, lonely and royally fucked in the head, Harry told himself, knowing it to be the truth. Draco's eyes spoke volumes to him, they looked so lost and they seemed to be silently pleading for someone, something, to end his misery. He reminded Harry of a wounded animal and that just made him want to take care of him all the more.

He had almost reached the bathroom when it occurred to him that he had no real plan. At all. "Bloody hell," Harry sniped, his voice a harsh whisper in the silent hallway, his mind churning through ideas. He'd settle on one, only to discard it just as quickly. Nothing seemed to work. I'll figure it out when I need to, he thought, irked with his lack of foresight, IF I decide to move him, that is, he amended rapidly. He began to trudge towards the door of the small, seldom-used restroom once more.

Coming upon the door to the lavatory, Harry exhaled harshly and straightened his shoulders. Reaching out a hand to tentatively wrap around the handle, he stilled, pondering. He was really going to do this. Draco was on the other side of that door and he felt as though he was sealing his fate by walking through it. An anxiety born shiver coursed down his spine as he realized that he felt like he was walking blindly into a dragon’s razor-toothed grin and in spite of the fact that he was still so very confused, coming to Draco felt right. Harry really had no idea just what he would be getting himself into by opening the innocent looking door and found that he truly didn’t give a damn. The only thing he felt he did know was that he wanted to know Draco; not the over-confident, close-minded fool he had been when they first met but the damaged, sad-eyed young man he could so clearly see now.

Opening the door as quietly as he could, he stepped into the equally poorly lit room. Looking around, he saw no sign of Draco, only the nearly empty whiskey bottle balanced precariously on the lip of the second sink. Smooth, Draco, real smooth, Harry thought, increasingly annoyed with his drunken nemesis. Grabbing the bottle and looking disdainfully at the last dregs sloshing in it, he did the only thing he could think of - he drank it. Spluttering as the liquor raced down his throat to settle warmly in his stomach, Harry grimaced. The way he had seen Draco drink it he had thought it must taste like water. "Ugh," he groaned, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt light headed already, the strong whiskey permeating his bloodstream. Ok, not the best idea you've ever had, Potter, that thought followed with, How does he drink this stuff?

The realization that he was still holding the bottle made him grit his teeth. Exhaustion was making him quite the dolt. Grumbling a bit, he slid the now empty bottle into his pocket and began looking under the doors to the three stalls. Finding Draco in the last stall, curled into the corner, Harry finally grinned. Taking out his wand, he muttered the unlocking charm, stepping back as the door swung silently open.

Stepping into the cramped stall, he pulled the door shut, locking it once more. Worrying his lip with increasing brutality, Harry gazed at Draco, wondering just where in hell he was going to put him for the night. Not to mention, how was he going to get him . . . wherever . . . without being seen? He was a little taken aback as well that Draco hadn't bothered to clean himself up. Not knowing that Draco had had no intention of washing the gore from his face, Harry assumed he'd simply passed out before he had the chance to do so. Well, if I am going to be his self-appointed babysitter, I may as well clean him up, was Harry's conclusion. Waving his wand and muttering the proper spell, the dried blood disappeared from Draco's face and arm. The mess beneath made Harry frown, almost wishing he had left the rusty-red blood there.

The ivory flesh of Draco's face was a patchwork of mottled bruises, ranging from a violent, sickly green to an almost blackish purple. His beautiful lips had been split in several places and he had an ugly scrape on his chin as well as matching cuts on the sharp ridge of each cheekbone where the skin had split from the force of an impacting fist. Harry was amazed that Draco had even been able to stand after seeing the aftermath. The blood had been bad, but seeing just how extensive the taller boy's injuries were made Harry frown, rage beginning to spark deep within him. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Malfoy had done to warrant such treatment, but surely it had been unjust and overly harsh. All the proof he needed was huddled in a sleeping ball before him.

"What am I going to do with you?," Harry asked the unconscious bundle. The problem was he could only really think of one thing - taking him back to the abandoned classroom - yet the issue of how he was going to actually get Malfoy all the way up the stairs unnoticed was perplexing. He didn't think he could fit Draco under his cloak, and even if he could, the other boy was so tall one of his gangly limbs was bound to show. Not to mention, what was he going to do? Carry him??

I can't believe I am considering this, it's absurd, Harry groused, but levitating him was the only other idea he could come up with and that one seemed even worse. If he lost his concentration and dropped Malfoy he'd be in a lot more pain than he was already. Wait a minute!, Harry thought excitedly, digging in the pocket that held the Marauder's Map. There were all kinds of hidden passages on the map, and although one may not take him exactly where he wanted to go, it could get him a lot closer and make him and his cargo much less likely to be noticed.

Tapping the map he began to scan it fervently, looking for a passageway. Grinning, Harry refolded the map and stuffed it back into his pocket. He'd found one, and not too far from the entrance to the dungeons. It came out in the same corridor he'd found Draco wandering around in earlier that night. Harry wanted to do a happy dance, but restrained himself. Concentrating once more on the task at hand, he glanced doubtfully at Draco. True, he was taller than Harry, but also much thinner. His height was the main problem, he wasn't sure if he could carry Draco without having parts of him drag on the floor. He doubted the drunken boy would wake up, but he wanted to cause him as little discomfort as possible.

With a sigh of resignation, Harry shrugged slightly before stooping down near Draco. Sliding one arm underneath his knees and wrapping the other around his shoulders, Harry counted to three and hefted the young man up with surprisingly little effort. It was amazing to him how well the robes of the Slytherin house hid the true condition of Draco’s battered form. Although his body had been finely toned, courtesy of Quidditch, the thick lines of corded muscles did little to cover how near emaciated Draco had become. Under his fingertips, Harry could feel the ghostly outlines of his ribs and he felt truly worried. He was broken from his internal thoughts of Draco as the object of his obsession murmured incoherently, his warm breath fanning across his neck and tickling his ear. A small smile played gently across his lips as the battered boy snuggled deeper into his arms and sighed contentedly.

Turning around in the tiny stall with his awkward bundle proved far more difficult than Harry had anticipated. He nearly lost his footing on the slick tile twice before he was once again facing the door. Twisting his wand hand at an angle that was almost painful, he managed to spell the door open. Stepping gingerly into the main area he picked his way slowly to the door that led to the corridor, also spelling it open.

Once in the corridor, he exhaled. He'd made it past the first obstacle. Making his way to the stairs, he allowed himself the occasional glance at Draco. The boy was sleeping soundly, his blonde head still nestled into the crook of Harry's shoulder. Something about it seemed right to Harry, it felt like that head had been made to fit there. A small thrill of unbidden elation raced up Harry's spine, making his skin prickle with gooseflesh. Looking around, Harry quirked an eyebrow, How'd that happen?, he asked himself as he realized he was standing at the top of the dungeon stairs. He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts of Draco that he had made it all the way up the stairs without even being aware. The best part, however, was that he had done so without stumbling once.

Taking a quick left he hurried as fast as he could to where the hidden passage was located. Coming to a halt before a very ugly sculpture of a witch and her familiar, a mangy looking hound of some kind from what Harry could tell, he gave it a firm nudge with his foot and it slid open, grating across the stone floor a bit too loudly for Harry's taste. He fought the urge to scold it with a pointless "shush". Pausing, looking wildly around for any sign that he had been heard and not finding any, he darted into the tunnel just as the witch began to grate her way back across the floor. Uttering a quick, "Lumos," Harry began his way up the steep incline that would lead him where he wanted to go.

Emerging from behind another statue after what seemed like hours, Harry stood for a moment, leaning against the wall. Draco may've been light, but he still weighed enough that Harry's arms were beginning to feel leaden and numb, aside from a dull throb in his shoulders. Almost there, he thought, shoving away from the wall and making his way to the final set of stairs, dragging his feet in sheer exhaustion. At least he's slept fine tonight, Harry thought irritably, glaring a little at the top of Draco's dozing head. Setting his foot on the bottom stair, Harry cast a dubious glance up the relatively short flight. Steeling himself and urging his tired body forward, he moved fast as he could up the stairs. Not even bothering to pause at the landing he plowed onward, almost running. His arms were killing him and if he didn't push himself he knew he would soon drop Malfoy.

Legs burning and breath coming in great, ragged gasps he arrived at the door to the abandoned classroom. Spelling it open with such force it banged into the wall, Harry darted into the dusty room, spelling it closed even as he ran in. Arms trembling he lowered Draco as gently as he could into the dirt and sighed, sagging almost to the floor himself. He's safe now, was all Harry could think as he dropped his cloak and took off his robes, covering the sleeping boy. He never once thought about the Gryffindor insignia that was stitched onto the left chest panel. Nor did he care. Stooping to gently brush his lips across one of Draco's cut cheeks and push his hair from his forehead, Harry smiled as he stood to leave the room.

Stepping once more into the corridor, he blinked as the weak pre-dawn light streamed through the high windows. Rolling his neck with a slight wince, he made his way back to bed, knowing he wouldn't get much sleep, but also content in the knowledge that Draco was nestled safely in the old classroom. And that was enough for the time being.

A/N: I got rather long winded with this chapter, but . . . eh . . . let's call it making up for the brevity of Ch.11 shall we? We're getting closer and closer to the Main Event. Please, please review, they're my bread and butter.