Bleed Me An Ocean

Much later that same night . . .

Harry scrubbed at his eyes, feeling completely exhausted yet unable to sleep at all. He stared unseeing into the glowing embers of the dying fire in the Gryffindor common room. He knew it was near two in the morning and he should have been asleep hours ago, yet he had tried to slip into blissful unconsciousness twice already and had failed with stunning success. The raven-haired young man simply couldn’t get the recent images of Malfoy out of his mind.

First, it had been the cuts – gods but they were horrible - and not merely scratches. They were far from something so simple. Those were fucking gashes, he thought to himself, recalling the blood crusted slashes on the other boy's milky-white forearm. One of them had only been a half inch or so above the wrist.

He'd read that people who cut themselves generally weren't suicidal, that in fact, their cutting was a way of trying to live, to prove that they WERE alive because the feelings of being empty and numb were overwhelming. They felt dead inside, he recalled, and suddenly a great feeling of sorrow washed over him and he felt even more confused than he had before. One, he shouldn't feel sorry for the little git after the way he'd always treated him. Two, what on Earth could have happened to reduce the infallible Malfoy to the mess he had presented?

It had to have been something exceedingly bad, he reasoned to himself; his kind heart and compassionate nature not allowing him to feel nothing for the obviously pained, pale blonde boy. Harry was completely unaware that in reality, Draco had been completely falling apart – albeit in relative silence – for a very long time.

The other thing that was keeping him from the land of dreams was what had occurred earlier that evening, at the start of term feast. He had been sitting with Ron, Hermione and a few other friends he hadn’t seen at all during break, chatting and laughing when the feeling of being watched cut into him again.

The sensation was so strong that it nearly felt tangible, as if that gaze alone had placed an invisible weight upon him. It felt as though it was pressing in around him, pleading with him to turn from his companions and find the source. When he had finally succumbed to the silent request, he had quickly scanned the area around him, only to have his gaze settle on Malfoy. The pale young Slytherin’s washed out grey eyes felt as if they would burn a path to his soul. Those silvery orbs looked sad and haunted and held the deepest look of longing that Harry had ever seen.

Floating amongst those other emotions was a sense of pain that left Harry with a lump in his throat that threatened his ability to breathe properly. No tears formed in his own emerald gaze yet the look was so undeniably intense that he could feel the hurt emanating from the boy and he could taste his sorrow on his tongue.

It tasted bitter.

Harry had been watching Malfoy intently, entirely transfixed by the gamut of emotions that swam in Draco’s eyes and played across his face. Then, Malfoy had jerked slightly, shaking Harry from his silent observations, realizing that apparently his staring hadn’t gone unnoticed. Shortly thereafter, he had stormed from the Great Hall in a near sprint.

Suddenly it dawned on him; Draco had been trying to watch him without being noticed and when he had been caught, he was embarrassed; thus his flight of the entire scene.

“Hmmm…” Harry mused aloud while his mind spun and flipped, going everywhere and getting nowhere. There were still far too many missing pieces to the increasingly intricate puzzle that was Malfoy. His jaw clenched and he ground his teeth in frustration. He had to know what was going on. There was most assuredly something wrong with the arrogant young man and, asshole or not, Harry’s compassionate nature – and extreme curiosity over the situation – would not allow him to let it go unanswered.

"Gah!," he groaned heavily as he rolled his neck from side to side in a vain attempt to loosen the tensed muscles. He had been sitting in the same chair for over two hours now, pondering the fall from grace of one such as Malfoy. Then, a crash and a muffled curse reached his ears from the hallway. That sounds like Malfoy, Harry thought as he rose from his chair and raced to the painting that marked the entrance, and exit, of the Gryffindor Tower. He pressed his ear to the door and listened intently, only to hear even more muttered profanities that confirmed it was indeed Malfoy.

An idea quickly formed in Harry’s head and he raced up the stairs to his room, taking them two at a time. He had to get his Invisibility Cloak and fast before he lost Malfoy in the twists and turns of the castle corridors. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stay outside the painting too long for the risk of being caught was far too great.

Finally reaching his bed and panting as quietly as possible, he quickly gathered the cloak and, as an afterthought, the Marauder’s Map. Just in case, he hurriedly thought to himself. He turned swiftly, nearly stumbling over his own bed curtains in his haste and raced back down the stairs. He pressed his ear to the painting once more, listening to see if Malfoy was still outside in the hall. When he didn't hear him, he opened the painting as soundlessly as possible, the Fat Lady snoring away and totally unaware of the goings on in the hallway. Silently, Harry was thanking the gods for small favors.

Then, covering himself with his cloak he made his way out into the hall. A quick glance around showed him Malfoy just lurching around the corner at the end of the hall.

"What's going on with you, Draco?," he muttered under his breath as he took off in pursuit of the other boy. He was totally unaware that he had just used his given name.

A/N: That's it for right now, but more to come soon.