Bloody Kisses

______________________________________________________________



Harry Potter



Boy, I really blew it this time. Draco was ready to confide in me and all I could do was push him away. I'm sure the whole 'freaking out over him touching me' thing didn't make it better. He probably thinks I find him disgusting. Well... he isn't. Seeing Malfoy's more sensitive side the previous night had made me like him. Under all that snotty rubbish he wasn't bad. But why did I act like that just now? I'm usually more level-headed than this. Hell, I've battled much more frightening things than Draco Malfoy. Or have I? He's become my worst enemy, making him that much more terrifying. Perhaps Draco's lust for me really is the scariest thing I've encountered. What a strange thought.



I managed to collect myself after the shower incident, squeezing out my sopping wet towel and dashing back to the locker room for my clothes. I stopped dead in my tracks a few feet from the bench upon spotting a most horrible site.



"No no no no... My broom!"



I fell to my knees on the floor beside the remains of my brand new Firebolt. It was cracked in half, and in half, and in half until only a pile of wood splinters and the head of the broom lay scattered across the ground. There's no way Malfoy could of done that with his bare hands. Firebolt broomsticks are built-to-last, high quality craftsmanship brooms! He must of used magic. Then again, he was pretty damn angry. Well that's just great. How am I going to explain this to the team? Feeling worse than after Draco flipped out on me, I re-dressed and swept the remains of my broom into a waste basket. Maybe Dumbledore well help me get a new broom before winter break ends.



I lugged my bag of Quidditch equipment across the snowy field and back into the warmth of Hogwarts, cursing Malfoy all the while. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to see the halls were in shambles once more. This seems to be happening a lot lately. With Draco loosing his mind and all. What did surprise me, though, was the extent of the damage this time around. Professors and students were scampering throught the halls helping pick up the debris that had fallen to Malfoy's wraith. What a mess. There's no way the Professors can turn their cheek on this act of violence. As I headed back for Gryffindor, I found it increasingly difficult to even walk through the piles of tattered furniture and disheveled students. This is insane. What's even worse is it's really all my fault.



"Draco Malfoy must be punished for this!" I heard Professor McGonagall's voice coming around a bend in the hallway near the entrance to Gryffindor. I quickly moved into a shadowed doorway, listening closely at what Malfoy's punishment might be.



McGonagall stopped in front of my hiding spot, her voice rising in anger, "He's becoming a menace to the other students, and possibly to himself!"



Professor Snape followed close behind. He looked quite grim, more than usual even, as he straightened a painting on the adjacent wall. "Yes, it seems the boy hasn't been himself lately," Professor Snape surprisingly agreed with McGonagall, his head bowed deep in thought.



"Hasn't been himself! He's mad! A student told me just the other day Malfoy was drinking someone's blood! He's been crashing through the halls and screaming bloody nonsense at everyone that goes near! We can't tolerate anymore of this!" Professor McGonagall sighed, "I think it's time we consider expulsion. Or at least get him the proper help he needs!"



It felt as though five bludgers had just knocked me in the stomach. They were going to expell him from Hogwarts? Either that or put him in a loony house? She can't be serious. I watched for Snape to disagree with McGonagall like he usually did, to defend his House and his dear Draco Malfoy.



With his shoulders slumped and a weary look on his pale face, Snape sighed also, "All right, it will be considered. But only if Malfoy shows no signs of stopping this behavior."



Professor McGonagall glared at Snape for a moment, "As soon as he acts up again, expulsion it is! The halls are an absolute wreck! And people are getting hurt!"



After pushing a large painting aside, I entered my common room and collapsed onto a couch. Draco might be expelled from Hogwarts. In the past, if I was presented with this news, I would be thrilled. But this isn't the past. This is a twisted version of the present and Malfoy's coming expulsion is all my fault.



I wiped a tear from my eye, "Oh hell, I'm crying again?"



How can I feel so much for someone I hate? Everything's so messed up. One moment, I hate the little bastard for turning my broom into toothpicks and the next I'm sobbing like a baby over the thought of him being expelled. What a fucking mess. Maybe I do care for Draco more than I thought. I can't let him get kicked out of Hogwarts. I have to fix this.



Draco Mafloy



How the hell did I end up here? I looked around at the Slytherin common room. The last I could remember was the conversation with Potter in the locker room showers. Potter. Examining the invisibility robe in my hand, it all came back to me. I remembered shattering Harry's precious Firebolt with my bare hands, the destruction of the hallways, how I came about being here, and why I felt as though the collapsing of my world was finally complete.



Potter.



That bloody fucking git has no idea what he's done. No one turns me down! Though, now I realize, he did. And he has many times in the past as well. I even remember the first time Potter turned me down. It was when we first met. When I first offered him my hand in friendship. He threw it back in my face like it was nothing, like I was nothing! At first, I thought it was all because of Weasley. But now, with Ron out of the way, I'm proven wrong once more. All these years of trying and being hurt over and over again. I've been second best for much too long, living in Potter's shadow. He doesn't even deserve a fucking shadow! He deserves nothing!



Tears flooding my eyes, I wandered into my room and searched for a quill. I didn't know what I was going to write but I did know I had to get Potter to come to Slytherin somehow. I needed to see him. I have to tell him what he's done to me. I'm going fucking mad and it seems he's the only one who actually cares. Or, so I thought he cared. Does he even care? How ironic is this. After years of walking all over me, Potter is the only person who seems to give a shit what happens to me. I found a quill and some paper, sitting down at my desk. What to write... what to write...



When I found the words, I sent the letter to Potter with my family owl. I nearly hung out the window, watching to make sure it flew the right way around the castle to him. I sat down again, taking the quill to another piece of paper. More words, more to write. I have to get Potter to come to me. I need more fucking paper! Where the hell is the paper! After digging through the desk, I came up with some more pieces of blank paper. Before I could write anything, though, I found yet another dilemma.



"Out of ink? Oh hell..." I tapped the quill at the paper, not even a drop of ink coming from the tip. "Damn it all!"



After searching the desk again, I tore apart the room, searching mindlessly for anything I could use as ink. Reaching under Crabbe's bed, I sliced my hand open on a loose mattress spring. I stumbled back to the desk and plopped back down in the old wooden chair while holding my injured hand.



"Well that's just fucking great..." I sat, staring at the wound as a drop of blood trickled from my knuckle. One landed on the paper below. Then another.



Blood.



That's perfect! The owl returned, reluctant to take my new bundle of letters. That damn owl should be faster. I must tell father to get a better owl. Scribbling out about 20 more letters, I peered out the window searching for the dumb bird. I need Potter here! I need him! Where the hell is that bird? The owl returned, looking even more perturbed at the amount of letters it now had to carry around the castle out in the snowy night.



"Don't fucking look at me like that, you pathetic lump of feathers! Bring them to Potter! Now!" I hollered, nearly tossing the owl from my window.



I went to my bed and fell back onto the mattress, crossing my arms under my head and staring up at the roof. What will I do when he comes? I'm really in no mood for talking even though I'd love to tell the bastard what he's done to me. I'm more apt at ripping him limb from limb. A better, more brilliant idea came to me as I lay, staring. The library. I was considering doing something to him the other day when I was in the library. It had disgusted me then. Now it excited the hell out of me. It's the perfect cure for my madness. It's just what I need. He'll be sorry he ever turned me away. Oh, he'll be very sorry.



Harry Potter



As I sat on the couch, a dark-faced barn owl came to my window, pecking at the glass. I got up and opened the window for the bird. He stepped inside and shook off the snow.



"Where did you come from?" I questioned, taking a note from its claw. It was written in large black letters and simply said, 'Help me'.



"Help me?" I turned to the window to see the mysterious owl had already left, "Help who?"



Was someone in trouble? Ron? Hermione? I paced, worried now by the small note and it's bold message. I had moved back to the couch just as the bird returned, flapping it's wings furiously at the glass. I ran to the window and took the second note, which ended up being three separate pieces of paper folded together. I read another 'Help Me', a 'Please Help Me', and a fairly disturbing 'Loosing my mind'. These new letters were all written in a strange, sloppy red, which looked eerily enough like....



Blood?



No sooner had I finished reading the last note, a new set arrived with the mysterious owl. A large stack of letters fell from the birds claws as it took flight once more. I sat down beside the window and started going through these. 'Save me', 'I can't take it anymore', 'I'm sorry', 'Only you can help', 'Hurting myself', 'Come before it's too late', 'Please help me', another 'I'm sorry', and last but not least, 'Help me Harry'. My skin crawling and my hair on end, I stared out the window, half expecting the bird to return with more bloody letters.



"Help me Harry," I read again, my eyes fixated on the last bloody note.



Seeing my name written in this terrible blood was unnerving. There's no doubt now that Draco was the one sending me these letters. He's the only person I knew who's loosing his mind. I also couldn't keep my eyes from the 'Hurting myself' and 'Come before it's too late'. After reading those, I'm almost positive this is written in his blood. He's asking for my help. Should I go? Of course I should go. If I don't help Draco, then who will?



I ran from the Griffindor house, barreling through the debris that still had yet to be cleared from the halls. Please be all right. Please be all right. Please don't do anything stupid, Draco. I nearly burst right through the wall to Slytherin, saying the password before I collided with the stone. I slowed after entering the common room, finding it not how I last remembered it. It was neat, everything in it's place now, nothing broken. The room was dark and all too quiet. An army of tall, red candles were lit near the fireplace, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I felt like an intruder on some sort of black magic ritual grounds. It was the silence that bothered me the most. What if I was too late?



"Draco?" Somehow, I found the nerve to speak. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I scanned the room for any signs of Malfoy. Where was he? The door to his room stood ajar. I thought, for a moment, that I saw a shadow move inside the room.



"Draco?" I whispered, "Is that you?"



I nearly kicked myself for being so dumb. Of course it's him. He's the only Slytherin here. I stepped towards the room, pushing the door open. It creaked on it's worn hinges, revealing an even darker room than I had just left.



I let out a whisper that sounded more like a breath of air, "Draco?"



There was something on the bed, a lump of shadows. It looked like a person. The shadow was very still, dead still. I moved further into the room and stood beside the bed.



"What the...," I leaned closer, squinting in the darkness, "Pillows?"



Someone had arranged a row of pillows on the bed in the shape of a body. A note was pinned to one of them. I picked up the pillow and held it to the moonlight. The same red, smeared letters decorated this note. 'Watch your back, Potter.'



I read it out loud, confused, "Watch my..."



Something came up from behind, knocking me hard across the back of my head. It made a loud crack as it collided with my skull, pain instantly flooding my senses. I cried out and fell forward onto the bed. My attacker swung again before I had a chance to turn and defend myself. The blow landed hard against the side of my head this time. There was a flash of blinding light as my skull burned with pain.



"Nighty night, Potter," a familiar voice echoed through my head just as everything went black.


__________________________________________________________