Saving Myself || A Drarry Story

LX: Do It Himself

It hadn't taken long for Harry to entertain the idea that he was okay. He would nibble off of Draco's pristine breakfasts at Grimmauld Place, giggling when Draco hit his head lightly with his napkins.

He snuggled close to the blonde boy at night, whispering small apologies whenever his cold hands made Draco grimace.

In the morning, after reading the kind notes from Draco, Harry put them in his book, smiling the entire time.

While Draco was doing schoolwork at his desk back in Hogwarts, he pulled up his chair, scraping it against the wooden floor.

"What're you doing?" Draco laughed, "Not going to sit on my lap?"

Harry looked down at his hands, saying quietly, "I'm sorry for what I did at the trial. Saying that we weren't together."

Draco paused. "It's fine."

Harry shook his head and cried out, "But it isn't, Draco! I don't know why you always say that when I screw up!"

"Because you don't need to beat yourself up about something all of the time. When I look at you, Harry, I feel like . . .like you're falling apart bit by bit."

Harry scowled. "You don't know anything, Draco Malfoy."

"And you get like this all of the time." Draco looked at Harry, his eyes narrowed. "And then you apologize and get mad at me for accepting them all."

"I do not!"

"You're always so paranoid and I just thought that, after all of this---" he motioned between them and threw his hands in the air. "---that you would be happier."

"Happier?" Harry repeated, standing and asked, "You think I'm happy that my father is in Azkaban and probably won't see the light of day again? You imagine me telling you that my mind isn't fucked up and running up and down the walls? Hell, I'll bet you thought I would sleep with you right after hearing that Father would never be let out of prison!"

Draco gaped at the smaller boy, standing and saying in the soft, reassuring tone he always used when calming him down, "Harry, I just want to help. Not by sleeping with you."

Harry shouted, his hands clenched, "I don't need help!"

"I---"

"You're just being a typical Gryffindor boy!" Harry interrupted. "Going on and on about helping me when I don't need it! You know, I'd kill for a drink but I know that you're going to throw a fit about that as well."

"Me?" Draco frowned. "Throw a fit? Have you heard yourself for the last three minutes?"

Harry snarled, "Fuck off, " and began to walk out of the portrait door before he heard Draco mutter, "Yeah, just walk out with your dramatic exit."

Harry whirled around, his jaw shut tightly, his right eye twitching from anger. "Say that again. Do it. I dare you to."

"What's the matter, Harry?" Draco pleaded. "Just tell me---"

"You wouldn't understand---"

"Try me, Ha---"

"Shut up."

Draco, growing a bit frustrated, whined, "Talk to me."

"Shut up, " Harry repeated, covering his ears. "Shut the hell up."

Draco touched Harry's arm, causing the boy to turn sharply, his hands creating a barrier between them both. "Don't you fucking touch me. Don't touch me."

Draco sighed, "Okay. Okay, Harry. I'm just trying to save you before you hurt yourself."

Harry pointed at himself, his eyes hot as he yelled, "I can save myself!"

And with that, he left, finding refuge in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and not really listening to her ramble on and on about her problems and how girls were mean and boys equally so. When Harry couldn't take anymore, he looked at himself in one of the many cracked and chipped mirrors for a long, long time.

Who was to say what he could and couldn't do? People had always told him that he shouldn't do the things he did, but it was a domino effect; one part of his mind spiralling out of control and then another. And another. And yet another still. Until he could no longer feel anything.

Harry pulled his wand from his robes, murmuring an incantation and a four-inch-long, silver and a shiny dagger appeared in his opposite hand. He teased himself with it, pressing the fine tip on parts of his body, just seeing how long it would take for it to break the skin.

He finally rolled up the left sleeve of his robes, almost up to his shoulder and he, again, teased the spot under his inner elbow with the dagger. When he finally worked up the nerve to slide it across his arm (not too deep, he minded, not wanting to kill himself in such a fashion) as he took a deep breath, he smiled against the pain.

No, it wasn't pleasurable in the way that Draco made lain blossom over his body and congregating in his midsection. No, it wasn't the way out. But it was enough to make Harry sigh from relief as he watched the thick, black-red solution that was in his body flow out in a steady, slow pace until he healed it over with a few spells. It left a small, thin scar but Harry did it again on the same spot, healing it multiple times before making the dagger vanish and he looked out onto the grounds of the school from the window.

How had he lost track of time? Was it really night time? Had the stars ever begun to shine? Truly, Harry Potter was mad, mad, mad. Scrubby, if he dare add.

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