Chapter VII

November 12th 1996

They’re all against me, all of them. I see them looking at me, hating me; staring right through me and knowing that I’m shagging their friend. They know, they can see. But they don’t realise he’s mine. I should show them, yes, I think I will. I could burn my name onto his face and he would wear it proudly and all the world will finally know that he’s mine and I’ll kill them if they get anywhere near him I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.

I hate him for staying with them, smiling at them, having fun, laughing at their jokes. I don’t understand how he can be happy when he’s not with me. Can’t he see I’m dying without him? I love him, I love him, I need him - more than anything. I have him, but I feel like he’s still far away from me. Like we haven’t crossed some huge barrier that will allow us to be one forever. I don’t understand. I look at other couples; I see how they love each other, and how they don’t really need to be around anyone else. They’re completely happy just being together. Why can’t he give that to me? I’d give up all of my friends, everything, just to be with him. If he wanted to see me, I’d stop everything I was doing and find him immediately. But he just tells me that he can’t see me after class because he’s doing something with Potter. Why?

I don’t doubt that he loves me; he showers me with affection all the time. I just don’t understand the devotion he has to everyone else. I don’t want there to be anyone else. Just me. Always.

January 1997

Friday

The first thing Ron noticed the next morning, before he even opened his eyes, was a thick, bitter substance in his mouth. He swallowed heavily, but the strange slime still remained. He wanted to sit up and spit whatever it was out of his mouth, but he was so wrapped up in Draco that he couldn’t move without waking him. They had fallen asleep facing each other; their legs were tangled together, and their arms were wrapped tightly around each other. Draco’s head was bowed and buried against Ron’s chest, preventing Ron from seeing his face.

Ron slowly moved the arm that was on top of Draco and brought his hand up to his mouth, spitting in it. A mouthful of deep brown, almost black, gunk came out, pooling thickly in his hand. Ron stared at it horror, immediately knowing what it was. His body jerked and convulsed; wanting to be sick, wanting to rid itself of Draco’s blood. Ron willed it back, not wanting Draco to know what was going on.

He quickly disentangled himself from Draco, struggling to his feet. A wave of vertigo hit him the instant he rose, nearly pulling him back down again. He staggered over to the wall -hand over his mouth- grasping the rough stone for balance.

Taking slow, deep breaths to fight the nausea and the panic, he focused his gaze on the ceiling, determined to look at anything but Draco. The room seemed to be spinning around him, expanding then shrinking, smothering him. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a few stray tears from his eyes, and opened them again. The room was melting now; the colours on the walls were slowly blending together and streaking down, as if someone had poured water on a watercolour painting.

He groaned and closed his eyes again, this time refusing to open them. God, what had he been thinking? It was just disgusting; there was no other way to describe it. He couldn’t think about it, not now, possibly not ever. Not with Draco around.

When he opened his eyes again, the room had finally gone back to normal. After taking a minute to steady himself, Ron slowly turned, warily focussing on Draco. Draco stared back at him with unfocused, blank eyes. He looked like the victim of a violent murder: pale and unmoving, dried blood smeared on his face, hands, and chest; his left arm splattered with a thick coat of dully shining blood that hadn’t quite dried yet.

Ron quickly averted his eyes, another wave of nausea nearly overwhelming him.

Draco didn’t say a word; he had been watching Ron with detached curiosity ever since Ron had moved away from him. It was marvellously delicious to watch; Ron’s staggering movements, each step allowing Draco the smallest of peeks at the intricate, blood-shined carving on Ron’s thigh.

Ron looked paler than normal, washed-out almost. His eyes were foggy and distant, as if he were seeing something that no one else could. He had blood across his mouth, splattered up the side of his face, and down his body; the uniform shirt he still wore was completely ruined.

Draco slowly stood up, stretching over dramatically, his body stiff and aching from sleeping on the hard floor. His joints popped loudly in the silent room, but Ron didn’t seem to notice.

He pulled up his trousers –which had been pushed down at one point in the night and had remained around his ankles- and stiffly made his way over to Ron, sliding his arms around Ron’s waist from behind. His bloody arm left a thick, dark smear on Ron’s shirt.

Ron jumped in surprise and Draco’s hands caressed him soothingly.

“Morning,” Draco whispered, dropping a kiss on Ron’s neck.

Ron shuddered, not daring to turn around to face Draco. “It’s only a little past four,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to get up yet.”

“I need you with me,” Draco tightened his hold. Ron desperately wished Draco would let go; the feeling of arms around him was not helping his unsettled stomach. He didn’t even want to think about the sticky wetness oozing through his shirt.

“I was just,” he paused, swallowing heavily, “I wanted to take a bath before I went back to Gryffindor Tower.”

“Hmm, good idea,” Draco muttered, pulling away and glancing around the room. “We should probably tidy this up first, though, you think?”

“Um, yeah,” Ron mumbled, warily looking down at where they had been sleeping.

He was revolted to find the floor stained with blood. There was also a clump of something pushed over to the side, and he leaned closer to get a better look. It was hair— his hair, the very hair Draco had pulled from Ron’s head, and now it was half-stained with blood.

Swallowing down the bile that had risen to the back of his throat, Ron forced his eyes away from the scene. Just to give himself something to do, he crossed the room to pick up his trousers and slowly put them on; wincing as the rough fabric brushed against the sensitive wounds on his thigh.

It quickly became apparent that Draco wasn’t planning on doing anything about the mess, so Ron pulled out his wand. He quickly got rid of the blood –barely even looking at it- while Draco stood up against the wall, watching disinterestedly. Once the floor was clean, Ron aimed his wand at the hair, intending to burn it.

“Incend-“

“Accio!” The hair flew into Draco’s hand before Ron could finish his incantation.

“Draco?” Ron asked hesitantly. “What are you doing? Put it down so I can get rid of it.”

“I’m keeping it,” Draco answered, slipping it into his pocket.

“Why?” Ron asked, appalled, wrinkling his nose.

“Want to,” Draco answered simply.

Ron frowned and gave the room one last look-over. Everything seemed to be back in order. Maybe he could finally leave now. He really, really just wanted to get away from Draco.

Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. He wanted his Draco back. It was already perfectly clear that Draco still hadn’t come back to his senses yet. Ron had a sudden, sinking fear that Draco wouldn’t return to normal this time.

“Right, well, I’m going to go take a bath now,” Ron mumbled, forcing himself to cross the room and press a quick kiss to Draco’s blood-crusted lips. “Love you,”

Draco looked up at him blankly. “I’m going with you,” he drawled, kneeling down to pick up his robe and shirt.

He slipped his robe on and threw his shirt over his shoulder. Somehow, his shirt had managed to remain perfectly crisp and clean.

“Prefects’ bathroom?” He suggested, oblivious to Ron’s look of reluctance. “I’m sure no one will be around at this time.”

“Er, okay,” Ron mumbled, slipping his robe on as well. It wasn’t like he could just tell Draco no...

They left the room together, quietly making their way down the corridors and up various staircases; side by side. Ron feared that, at every turn, they would run into Filtch or Dumbledore or some random teacher who just happened to be out at such an early hour. There would be no way to explain why they were together in the first place and why they looked like they were responsible for murder. Even more distressing was the fact that they had to walk slowly, since each step Ron took made his leg ache and burn. He was certain some of the cuts had reopened.

The only thing that brought the smallest bit of happiness to their silent walk was when Draco slipped his hand into Ron’s, lacing their fingers together. Ron had always found that to be the most comforting thing in the world, and he couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of contentment at the contact – no matter what Draco had done.

They soon reached the fifth floor and Ron said the password, gaining them entrance to the Prefects’ bathroom. After making sure it was completely unoccupied, Ron bolted the door behind them. The mermaid painting stared at them curiously, then politely turned her back.

“Now we just have to hope Myrtle doesn’t show up,” Ron muttered.

Draco snickered and shrugged off his robe. He sauntered over to the edge of the bath and knelt down, turning on a few of the taps.

“Any preference?” He asked, looking at Ron over his shoulder.

“Whatever you want is fine,” Ron answered, peeling off his robe and his blood-stiffened shirt.

He looked down at his shirt glumly. He only had three uniform shirts, and this was the one that had been in the best condition. But it was ruined now. Now that all of that blood had dried into it, there would be no way he could get it clean again. He knew the house elves probably could, or Hermione maybe, but he couldn’t deal with the questioning that would come with it. He cast the shirt to the side, planning on burning it later.

It helped now that they were in the bright, beautiful Prefects’ bathroom instead of their dark, eerie classroom; but Ron still couldn’t shake off his uneasy feeling. He no longer felt like he would be sick at any moment, but he just felt drained – emotionally and physically.

He grabbed a couple of towels and placed them by the side of the bath next to Draco, kneeling down next to him to watch the foamy water fill the bath. Draco looked over at him and smiled slightly, then leaned over to kiss Ron’s cheek.

How badly Ron wanted to force himself out of his lousy mood and play with Draco. Now that Draco seemed to be more normal, they could be having a lot of fun. It was hard, though, when all he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and think about what had happened. But at the same time, a part of him wanted to just forget it all; it was so tempting to just shove Draco into the bath, laugh at his outraged sputtering, then spend the rest of the time goofing off and teasing each other; taking full advantage of this unique opportunity.

“What are you thinking?” Draco mumbled, nudging Ron’s cheek with his nose.

Ron hesitated for a moment, sifting through the inappropriate responses that tried to spill out of his mouth. I’m upset... we look like a massacre... you’re a little scary sometimes... “That I love you. Very, very much. And I would be completely lost without you.”

Draco smiled and looked away, turning off the last of the taps. Ron could see that his face had turned a soft shade of pink.

“You don’t really, do you?” There was something nagging at the edge of Draco’s mind – something that told him it was completely illogical for Ron to love him at all anymore. He was lucky to have Ron sitting with him even now, but why? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“Oh, Draco, of course I do,” Ron said gently, immediately picking up on Draco’s sense of guilt. “Why would you even think that?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered softly, shaking his head.

He stood up to escape the suddenly awkward conversation, and began working at pulling off his spunk-stained trousers. His brain kept screaming a thousand different thoughts, but he couldn’t quite grasp any of them. He felt overwhelmingly guilty, yes, but why?

Ron looked up at Draco in concern, then carefully eased himself up off the floor and began stripping off the remainder of his clothes. He wondered if Draco’s sudden sadness and doubt had something to do with the fact that Ron hadn’t done a very good job of hiding his own misery. He decided right then to make it better. The feelings of nausea were gone for the moment, so there was really no reason why he shouldn’t act normally around Draco. As soon as all of the blood was washed away it would be like it had never happened.

Draco slid into the water gracefully, turning around to look back up at Ron. The instant he did, everything clicked into place. Ron’s face and body were covered in dried blood and Draco knew immediately that it was his fault. The horrible marks on Ron’s thigh were put there by Draco himself. Draco had lost himself again and this time really hurt Ron. The night began to replay itself in terrifying, disjointed flashes of memory – the Cruciatus Curse, Ron begging him to stop, Draco forcing Ron to stay put, and blood, blood, blood. He moved to cover his mouth with his hands – to hold back the sudden sick feeling – but paused when his hands were halfway to his mouth. The inside of his arm was covered in dark, glistening blood, and in that moment, he really didn’t know if it belonged to him or Ron. Panic started to take over, and he was torn between screaming, crying, and apologising.

What came out was a pitiful mixture of all three.

“God, Ron, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to hold back the flood of tears.

Ron quickly slipped into the water, pulling Draco into his arms. Draco resisted for a fraction of a second, then clung to Ron desperately, whimpering mournful, nearly incomprehensible apologies. Ron knew better than to ask Draco what was wrong; he knew full well what the problem was, and asking would just hurt him even more.

“Hush, it’s okay,” Ron said softly, stroking Draco’s back tenderly. He wouldn’t delude himself anymore. He knew it wasn’t his fault this had happened, but that certainly didn’t mean he was going to blame Draco.

Draco went limp in Ron’s arms, sobbing helplessly against him. Ron tightened his hold and pressed his lips against Draco’s shoulder, giving him quick, gentle kisses.

“Just relax, it’s okay. Everything’s fine,” Ron continued, guiding Draco backwards to sit on the small, underwater ledge that ran around the inside of the bath. He held Draco back so he could look at his face. “There, now, everything’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Draco muttered, breathing erratically, seemingly unaware of Ron’s comforting words. “I don’t know what happened, it was an accident, I never wanted...” his babbling trailed off and he squeezed his eyes closed, forcing out more tears.

Ron’s heart broke at the sight, but he didn’t know what to do to make it better. He could speak empty reassurances all day and it would never make a difference.

“Draco,” Ron whispered plaintively, brushing his lips against Draco’s cheek. “I’m just fine. You don’t have to beat yourself up like this.”

Draco groaned in despair. He didn’t deserve Ron. Ron always treated him with such gentleness and adoration, and all Draco did was hurt him over and over again. All of his thoughts, dreams, and actions involved him physically hurting Ron – and now, he could barely control it. It took him too long to realise what he had done wrong, even with Ron standing there right in front of him, covered with blood.

The thought brought an extreme feeling of dizziness with it, and for a moment, Draco’s world tilted sideways.

Ron saw the colour drain from Draco’s face, and before he could even think anything about it, Draco’s eyes fluttered and he tottered violently. Ron’s hands shot forward to steady him, mentally screaming at whoever was listening to keep Draco conscious.

“Come on, stay with me,” Ron begged, stroking Draco’s face insistently with one hand while the other kept a firm hold on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco’s eyes struggled to refocus on Ron; his vision swimming in and out of clarity. His body tilted forward and Ron pressed up against him, keeping him from falling.

“You need to calm down,” Ron said as firmly and as clearly as he could. “Just take a deep breath – good, just like that - now breathe; it’s okay,”

Draco took a few slow, shuddering breaths; fighting away panic and hyperventilation. He looked up at Ron, his pale face splotched with red. Ron stroked his cheek lovingly.

“There. You okay?”

Draco nodded, looking away abashedly. “I really am sorry,” he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the ledge.

“I know. I believe you.” Ron gently touched his fingers to the side of Draco’s face, coaxing him to look back up. He dipped down and softly kissed Draco’s forehead. “I love you,”

“I love you,” Draco responded in a strained whisper.

Ron’s insides bubbled with warm happiness, and he pulled Draco into his arms again, hugging him tight. Draco’s arms slid around Ron’s waist, caressing his back with absentminded affection.

They held each other for an endless moment, revelling in the comfortable feeling of their bodies fitting together so perfectly. Ron nuzzled Draco’s hair before gently slipping out of the embrace.

There was still quite a bit of blood on Draco’s face and down his chest, so Ron scooped up some of the foamy water in his hand and began carefully washing Draco’s face. It was such a relief to watch the blood disappear, leaving no trace of having ever been there at all. As soon as Ron pulled his hand away, Draco leaned up and touched his lips to Ron’s.

Ron gently kissed him back, overwhelmed with emotion so strong that it almost made him cry. It wasn’t fair that they had to keep such a beautiful, perfect love a secret. Why should it matter what anyone else thought? He loved Draco more than anything, and he wanted the world to know.

When they pulled back, Ron’s stomach clenched unsettlingly when he saw that Draco’s lips were once again lightly flecked with dry blood. He rubbed his thumb across Draco’s lips, wiping them clean, before washing the blood off of his own face.

“Missed a spot,” Draco said softly, reaching up with his left hand to wipe at Ron’s temple. Ron was suddenly very happy he didn’t look in a mirror when they had gotten into the bathroom – if his face had really been that covered, the very sight of it would have probably made him sick.

Ron glanced down, noticing for the first time Draco’s bloodied arm. If there were cuts under all of that blood, they were barely visible.

“God, Draco,” he breathed, gently grabbing Draco’s arm so he could look at it. Draco winced slightly at the touch. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Draco lied, refusing to meet Ron’s gaze.

Ron delicately began to scrub at the thick, caked-on blood, stopping every now and then when Draco squirmed in discomfort or pain. The blood slowly began to wash away, revealing the two dark, angry looking cuts that ran horizontally across Draco’s forearm.

Draco looked down at them in dismay. He didn’t remember them being that bad. And if that had been what he was aiming for when he cut Ron, he didn’t even want to think about the damage he had done to Ron’s thigh.

Once Draco’s arm was completely clean, Ron took a closer look at the cuts. They looked to be pretty deep, and both of them were framed with dark red skin, looking almost purple and bruised in a few places.

“You’re going to hate me for this,” Ron said quietly, not taking his eyes away from Draco’s arm, “but I want you to go see Madame Pomfrey later. These don’t look too good.”

“What? No!” Draco immediately protested, pulling his arm out of Ron’s grasp and cradling it against himself.

“You can easily explain this,” Ron said, placing his hands on Draco’s shoulders. “Listen, I want you to tell her that you did it to yourself...”

“But-”

“...and maybe she’ll give you a potion to make you feel better.” Ron finished, giving Draco’s shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

Draco sighed, looking down at his arm as if it would give him the answer. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly, “but only because it really hurts.”

Ron couldn’t help but smile as he leaned down to kiss Draco’s cheek. “Thank you. And you’ll tell her what I said?”

“Yes, yes, that I’m an unstable cutter and all that.”

Ron laughed and his lips drifted to Draco’s again. “I love you so much,” he murmured, kissing him again and again.

Draco reached up and pulled Ron down onto ledge, then he slid off the ledge and onto his feet, positioning himself between Ron’s legs. He ran his hands slowly through Ron’s hair - more petting than actually washing. His hands drifted down Ron’s body, washing away the last smatterings of blood on his chest and arms, hesitating when his hands landed on Ron’s hips. He really didn’t want to see how badly he had hurt Ron, but at the same time, he wanted to check if it was as bad as he feared.

“What?” Ron asked quietly, noticing Draco’s sudden stillness.

Draco didn’t answer. Instead, he just pushed Ron’s legs farther apart, grimacing at the bloodied mess on the inside of Ron’s thigh. It was slightly distorted from being underwater, but it was close enough to the surface for Draco to see the extent of the damage.

“God, that’s awful,” he muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

Without pausing to give Ron a chance to respond, Draco gently rubbed his hand over the deep, zigzagging cuts, washing away the excess blood. Ron shifted uncomfortably, every touch leaving an unpleasant burning and tingling sensation in its wake that had nothing to do with the soreness of the wounds. Even with Draco’s soft hands there, it was barely tolerable.

“Don’t,” Ron muttered, shifting his leg away slightly. “It’s fine, Draco, really.”

Draco looked up at Ron, studying his gaze. He reluctantly pulled his hands away. “Sorry,”

“Don’t be,” Ron hesitated for a moment, seeing the look of disappointment on Draco’s face. He had to make it up to him somehow... he didn’t want to be the reason for another of Draco’s depressed phases. They needed a distraction, and Ron knew just the thing. “Come here,” he leaned forward, keeping his legs spread for Draco to stand between them. He put his hands on the middle of Draco’s back, pulling him forward and up so that his chest was almost directly in front of Ron’s face.

Ron dipped down and kissed a gentle line of kisses down the middle of Draco’s chest, smiling when he felt Draco melt in his arms. Two of Draco’s favourite things in the world were having his neck and chest played with, and Ron was often more than happy to oblige. It had become a bit of a fetish for awhile before Ron had backed off, only doing it when he wanted to make Draco really happy... kind of like right now.

He trailed his lips over Draco’s chest, licking off drops of water and slowly making his way toward one of Draco’s nipples. As soon as his mouth closed around it, Draco let out a sweet little whimper of a moan, one of his hands grasping at Ron’s shoulder for balance.

Ron caressed Draco with his tongue, loving and worshipping with every tender lick. Draco pushed his hips forward, bumping their hard lengths together. His free hand dove down between their bodies, grasping them both in his hand, stroking in a way that mimicked the movements of Ron’s tongue.

It was so relaxed and unhurried; Ron couldn’t help but feel quite a bit happier himself. He gave a particularly sharp suck and Draco’s hand jerked forward, finishing them both off at the same time. Ron’s lips reluctantly pulled away from Draco’s chest and Draco sunk down against him, resting his head on Ron’s shoulder. Ron held Draco to him as they rode out the trembling effects of their afterglow together.

They leisurely finished up their bath, washing each other with frequent breaks to kiss and caress. Despite the rough night, Ron had a feeling this day was going to be a pretty good one.

He was wrong.