Warm But Tainted Blood (Drarry)

chapter seven

Harry doesn't know who dropped him off at Snape's classroom, but if he did he'd probably cursed them the fuck out. He'd rather continue having a panic attack than deal with the greasy haired bastard, thank you very much. But he didn't get a say this time, he muses as he nurses a glass of tea while the professor fixes his minor wounds hasitly.

He's still rather disoriented, so Harry decides to file away the task of analyzing Severus for another day.

"How ever did you manage to injure yourself this time?" Snape huffs. "Arrogance? A school yard fight? Both?"

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but Severus continued on.

"I would expect nothing less from a Potter." He ripped off a bandage and wrapped it around Harry's arm (where a large bruise was forming; he must've landed on it wrong) and Harry noted the professor tied it much tighter than nessacary. "Just like your father, I would see."

Harry resigns himself to gritting his teeth and grasping onto his teacup with white knuckles. His tone sounded distinctly like Uncle Vernon's, it was uncanny. It was coated thoroughly with hate and distaste, as it was with their every interaction. He could almost imagine Snape's face going as red as Vernon's with anger (except, not really– Snape was too anemic to ever have that much life to his face).

He and Vernon hated Harry for being alive, and Harry hated them right back. He expects nothing less from adults. There will always be the type of person to tie a bandage too tight and insult and orphan boy's father, and Harry was more than sure that, if it was allowed, they'd beat him at school, too. Adults that were nice always did confuse him, but Harry never trusted them either way.

He liked go catoragize every adult into two sections: Mrs. Figg and Aunt Petunia. Mrs. Figg appeared kind– she fed him well while at her house and didn't hit him or make him do chores. But she was just as mean: Harry had told her why he didn't like his relatives once, begged her to do something, to tell someone, but she never did. Harry thought that every adult that was nice to him fit this catagory— Dumbledore, McGonagall, all would do the exact same thing Mrs. Figg did.

Aunt Petunia was more upfront about her hatred– much like Snape.

It was rather black and white thinking, rather childish, but he WAS a child and it was all he had ever known.

Harry had zoned out Snape's insults by then, only noting the noise for it's absence.

He jumps up out of his chair, realizing he was being dismissed. Just as his had was on the nob, Snape sighed and stated, "One more thing, Potter. You are not to accept Draco's offers of friendship, understand?" Harry thinks this is odd– for teachers to get involved in the personal affairs of students, but oddness is all he expects from adults. He wonders if Draco's father and Snape have sort of relations— an affair? He'll look into it later.

"I wasn't planning on it." It's not a lie, even though Draco hasn't spouted any pureblood prejudice since Harry saved him, Harry did not trust him in the slightest. Though, Ron and Hermione we're a bit more forgiving after receiving their letters. But Harry wasn't like them. Harry did not forgive easy (he had never been a Hufflepuff.)

"Good. Now get out of my sight."

Harry obliged.

∆¶∆

Draco stared at Harry's retreating figure with an frown etched into his features.

He could feel tears welling in his eyes. His father would be absolutely pissed if word got around that a Malfoy was caught crying in public, so he quickly exits the library. He doesn't really know where to go for this— breakdowns weren't really "his thing." He decides that Harry's (his heart clenches at the name) invisibility cloak would be very useful right now mixed with a silencing charm, but since he doesn't have that, he takes refuge in the bathroom.

He doesn't know how long he sits with his legs pulled up to his chest on a toilet seat sobbing. His heart feels so very cold at the prospect of never being Harry's friend. Harry is a gem, he knows, as bright as those eyes of his. Draco doesn't deserve the boy (no one does, he decides) but he will never feel complete without him.

He is startled from his dispair coated thoughts when a large POP! is heard outside the stall. He recognizes the sound at once and flings open the door.

It's Dobby. He always seems to appear when Draco is upset— he had no idea how he does it and doesn't like to think about it most of the time. Dobby is so very small and very good at hugs. He holds out his disgusting twig arms and Draco scoops him up in an embrace (much like one might do with a teddy bear.)

He is soon calmed by the act of physical affection and pulls back from the elf. "Thank you, Dobby," he whispers. He stands, his knees popping with a crack, and moves to the bathroom mirror. He scowls at his reflection— he looks so unkempt. He sighs and sets to redoing his hair and trying to make his red eyes look less red.

"Dobby asks Master Dragon what is the matter?" Draco glances down the house elf, who is not reflected in the mirror because of the poor thing's height.

"It's..." Draco debates telling him, but decides there is no harm. It's not like there's anyone else he can tell this to– the other Slytherins would not understand. "It's Harry. He doesn't want to be my friend still."

"Master Dragon has many other friends."

"But they're not Harry."

Dobby has no response except to give the boy's legs a hug. He smiles slightly at the gesture. He has always liked Dobby.

He would probably like him less if he knew that later that day, Dobby would appear to Severus Snape and tell of his emotional breakdown.

Snape would scowl. "Going after Potter? Of all people. His father would so very upset. He was very clear of the required blood status of all of Draco's friends. But I think it will be fine– Potter rejected his offer twice now. I will withhold from contacting his father just yet. But do keep an eye on them, will you, Dobby?"

"Of course, Master Sev."