Drarry: The Boy Who Loved

Sixth Sense

Trigger Warning: Self-harm and mentions of suicide :(

Draco was home alone. Harry'd gone to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione for the day, as well as a few of their friends. Draco'd chosen to stay home, since he was feeling so stressed already.

He made himself breakfast and ate by himself at the kitchen counter. He was alone, but he was fine with that. He just had two goals for the day: finish his homework and find a positive outlet for all his negative energy.

An owl tapped on the window, carrying a newspaper. Draco opened it, untying the paper from the owl's leg. He let the owl have a sip of his orange juice before dropping five Knuts in the owl's pouch. It flew off in a flurry of feathers.

Draco sighed a little as he opened the paper. However, the breath froze in his throat as he read the headline:

Three Death Eaters flee Azkaban 

Draco felt faint. Three were shown underneath the brief article. Two were ones he wasn't personally aquatinted with, but one he knew well-a little too well. It was Lucius Malfoy. 

Draco's head began to whirl and he felt dizzy. The sink in front of him felt blurred as he sucked in deep, rapid breaths. He's going to find me. He's going to kill me, because I betrayed him. Why'd I let him brand me in the first place? This is all my fault!

Draco spun around and crashed down the hallway into the bathroom, trying not to pass out. Black spots appeared across his vision and he blinked hurriedly, almost crashing into the window. He gazed at himself intently in the mirror and the spots started to fade. As soon as he moved again, though, he was swept with dizziness and the spots appeared again.

He fumbled for his razor. He needed to take away some of the pain. He sliced open his skin, tracing back over scars that had healed months ago. He couldn't think straight; he hoped the stinging would ground him, bring him back to his senses enough so he'd be able to call Potter and tell him to get his arse home, right now. And to make these bloody spots disappear!

Suddenly Draco realized he was falling. Oh no, no no no nononononono-

He hit the floor, his head bouncing against the marble. He was aware of a warmth flowing down his arm, and drowsily gazed at the floor as his blood pooled around him. He'd cut too deep. He'd taken away too much of the pain, and now he was so empty that he was going to die.

The black spots spread against his eyes and his ears filled with a rushing sound. It sounds like the ocean, Draco thought dazedly. I used to fall asleep to this sound when I was a baby. He gave one last, shuddering sigh before he lay still. 

I'm sorry, Harry. 

................

Harry was in Honeydukes with Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna when people started getting newspapers. Hermione looked over her copy of the Daily Prophet and gasped. "Have a look at this!" She shrieked, shoving it into her friend's faces. 

Harry and the others stared, aghast. "How'd they escape?" 

"I dunno," Neville said, dumbfounded. "I wonder where they are."

Suddenly Harry got the feeling that something was terribly wrong. There was an immeasurable, inexplicable problem and he had to solve it. He glanced at the paper again. There, displayed clearly on the front page, was Lucius Malfoy.

What is Draco doing? Harry thought suddenly, and then a loud voice in his head screamed, Why are you just STANDING HERE? MOVE!

"I need to go," Harry said loudly, and so suddenly that everyone jumped.

Hermione looked at him closely. "Harry, are you okay?"

"Yes-no. I think Draco's in trouble," Harry said, pulling his cloak on.

"We'll come with you," Hermione said quickly. Ron looked disappointed, but he didn't argue as Harry and his friends dashed down the street.

"Can't we just Apparate?" Neville panted.

Harry halted, making the others bump into him. "Oh, yeah!"

Harry spun on the spot, pulling himself into suffocating darkness. He reappeared in his living room, the others following. 

It was suspiciously silent. "Malfoy?" He called. Silence.

Hermione looked around cautiously. "Did he leave the house?" 

"I don't think so," Harry said cautiously. "See, he didn't even clean up his plate."

"There's the newspaper," Hermione said suddenly, bending down and picking it up off the kitchen floor. 

While the others were in the living room, Ron had slowly made his way down the hallway. He noticed the bathroom door was closed and knocked loudly. "Malfoy? You in there?"

He tried the door. It was locked. "Alohomora," he muttered, and it clicked. He turned it, peered in. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Malfoy was sprawled on the floor, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood, razor in hand.

Ron's breath hitched when he saw. "Harry," he called, his voice choked. "I found him."