It Does Not Do To Dwell On Dreams (Drarry)

Red

*Mentions of suicide and self harm.*

Harry sat in the last potions lesson before Christmas, Pansy at his side instead of Draco who was locked up in their room. The blonde man had been given the week before Christmas off to recover from his beating. He was really suffering from his injuries, the one to his eye specifically. Not much had happened to Ron, despite a verbal beat down from McGonagall.

Along with the verbal beat down from McGonagall, Hermione was also losing it with her babies father every time she had the chance. Draco hadn't been the same. He had been very quiet since the beating, talking to no one when he didn't have to. It was almost like he had gone in on himself, closing the outside world off from his mind. Harry was starting to get worried, he had never seen the blonde like it before. He was glad that the boy hadn't been cutting himself because he knew that this would be a moment that the boy was likely to relapse.

"I'm so depressed," Pansy said, narrating Harry's thoughts perfectly. "The party is tonight, how are we meant to enjoy it with Draco like he is?"

"I dunno," Harry said honestly, he really wasn't sure that he would be celebrating at all. They couldn't cancel because they had people from other years coming, but it certainly would not be the same at all without the blonde by their side. This was meant to be a moment for them all to hang out before Christmas break. Before they split. "It's literally a mess."

"I'm scared Draco is going to do something stupid," Pansy admitted, her eyes didn't leave the front of the classroom as she spoke. "I've only seen him this depressed once."

"When?"

⚠️ (Themes of Self Harm Start Now) ⚠️

"Soon after the war." She recalled a subtle shrug like it was the most obvious of facts. Harry thought about it, actually, it made sense. "His dad had just been sent to Azkaban, so I went to visit him at the Manor. He was just so down, he had the weight of both worlds on his shoulders. The good side was trying to break him, trying to get him to confess to disgusting crimes that he didn't commit. The bad side was looking at him, expecting him to be the leader that they needed. He broke, stopped eating...starting slitting his wrists."

"Huh?" Harry's gaze jumped to Pansy's. He shook his head. "Did he cut himself? But his arms are clean, I checked."

"You checked?" Pansy asked, eyebrow raised in question. He leant forward, glancing up to the classroom door. She whispered. "Why would you check?"

"I found some razors." Harry shrugged, nervously tapping his fingers on the desk in front of him. He shifted nervously, the confirmation that the cutting had been part of his life set him on edge. "I confronted him, he was completely clean. No scars. He said the razors were to shave."

"Well, he does use those kinds to shave," Pansy admitted, she had known the boy most of her teenage life. He was slightly old fashed, as most born into riches were. "If there are no scars, I wouldn't worry. Wizards who self-harm don't just cut, and then heal. They keep the scars, they sort of want them as a punishment. As a reminder that they need to do better, even though they are perfect as they are."

"That's a great point." Harry smiled, sitting back with a sigh. Slughorn walked into the room and started his lesson, apparently not noticing the atmosphere.

"Hello, class." The professors smiled, flicking his wand to close the textbooks that Harry, and Pansy had on their desks. "Today we are going to be doing something a little more fun than memorizing and perfecting potions. We are going to be making a potion, not in the curriculum. We are going to learn to brew a party in a bottle, when consumed the drinker will be the life and soul of the party. They will ensure a proper knees up..."