Painkillers (DISCONTINUED)

Chapter 8

On the Sunday afternoon of the third week at school, the "eighth" years that returned to Hogwarts were given the opportunity to go on an outing into Hogsmeade. The kids filtered out at one o'clock in the afternoon, chatting and laughing, ready for a new adventure. Harry and Draco were the only two that stayed behind. Harry lay on the red sofa that sat in the centre of the common room, falling in and out of consciousness, as the soft hum of Julie Andrews' voice played on the old phonograph that was kept in the corner of round room. 

The music danced around the room, bouncing on and off of the walls, overstimulating his senses, and drowning out the noise inside of his head. It gave Harry something else to focus on. The record player was an old vintage piece that must have been found at an old muggle store by one of the teachers or students that was interested in muggles. The owner of the piece had enchanted it, in such a way that, once asked to play a certain piece, the machine would play it on repeat until you got tired of it and asked it to play another.

The gold horn shone as if it had been shined just yesterday, with very few scratches on its pristinely polished surface. The dark brown Oakwood box that surround the enchanted disk that played the music into Harry's weak and fragile ears. Harry had recently, been feeling useless. Even before the battle he had felt useless but now, as his loneliness grew greater each day, he felt more and more unwanted. His glasses lay on the wooden side table next to the couch and he weakly lay there, sprawled over the entirety of the couch, wishing for his useless and painful existence to come to an end. 

His raven coloured hair lay messily about his head, even more so than usual, as he had not brushed it for at least a month. His second-hand red Gryffindor sweater, hung loosely about him, a gift from Molly Weasley. She had given it to him in an attempt to make Harry feel as though he was at home, in the burrow or the safe house even though he clearly was not. 

Harry felt a homeless sense of worthlessness and in the end he was doing nothing to stop himself from feeling this way. His emerald green eyes fluttered shut and he tiredly drifted off into a disturbing sleep, filled with terrifying nightmares. 

And Harry cried because he would have to suffer all alone. Until someone, slightly unexpected, came to his aid. Draco Malfoy sat in a small corner, staring out into the abyss. His thoughts were similar to Harry's and oddly enough, were not much darker. "It's all your fault," came the voice, nagging at the edge of his mind. He pushes it as far away as he possibly can, but it comes back again, like a clingy and unwanted toxic 'friend'. 

Draco looked deep down into his soul. He went into a dreamlike daze of self-hatred, that was uninterrupted, until he heard soft crying. For a while he debated ignoring it, but deep inside Draco knew that if he already felt terrible, leaving this person alone, whoever they were, would definitely make him feel a lot more like worthless nothingness. 

Depressed and weak, it took Draco a few minutes to get up. His whole body ached and he felt worn out and drained. His mental anguish seemed to be taking its toll on his physical health. Grabbing onto the Oakwood shelf next to him he heaved himself to his feet, praying that the bookshelf wouldn't collapse onto him. His blonde hair was a mess, probably due to the fact that he had not been in the right state of mind, nor physical position, to worry about such trivial things. His pale and pasty skin looked as though it was clinging to his skeleton, and he'd lost any physical ability that he might've previously had. 

Draco could barely get up in the mornings, and when he did he would always mentally give himself a tally mark. In the past three weeks he had earned ten tally marks, five of which were only because the ministry had called upon him to watch another death eater's trial. He was quite proud of himself, though, as an average person would know, it is not the most amazing thing to be proud of. But nonetheless, it gave Draco a feeling of achievement which was something he used to fill the empty void he felt inside. 

Grunting and swaying on his feet Draco walked towards the couch that, though only five meters away, took an awful lot of energy to get to. He slumped down next to the couch in an aim to catch his breath. His body was rapidly deteriorating and he needed to do something about it. But Draco was tired. Ever so tired. He lifted his head to look at the sleeping Harry, who's tears now ran down his face. 

Sighing Draco muttered something along the lines of, "dear god harry," before lightly pushing him away from the edge of the couch. This took Draco a great deal of time, as he had to push against Harry's side thrice in order to move him over. He really had become exceedingly weak. Draco climbed, clumsily onto the couch, next to Harry, and placed his hand around Harry's waist. In the past few weeks they had not been enemies, nor had they talked for that matter but, their silent and joined upset, made them feel comfortable and comforted when they were together. 

Draco stayed like this for a while, making sure that Harry was alright. After making sure that Harry was not crying any longer, Draco's frown lines disappeared and he passed out from the exhaustion of actually having to put in the effort to get himself out of the corner he had been sitting in all day. As Draco drifted off to sleep he thought to himself, "I think I deserve an extra tally mark today..."