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Draco Malfoy didn’t have much left in his life. His friends had moved on, if he could consider them friends anymore, they hadn’t spoken to him in years. They’d been forgiven by society, gotten married, had children, and were…happy. His mother was so rarely in the country that she could almost be considered a French citizen at this point and his father – well his father had been locked away for years and wasn’t worth thinking about.
His house was too big, and the rooms were too empty. He’d moved out of the Manor as soon as he was able and never looked back. There were far too many macabre and dark things that had happened in those hallways, the gathering dust could keep the ghosts company. His new house wasn’t much better. It was lighter, and could be considered closer to “home” but that didn’t help ease the loneliness he felt, the gaping hole in his heart for something more.
When he moved in, he’d brought along trinkets, books, and even managed to find some furniture that had been in storage. Anything to try and fill his life, but it felt meaningless – like he had to fulfil some duty to his now tainted family name. Any house elves that had once belonged to his family had long since been freed, he couldn’t bear the idea of shackling any creature to his misery.
He would go to his parole mandated job at the Ministry, do his work, come home and drink himself to sleep. Not that the sleep was ever restful, he always dreamt of his past, his present and what he would never have in his future.
Today was different, and all because of a paper cut.
Working where he did, he could never avoid catching the eye of his old classmates, could never avoid the stares, whispered comments and judgements. Potter was always around, jumping from department to department following up on something for the DMLE. Weasley had been there for a time, but then he decided that working in a joke shop was a far more successful career than being a respected Auror - Draco had chuckled at that thought for a long time. Pansy had managed to land a job in… some department, he never had the energy to find out and was shocked she even had a job. Hermione Granger worked closely with Potter, he was always talking her ear off about something while she stared into space.
Today’s meeting had started normal, with the usual suspects in attendance: Potter, Granger, Robards, with others he had only seen in passing. One woman in particular in the room was always staring at him in the halls and giggling with whoever she was walking with; he could never forget that upturned nose, those curls, those ridiculous nails — he had smashed a lot of his crystal drinkware because of her.
He had to breathe deeply to control the emotion that was ready to burst out of him, he was so tired of being around these people. The bundles of parchment in his arms were adding to his frustration, they had slipped out of his hands one too many times today and this moment was no exception. One bundle caught his skin as it slipped through his fingers, blood appearing on the side of his hand as he fell into his chair. He cursed a little too loudly under his breath and faces spun towards him; he wanted the ground to swallow him whole – Draco Malfoy, taken down by a paper cut.
The woman was glaring at him, mouth pulled tight like she clearly had something to say. He was about to give her a piece of his mind when a squeak came at him from across the table. Granger was no longer staring at Robards, it didn’t even look like she was listening to him. The blood kept pooling on his skin and he noticed she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.
Draco scowled at her and brought his cut to his mouth, sucking the blood from his skin, but she wouldn’t stop staring. He’d never seen her look so nervous, so weak, breathing so heavily – even when she was bleeding on his drawing room floor all those years ago, her strength and resilience had glowed from her.
Was she shaking?
The meeting wasn’t over fast enough, and he rushed from the room when they were finally dismissed, pushing past everyone who decided to linger frustratingly in front of the door and dropping a few of the rolls of parchment as he went.
Feigning illness, Draco convinced his superior to let him leave early for the day so he could rest. Rest was the last thing on his mind; he wanted to curl up with a firewhiskey and a calming draught, and let the violet potion flood his system as he drifted off.
***
Somehow, he’d managed to stay asleep.
Maybe the alcohol and the potion should be a nightly occurrence.
Despite the apparent sleep he’d gotten, he had never felt so exhausted. His head throbbed, a familiar taste coated his mouth and a metallic smell lingered in the air…
He shot up out of bed and found his way to his closet mirror, wincing as he placed his hand on the door for support. His face was covered in blood, trailing from his nose and over his lips. There was a bloody handprint covering the front of his throat and he could feel his panic rising.
What the hell was happening?
The only time he’d ever had a nosebleed was when he had his mind shoved open by his aunt during the war; he’d never met another Legilimens that could force his way into his head.
His grip on the door was so hard the ache in his hand was unbearable, heightening the pain in head even more. He rubbed his palm to try and alleviate the ache before noticing the raised edges that ran across his skin.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember a single thing from his dreams last night, but now he was the owner of a very large slice down the middle of his palm. The cut was smooth, done with a steady hand, and had already been cleaned.
Nothing he did could help the rising dread, the blood that had dried on his face felt tight and constricting, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what was going on. He tried to breathe calmly, but he kept glancing at the cut on his hand and fear started to drown him.
Things were supposed to be different, he was supposed to be free.
Throwing himself in the shower, he scrubbed the blood from his body trying desperately to forget; to ignore what could have happened to him. His skin was raw, and his eyes were bloodshot as the scalding water cascaded over him.
He felt trapped. His past was catching up to him and this was his punishment.
He had to go to work, he couldn’t get away with more time off – regardless of how haggard he felt. Tearing himself away from his reflection, he dressed and threw back a pepper-up potion, the blue potion bringing clarity to his mind and alleviating the shadow of fear that had clouded him for the last hour.
The effect didn’t last long. As soon as he got to work his nose started bleeding. Again and again. It wouldn’t stop. He would be carrying papers through the Atrium and his nose would begin bleeding; sitting down to lunch and blood would start pouring down his face. He would run his fingers through his hair to only pull back and find several cuts running along his fingertips, blood already pooling and trickling into his palm.
People started to get nervous around him as the day went on. The more he bled, the more they avoided him, and the whispers only got more frequent. His nose started bleeding again when he noticed Granger on the other side of the lobby, staring at him. She couldn’t get away fast enough when they locked eyes, stumbling over her feet and almost dropping the books she was carrying.
His whole body was heavy and sore and he prayed to Circe… to Merlin that he would feel more rested the next day.
***
The morning sunlight that poured through his window burned. His head was foggy and his chest was searing. He could barely move, exhaustion no better than the day before but it was more than that. His body hummed and ached as he slowly lifted himself up, his breath catching in his throat at the pain he felt in his chest, escaping in a moan.
He was covered in blood again. Uniform cuts lined his torso, from his collarbone down to the waistband of his boxers. The cuts weren’t healed this time, and some were still bleeding. Finger marks danced across his skin, trails left in the drying blood. Runes were drawn in lazily in the remaining spaces: desire, purity, obsession.
As his heart raced, and his blood trickled down his body, recollections of the night floated through his mind. Smooth hands running along his chest, cold metal brushing up and down his skin following the lines of his Sectumsempra scars, a searing pain that he couldn’t wake from.
He could barely comprehend anything anymore. Everything was turning to shit, and he could barely crawl out of bed. He somehow scraped together enough magic to cast a few healing and cleaning charms. His magic was almost depleted, and even though he had stopped bleeding, the cuts were barely holding together. The thought of a shower made him feel sick, the image of water running over his chest and roughly pulled together skin, the heat further irritating his barely healed body.
There wasn’t time for this, he needed to get out. Go to work, pretend that everything was ok and that he wasn’t going crazy.
His chest ached all day. He was constantly casting small healing charms, applying dittany to a particularly bothersome gash; the pale green soothing only the surface pain. He hoped that no one noticed the normally immaculate Draco Malfoy was falling apart at the seams; bleeding and frayed from causes unknown.
He was so deep in thought, mindlessly rubbing his chest as he strolled down a dark corridor that he didn’t notice the person walking in the opposite direction. She was just as distracted as he was and he slammed into her, knocking her things to the ground. That one cut that wouldn’t heal on his chest burst open on impact, causing him to let out a yell. He was ready to berate the person that walked into him, only to find himself in front of Hermione Granger. She was standing there staring down at her blouse, completely still. The world around him blurred.
This isn’t happening.
Running across her silk blouse, up her neck and onto her cheek was blood. His blood.
He couldn’t breathe. His vision had gone foggy, and he couldn’t help but panic as he watched her reach her fingers out to touch her stained clothing. She ran a finger along the fabric and tilted her head to the side. She met his eyes and they were blown so wide he didn’t know what to make of it.
The Golden Girl was just standing there, covered in blood. He was fucked. If someone was to come along there was no hope for him.
Run.
Run now.
Any energy he had been using to prevent himself from crumbling drained from him as he forced himself to move. More cuts on his chest opened as he ran and the blood soaked through his shirt. People started to stare as he sprinted past them, and he couldn't do anything but shove himself into the nearest fireplace and spin home, skin on fire as the green flames surrounded him.
The floor was so cold; soothing his burning skin as he crawled from his fireplace. But the room was too dark, too stifling.
How much blood had he lost?
Draco staggered through his house, knocking into numerous tables. Vases crashed to the floor, books he couldn’t remember taking from his library fell to the ground. He managed to grab a blood replenishing potion from the nearest cabinet and poured it down his throat, red burning through his system as his vision went black.
***
Something didn’t feel right. His whole body screamed while he drifted in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t take much more. His mental state was falling apart and no matter what he did, no matter how many potions he shoved down his throat or coated his shredded skin with – nothing helped.
Last night had been the worst night so far, his head pounded and he could barely move his arms. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Moonlight spilled through his bedroom window on the far side of the room, illuminating the silver in his sheets, the sheen of sweat and dried blood on his skin.
As he stumbled out of bed into the middle of his room, he noticed a chair that had no place being in this room placed in the middle of the floor. His legs fell out from under him as he approached, and he crashed to the ground. The floor shined… glistened, covered in something warm… something familiar.
Terror flooded his system as he tried to get up, slipping on the slick ground as he made his way to his bathroom.
That didn’t happen, no, it couldn’t have. He’s imagining it.
Images flashed in front of his eyes as he gripped the edge of the sink: flashes of silver, a blood-red silk handkerchief, golden curls, chocolate brown eyes wide with pleasure, his arms tied tightly behind him as blood drained from his body.
That wasn’t a dream.
Blood trickled out of his nose and splashed onto the porcelain, interrupting the memory, panic soaring through his body. He couldn’t catch his breath and his legs once again gave out from under him, his head colliding with the side of his sink.
***
How did he get back into bed?
His head felt like it was about to explode, his skull ached, and there was blood on his temple slowly streaming down the side of his face. He tried everything he could think of to move, but his body was still. The pain and terror from the last four days was at its breaking point.
The moonlight continued to pour through the window, casting shadows where there were none before. He attempted to recall what had happened before he hit his head when heard it. The sound of bare feet on wood floors and the scraping of metal echoing through the halls.
The door swung open and stood in the doorway was Hermione Granger: a knife in her hand, the sharp tip pressing into her finger as she stared at him, wearing only a silk nightgown splattered with blood.
She tilted her head and smirked at him, "Oh, what happened? You're bleeding."
He couldn’t muster a single word, his voice escaping him as blood started to leak from his nose, coating his teeth.
She sauntered towards him, leaving bloody footprints as she walked; her eyes flicking between the knife she was holding and the shape of his body on his bed. His heart raced as she got closer, his body still unmoveable.
He was confused, scared, angry – nothing felt right anymore.
Her free hand extended towards him, dragging blood from his mouth down his chin – his eyes wide with fear while hers glittered. He watched in disbelief as she brought her finger to her mouth and sucked hard, a moan rumbling deep from within her chest.
The knife never left her hand, slicing along one side of his jaw, blood pooling in his collarbone. It was so warm against his cold, clammy skin and she seemed to enjoy the way it coated him, touching her hand to his chest and smearing the blood up his neck and across his face.
The metallic smell in the air was so strong, and his head was growing cloudy. Her eyes were glazed over, a small smile on her face, sucking her bottom lip in as she idly played around with the blood on his body, the knife trailing through the patterns she was leaving.
The haze cleared from his mind and he tried to wriggle out from under her to reach his wand. The knife was at his throat in an instant.
"What's wrong? Do you not like what I'm wearing?" Her eyebrows scrunched, digging the knife deeper into his skin.
"I've noticed all the potions you've been using, all so colourful: violet, blue, green, even red. What were they for? Were you trying to keep me away?” She lifted the knife from his neck, tears escaping from the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think it worked.”
His mind was now too fractured to register what was going on. Was she glowing? Or had he lost so much blood he was hallucinating? She certainly felt real; warm and firm against his body as she climbed on top of him. Every nerve ending was on fire, but his soul had shattered.
He felt hollow.
He attempted to speak – to say anything – but her hand slammed over his mouth before he could make a noise, leaving him choking on the blood now pouring down his throat. She ground against him and whimpered, bringing her blood soaked hand to her chest, back arching.
"I wanted to thank you for what happened a few days ago. Remember? When you got a paper cut?” she announced, bringing her eyes back to his. “I almost lost it right there in the room. It took me a few minutes after that meeting to gather my thoughts, to really understand what was happening to me. I saw the parchment that gave you that first cut, discarded – forgotten, your blood still drying on the surface.”
She smiled innocently as she ran the tip of the knife across her bare chest, scoring a line in her blood spattered skin. “I needed to see more of it, taste it. I hope you don't mind, but I let myself in the last few nights.”
Draco's eyes widened and his heart started racing.
“I had to rework your blood wards to get in. You were always sleeping when I arrived. Always looking so relaxed, so peaceful in your slumber.”
She brought the knife to her face and stared at it, moonlight reflecting off the metal and highlighting the blood speckled on her face, covering her signature freckles.
“Do you like my knife? I found it shortly after I broke your wards, I couldn't help myself. Have you ever looked at it? Closely? How long has it been in this house and you've never bat an eye at it?"
As she moved it away from her face, he saw the inscription on the blade right before she plunged the knife deep into the centre of his chest.
Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.
The gasp that escaped his lungs propelled blood from his mouth directly onto her face and she moaned. Black flooded his vision as he stared at her, watching her lift the knife from where she thrust it into his sternum, dragging her tongue along the blade.
"You taste just as good as I thought you would."
---
You try to push me out
But I just find my way back in
Violet, blue, green, red to keep me out
I win