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For the Want of a Nail	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4934 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 11. Want

"Harry!" my cousin cries out as Potter finally enters the kitchen, dropping the cup of tea she was holding in excitement. I shoot out to grab it before it reaches the floor, and the today turquoise-haired woman looks at me with surprise that quickly fades to embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes desperately, biting her lip, not quite able to look me in the eyes.
I fight the urge to let out a sigh. "It's nothing," I state calmly, walking over to the sink to wash the warm and sticky liquid off my hands. God, I hate these people who think I will turn into Mr Vampire/Killer as soon as they look at me. One reason I appreciate Potter, I guess; he is one of the few people that look me in the eyes when they speak to me.
I turn to cast a glance at Potter, and find him looking at me with a furrowed brow. When he realises I have turned towards him he hurries to stumble to the table and engage Tonks in a heated quiz on who is doing what and with whom in 'the real world'. It startles me to realise that he misses that world so much. That place which I'd rather hide away from forever than set my foot in again.
I look around in the dark room. Only two candles are lit, barely allowing Tonks and Potter to speak face to face, yet I feel disgustingly exposed. I plan to exit quietly to my beloved library, when I suddenly realise there actually is someone in the real world that I care whether they live or die.
"Tonks?" I ask in what must have been a very scary voice because both Potter and the Metamorphagus jump slightly in their seats. I ignore them and move on to my question. "Do you know what happened to Professor Snape?"
Tonks stares at me for a long minute before turning to cast a questioning look at Potter, who's face has suddenly gone very grave. He swallows loudly and averts his gaze to the floor, leaving Tonks to turn back to me with a crestfallen expression. "Professor Snape..." she begins quietly, fingers nervously tearing at the napkin in her hands. "He disappeared three weeks ago. We were able to locate him, but by the time we got there..." She trails off, lowering her gaze to her hands.
And there really is no need for her to say more. "How?" I hear my voice ask hollowly, vaguely wondering when my lips moved. My cousin doesn't raise her eyes, she merely keeps fidgeting with the napkin as she speaks. "It seems it was Cruciatus before they... the snake."

Nagini. I wince, a shudder going through my body as I imagine my godfather's last moments. Regaining my composure, I avert my eyes to see Potter staring at me, compassion marring his features. I clench my jaw. I don't want their cheap pity. "Excuse me," I murmur, leaving the room as swiftly as my legs can carry me.
Whilst I run to my room, I realise there is no escaping this. I can't run to escape, I can't leave to get some release. Some alleviation for this churning pain in my gut. I enter my room, closing the door behind me but finding myself unable to lock it: Potter still has the key.
Sitting down on the edge of the dusty bed I wait for the tears to come. They don't. I just feel hollow. Angry. Angry at all these people that didn't even bother to tell me. They didn't bother telling the only person in the world who would truly mourn the death of Severus Snape.
I despise them. Those weak, cowardly people. People like Potter, sitting down in that kitchen right now pretending they care. Pretending to give a fuck so that they have the right to pity me. I feel the shocks of anger rush through me, finding myself compelled to grip the poster of the bed to keep myself from running downstairs right now and ripping the throats of Potter and my clumsy, weak cousin.
I pull my knees to my chest, rocking myself slowly back and forth as I stare into oblivion. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could forget, if even for just a moment. For forever.

I want to die.

___________________________________________________________________

What could be either hours or mere minutes later, I hear Potter's steps approach my room. "Malfoy?" He knocks softly before opening the door with a slight creaking sound. I do not bother to avert my gaze from the far-away wall. Not that it is focused there either way.
"Malfoy?" he repeats, approaching the bed cautiously. For a moment I wonder when my rage faded to a dull hollow ache, but the thought dissolves as soon as it came. "You knew?" slips from my mouth in that same monotone voice from before.
"I'm sorry," Potter sighs, sounding truly apologetic. Not that it matters anyway, his apologies won't bring Severus back. "They forbade me from telling you, thinking it could get dangerous with only the two of us in the house..."
"Ah," is the only thing I manage to reply. It's cruel, but I understand. It's perfectly reasonable. After all, no one wants to be alone with a grief-blinded, bloodthirsty vampire.

Like Potter is now.

"Why are you here?" I ask in what almost resembles my normal voice, confusion overthrowing the numbness. I turn my head towards the brunette, who seems surprised by my question but also pleased to finally get a real reaction from me.
"I came to see if you were OK. Do you want me to leave?" he asks quickly, seeming somewhat forlorn about the idea. "I sent Tonks home, thinking you probably wouldn't want her in the house..." He rambles on, looking at me cautiously from under his long, dark lashes.
I stare at him in wonderment for a minute, before I burst into a loud roar of laughter. The boy's ability to still be so stupid, so thoroughly naïve amazes me. Whilst Potter is trying to find out what the fuck is wrong with me, I laugh my heart out.
It's good to know some things never change.

___________________________________________________________________

We do not speak of that day. Not of my hysterical reaction. Not of Severus. Not of the bath tub.

Never of the bath tub.

Life continues much as it has. I spend my days studying, in my room or the library. The only difference is, Potter seems determined to follow me everywhere. It's not that he sits beside me when I read, or keeps me company when I brush my teeth. It's the little things.
He finds reasons to come knocking while I'm in the library, looking for these and those books. Yet I know he just spends most of his time here going through Sirius' old stuff. My room he enters now and again, every time just as politely asking if he could borrow some shampoo, a pack of cards, an opinion on some Potions text I know he has never even read through.
I might admit I've quite grown to appreciate his company. He doesn't avoid the topic of my condition, but neither does he focus on it. And while I could live without his nonsensical jabbering about all those Quiddich teams, I quite enjoy the lengthy monologues I trick him into having by ignoring his ignorant questions. It's a little game of our's. How long can I keep on pretending he doesn't exist while he pads along after me, talking to himself. When I lose, how long can he keep me socializing with him before I realise I am a Slytherin, not to mention a vampire, who shouldn't get chummy with anyone. Least of all a Gryffindor. Least of all Potter.

___________________________________________________________________

He doesn't hide away from me anymore. Were I a little more arrogant I might even suggest he seeks out my company.
I look around in the large kitchen, smiling to myself as I turn to pour myself another cup of coffee. It's my favourite room in the house, apart from the library. It's also the only room which I have taken liberty of keeping lit. The only room where Malfoy won't put out any candle I light.
The only room where he will come to me.
One minute I am alone here like I have been for all these weeks. Then, I turn around, to find him sitting at the table reading a book. As if he has always been there.
"Morning," I smile while seating myself on the other end of the table, gaining a muffled grunt in responce.
He never says much. A great difference from the bragging, loudmouthed Slytherin I thought I knew in school. But school is far away from us now, I realise as I sneak a glace at the pale boy in front of me. The Draco Malfoy, the Harry Potter from that time, they both seem so distant. As if all of that was something that happened in another time. Between two totally different people. Never between us. Never between this Malfoy, this Potter in this easy, comfortable silence we have created around us.
For the most time he ignores me, always making sure to keep his nose buried in a book. I feel as though I am watching him through a shield of glass; I talk and talk and he can't seem to hear me. But when I finally manage to lure him out from behind that shield, he's nearly human.
"What are you looking at?"
I'm startled out of my ponderings by that deep voice to realise I have been staring at him for god knows how long. "Nothing," I mumble, feeling a faint blush creep over my nose. He keeps looking at me with a puzzled expression. I fidget in my seat, not knowing where to look. Those steel gray eyes never fail to make me totally speechless. After a while I see one corner of his mouth rise into an involuntary shadow of a smile. He snorts with amusement, turning back to his book.
I watch his eyes quickly follow the lines in the book, his slender fingers tapping softly against the cover as they always do. As if the book allows him to hear a song, a secret melody meant only for him.
"You're staring again." he says, ill-disguised amusement in his voice, not lifting his eyes from the book.
I ignore him, suddenly realising we have something more important to discuss. "Don't you have to feed today?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly besides my best efforts, efficiently breaking the comfortable atmosphere in the room. The tapping stops, and after a few seconds Malfoy turns slowly towards me. "It has been a week," he admits, voice soft but reserved.
I nod softly, smiling reassuringly, somehow trying to fix what was broken. The feeding is the worst part of our week. The best part of my week.
Ever since that day, the day of which we do not speak, we made a silent agreement that he should only feed off me as he did off Hermione that one time. It's still hard; even through the wrist I can feel the pull. But it's only a slight resemblance to the one through the throat. I try to push the thought away, reminding myself that the last time was a mistake. A foolish thing to do, we could both get hurt in the process of letting it go too far, like we did. Bloodthirts and teenage lust is not a good combination, of course someone would get hurt.
Decidedly me.
I sigh, making Malfoy's eyes turn to me with a worried glimpse. To not worry him of anything, to get to over with so that our lives can go back to normal, I raise from my seat. "Well, shall we?"
I do not wait for his answer, knowing there will be none. I feel his discomfort as he pads silently behind me to his room. There I sit down by the head of the bed, and Malfoy takes a seat a good two feet from me, making sure no parts of us touch. I reach out my right arm for him to take, sighing softly. This is not what I want.

He glances at me with slight concern, before grabbing my hand with cold, yet surprisingly gentle fingers, pulling it towards his mouth. I cast him another reassuring glance before I watch him sink his bared fangs into the flesh. A shudder travels through my body. From the wonderful, familiar hot ache in my arm, up to my shoulders and down my spine, fluttering like butterflies. And still, even after all these weeks in which I have gotten used to the though that this is all I'll get, it's not right. It's still not enough.
I shudder again as another shiver runs through my body. Of course it feels wonderful. But it's only a spark. I need more. I need the flames, the fire.

This is not enough.

I feel Malfoy's urgency take off, and soon he is lapping at the wounds. As soon as they are closed, he casts me a apologetic look, let's go of my hand and bolts through the door. My arm, seemingly unable to support itself, falls limply to my side. I sigh, the noise coming out like a sob, and I swallow loudly a few times to keep the tears away. I lie down on my back, reminding myself of my promise not to shed any tears over this. It's totally idiotic.
It's just a little blood.

Yes, I sigh as I stare up at the cracked roof above me. Just a little blood.

___________________________________________________________________

Silence.
A slight clucking sound echoing around me, bouncing off white porcelain and whiter skin. The water shifts me gently back and forth, squeezing me. Suffocating me. Keeping me safe, keeping me in my dreamlike state. A green light from somewhere above breaks through the surface. Green, like Potter's eyes.
But there is no Potter here. Only the vast silence. No noisy raven-haired boy disrupting my haven. I wish I could stay here forever. Wouldn't that be lovely? No more having to interrupt my studying to watch the dimwit eat lunch. No more having to explain every other word I say just because Potter wouldn't open a dictionary to save his life. No more candles to burn down my walls. No more warmth.
Only calm and quiet. Darkness. Serenity.
Loneliness.

Silence.

Panic filling my lungs with water, I surface.

___________________________________________________________________

It must be May by now, I realise as I watch the moon reflect its blue light on the last patches of snow on the otherwise bare ground. How surprisingly quickly time flies when one doesn't sleep; it all feels like a very long day, until one day one realises the months that have passed. Or maybe time has just passed quicker since Potter got here.
I shake my head, trying but not managing to make myself hope for the boy to leave already. I have grown too accustomed to the house smelling like candles again, to all the noise he makes, to his incomprehensible chatter about all things involving Quidditch. To that longing expression he gets when he stares at me for a long while.
A shiver runs through my body, though the wind blowing over the rooftop is the warmest I have felt here yet. I look over the rooftops ahead of me, feeling the despair that has been churning in the pit of my stomach all day.
I can't live like this. I can't keep falling into that comfortable life we lead, only to be brutally shock out of it every time I find him staring at me like that. Only to break it when I have to feed again.
Every time I have to break away and leave him with that bewildered, lost, abandoned expression on his face, I promise myself it'll be the last. That next time I will go longer without feeding. Next time I will wait until they bring someone else over.
But then he looks at me, that soft, sad smile playing on his lips. "Well, shall we?"

And I lose. For while I can't bear to leave him, resisting him is much harder. Useless.
I run a hand violently through my by now overgrown hair, a low growl erupting from my throat. I can't keep going like this. I can't give him what he wants. And still... I can't seem to take it away either.
The growl softens into a sob as I stare out in to oblivion. I can't live like this, with him.
I can't live without him.
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For the Want of a Nail