Fiendfyre || drarry (completed)

ii

       

Draco stood in the sixth floor bathroom (he felt unable to return to Myrtle's first floor bathroom after the cursed scar Potter had left him, reaching from his left shoulder down to his navel), staring distastefully at his reflection and considering Potter's offer of help. Perhaps, if the teachers were so unwilling to help, Potter was the solution.

The heavy oak door swung open and a gaggle of third year Gryffindors swarmed in. One look at Draco and their eyes lit up. "Oi, Slytherin," one of them yelled, "run away from any more battles recently?"

"Cursed any first years yet today?" Draco returned, malice sparkling in his grey eyes.

The ringleader narrowed his eyes furiously and beckoned for his cronies to circle Draco. "Those arseholes in your bloody coward's house need to be taught a lesson," the boy snapped.

"Cowards?"

"No Slytherins fought in the battle, everyone knows that."

"No, I'd be inclined to disagree there. Of course, you wouldn't know that because you were also not fighting."

"Not out of choice!" snarled the all too young Gryffindor.

"No, but half of my house were kept out of trouble because we stunned them and carried them out of danger. The ones who did sneak out to fight were murdered by fucking arses like you, who assumed from their green fucking tie that they were evil."

"Shit-"

"Now I don't want to hear another word about cowardice until you realise that ten third years against a single firstie who didn't know shit about your bloody stereotypes when they were sorted into Slytherin is a coward's move, and bloody unfair."

The boys stared at Draco for a moment, shell-shocked. When he drew his wand, however, they all hurried off, evidently terrified of the furious eighteen year old.

"I thought Gryffindor valued chivalry," Draco muttered viciously, returning to the task at hand, carving the mark out of his skin.

To his surprise (for students rarely frequented this bathroom, as it was a long way from anything else in the bloody ridiculous castle), the heavy oak door swung open once more, barely ten minutes after the third years had left.

"Draco?" came the incredulous tones of Harry freaking Potter. Bloody brilliant.

"Potter."

His obnoxiously unobservant classmate shyly ventured closer before noticing blood dripping down Draco's left forearm.

"Merlin, Draco, what happened?"

"I was branded with the dark mark, you know that."

"No, I mean-"

"It doesn't matter," Draco snapped.

"I saw some third years rushing away, talking about hexing you-"

"That never happened. I told them that they were idiots and they scarpered. Arses."

"But then-"

"Leave it, Potter. It doesn't matter." Draco glanced up and their eyes met, silver clashing with vibrant green. The blond collapsed, breathing heavily, suddenly returning to their sixth year, fighting in the bathroom. His scar twinged painfully, and a thin sweat caked his brow. Silently, Harry moved towards the boy and helped him up.

"Potter-"

"I don't care what you say. I'm taking you to the hospital wing, even if I have to stun you. I'd prefer it if you cooperate."