*✧･ﾟ:* DEAD TO ME *:･ﾟ✧*
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TW: mention of drugs, alcohol & physical violence
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IT WAS TIMES like these that Harry wished he had an older sister. He didn't know shit about clothes, when it came down to it, and he knew that no one had ever considered his t-shirt and zip up combo or way-too-big flannels anything remotely attractive, and he wished he had someone who could give him a bit of wardrobe advice. Why did he care, anyways? It was just some stupid Slytherin party that Ron was dragging him along to because he was too worried to let Hermione go by herself (even though Hermione said she'd be spending her time with Nancy Woods).
Harry stood in front of the mirror of his bathroom, his hair messier than he'd like, his stupid glasses smudged and his clothes looking painfully average. The bags under his eyes were deep and practically purple, and his cheekbones seemed to have sunken in (or maybe they were just more defined) greatly since he last checked. Frustratedly, he brought his arms over his back to yank at the material of his flannel, tugging violently and practically ripping it off his torso; he pelted it to the floor, and although it felt like a great bit of force, it only fluttered down with a soft pooft.
He wasn't as lanky as he once had been, he said to himself to try and better his mood. Even he could see the muscular shapes of chest, the sharp lines leading down his toros and towards his pelvis; had he been playing that much Quidditch? He hadn't even realized the effect it was having on his body.
"Harry!" Ron called from outside the bathroom. Harry silently groaned and hung his head low as though his friend had ruined the mood. "You ready?"
He turned his head down to the floor, spying the crumpled ball that was his flannel and heaved a deep sigh. Swiping it off of the ground and shaking it to unfold it, he shrugged it back over his head and called out, "Yeah."
Hermione looked rather pretty, wearing a very 1970s-esque pair of flared jeans and light colored top that made Ron's eyebrows jump up. Throughout the period of time that the Gryffindor trio exited the common room and made their way down to the dungeons, Ron had already tried to get Hermione to change her mind twice; Hermione also had to keep reminding Harry that yes Nancy was going to meet them outside so they didn't just walk in blindly.
"Hey, Hermione!" Woods waved enthusiastically from her spot leaned against the wall, a bubble of bright pink bubblegum popping in between her curved lips. Hermione immediately grinned, lifting her hand up in a small wave. Ron frowned. "Cute jeans, I love your style!"
"Thanks," Hermione turned a bit pink in the face. Woods was wearing a blue and pink patterned mini skirt, with a matching denim jacket over a black shirt. Harry suddenly felt very underdressed. "Quite quiet, isn't it?"
"Oh, there's a charm," Woods said, cracking her gum again, her eyes shrewdly judging Ron's tattered jeans before she glanced over Harry and had a similar reaction. She averted her eyes back up to Hermione and grinned. "You ready, then?"
"I suppose," Hermione shrugged. Woods uttered the password quiet enough for the Gryffindors not to hear (Harry assumed it was still 'Pureblood'), allowing the door to swing open. The girl ushered them in before slamming the door shut again, and as soon as it closed, the music boomed into Harry's eardrums all at once, the bass thumping in his feet.
"Come on!" Woods said loudly over the music, nodding her head further towards the crowd. "Ana's in here, somewhere!"
She led them further in, Hermione in the lead with Ron at her tails; Harry lingered a bit behind, but still followed nonetheless. Surprisingly, only a few Slytherins had shot him weird glances; the others didn't seem to give a shit if he were there. He spotted Malfoy on the opposite side of the room, leaning close to a dark haired girl and whispering something to her that made her giggle. Harry cringed in disgust and kept walking.
Jones was sitting on one of the deep green couches beside Nott, who was looking smart in a simple black shirt and black trousers, both of the pair holding half-filled cups. Harry swallowed anxiously as he looked at Jones further; through the dark lights of the Slytherin common room, he could see the outline of her collarbones exposed by the low square neck of the black dress she wore, but what caught him off guard were the black stockings that reached her mid-thighs, where a black garter held them up. He could have passed out right then and there.
"You came!" Jones exclaimed when she set eyes on Hermione, face lighting up. She placed her cup down and stood up — oh god, she was wearing black stilettos, was she trying to kill him? — to greet the Gryffindor girl. Harry stayed behind a bit with Ron, who was glancing around the room apprehensively.
"Big party," Ron muttered to Harry as Jones went off about Hermione's outfit. "Is this even allowed?"
"Probably not," Harry replied quietly, cringing when he watched someone lean down and snort something glittery and white off of one of the smaller tables. "I don't even think it's legal."
Harry and Ron stuck together the entire night. Ron insisted on staying due to him being on edge about Hermione, his eyes constantly glancing over to where his girlfriend was dancing around with Woods and Jones, grinning widely and loosening up. Harry had the thought that if he were friends with more people in the room, he too, may have been able to have a good time.
He lost sight of Jones a while into the night; he had glanced over at Hermione and Woods, who were merely chatting with each other, and quickly noticed the third girls absence. He even went as far as to avert his eyes towards where Zabini and Nott were; both boys were standing leisurely around, drinking casually. Malfoy was still hanging onto that dark haired girl. And Jones was nowhere.
"Woah — woah — woah!" He heard a deep voice shout from the other side of the room. Harry and Ron traded a look. "Yo — what the fuck?"
Harry watched as a tall, muscular sixth year tumbled onto the ground, clutching his face. With a chaste glance at Ron, Harry stood up, squinting a bit to see that there was thick, red blood leaking from in between the boys fingers. Ron stood up as well and the pair of Gryffindors creeped towards the scene. The room had gotten a bit less loud.
Harry's jaw dropped; Jones was towering a few feet from the sixth year, a fierce scowl across her features, her curls slightly draped over her face. The black eyeliner she had at the corners of her eyes was a bit smudged, but what caught his eye was the way her dress was scrunched up and the bruises forming on her knuckles made Harry wonder what the hell had happened.
The sixth year hopped to his feet, wiping the blood from his face onto his shirt, his head turning to look up at Jones. Harry didn't miss the flash of fear on her face; she covered it with her usual scowl and clenched her now bruised fist, taking a step backwards as the sixth year advanced towards her. Harry felt a sinking in his stomach.
He supposed truly hadn't been able to control himself; the sixth year had pelted forward so very fast, grabbing ahold of Jones' shoulders and slamming her so hard into the wall that Harry heard her whimper with pain. There had been a few collective gasps as the sixth year pressed a strong hand to Jones' sternum, holding her down by her chest and then SMACK! slapped her hard across the cheek; Harry had acted purely out of instinct, pushing forwards and ripping the sixth year away from her by the back of his neck.
"What the —" The sixth year started, bewildered. Harry hadn't given him time to respond, because he brought up all of that pent of anger from goddamn Quidditch and the goddamn war and his goddamn friends and brought his fist slamming down into the boy's face. He crumpled to the floor, and Harry bent down to continue, barely even flinching when the boys fist collided with his aquiline nose. Harry hadn't given him enough time to do more; he lunged down over him and punched him once, twice, thrice before remembering himself and scrambling to his feet.
The bass of the music was still pounding, lights still flashing, and when Harry glanced back up he saw that Zabini was pushing the tiny crowd that had formed back towards the party, muttering things like "Nothing to see," and "More drinks over there," to make everyone back off.
Ron's jaw was dropped open, and a little to Ron's right was Hermione and Woods, both of which looking flabbergasted. The sixth year was moaning and groaning on the floor, blood dripping from his face. He reeked of alcohol and something that reminded Harry faintly of gasoline.
Jones was still pressed against the wall, her dress scrunched up and a few pieces of hair draped over her forehead. A clean, pink handprint was marked on her cheek, and he could see the redness of where the boy's hand had been pressing against her exposed sternum. She may have been crying, but he couldn't quite tell. She was staring at him, blinking furiously, as though she genuinely could not believe what had just happened.
Woods stepped forward towards Jones, a hand outstretched as though she were expecting her to take it. Jones, however, was still looking at Harry, and he only blinked back, breathing heavily as he wiped his now bleeding nose with the back of his hand. He watched her run her hands down her dress, smoothing out where it had been bunched up.
"Dee," Zabini started in a gentle voice that Harry couldn't even imagine coming out of his mouth. Zabini slowly approached Jones, his slanted eyes oh-so-soft and his demeanor so calm that one may think he were approaching a wild animal. Nott was standing behind him, looking as though he might cry. Jones glanced over at them.
"Indiana," Nott said quietly, jerking his head to the side. "Come on."
Jones weakly nodded, pushing herself off of the wall and bringing on her hands to lightly rub the pink handprint on her cheek. Her eyes darted to Harry as she brushed by him, and he didn't fail to notice the way her pace slowed down a bit when she passed him, her eyes stuck on the blood smeared on his face.
Nott wrapped an arm around Jones' shoulders, rubbing her upper arm comfortingly as he led her towards the boys' dormitory steps. Harry stared as they disappeared, fighting the urge to run up after them to see if she was alright, but the other half of him was refraining from kneeling back down and murdering the sixth year right then and there.
Speaking of which, Zabini had stepped forward, kneeling down over the sixth year. He thrusted a hand out and gripped the boy by the scruff of his neck, yanking him up so violently that even Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. Zabini pulled the boy further and slammed him against the wall.
"The fuck is wrong with you, Ambrose?" Zabini hissed, holding up and wrapping his fingers tightly around the boy's neck so he could barely speak. "Huh? She told you she wasn't interested, you arrogant piece of shit, can't you take no for an answer? Huh?"
"Blaise," Woods mumbled from beside Hermione, who was clutching Woods' arm tightly.
"Next time you take a fucking step towards her, you're dead, you hear?" Zabini growled quietly. The sixth year nodded fervently. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Get the fuck out of here."
"Oh, Harry," Hermione said once Ambrose scrambled off, clutching his nose. Hermione released her hold on Woods and stepped forward, taking out her wand and muttering, "Episkey."
"Christ, Potter," Woods said breathlessly, shaking her head a bit. "That was... yeah I wasn't expecting..."
"Thank you," Zabini told him earnestly, although he was eyeing the Gryffindor rather oddly, as though he knew something the rest of them didn't. Harry only nodded. "I would have stepped in, but it seemed you had it under control, hm?"
"Yeah," Harry said weakly, his eyes flickering up to where the steps to the boys' dormitories were.
"Theo's probably brought her up to he and I's dorm," Zabini directed this towards Woods, although he had glanced up at Harry.
"Do we check on her?" Woods asked reluctantly. "Or d'you think she needs time...?"
Zabini pursed his lips, thinking, his fingers fiddling at his side a bit before his eyes promptly glanced at Harry again. After a heartbeat, he said, "You stay here. Potter — come with me."
"Woah, wait —" Ron started, obviously not too fond of the idea.
"It's fine, Ron," Harry told him. "Just stay here with Mione."
Harry silently followed Zabini through the crowd and towards the steps of the boys' dormitories. All the scarlet and gold of Gryffindor's dorms were silver and green for Slytherin, and Harry felt a bit guilty for liking the aesthetic of Slytherin's a bit more. Zabini hesitated when he reached one of the doors, taking a swift breath before rapping his knuckles on the door.
Nott cracked it open, looking relieved at Zabini's presence but tensed up a bit at Harry's.
"What's he doing up here?"
"I told him to come," Zabini said blankly. "S'posed Dee would want to... I dunno..."
"Right," Nott narrowed his eyes at Harry a bit but opened the door further nonetheless. "Indiana, Blaise n' Potter have come up."
"Kay," Harry heard Jones say. When he stepped into the dormitory, he was overwhelmed by the amount of green that coated the bedspreads, the curtains, the carpets; everything was accented with silver, although Harry assumed the bed with a silver bedspread was Malfoy's.
Jones was laying on the bed in the center, not quite underneath the covers, but her knees curled up to her chest as though she were. Her dress was scrunched up her thighs, so much so Harry could see the black garters she still wore, but her black heels were strewn onto the floor, and her hair was splayed about underneath her head.
Zabini approached the bed and sat down on the edge of it, bringing a hand over to run across the girl's head. Harry felt strange seeing her like this; she looked so young, so fragile. So sad.
"Hey, Dee," Zabini cooed. "You alright?"
"M'fine," She muttered, pushing herself up by her palms so she was sitting beside Zabini. She leaned closer to him, slumping a head onto his shoulder as her eyes drifted in and out of focus. There was a bruise on her sternum, as well as across her knuckles. Harry knew he had them on his hand as well. "I told him 'no.'"
"I never liked Ambrose," Nott commented, leaning against the post of the bed. "Fuckin' git, he is."
"He tried to..." Jones trailed off, one of her hands scratching at her upper thigh as she lifted herself off of Zabini's shoulder. "He..."
"You don't need to talk about it if you don't wanna," Zabini told her, scratching the back of her head. She closed her eyes contently for a moment, a tiny hum escaping her lips before she turned her head a bit, locking eyes with Harry.
"You got blood on your face," She commented quietly, glassy dark eyes peering over at him from where her chin rested on Zabini's shoulder. Harry brought a hand up to his face, wiping a bit of the drying blood onto the back of his hand.
"Good observation," Harry muttered. Nott glared at him for the attitude, but the corner of Jones' lips twitched upwards as she shifted to rest her temple on Zabini's shoulder again. She was holding onto his hand, Harry saw, and he hated the way his chest twisted as the sight of them.
Nott turned around a bit, looking out the door, where he sighed, pursing his lips. He kept staring for a moment before turning back to Zabini and saying, "Malfoy's comin' up."
"Alone?" Zabini asked.
"Some bird's with him," Nott replied, craning his neck to look over again. Harry turned his head as well, glancing out the door; he could see the shadows of two people on the far wall, holding onto each other. From inside the room, Zabini groaned.
"Fuckin' Astoria," Zabini muttered, his deep brown eyes darting up at the door before they went back down to Jones.
"S'okay," Jones told him, peeling herself off of him and giving him a sad and halfhearted smile. "I can go back down, s'all good."
"Not if that son of a bitch is still —!" Zabini started.
"Blaise," Jones said firmly, putting a hand on his knee. Harry clenched his jaw. "M'fine. Honest."
"Woah, party in here!" said a feminine voice from the door. All four of them turned to look, where Malfoy and the brunette girl from earlier, who Harry now recognized as Astoria Greengrass, were standing, slightly entangled. Malfoy was grinning wickedly, his arm clasped around the girl's hip tightly, but as he glanced over at Jones, he frowned.
"What's going on?" He directed towards Zabini. Zabini frowned and shook his head, standing up. Jones got to her feet as well, glancing up at Harry once before looking at her feet, pulling her dress down. It was then that Malfoy noticed Harry's presence. "Potter? The fuck are you doing up here?"
"Calm down," Nott said. "Blaise brought him up."
"Shit, Blaise," Malfoy remarked, smirking. "You got somethin' to tell us?"
"Maybe if you weren't being a horny twat all night, you'd know what was going on," Zabini snapped. Malfoy raised his brows and lifted his free hand in defense. "We're leaving, anyways."
"We can go," Astoria said kindly, eyeing Jones' disheveled appearance and the blood on Harry's face. "I don't mind, Draco —"
"No, no," Malfoy shook his head. "They said they were leaving."
Zabini shot an icy glare at Malfoy as he tugged Jones past, to which Nott followed with a similar disappointed glance. Malfoy was scowling at Harry, who only lowly whistled and turned on his heel to exit, his hands slumped in his pockets as he trailed after the others. The door slammed behind him, and Harry didn't want to know what would go on in the room now that they were gone.
When they reached the bottom of the steps, Harry was confused to see Jones ushering Zabini and Nott off as she waited by the entrance, looking uncharacteristically awkward. Nott tried to stay, but after shooting a single glance at Harry, he turned and jogged after Zabini.
"Potter," Jones addressed him, turning to look up at him. He could see her eyes flickering around his face and Harry assumed it was because the blood had smeared. And then, in a soft voice that made his heart clench, she said, "Why... why'd you do that? I could have dealt with it."
"Well he was —" Harry started before pausing, running his tongue along his bottom lip and tearing his eyes away from her. "I wasn't gonna let him just... I dunno..."
Jones was quiet for a long moment, those big brown eyes of hers slowly blinking up at him. He could still see the light handprint on her face, still pink and prominent as ever, and he felt his hand involuntarily lift to touch it. He dropped his hand, however, before he let it get higher than his waist, knowing it wasn't a good idea to give into any of the urges he felt around Jones.
"I... erm... I appreciate it," Jones grumbled, her eyes down at her feet as though it physically pained her to say this or even meet his eyes; at her side, her hand played with the hem of her dress, and Harry could see a flash of the black garter around her thigh as she did so. He blinked down at her, confused as to why he liked seeing her so fidgety around him.
She brought her left arm up to run a hand through her curls, scratching the side of her head as though it was paining her. The music was still playing loudly, and in the far back of the Slytherin common room, Harry spotted the sixth year he had pummeled, sitting beside a rather unattractive looking boy and holding an ice pack to his face. Jones followed Harry's eyes and turned her head, laying eyes on Ambrose.
"Fuckin' twat," She muttered, shaking her head as she stared over at him. "Hook up with him once and he thinks he owns me. Fuckin' men."
Harry blinked and wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. He had hooked up with her once; did she think of him as low as this Ambrose character? As though she sensed his discomfort, she turned and gave him a sort of grimace-smile.
"Sorry," She chirped, although it didn't seem like she meant it very much. And then, with that stupid smirk of hers, she said, "Not to offend you, Boy-Who-Lived."
"Don't call me that," Harry narrowed his eyes at her, feeling his neck heat up.
"Oh, do you prefer Chosen One?" She teased, cocking her head to the side a bit. Harry ran his hand down his face frustratedly, praying his face hadn't turned too red.
"No, I prefer my actual name," Harry told her firmly, green eyes glinting. She raised a single brow at him.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Jones asked rhetorically, and yet again she raked her eyes over him, just like she had at Quidditch practice, her eyelashes fluttering once she met his eyes once again. Harry heavily swallowed as he felt that same lurching in his lower stomach, but as quickly as it came, it went as she broke the eye contact and peered on the other side of the room.
Harry turned his head as well, spotting where Woods and Hermione were standing, speaking quietly to one another, and behind them Ron was sitting on one of the chairs, looking bored as ever.
"Your glasses are crooked," He heard Jones say, to which Harry furrowed his brows, knowing they were sitting atop his nose just fine.
"What're you —?"
Jones reached a hand up, having to stand on her toes a bit to reach, and flicked the side of his lenses with her finger, causing them to sit askew on the tip of his aquiline nose.
Smirking, she promptly raised her dark brows at him before brushing past him and approaching Woods and Hermione. Ron glanced up at Jones and back at Harry, who stood looking dumbfounded. Ron lifted a brow curiously, and Harry only shook his head and muttered something under his breath before striding to join him.
SHE SPEAKS!
i love this chapter!!!!! i've had this planned out for literally weeks because bloody nose harry... god damn
thanks for all the recent love on dead to me! you all inspire me to keep writing even when i don't feel like it <3
also i've been binge watching the marvel movies and now i don't know who to direct all my brain-power on... harry takes up a considerable amount of room in my brain as is, but now he's fighting with bucky barnes and pietro maximoff for the space in my brain. harry'll probably win that fight but pietro's going strong!
thank you all for readying !!
-s <3