It was horrible to see Draco like this. Even though he was crowned as one of his biggest enemies, he never meant for this to happen. Though the reason of the beating was still vivid, Harry wasn't even sure whether he really wanted to know it or not. Did his father find out about their business? About his homosexual activities with the one person he wasn't supposed to spend time with? Though Harry was "praised" as the chosen one, the slumbering burden, he wasn't the only one. Draco was forced by the Dark Lord to complete several tasks, being threatened by the death of his family in case he wouldn't proceed. Draco barely meant to become a spoiled brat, but was simply created to – being a part of a pure-blood family tearing his youth apart. The boy without choices. However, Harry didn't know about this. To Harry he was just a boy, praised and tugged to a certain kind of perfection Harry couldn't put his finger on. Yes, he was attracted to him. Or at least it seemed like it, according to the last several months of spending hours a day thinking about him. Though Draco's leaving was one of his darkest desires about a year ago, he now found it one of his deepest fears – knowing he could be gone and treated like shit once he'd vanished from Hogwarts. Harry didn't like the idea of it. He spend most of his youth in his uncle's house, in a cupboard under the stairs, living with the most foulest people of all, and he couldn't forgive himself wishing it to someone else. Not to Draco, at least – wherever he would end after this.
"Are you going to leave?" Harry asked at last. A vein pounded right under the upper skin of his forehead, heavily visible. Draco didn't respond. He stared at his feet, defeated. It was like he was shrinking by utter shame. "Answer me," Harry cried, spit leaving his mouth unintentionally. Draco looked at him. His judging eyes stung Harry as they met, and he rubbed his cheekbone, right under his black eye. He hissed, as if forgotten he had any of the bruises at all, and batted his eyes again – trying to gather words from afar.
"I don't know. I don't even know where my father is right now. I'm sure he's trying to put some blame on Dumbledore... Seeing his circumstances..."
"What do you mean?" Harry barked in fear and defence. "Does your father know about us?"
Draco cocked his head, appalled by the word us, as if they were anything. "No," he replied, dull by surprise. "Because Dumbledore doesn't his shit done properly. You know he's been almost send to Azkaban. Come on man, Jesus."
"Are you taking a piss?" Harry snarled. "Again?" He threw his head in his neck, scoffing, and turned his back on him. It felt like Draco was playing a game. What did he want from him? What were they doing anyway? He thought they were finally done with this bullshit, putting blame on each other for whatever the fuck they were doing. It became tempting to use the Obliviate spell, if not on himself.
"It was a mistake," Draco spoke, "You've been a mistake. It's been a fucking mistake you were even born."
Harry's mouth dropped, his face now pale. "Sorry?"
"All my life I've been trying to make my father proud. All my life I've been doing endless shit to make everyone proud. Becoming a great Slytherin Perfect. And you know? I would've gotten there already. I would've become the best fucking student, if it weren't for you fucking everything up each and every time."
"Your Father?" Harry replied almost baffled. "Proud? Ever? Look at yourself! Look at what he's done to you!"
"It's irrelevant," Draco replied, approaching him with anger.
"I don't care about what you think, Malfoy! He's vile and cruel, and you're just pathetic!"
"He has been a better dad than yours. Dying at your bed while you lay drooling! Didn't do shit to protect either you or your mother. He just wanted to die! Just to be released from your bullshit future."
Harry had his wand drawn. His view, black by anger, caused all of his muscles to tense, and he threw a spell after he pushed Malfoy down to the ground – giving the blonde no possibility to respond in defence.
"Sectumsempra!"
Once releasing his terrible rage by magic, he collapsed to the ground as the last spark of light left the tip of his wand – an unravelling sound of slashing blades echoing through. Unaware of the harm he caused, not having it used before, he parted his lips as his eyes filled with tears. Draco gasped for breath, laying flat on his back – his arms hanging down on a pile of fallen books. Harry refused to watch. He had no idea of the pain Draco was going through, or the blood dripping down his fingertips – leaving dark stains on the yellowed pages of the books underneath him. Draco cried, blood leaving the corners of his mouth as started to choke in his own blood; salty tears burning skin as they trailed down his neck.