Shatter
Violent red blood mixed with the leaking sink water, turning everything pink as Malfoy hit the ground and his wounds gushed crimson. My heart felt like it was being ripped in two as he fell, my mind screaming out in panic, even as I did nothing but watch. I felt frozen, like I couldn’t move, as I watched his body convulse in agony before snapping out of it as he let out a whimper of pain. Disregarding my own wound, I rushed forward, the bloody water soaking my bottoms as I knelt next to Malfoy’s nearly incoherent body, not noticing how hard the impact on the stone floor jolted my kneecaps. The panic that I felt, the pure and overwhelming terror, was far too strong for how I thought I felt about Malfoy, but I pushed that to the back of my mind, my thoughts a frenzied mess as I scrambled to do something, anything.
God, why is it always me in these situations?
I looked over my shoulder, where Harry was frozen, his eyes wide and his face drained of blood so completely I was worried he might pass out.
“Harry,” I said loudly, my voice trembling. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look at me, his green eyes still glued to the boy bleeding out in front of me.
“Harry!” I shouted this time.
A horrified look was painted across my face as I took in the damage that he was done. “What the hell did you do?” I said, terror encasing my voice. I had never seen, never even heard of any spell that could do something like that.
“I don’t— It was in my Potions book— I—“ Harry stuttered, his eyes wide, stuck on Malfoy’s writhing form.
Anger surged in me, more than it should’ve, and I sucked in a breath.
“So you just fucking decided to try a spell you didn’t know? He might fucking die because of you!” I half-screamed, shocked at what he had done.
He startled, as if he had woken from a trance, and finally looked at me, his expression gaunt with terror.
“I--I didn’t---” He stammered.
“I don’t fucking care!” I snapped. “Help me!”
Harry walked to us slowly, too slowly, and Malfoy groaned in pain again, his eyes fluttering rapidly.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I cursed. “Fuck, okay, you lift him on that side, and I’ll lift this side, and we’ll carry him, but we have to be quick and quiet. Understand?” I asked, Harry bending down to slide his hands under Malfoy’s body. He nodded roughly, and together, we lifted the pale boy, my arms shaking with effort.
“We-we can’t take him to Madam Pomfrey,” Harry began.
“I know, okay? I have an idea,” I said, and I hated that I would have to return to the Room of Requirement for the second time to save Malfoy’s life.
It was a task of epic proportions to try and keep myself calm as we hauled him out of the bathroom and down the dark halls, worry and panic clawing at my chest and throat, and as I looked down at Malfoy’s now still body, I felt hot tears burn my nose, making me gulp a deep breath of cold night air into my lungs. The walk wasn’t far, but Malfoy’s blood wouldn’t stop flowing, and I knew that my hands and arms and clothing would be drenched in the ruby liquid by the time we got him to our destination.
Harry shoved the door open, and we struggled to lift Malfoy up to the height of the bed, making him emit a small whine as we jostled him. I winced at the sound, agony panging in me as I looked at his injured frame. Harry was still not entirely mentally present, so I knew it was up to me to find anything to stop the bleeding, because it wasn’t, and even as I kept my face blank, I struggled to breath with the anxiety that was crushing me like a massive rock. I didn’t want Malfoy to die, couldn’t let him fucking leave me alone when he was the only even sort of normal thing that still remained in my life, so much so that it felt as though I was on autopilot, my body forcing me to take action even as my mind collapsed with horror. As I searched, I snapped a command at Harry.
“Take off his shirt.”
The sounds behind me hopefully meant that Harry had removed the stained white button-up, and judging by the gasp that left Harry’s mouth, the cuts were bad. I searched quickly for bandages, but then realized Harry and I both still had our wands with us. Rushing back to the bed, I asked Harry if he remembered the spell that Flitwick had taught us that closed up wounds a few weeks ago. He nodded grimly, and god, maybe I was stupid, because it was by far the hardest and trickiest spell we had learned to date, and even Hermione hadn’t done it right, but it was the only thing that I could think of that would be fast enough to stop the horrible waterfall of blood still pouring out of Malfoy’s muscled torso.
Counting down to one, Harry and I began the spell, my hands shaking with worry. Malfoy’s flesh stitched together as we ran our wands along the lengths of his extensive wounds, causing him to moan quietly in discomfort, his eyes still closed. Some of the cuts didn’t close properly, and even after I went over them, some spots still oozed bright blood, but the flow was lessening considerably, and I could feel my breathing turn back to normal, even as Malfoy still didn’t become conscious again after we finished. His torso was still a horrid mess, and I hoped that our work had been good enough to keep him stable. Remembering the healing tonic I had seen on the shelf in my frenzy to find bandages, I grabbed it and tilted open Malfoy’s rosy lips, trickling the tonic into his mouth and down his throat, making sure it was swallowed. Harry and I took a few moments to survey our work as the color returned to Malfoy’s face. His torso was a gruesome abstract of garish red, swollen lines and valleys from our barely adequate magic, and it hurt even just to look at them, the pain feeling real enough that I could feel it stabbing my side.
As Harry’s eyes flickered down to my torso, though, I realized it wasn’t a phantom, sympathy pain at all. I had completely forgotten about the way the spell had grazed me, and suddenly my head felt wildly dizzy with blood loss. I had to stumble back and slump into a chair before I passed out, my head swimming. It was like everything was rushing back all at once, everything drowning me in one giant wave as my mind stopped running on overdrive.
Harry rushed over to me. “Shit, Elaine? I-” He asked, looking at the crimson stain blossoming on my top.
Nodding weakly, I lifted up my arms to slide off my jacket, but my side screamed in protest and I let out a yelp of pain, deciding against the motion. A rustling sounded behind Harry, but I didn’t look as he reached out to grab the hem of my jacket and began to pull it up carefully, causing me to whimper in pain once more, before he was roughly shoved to the side.
Malfoy stood, still shirtless and looking gaunt, though the color was back in his cheeks and his eyes were vivid and alert. Harry caught himself from his stumble.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asked angrily, moving back towards me.
Malfoy turned, a fire in his eyes that I had seen only a few times before. “Hands off, Potter. You’ve done enough. Get the fuck out,” He demanded.
“What? No, Elaine is-“
“She’s bleeding out, because of you, is what she is, Potter,” Malfoy spat, hatred oozing from every bit of his being. “Get the fuck out. You’ve done enough,” He reiterated, practically snarling at the green-eyed boy.
Harry looked at me, imploring me to request him to stay, but my head was far too light and dizzy to say anything at all. His shoulders tensed, and he addressed Malfoy one more time.
“If you fucking hurt her in any way, I’ll-“
Malfoy glared at him. “You’ll what? It’s your fucking fault she’s injured, you stupid fucking bastard. I’m not the one she has to be worried about.”
Harry’s face bloomed red, and my vision was spotted black as he spoke to me. “You’re just going to let him kick me out? Really?” He questioned, but it sounded like he was under water, or far away, and I just looked at him, dazed.
Harry glared at both of us before he turned and left, leaving me alone with Malfoy. Though I was dazed, surprise still ran through me at the fact that Malfoy had...defended me, almost. Had pushed Harry away even though he hadn’t meant to hurt me.
A faint sense of anger pulsed through me at Harry actually leaving me alone with Malfoy, the boy who had just attacked us, but the stabbing pain in my side returned and I sucked in a breath at the sting. Malfoy’s preciously icy demeanor slid into something akin to worry, and he crouched down in front of me, wincing slightly at the movement.
“Elaine,” He said, making eye contact with. My heart stuttered at him calling me by my first name, and I met his granite gaze.
“I need to take this off,” Malfoy explained, gesturing to my jacket. “Do you want to lie down?”
I nodded slowly, both dizzy and wary of Malfoy’s sudden attempts at kindness.
He pursed his lips, and hesitated as he went to grab my hand to help me stand. Even in a deadly situation, he still was reluctant to touch me, and it didn’t go unnoticed, a bitterness swelling in me as he pulled me up. Standing made me sway slightly, the movement making spots appear in my vision, but Malfoy urged me on until I sat on the bed.
“Let’s take this off before you lay down. It’s going to hurt,” He told me, a flash of hesitation in his eyes as he reached for the wet hem of my jacket. He grabbed the hem and pulled it up over my head, careful not to graze my side. His motions weren’t gentle, but they were quick, and suddenly I was sitting on the stained bed in just a thin camisole, looking up at a boy who also had no top on, and who’s cheeks were flushed a brilliant red. My cheeks mirrored his as Malfoy looked at me, and I resisted the urge to cross my arms over my body, if only because I knew it would hurt more than the privacy was worth.
I looked down at my injury for the first time and felt the blood leave my face. There was a long, dripping red line across my ribs a few inches below the left side of my chest, running from the middle of my side to the middle of the front of my ribs. His eyes were quick to scan down my chest and torso, and he gestured for me to lie back and swing my legs over onto the bed, so I did.
Laying down actually began to clear my head, even as fire pulsed in my side, and I hissed through my teeth. Malfoy lifted his hands, and I fought the urge to flinch before I realized he was merely lifting up the hem of my black tank top, his fingertips cold on my feverish skin. He lifted the fabric over my wound, bunching it so it rested just below my chest, and maybe it was the blood loss, but it felt like his hands lingered a moment longer than they absolutely had to on my stomach. His touch was hot, even as his skin was icy, leaving trails of fire as they brushed my bare abdomen, and even after he lifted his hand away, I could feel exactly where his touches had been.
Malfoy walked over to the cabinets, muttering to himself roughly. “Goddamn idiot...so fucking reckless...and of course she had to fucking show up…”
His voice was so quiet that I could only hear bits of what he was saying, but resentment unfurled in my chest. How could he possibly be angry at me for showing up? If I hadn’t, Harry would’ve likely killed him, and I wouldn’t be lying on a soft, white bed nearly naked from the waist up.
My mood was even more foul when he returned with a green glass bottle labeled Essence of Dittany . I knew enough about the herb that it would sting like hell when he put it on, and there hadn’t been enough to use it on Malfoy, or it would’ve made things far easier in saving him. Malfoy set the herb bottle down, looking at my wound once more. The blood that was slowly drying on the edges was beginning to itch, and I had to resist the urge to scratch it. Without warning, Malfoy applied some of the liquid, dripping it onto the gash in my side, making it sting and smoke.
“Fuck! A little warning next time, you prick,” I yelped, trying to move away from the painful potion.
Malfoy stopped his application, glaring at me. “Stop being such a whiny bitch and lay still. You’re making it worse.”
I gaped at him. “Me? A whiny bitch?”
He nodded. “Yes, you. It doesn’t hurt that bad,” He snapped.
“Fuck you, Malfoy.”
He let out a barking laugh. “Why did I even fucking bother to help you? You’re ridiculous,” Malfoy said, and his words held an unsaid threat of him leaving, but he still unstoppered the bottle once more. “Hold still, or I’ll make you. You’re still bleeding.”
I still hadn’t even the slightest inclination as to why he was helping me in the first place, and I was tired and frustrated and in pain and I wanted this whole night to have been a dream, so I shot back, “You’ll make me? I’d like to see you try.” I tried to twist out of his reach, making a burst of agony lance my side.
Rage flared in Malfoy’s icy eyes, and he set the bottle on the table beside the bed before swinging his strong leg over my body lying on the mattress, sitting on my lower abdomen, carefully avoiding my cut, and effectively immobilizing me. My breath hitched, the weight of his hips pressing into mine as he sat on top of me. He looked down at me, his silver eyes scanning my face, his mouth pressing into a sharp line.
“I told you. Stay. Still.”
I nodded so minutely I wondered if he even saw, and he began his ministrations once more. The potion stung like hell, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut in order to stop myself from squirming, even with his body sat on mine. After a few moments of stinging and itching, it stopped, along with the pain that had been pulsating in my side. I opened my eyes slowly, Malfoy still on top of me, his eyes boring into my own.
“Good. See, was that so hard?” He said softly, setting the bottle down, but not moving other than that.
I didn’t answer, didn’t really even know what to say, as we were where we always ended up; one of us inevitably saving the other. I wondered fleetingly how our...relationship had come to this: moments of anger interspersed with intimate, gentle ones that always ended far too soon, even if I wouldn’t admit that to myself.
Malfoy looked at me a moment longer, a strange expression on his face, before shifting off of me, moving to stand besides the bed once more. I sat up slowly, in case my body still was weak, but I felt almost completely better as I righted myself, still without my jacket, on the edge of the mattress. My legs dangled over the edge of the tall bed as I tugged down my tank top, wanting at least a bit of privacy, when a question popped into my mind.
“Why did you make Harry leave?” I asked tentatively, eyeing Malfoy for his reaction.
Malfoy didn’t answer for a moment. “Why would I want to be around that asshole any longer that I need to?”
“It was an accident,” I said in defense of Harry. “He didn’t mean--”
Malfoy rolled his eyes at me. “It doesn’t matter what that idiot meant to do.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re stupid as shit. He literally nearly made both of us bleed out, and you still defend him like it’ll win him back or something.”
My face reddened. “I’m not trying to win him back, you jerk. He’s my friend, and-”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” He asked me, cutting off my explanation.
That ever familiar sense of annoyance and anger bubbled up in me. “Can’t you go thirty seconds without insulting me? I did just save your life. Again .”
Malfoy shook his head. “You always have to be the hero, don’t you? You can’t just keep out of danger. Can’t just fucking stay away,” He muttered, running a hand through his blond hair that was already dishelved and still damp.
“Okay, you know what? Fine, Malfoy. I’ll never save your sorry life again, okay?” I snapped, moving to stand up off the bed, but he stopped me.
Malfoy pressed forward, erasing the few inches that had existed between us and slotted himself between my legs, pushing my knees apart to let him get closer. His hands came down to rest on my thighs over my thin pajama bottoms, gripping them almost uncomfortably tight. I leaned back slightly to give myself room to breath, the usual suffocating feeling of him so close creeping up, supporting myself with my arms on the mattress behind me.
“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Malfoy questioned.
My voice felt broken as I tried to speak, tried to form coherent thoughts as my enemy filled my personal space, the smell of metallic blood and water and sweat hitting my nose. “Get what?”
Malfoy laughed, a grim, despaired sound. “That you drive me insane. That---that, fuck, that you being around me is the worst possible thing for me.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but he didn’t let me. “I can’t fucking get you out of my head. I can’t--Merlin’s beard, I can’t do anything at this point without thinking about you. You’ve somehow managed to fucking worm your way into my brain and I can’t stop thinking about--” He stopped himself, and I found myself wanting to know what he was about to say.
His words had made my heart speed up, and I couldn’t believe what he was saying, and his hands were gripping so tight that I thought they might actually leave bruises in the shape of his hands. My mind was reeling and I had no words; I could only listen as he unravelled.
“Being around you makes me become some person that I don’t even fucking recognize, and--and I can never get rid of your smell or the sound of your voice in my head or the way that touching you makes me feel, and I--I want to hate it so badly, I want to hate you so badly,” Malfoy stuttered, and I was shocked by his unusual lack of composure, shocked by the pure and unveiled emotion swelling in his eyes. “And I can’t keep myself away from you, even when I tell myself it will only end in anger and pain, even when I try to convince myself that you’re nothing, that you aren’t worth my time, I can’t. It’s like...it’s like my body craves being near you, and I can’t do a single damn thing to stop it, not even when I know that it’s bad for me.”
But I was even more shocked that he had just put into words everything that I had unknowingly been feeling the past few months. Every single thing.
Malfoy let go of my thighs, bringing his hands to run through his hair frustratedly, then dropping them down at his sides. “And of course it’s you that I fucking feel this way around, not Pansy, not the girl that I’m actually meant to be with, who is so painfully stupid and dull and not even-- and of course it’s the Ravenclaw Muggle, the girl that has been a goddamn pain in my ass since we met, the girl that infuriates and annoys the shit out of me more than anyone I have ever met.”
His words stung, more than I wanted them to, but I knew he wasn’t wrong, because... that was how I felt, too. I hated that even while dating Harry, Malfoy had consumed the majority of my thoughts. I had been with the most revered wizard of our age, and I couldn’t get this rude, manipulative, dangerous boy out of my head for one second.
“And did you ever for one fucking second think that seeing you with Harry, seeing him try and take off your damn jacket, how that would make me feel? How seeing that sorry excuse for a wizard’s clumsy hands all over you makes me--” He stopped again, and surprise was the only emotion I could feel. I hadn’t thought about it, because why would I? How could I ever, in a million years, know that Malfoy held anything other than complete contempt for me in his heart?
“Makes me feel sick , utterly nauseous, and you just let him touch you, all the time,” Malfoy said, shaking his head.
“And you,” He let out another bitter laugh, his voice rough with emotion. “And you were so fucking dense that you couldn’t even figure out that,” He hesitated, cleared his throat, “That you were what I smelled when we had to make up the Amortentia.”
My heart stopped. Actually, genuinely had to have stopped, because it felt like I couldn’t breathe or move or respond at all as he revealed everything.
“M-me?” I asked, speaking for the first time since he began.
“Yes, you,” He snarled. “You and your stupid fucking vanilla and what, bergamot, perfume that stays for hours after you’ve left me alone. It doesn’t go away,” He said, his voice now lower. “You don’t go away.”
My chest felt tight as he paused. “Why the hell do you think I run off like some fucking terrified child every single time I get close to you? It’s like I can’t control myself around you, and I hate it, more than anything I’ve ever felt in my entire life.”
I searched his eyes for anything that could let me play this off as some cruel trick, because the feelings and thoughts that he was making me realize as he spoke were so terrifying, so real, that I wanted any excuse to make them go away.
“I--” I began, truly at a loss for words. “I…”
Malfoy’s face hardened again, pulling back a bit out of my face. “You must think I’m the stupidest fucking person alive. Potter and Weasley and Granger are probably going to shit themselves laughing when you tell them, aren’t they?” He growled, panic lacing his deep voice.
“No, Malfoy, I-” I tried again, but he interrupted once more.
“You’re probably laughing at me right now, at how fucking pathetic I am, right?” Malfoy said, almost like he wanted that to be what I was doing and why I couldn’t speak.
“And you probably can’t wait to use this against me, to blackmail me or threaten me or--”
I must’ve been feeling brave, or insane, or both, because as he began prattling on again, because he wouldn’t fucking shut it and let me speak, I pushed myself up completely so I was sitting up right, grabbed his beautiful, terrifying, mysterious face with both my hands, and pulled him in for a kiss that made everything that we knew around us shatter to irreparable pieces.