Unmasked

Though Harry slept soundly that night, he was woken abruptly the next morning. The commotion coming from downstairs shocked all the boys in the room out of their slumbers, and Harry and Ron both jumped to their feet. In his pajamas, Harry bolted out of the room, the yelling and crashing could only be coming from one place… or person. It grew louder as he rounded the corner, more voices coming into focus. Jeering, laughing, taunting… begging.

Harry froze momentarily as he entered the common room from the stairwell, wand raised, eyes widened in horror. Draco was duelling three younger Gryffindor boys. His blanket had fallen on the floor and a vase had shattered from the table beside it. He stood behind it, slowly being backed into the wall. His face was contorted, but Harry couldn’t quite tell if it was fear or rage.

Slowly the boys moved in on him. Draco deflected their hexes.

“Everte statum!” The left-most boy bellowed. Draco deflected it. “Why are you here, Malfoy?”

“I bet you he’s here for help,” jeered the boy on the far right.

The first boy chuckled as Draco threw a non-verbal hex their way. He easily deflected it. “Oi! Tryin to hex us again? See? You don’t deserve help.”

“Petrificus—” Draco cut him off and threw a bolt of light their way, which crashed off the back wall. His eyes widened as it shattered something on the bookshelf. “Ha! Aren’t so tough are you? Not really.”

“Stop it!”

“Knock it off, Claire,” said the first boy, glancing over his shoulder. “He’s no good anyway.”

“Stop trying to hurt him! He wasn’t doing anything!”

“He’s always doing something. You know that.” He jabbed his wand towards Draco, who deflected it again. The group of boys stepped forward again. Draco stepped back.

“He was sleeping!’ Claire screeched.

Harry could hear Hermione calling to him from the top stairs, but he was too fixated on the scene unfolding in front of him. Too rooted to the spot. He felt like his mouth was sealed by glue.

“We know,” said the boy on the right, smirking. “Perfect time to get ‘im. But I’m sure you get enough of that at home, don’t you Malfoy?”

“Expelliarmus!” The boy’s wand flew out of his hand as he looked back towards the Slytherin. His wand lay on the floor, but before Draco could cast another spell, he too had been disarmed.

“That’s it, you little shit!” The boy who’d been disarmed shook with rage. “Let’s see how much you like it without magic… Boys!”

“No!” Claire screamed behind them, as the boys lurched forwards.

Harry was flying down the stairs then, Ron and Hermione in tow. He heard Draco’s head hit the wall, and then his body hit the floor. Draco was trying to fight back, but it was useless trying to fight off three other boys in his shape. He yelped as his nose cracked under someone’s fist, crying out for someone to help him. “Stop! Please!” The boys kept going, relishing in having the Slytherin finally get what they thought he deserved. “Please! Help me!” He was crying now, the pain overwhelming him… the actions throwing him back to times with his father. “Please! I didn’t do anything! I didn—ARGGH!”

Harry and Ron yanked the boys off, pulling them off with all their might. They struggled at first, and Hermione had to stun one of them, who fell face first into the floor.

Harry went to Draco, who had pushed himself against the wall, as far away as he could get. Harry could see the damage on his face and his bony body. His heart clenched as he pulled him into his arms, the other boy shaking. “I didn’t do anything! I didn’t… I’m sorry!”

Harry rubbed his back as the others stood back. “It’s okay. It’s okay, Draco. I’ve got you… it’s okay…”

“I-I know it wasn’t him… but for, for a second…”

“Shh… I know. I know.” He hugged Draco tighter, hating the sounds of the sobs tearing from his throat. “It’s okay.” Draco shook his head. “It is. It’s okay. He’s not here. It’s okay.” Draco shook his head again, this time more frantically. “It’s okay, Draco… Calm down…”

“I can’t!” Draco cried, pulling away from Harry. “I can’t! It’s not okay!”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re right! I deserve it! And I don’t deserve your help. It’s ob-obvious, isn’t it…?” Draco panted, staring into Harry’s eyes. “I’m. Not. Worth. It.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Don’t lie to me, Harry! Everyone can see it! The more you help me, the more trouble I cause. Look what just happened.”

“This wasn’t you fault!”

“Yes it was! I fought back. I got scared and I fought back! I’m a coward. They’re all right. All of them.”

“Draco…”

He stood suddenly, swaying on the spot momentarily. “I’ve got to go.”

Harry grasped his wrist as he made to leave. “Draco…”

“Let me go.” He tore his wrist away, leaving with his head down, trembling.

Harry whirled on the other boys. “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

One boy snickered. “The right thing.”

“The right thing. The right thing?” Harry’s voice rose with every syllable. “How is attacking someone when they’re sleeping the right thing?”

“He’s dangerous!”

“He’s broken.” Harry spat. “He’s been abused. What part of that don’t you dimwits understand?”

“It doesn’t excuse anything from before.”

“No. It doesn’t. But he’s trying. And I’m trying to help him. But look what you’ve done. Look what you’ve done.”

“Harry,” Hermione said softly, standing behind Claire with her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

Harry tore his gaze away, turning his back. “Ron?”

“On it.” Ron turned to the two boys who were able to stand as Harry thundered up the stairs. “How’s detention for a month sound?”

“But Ron,” protested the one.

“I can make it two.” The boy shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Tell your friend.”

*

Draco didn’t make it far from Gryffindor tower that morning. He fled from the common room, swiping frantically at his eyes. He knew he’d made a fool of himself that morning. He knew they’d all be talking about it. Spreading it around. Laughing about it. He was seething.

He set his jaw as he swept around a few corners, but he couldn’t keep it that way. His jaw kept quivering, more tears threatening to fall. He hated crying. Hated the way his father frowned upon it. Hated the way that he couldn’t help it. Hated the feelings that were associated with it. All of it. Every last part.

Eventually he was shaking too badly to stand. He brought his hand to his mouth, stifling the sob that tore from his throat. They were coming out like screams, and he desperately wanted his insides to stop burning. To stop clenching and forcing these sounds out of his body.

He fucked up. He knew that. He let Harry in, and all he’d done was cause him more trouble. More trouble than he was worth. And in his opinion, his worth was near nil. He summoned the razor he’d had the night before and it landed in his open palm. He squeezed it between his fingers, pushed his sleeve up, dug the blade into his wrist and dragged it across the pale skin. Over the dark mark. The blade snagged some of his old scars that hadn’t healed properly, and he watched the scarlet liquid drip down his forearm. He dug it in again, dragging it across. And again, once more. He wasn’t sure how long he sat like that, desperate to give himself the pain he knew he deserved. But at his own hands, not anyone else’s.

Blood seeped down his arm and onto the floor—coated the blade completely. He glared at it, then down at his arm, tears mingling with blood. He was disgusted with himself. Hated himself. He didn’t deserve Harry, or anyone else that had been trying to help him.

He couldn’t explain it. His mind was whirling in an unstoppable, uncontrollable whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and pain. The blood fell to the ground and tainted his skin and he couldn’t see clearly but somehow, he was running. Running to somewhere, a familiar place, the blood soaking his sweater and somewhere in his unconscious mind he knew that… he knew, but it didn’t matter at that moment. Stairs flew past, empty classrooms, the cold dungeon walls, more doors, straggling students, his room, and white walls. The blood fell away before his consciousness did, washed down the drain with his failed friendships, his hope, and any proper recollection he had of that morning.

The next thing he knew, he was sitting in class. Calm. Collected. Taking notes beside Pansy. His hair was clean, his arm concealed, his thoughts of that morning far away. But the emotions weren’t. They dwelled there, just behind the surface. Terror, and anger, and pain. Behind the swollen face and silent exterior. He was still falling apart on the inside.

And no one was any the wiser.

*

Transfiguration was, in Harry’s opinion, far too quiet that day. He sat in a group of four as he had many times, working with Hermione, Draco, and Pansy. Harry acted as though he was paying attention, but truly, he was just going through the motions. Moving his wand, chanting the incantation in his head… sometimes it would work and sometimes he duffed it. But as he watched Draco’s swollen face across from his, all he could think about was what had happened that morning. He’d been startled from sleep and hexed the boys back… why does he believe that warrants him not deserving help? Just the night before Draco had opened up to him… he’d been vulnerable… he’d let Harry in. And now they weren’t speaking, and Draco believed he was a burden. That he didn’t deserve to have the support Harry and the others had been giving him. Though he wasn’t quite sure why, or where it was coming from, something inside him hurt. It burned. And he was begging for it to stop. What was he supposed to do?

Harry startled at a tap on his shoulder. He glanced up with a start, staring wide-eyed at McGonagall’s face. “Y-yes, Professor?”

“Can I speak to you for a moment please, Mister Potter?” Her voice was stern, eyes fixed on Harry and no one else. He knew what this was about.

Harry glanced back around to his groupmates and then back to his Professor. “Sure.” Abruptly, he stood, following her out into the hallway. She turned to face him, stern mask finally breaking. He cleared his throat. “What would you like to talk to me about, Professor?”

“I think you know very well what, Harry.” She sighed, glancing back into the classroom around the corner. “How has it been since Hogsmeade? Is everything okay?”

“I-it’s fine!” Harry blurted.

She gave him a pleading look. “Don’t lie to me. I know you two have mended things and been getting to know each other… has he opened up to you at all?”

Harry stared at him feet, biting his lip. Finally he looked up. “Yes. He’s finally been opening up to me. But he’d rather I not say anything to anyone.”

“You do understand that if he has told you about wanting to harm himself or others, that you need to tell us, even if he does not wish you to do so?”

“Yes, Professor. It hasn’t been like that. More just… backstory.”

“I see. And… has there been any conflict with other students…?”

“How did you know?”

“Mister Malfoy seems a little worse for wear. A little swollen. A lazy concealment.”

Harry sighed. “He’s been beat up twice since the incident in Hogsmeade.”

“Twice!” McGonagall’s eyes filled with rage. “It’s only been a few days!”

Harry nodded solemnly. “I know.”

“Who did it? Do you know?”

“The first time it was Crabbe and Goyle, but I wasn’t there. Ron and Hermione found him during their rounds. That was last night. This morning… well, he’d stayed overnight in our common room, and some of the—er—younger students didn’t like that very much. They took it upon themselves to hex him in his sleep, and then try and duel him and taunt him once he fired back out of fear. I don’t blame him—oh! I did see that one. He disarmed the one, but there were three boys on him, and when he lost his wand they tackled him… Ron and I had to pull them off. Hermione stunned one. He might’ve broken his nose. Definitely some more cuts and bruises, especially if it was him who knocked over that vase because he fell over the couch…”

“And who were these boys?” Her jaw was set, eyes boring into Harry’s.

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. After Draco ran out I stormed upstairs. Ron dealt with them, not me. I was too angry.”

“He ran out?”

Harry swallowed hard, dropping his gaze. “Yeah… he, uh… I guess he had some sort of flashback and it really threw him for a loop. He was angry at himself and left. I tried to stop him, but it didn’t work…”

“And you didn’t follow him?”

Harry rubbed his arm. “No, professor.”

“Very well. Could you please send Draco out to see me?”

“Of course.” Harry turned on his heel and headed back to his seat. Draco glared at him as he approached. “Er… Professor McGonagall wants to see you, Draco…” Draco stood, eyes still on Harry as he passed him, eyes glinting in anger. Harry gulped. They got stormy when he was mad or upset… it was unnerving.

He turned to Hermione as he sat down, but she spoke before he could open his mouth. “Harry, I think something’s wrong.”

“Something is wrong, Hermione. We already know that,” he huffed.

“No,” she hissed, so only Harry could hear. “Something else. Last night… I watched him out a razor to his wrist. He didn’t do anything then, but he’s been thinking about it. Today he’s barely moved his left arm at all—he’s babying it and hiding it. Do you think… after this morning…?”

Harry’s jaw slowly went slack and his mind raced, thoughts whirling and images passing through his mind from that morning once again. As he went to speak, Pansy interjected. “What’s going on? What do you think is happening with Draco?” Harry and Hermione exchanged glances and Pansy huffed. “Hey! I’m a part of this, too. Remember?”

Harry sighed. “We think he’s cutting himself, Pansy.”

The Slytherin searched their faces, but when she didn’t find anything she stared at her lap. “He—he wouldn’t do that, w-would he,” she spluttered. “Would he?”

“It’s definitely possible.”

“No… I—”

Draco slumped back into his chair, bringing his eyes up to look at Harry. They were a mix of so many emotions that he couldn’t put his finger on just one. Anger, fear… disappointment. Harry could only blink at him as Draco glared, desperately searching his brain for something to say. He thought of nothing.

Their staring contest was cut short by the end of class bell, however, and Draco stood, shoving what he could into his bag. Harry matched his pace, repeatedly looking up to not let him leave first. As he made to pass Harry, the Gryffindor grabbed his arm, spinning him around. The anger on Draco’s face was even clearer when they were that close together. Harry took a step back in shock at their proximity. “Can I talk to you?”

“You are talking to me.”

“No… I mean… why are you mad at me? What did I do?”

“What did you tell McGonagall this time,” Draco bit.

“I answered her question. She asked if you’d been roughed up since Hogsmeade and I told her yes. I only told her what she asked for, and nothing more.”

Draco nods curtly. He turns on his heel, leaving Harry the last one in the room besides McGonagall, who was watching them intently. “See you later, Harry.”