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Dark Blood

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Draco crept out of the Slytherin common room and into the dungeons gloomy maze of corridors, he simply HAD to get away from all the Dark Lord worship currently going on amongst too many of the older years. He couldn't keep this up for much longer. Even with his godfather's help - without which he wouldn't have lasted five minutes - teaching him so much in secret: occlumency, additional potion classes, wandless magic and duelling training. He fumed quietly in his head, shielded by his mental barriers and the silence of his surroundings, as he strode determinedly without direction: away...

He reached almost without meaning to, an old haunt of his: a long-disused classroom tucked away in a mess of shadowy corridors that most (even armed with Lumos) never dared to explore. As he approached the cleverly hidden door, he noticed it was ajar and a dusty breeze shifted across his pale skin as he walked up to the darkened wood. Alarmed - although he would never admit it aloud - and annoyingly curious, Draco breathed a silent huff of frustration and drew his wand. He placed his hand upon the solid heavy door and quietly eased it open, slipping softly through the crack he made into the even-darker room beyond. His eyes squinted to see anything as the dust and shadows weaved their perplexing dance in front of his eyes, the only light was pale and dim, seeping in from the deep porthole window of the lake at the far end of the room. As he rounded the last of the abandoned desks and broken chairs, he noticed something tantalisingly colourful in the seemingly grayscaled chamber; then his brain filled in the rest of what his eyes were seeing unblinkingly.

There was red, bright scarlet that caught the eye and practically screamed for his attention, but there was also a dark red accompanied by a gold that together just as loudly said 'Gryffindor.'

However it was not these colours, no matter how dazzling in the greys of the moon-lit classroom; that had Draco stood there, wand drooping at his side and his mouth agape. It was the splash of unruly black hair atop a worryingly white face, framed by a pair of round heavy glasses which immediately identified this body as Potter. Harry Potter. Harry...

Harry! Harry bleeding; bleeding far too much and was far too pale for Draco's liking. he had to do something, and quick.

Uncaring as to his robes or knees, he knelt hurriedly at the teen's side lifting cloth to find the source of the bleeding - never thinking it could be the same infirmity which once afflicted him.

So when he dragged up one blood-soaked sleeve he was not expecting to find two ragged deep cuts piercing skin and blood vessels alike.

"Oh Harry, what have you got yourself into this time?" he asked the unconscious Gryffindor lying almost in his lap. Then he set about putting pressure on the wounds, briefly checking the other wrist and upon noting the same slashes there too included it in his ministrations. Doing all that he could with limited knowledge only acquired in self-exposure, Draco crudely stabilised the Boy-Who-Lived then cast a levitation charm and floated the other boy out of the classroom. As quickly as he dared (with a such a basic and concentration-based charm as 'Wingardium Leviosa) in the interests of both Potter's and his own continued survival - should a death eater's child catch him saving the 'enemy's' life - Draco swiftly crossed the short stretch of hazy passages to his head of house's office and quarters.