Draco's POV (Ta-daaaaaa)

I traced a finger across where the vine had trailed, thorns digging into my fair skin and blood-red flowers adorning the olive green with crimson tipped thorns.

It was nearly three in the morning in Moaning Myrtles bathroom, and I was silently hoping Harry would stop by, though I knew it was wrong of me. It was three in the morning, and he should be getting rest. It didn't stop me from hoping. Without Harry here, however, it left me time to think. About Harry, but I digress.

     The vine had vanished. The heavy, painful weight in my chest has lightened, even if just the slightest amount, as soon as I had given in to his stubborness and let him comfort me. Harry liked me, and even if it was just the smallest amount of liking, it was progress. Hopefully it didn't go backwards.

     My condition, as much as I try to hide it, even from myself, was getting worse by the day. It was slowly getting harder and harder to breath, and every inhale and exhail left sharp pains in my chest as my lungs constricted against the thorny vines. Why did the git have to like roses? Why not tulips, or those really tiny flowers on thin vines that grow alongside soft ivy? Not something red, and not something with thorns.

     The worst was when I saw Harry being affectionate with Weaslette. It seemed the thorns in my throat and lungs would shoot out, elongate by an inch at least, until my lungs, mouth and nose were filled with blood. A never ending supply of the crimson liquid that smelled of iron rust, flowing non-stop from my mouth. Clogging all my airways, making it so I choked and gasped for air, only to be met with the familiar taste of iron and the nostalgic feeling of drowning in my blood, never knowing when was going to be the time I collapsed into a pool of blood, surrounded my flower petals and vines.

     Every time my lungs hurt more and more, and it took much longer for the bleeding to stop. It hurt so bad I had to cry in order to not give up. Crying somehow made it better; gave me a distraction, both mentally and physically. Though sometimes the detours down the mental route weren't always too enjoyable. In fact, they almost never were.

    I could tell I had a wave coming up, so I stood, despite my exhaustion, and stumbled over to the sinks. The sink I always used was covered in bloodstains, including the mirror that lay shattered behind it, along with a piles of drying rose petals on the sides of the sink. I could feel the pain of the thorns as my lungs drew tighter. A feeling in my throat made me cough, and the first bunch of blood started to make it's way into my mouth.

     Blood pooled under my tongue and along the pockets and ridges of my teeth, rolling over my tongue in thick waves as I coughed. I held my mouth open constantly, letting the dark liquid flow from between my lips and into the marble sink. I occasionally closed my mouth for as long as I could to clean up my teeth with my tongue before spitting between coughs. I made the mistake of inhaling sharply in the midst of a cough, making tears come to my eyes from pain alone.

     I was coughing without pause now. More vines crept around my mouth, growing and curling around my features, the flowers starting to grow larger. I cried out as another wave of pain was sent through my lungs, large waves of blood that appeared almost black pouring from my mouth, a variety of red flower petals mixed in like a vile concoction. A poison made specifically to torture me, and only me.

     I could feel hot tears flowing down my face freely now, soft sobs creating broken noises mixed with my coughs and sounds of pained distress.

     And suddenly it started to get better. Strong arms wrapped around my waist with seemingly impossible delicacy, yet firm and sure of their decision to be there. Another minute or so of coughing and crying and I was able to go a few moments without having to spit out blood. The blood was struggling to drain from the sink with all the petals, leaving a red rim where it had last been.

     It was odd for even me to think that I was accepting Harry's... Everything towards me. In any other situation, if he had tried to help me, I either would have pushed him away or let him do it once before turning him away again. This was a different situation, however. This was literally life or death over love, and Harry's the one I'm in love with. Why I'd push him away? I'm not really sure. It was instinct for a while, to shoot any insult I could at him if he was in vicinity of me, but now I couldn't bring myself to actually say something that might hurt him. He was- dare I saw it- truly growing on me. Less on a 'Holy Hell you're hot' level than a 'Holy hell you're insanely nice and funny and helpful' and many more than I couldn't be bothered to list. There's too many.

     I suppose that's why I let him lead me over to our little area in the bathroom. Why I let him sit down and pull me into his lap. Why my head immediately rested on his chest, my arms holding onto him as if scared he would leave if I didn't.

     "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, a hand massaging the back of my scalp, letting me relax a bit more as he played with my hair, his other hand on my hip. He sighed and I looked over at him for the first time.

     He looked exhausted. Dark bags hung under his eyes, which were half-lidded and slightly bloodshot. He sagged against the wall as of he hadn't gotten an opportunity to sit in decades. "What are you doing up?" I eventually managed to whisper, my throat scratchy and sore.

     He didn't answer, which concerned me slightly. He just sighed, pulled one hand up fo rest on the side of my head not facing him. He moved his hand towards him and pressed his lips to my temple, eyes closing partway through. "You good?"

     I nodded. "I'm good."

     Harry nodded slowly, his eyes cracking open slightly, meeting my gaze for a minute before he pulled me somehow closer and closed his eyes again, his entire body slowly losing all the tension and his breathing evening out.

     I stayed in his lap, curled up to his chest, until I too fell asleep, leaning into him.