The second part of this weird little story.
Title: Orchid (2/?)
Fandom/Original: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco / Harry
Comments: Hurrr. Harry's confused, hehe.
Draco stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection, at himself. The smallest evidence of a cut on his lower lip was barely visible, but still there. Pansy had cornered him after Potions, promising to make it better with a kiss. He shoved her off, perhaps a little too hard; she sat behind him in Charms two periods later, trying her best to hex him with one arm in a sling.
Draco gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white, and leaned forward, studying himself intently. Still beautiful, still fragile. Why did he feel so... scattered? Disoriented? Like a weight was crushing his lungs, turned to rubble, leaving him unable to breathe, feel his limbs?
Swearing, the Slythern boy pushed away from the other him and walked out into the dorm room, flooded with mid-afternoon light. His bed looked so neat and clean compared to Crabbe and Goyle's, which were unmade and rank with unpleasant substances; and infinitely more refined than Blaise's, where two adult magazines were poorly concealed beneath the pillow, a box of kleenex shoved into the corner. Scowling, the Malfoy heir sat heavily onto the surface of the collective desk, sending stray bits of parchment to the floor. He examined his nails; there was dried blood uderneath them.
Seven corridors, five rooms, and eighteen flights of stairs away, Harry Potter lay on a couch in the Gryffindor common room. People bustled about him, around him, minding their own business, leaving him to his thoughts, eyes staring blankly up at ceiling, witnessing nothing. His clothing was rumpled, and he still had his Transfigurations book clutched tightly in his broad, tan hands, evidence that he'd merely fallen straight onto the plush cushions from class.
Hermione perched on an arm of the couch, staring at him with a question in her eyes. "Harry," she said, finally, "are you going to tell us whats wrong? You've been acting funny all week."
Harry shrugged. He loved Hermione, almost unconditionally, and trusted her beyond belief- but there were some things he couldn't share, not even with her or Ron. (Certaintly not Ron.)
"I think... I may be coming down with something." He murmured, and left it at that. As if the silence that ensued was a signal, Hermione nodded, then upped and left. She'd probably force him to visit Madam Pomfrey later.