Title: Mortifico Oblivios
Category: Romance/Angst/Humor
Setting: In the middle of sixth year, during the weeks that preceded Harry and Draco's spectacular explosion in the girl's bathroom.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: SLASH, boys kissing boys, herein lie nosebleeding situations, homosexuality, etc, you know the drill..
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
To be perfectly honest, Harry Potter was not in the best of situations at the moment.
The cool rain outside only helped the fathomless black cloak the room and Harry wagered that he could hear every breath that he inhaled. And exhaled. Meaningless had never seemed so personal until the day Harry Potter had crept into the girl's bathroom, intent on finding evidence. Evidence of what? Hearing his back pop from crouching behind a bathroom stall all night? Evidence that it was unhealthy staying up all night listening to your arch-rival who, quite frankly, wanted you dead and rotting ramble on about death eater parties and tea chats with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Even a blind hippogriff with clipped wings could figure that one out.
What had been his reasoning? Oh yes, the inevitable strain of stress and Lord Voldemort and the suspicious happenings of one silver-haired son of a death eater. Each by itself was quite enough, thank you very much, but combined they were.. Well, that combination was what had brought Harry to this situation in the first place, wasn't it?
"So, then? What happened next, Drakie? I never knew how exciting a Ministry of Magic position was! What did you say your father was, again? Interventions of Muggle Objects?"
"Where on earth did you hear that, Myrtle?"
"You told me."
"Ah. I was lying, you stupid girl. Honestly, does being a ghost affect the size of your brain? And don't interrupt me. I'm trying to tell you my bloody secrets, being the son of a death eater, and all."
So what if it was 4:00 in the morning? Harry Potter had never been so awake until now. Finally! After hours of listening to Malfoy prattle on about how great he was, here was the circumstantial evidence that Draco Malfoy was detrimental to the Wizarding society. Oh, Ron would be ecstastic.
Go on, you git Malfoy. Tell it all.
"Where was I?"
"You were at the part where your Father was chasing some Muggles-"
"You mean mudbloods."
Even Myrtle wasn't blind enough to realize that Malfoy's term for Muggles was as innocent as his looks. Harry watched as she blinked once, twice, then pushed her thoughts aside. With a dreamy smile, she urged Malfoy on.
"Yes, mudbloods, Drakie. He was chasing them because.. Because.."
"Because they were annoying him. Honestly, Myrtle, keep track with what I'm saying. Aren't you honored that it's you I'm confiding to? I know Pansy would chop off her own arm to hear so much as one word of what I'm passing on to you."
That insufferable drawl! Bloody hell, I've got half a mind to just leave and bang the door on my way out. What an egotistical little brat!
"Oh, please, Drakie! Don't leave! It's been so long since I've had company.."
Moaning Myrtle took the horrified silence to coyly look up through her transparent bangs at her beloved guest.
Harry almost snickered out loud when he saw Malfoy's aghast face. Oh, this was priceless! He loved it when Malfoy's plan went wrought which they always seemed to do.
"Myrtle, that's the last time I'm telling to you to shut the bloody hell up." Malfoy ignored Myrtle's pout. "You're detestable, honestly. If Father were here, he'd.. he'd.."
And then something unbelievably incredible happened. Malfoy's familiar sneer disappeared and instead, a blank look surfaced. His strikingly grey eyes, which had once held contempt for the ghost in front of him, now glazed over and seemed to hold the weight of emptiness. His legs, which had begun shaking, gave out, and as Harry watched, Malfoy dropped onto the floor with all the gracefulness of a slipping feather. It was almost as if he had fallen under a spell to end all motion and Harry probably would have continued to believe that was the case, if it hadn't been for Malfoy's next words.
"He'd kill you."
Myrtle and Harry froze. The ghost's eyes widened; she was surprised that this lovely boy in front of her was spilling such dark thoughts. She hadn't minded when he had been talking about the fascinating stories of his father, his hero. But now.. The change he had undergone was quite effective and she cautiously drifted over to where Draco was sitting on the cold, dank bathroom floor.
"Drakie? Drakie, get up. The floor's dirty and it's cold. Why don't you go back to your dorm-"
Malfoy's head turned sharply and he glared at her with such contempt that she stopped moving towards him.
"Didn't you hear me, you idiot? Your brain may be transparent, but your ears should be working perfectly. Listen to me and don't you forget one word in your measly head. He'd kill you. You may be dead, but my father knows how to disgorge ghosts. And I know the spell."
Harry could see Malfoy's eyes turn into panic, desperation.
"Tell me I'm not like him. Tell me that.. That I would never torture a person with the Cruciatus or watch a five year old boy get cut up into pieces or kiss the hems of insanity, the Dark Lord.."
Myrtle gasped at the mention of Lord Voldemort and she backed away, fright clearly shining in her eyes. Malfoy, noticing this, smirked and his soft voice became bitter and malicious.
"You're afraid. That's good. Or rather, it's good that you can empathize. I've always believed that my father was a hero. And he never gave one shred of evidence that he wasn't. Oh, I heard the rumors. 'Draco, did you hear about the Death Eater attack on a Muggle family? Their bodies were too mangled to even identify and the littlest one, this kid.. He was burnt alive. Funny thing is, Muggle witnesses swear that they saw, for one second, a streak of white-blond hair beneath a mask.' I thought it was rubbish. I always did. But now.."
Harry was shocked, to say in the least, and it took all his strength to refrain from bolting and running far, far away from this unexpected cavern of secrets when Draco Malfoy paused and looked straight at the location of where Harry was hidden. Clamping a firm hand over his own mouth, Harry blanched as he detected the first hints of tears in Malfoy's eyes.
No, this is wrong.. All wrong. Where is his glee, his confession? Draco Malfoy doesn't possess pain, guilt, tears.. I'm not supposed to hear this; this is all so bloody wrong.
Having had enough, Harry amidst Myrtle's sympathetic cooing and Malfoy's steadily increasing and hiccupping sobs slipped out of the dark and broken girl's bathroom, his thoughts of black and white now severely fragmented into spots of grey.
"Harry, you're acting rather strangely... And you haven't even touched your porridge. Are you all right? You look like you could collapse of exhaustion."
Silence was a blessing; unfortunately, Harry couldn't get Malfoy's voice out of his ear. And bugger it all, he just walked into the Great Hall.. Strutting as if nothing has happened, while I feel like a load of bricks has hit me. Again. And again.
"Hermione, could you pass the syrup? And why's Harry look so tired?"
"I don't know, Ron. He looks like a walking, breathing definition of comatose."
"Mate, mate? You all right there?"
"Tell me I'm not like him. Tell me that.." "I thought it was rubbish. I always did. But now.."
It was just for one night. However, Harry felt as if time had passed on forever sitting in that dank and musty bathroom floor, watching, waiting. The silver raindrops in the windows, the gleam in Malfoy's pale, pale eyes, that frightening look on Myrtle's face... Even the leaking faucets and the moaning and gurgling toilets had done scarce to hide the dejected tone in Malfoy's waning voice.
"I got it, Hermione. Just leave it to me... Look, look Harry! Cho Chang just came into the Great Hall.. and blimey, mate! You have to see this... She's wearing.. She's wearing a bikini! Good gods, look at that. That's definitely a sight worth seeing, right? Rigght?"
"Oh, come off it, Ron. Act your age for once. And besides, it's not working. Harry's still drowning in his porridge. I'm a little worried.."
And just like that, Harry was obsessed.
Days passed and Harry soon realized that it was really a simple equation for such a complicated business.
Malfoy voiced his life. Harry listened. Malfoy spoke of his dreams, never known before to humanity. Harry listened. Malfoy told his fears. Harry listened. Sure, the reasons to stop listening were many. But Harry Potter was insatiable in his curiosity and relentless in his quest for what he considered a mandatory responsibility and a safety precaution to the Wizarding public. What he figured out from this little equation was summed up to the fact a fact that Harry was ashamed to admit that the infamously notorious Malfoy had a heart.
The week passed by in a lazy and innocuous fashion. Rain hadn't made its presence known and the bathroom held silence, occasionally pierced by the pale boy's whispers and Moaning Myrtle's fascinated, but respectful, replies.
"Drakie, you're such a handsome boy. I bet it gets the ladies in an uproar."
"I'm his pet.."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm his pet. You know. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Or at least, that's what Father calls it. I call it disgusting."
"Has he..?"
"No, none of that. He just watches as I kiss his robes and he strokes my head like the good little servant that I am. I always retch, afterwards."
"Oh, Drakie.."
"Somedays, I'm convinced that I'm the ugliest being in the world. Uglier than any filthy mudblood could be. It's not a happy feeling, Myrtle. Funny that it should lessen any of the disgust I hold towards my father."
It was during the first week and a half that Harry realized how hopeless this was. Eavesdropping was pathetic, going back for more was ridiculous, and now.. But the thing that got on Harry's nerves, the one thing that grated him most irritably, was the guilt he felt whenever he spied on Malfoy. The pinprick of unease and discomfort from hearing the boy's pain only served to remind Harry that, instead of grinning like a fool and running off to tattle on dear Malfoy, it was getting more and more obvious that Harry wouldn't dare breathe a word about these late-night excursions.
So what if Malfoy once got slapped by his Father... for talking to a Muggle... on.. his fifth birthday..?
So what if Malfoy likes candy to the point of ordering a year's supply of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans... Oh? Guess he only liked the marshmallow-flavored.
So what if Malfoy's favorite subject is Defense Against the Dark Arts, so what if Malfoy's favorite color is the silver pool of Veriterasum, so what if Malfoy's favorite food is pumpkin pie?
I don't care. I positively won't. I, Harry Potter, will hate Draco Malfoy until the day I die.
It was such the ultimate of all universal truths, that Harry had never questioned its validity before. He hated Malfoy. That single statement, that simple word. Hate. Without it, where would the heated exchanges, the shoving and pushing, the anger go? Where would the Golden Boy get his relief, if Malfoy's smirking and sneering face wasn't there to insult? Malfoy was a constant truth, a constant presence. He was the release of Harry's pent-up frustration at the world.
The unthinkable was starting to happen. The more Harry listened, the more he cared. The more he cared, the less he judged Malfoy's past actions... Was Harry crazy? Was he bloody mad? Or was something happening that was far too incomprehensible for him to accept or understand? Maybe Malfoy was invoking foreign emotions within him such as sympathy.. pity...
Each day, Harry Potter went back for more, like some sniveling teenage gossip girl, waiting for the next diary entry or the next piece of blackmail. And in a way, it was true. Each chapter of Draco Malfoy's life spilled from Malfoy's lips in a tantalizingly sinful way that made Harry Potter snatch it up and gulp it down, without hesitation. It was similar to the feeling of anticipation, that feeling before opening a scandalous note, and the feeling of delicious secrets just waiting to be exposed.
Or at least, this is what Harry thought and told himself. Because it was just inconceivable that Harry Potter's heart would jump at each tear that fell unto the cold and hard bathroom floor. It was abominable just thinking about comforting Malfoy every time he mentioned Lord Voldemort's heinous acts of murder and bloodshed. For humor's sake, Harry would say, if anyone asked, that Myrtle was more fascinating than that Malfoy.
So it was in this mad voice of reasoning, that Harry went back to the damp bathroom, with its broken faucets and draining sinks and its cold inhabitants. Most would have called it obsession, if not for the fact that this was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.
He hadn't seen it the first day, but Harry soon realized that Malfoy had a routine at the end of his exhausting confession to one lonely ghost and another listener who shivered inside his Invisibility Cloak. Like clockwork and a spell that had just been dispelled, Malfoy would casually stand up, disgusted, with a sneer on his merciless face. His gray eyes would scan the room for trespassers Harry's breath would hitch, and he'd bite his tongue to keep from making noise. When he was satisfied of emptiness, Malfoy would brush the dirt from his robes and slowly take his wand out of his robes. His haughty face would stare straight into Myrtle's dead, dead eyes, and he'd murmur some words with the elegance and grace that all Malfoys dictated.
Without fail, Moaning Myrtle's feeble memory would then squeeze out everything that Malfoy had said, just moments before, and with that, the threat of pervasive memories was gone.
Just like that.
Harry, with the dim knowledge of ignorance, was sure that Malfoy knew a dangerously complex spell, but it never occurred to him to find out just exactly what it was. All he needed to know was that this spell had the strength and ability to wipe out a ghost's memory. Harry didn't intend to find out what spells Malfoy knew to wipe out a living human's memory. This jolt of reality was normally the cue to head back before Harry's empty bed alerted his friends, and before Malfoy could sense the shifting abnormality that only an Invisibility Cloak could mandate.
Nighttime was Malfoy's territory. However, the daylight always woke Harry or at least, it sometimes did and alerted the Boy-Who-Lived to the shifting planes of Hogwarts. Secrets were ripped out into the open and Harry was forced to take notice of the boy who had uttered them.
During the mornings and the afternoons, Malfoy's face was a blur of sallow pale skin and gaunt cheek bones. Harry would watch, almost, almost concerned at the sight of Malfoy sinking into his seat during breakfast, lunch, and dinner, or Malfoy sleeping during class, neglecting notes and failing quizzes, which was typically non-Malfoy behavior or even the way he treated everyone; irritated revulsion and hatred trickling from his glares to anyone who took a chance by standing in his way.
The Dream Team as Malfoy had started to dub the trio that consisted of Ron, Hermione, and Harry would not but take one step into his path without a sharp, rude, and brusque statement from Malfoy about Ron's revolting mother, Hermione's disgusting Mudblood ways, and most of all Harry's sordid, filthy, and dirty self. It seemed that Harry and Malfoy's arguments always fell on the topic of Voldemort and how the Dark Lord was going to do the whole world a favor by getting rid of the famous 'Harry Potty.' And every single miserable failure that Harry Potter had done would be accounted for in one sentence.
"You're worthless, Potter."
What truly amazed Hermione and Ron was that Harry didn't seem to care anymore. While Hermione had to hold Ron back from pouncing on Malfoy and ripping apart his throat, Harry melded into the shadows and softly said, "Just leave him." While Hermione whipped out her wand with fire in her eyes, it was Harry who quietly pulled back her wrist and whispered, "He doesn't mean it, 'Mione." Even though questions lingered in their minds, both Ron and Hermione never voiced them. They took Harry's natural leadership skills for granted and by then, their anger had subsided and the worst they could do was scoff at Malfoy's wary body and turn away.
It was a step towards maturity and all Harry had to blame for it was what replaced his sleep during the hours of midnight and beyond. What Malfoy said during the daytime was inconsequential compared to the things Malfoy poured out to Myrtle during the night. In the sunlight, Malfoy would spit out truly venomous things to Harry which would have beforehand caused Harry to engage in public warfare with the blond-haired boy. Now however, with the realization that the spots of grey in Harry's mind included Malfoy, it wasn't what he heard that mattered "It's a pity your parents died, Potter. I'll thank the Dark Lord the next time I see him." "Do us a favor, Potter, and drop dead. Maybe then your fans will stop putting you on a pedestal." "Famous Harry Pothead; famous only because people around him end up dying." but more of what he saw.
He saw weary. gray eyes and messy, straggly hair; evidence of the lack of time Malfoy spent on his appearance during mornings. He saw once-immaculate clothing now wrinkled and crumpled, and carelessness littered behind Malfoy's wake. He saw pencils breaking, Malfoy fumbling, and the same boy tiring. He saw the jumpiness in Malfoy's behavior, his shuffling walk, and the way his shoulders drooped. He saw Malfoy at his weakest point, a boy who cared far too little about everyone and himself.
Harry saw a reflection of himself.
Rarely would Harry hear true malice in Draco Malfoy's voice. Ron and Hermione would be glad to hear that Malfoy never really hated them, never really despised them, for it was always Harry that Malfoy directed his hatred towards If Harry would look instead of hear and if he disregarded the words tumbling out of Malfoy's mouth, he could decipher what Malfoy really wanted to say.
Leave me alone. Just, just shut up and leave me the bloody hell alone.
It wasn't hard to translate Malfoy's silent language. Harry had felt and exhibited the same, exact motions numerous times during his lifetime.
He remembered the first time Malfoy had mentioned Harry Potter's name in another one of his confessional ramblings. Harry had almost squeaked with surprise and it had nearly cost him his hideout Myrtle had eventually deflected Malfoy's suspicious of another person in the room. It was quite strange that Harry could recap, word for word, what exactly Malfoy had said. Maybe not so much strange as frightening.
Harry had watched, from the shelter of his Invisibility Cloak, as Malfoy's slender hands reached up to the piece of sky available from a crook in the roof; it was as if Malfoy was bent on tracing an outline in the stars that only he could see. He looked incredibly breath-taking in solitude, not at all lonely like the child who had confessed and poured out all his life's works to a ghost who would never remember. Harry could only watch, could only gape as he saw Malfoy in a light that he had never before ventured to even grasp.
"Myrtle, do you want to know something?"
"Yes, yes, you can tell me anything."
"I once met this boy... His name was Harry Potter. You may know him?"
"Yes, I do. He's quite splendid.. And fabulous. Saved the world all in this bathroom, you know. I was there."
"I know, I know. You need not go on. As I was saying... I thought we could be friends. Best friends. At the time the incentive had come from my father. But when I saw him.. The incredible boy who had defeated Lord Voldemort. Well, I offered him my hand, arrogant brat that I was."
"What happened then?"
"I.. I don't know. I think... he hated me from the first moment he saw me."
"But you're so nice, Drakie-poo."
"Only to you, Myrtle, only to you. And please don't call me that ghastly name. There's only so much my dignity can take. Thank Merlin no one else is around to hear your devilish name-calling."
And life continued on. Cho Chang became something of the past and girls continued to mystify the Boy-Who-Lived. It was ironic that Harry had escaped death multiple times, yet could not work up the courage to ask a girl out to Hogsmeade or the Yule Ball. He had heard and seen Ginny and Dean romancing and could not help but mourn for his own loneliness. While Hermione and Ron skirted around each other and flirted atrociously with others, Harry could only grimace at the only clandestine events in his life; his frequent night escapees to secrets and Malfoy.
Ron didn't know and neither did Hermione. It was odd that Harry would want something so significant to be kept for himself; maybe it was greed. It unnerved him that a spark of.. Hope? Compassion? always flitted by when he caught a glimpse of that familiar shade of blonde. Yes, Malfoy may have become familiar. But something quite unfamiliar was brewing inside Harry Potter which only intensified as time passed and he caught Ron with Lavender and Ginny snogging flagrantly with Dean. That monster was brewing within him and it had coincided right when Harry had first started his quests for Draco Malfoy's sanity.
And a monster it was. It toiled and roared and did every other thing imaginable to catch Harry's attention when Ginny walked by with that iridescent hair or when he inhaled a whiff of Lavender 's promiscuous perfume or even in the boy's shower where the mirrors fogged up and the heat turned unbearable, as cliché as it was. It was an atrocity and, quite frankly, Harry was embarrassed that he had such a horrible thing inside of him. In fact, it became top priority that and killing the Dark Lord to assuage this dramatized little horror of a monster by getting himself a girlfriend.
The horndog, as Harry had so fondly nicknamed the beast, was extremely hard to please. 'Get yourself a girlfriend.' it would sneer. 'That Cho Chang was palatable. Such a shame you let her go.'
Or
'How about that one? C'mon, you pathetic loser. She was positively beaming in your direction. And, I heard she broke up with her boyfriend, Dean.'
The horndog knew no boundaries.
'Hermione's looking awfully pretty today. And I'm pretty sure that the Irish boy, Seamus Finnigan, is as flaming as anyone else is these days. Good day as any to experiment, eh? And speaking of flaming.. You should know, as well as anyone else, that Draco Malfoy is the most hottest, fuckable-"
"That's IT."
Ignoring the odd glances and glares he was getting from the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter bravely stood up and marched with the extremely, extremely determined gait that would have made Lord Voldemort, himself, quake with fear to the other side of the table. Without a second thought except the ones about massacring the horndog, Harry Potter asked Ginerva Weasley out to lunch on a Hogsmeade date.
It was a good, good day for the horndog and the Weasley girl.
It was a predictable and normal day or at least it was as normal as normal could get in the life of Harry Potter. Breakfast had been fairly harmless with Malfoy in Harry's right side and Ginny in his left. It was like an instantaneous reflex now to look up whenever Malfoy entered a classroom or the Great Hall. Harry felt a powerful connection with him that couldn't be explained with words; it was that ephemeral silence that he and Malfoy shared with the gurgling of the sinks as company; it was the feeling Harry got whenever he caught Malfoy smiling ever so slightly at a past memory; it was the chill of emptiness that swirled around Harry whenever Malfoy hissed, smirked, sneered at him.
'You've outdone yourself, Harry. Who would have thought that you, the Boy-Who-Lived, would have a better relationship with Draco Malfoy than your own girlfriend.'
Harry paused with his breakfast and turned to look at Ginny's smiling face. Mistaking the voice within his head as his conscience, Harry absentmindedly shrugged and continued to eat his breakfast.
'Ah, so you agree with me! This is a first.'
Eye twitching, Harry suddenly realized that the relentlessly evil horndog had not, in fact, run off with his tail behind his legs. And he had even taken the painstaking time to summon up his Gryffindor courage and ask Ginny out on a date! What would he have to do just to get rid of the stupid, irritating monster inside his head?
Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was always so bloody tired and the headaches he endured were horrible, to say in the least. Well, it was good that he had his own cheerleader. A girlfriend. Fancy that.
Harry smiled and once again turned his head towards Ginny, who was now wincing at her breakfast. She smelled like green apples and her hair shined in the light. As if noticing that she was on his mind, Ginny looked up and grinned at Harry. Blushing, Harry shyly waved and jumped when he heard a voice scoff behind him.
"Hey, mate, stop the flirting in front of me. She's my sister and you seem to have forgotten that I'm eating."
Harry diverted his attention away from Ginny and grimaced at Ron. "We were.. waving. To each other."
Ron rolled his eyes and lightly elbowed Hermione.
"What do you say to that, 'Mione?"
Hermione laughed and teased, "I'd say that the public display of affection has gone on long enough, Mister Potter. Please refrain from excessive acts of inappropriate behavior." As an afterthought, she added, "It's nice to see you behaving normally, Harry. I've been worried. And I'll give galleons to Ginny if she can convince you to start sleeping again."
"I've been sleeping," Harry mumbled. Even as he said the words, he could feel a yawn threatening to escape from his lips. All he wanted was a big nap. Maybe he should cop out on today's peek into Malfoy's life? As he cast a glance at the Slytherin table, he had the sinking feeling that he already knew what the answer would be.
"I'll be fine, Hermione. Trust me."
"Mister Potter. It's nice to see that you have, as usual, graced us with your.. admirably shoddy presence." Professor Snape's sneer was as prominent as his hook-line nose and the acid dripping from his voice could have melted through a layer of the Avada Kedavra curse if it had a physical embodiment.
Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes. Greasy git needs to get a life. Honestly, doesn't he ever get tired of thinking up insults for me?
"Late, Potter. 20 points from Gryffindor." Snape's lips curled and he seemed to take pleasure from uttering the next words. "And another 20 for your unkempt appearance. Your presence seems to stink up my classroom."
Harry bit his tongue and sat down, reddening slightly when he heard snickers from the Slytherin side of the room. Ever since the disastrous Occlumency lesson in which Harry had figured out why exactly Snape hated him so much, the Potions professor had become more vitriolic in his attack and far too personal for Harry. The hatred and contempt in the Potion Master's face whenever he verbally abused Harry was reminiscent of Draco Malfoy's face at its worst.
As class inched by and Snape's boring voice droned on, Harry could feel himself getting exceedingly fatigued and his eyelids were starting to betray him by steadily, steadily...
A sharp nudge in the side reminded Harry of where he was and what the punishment would be for dozing off. With another yawn, he whispered a muffled thanks to Ron and continued taking notes; however, he noticed that on the other side of the room, Draco Malfoy was doing precisely what Harry had been just moments ago.
Face to the side, eyes closed, head down. A sleeping Malfoy looked like a dead Malfoy. Albeit a bit more peaceful. Harry's green eyes bore holes into Malfoy and it felt remarkably good to glare at the boy who had made the past weeks a re-enactment of sleep deprivation torture. Ignoring Snape's driveling voice, Harry continued to gaze at Malfoy's sleeping features. The light was reflecting off Malfoy's hair in a way that made him seem more like an angel than the demonic fiend that he really was.
Harry snorted. Angel, indeed. But Malfoy did look much better sleeping than awake. With that chiseled ivory skin and the normally frowning lips curved into a slight smile... Who was Harry to judge about the looks of angels and demons? After all, wasn't this the Draco Malfoy who had been taught to act the way he did? His usage of the word 'Mudblood' had been instilled and the arrogant, haughty matter in which he treated everyone beneath him was typical of a Malfoy. But it didn't explain the caustic and bitter term in which he acknowledged everyone, even those who were his friends. It was a pity that such terrible words rolled off the lips of someone who looked like Malfoy.
"He's such a handsome boy."
Biting his lip, Harry trailed his eyes from the sleeping visage and continued to take notes. Unfortunately, his eyes kept on roaming and when, for the fifth time, he noticed how striking Malfoy's face was when it was rid of wrinkles and sneers, he groaned inwardly and ducked his head down, flattening the hair on top of it.
He was in need of some serious sleep if he kept on thinking about Malfoy like this. Maybe today would be the day that Harry would go to Dumbledore and reveal what Malfoy had confided to Myrtle. Besides, it wasn't betrayal. To betray, Harry would need loyalty. And he definitely didn't have any of that towards Malfoy.
Then how come Harry could not understand any of the enigmatic guilt that crossed his mind when he thought about handing Malfoy in to Dumbledore?
Harry wondered when it would all stop. When the moonlight would stop casting its reflection in the puddles of water in the girl's bathroom floor, when the unsteady lilt of a voice would quit becoming so familiar, when the shadow of a bathroom stall would cease to provide refuge. Was it greed that had started it? Immaturity and thoughts of revenge? What would end it all?
You could end it. You know that, Harry.
But he wouldn't. Because he wanted it; he wanted to hear about Malfoy's childhood and what Malfoy's favorite toy was. It wasn't important at all. It was just.. Just blackmail information, just pieces of a bigger puzzle. Or at least, that's what Harry told himself.
But Harry knew just how much he was lying to himself. Because Harry wasn't here to, in the end, throw a party and laugh in Malfoy's face. Shove his face into the mud and make him pay for endless years of name-calling, insults, and pain. And it wasn't that Harry was here to satisfy his curiosity. That had been accomplished a long time ago. How long had it been? A week, two weeks? Could one lone boy's lifetime be told in a mere week? Could it? How lonely, how deprived...
The sun had melted into the dark sky, and all too soon, lights were snuffed out and beds were climbed into and slept in. All except Harry's bed, forgotten and dismal. He had sneaked out, in no particularly different way from usual, and he had sneaked into the girl's bathroom, so accustomed was he that all thoughts of worry were banished.
However, when Harry slipped in, he could see that today was different. Malfoy was tense and the way he clutched the sink with both hands conveyed a sinking feeling of finality. Harry had seen tears in the boy's eyes only on the first day of his late-night excursions. From then on, Malfoy had gripped his emotions tightly with no chance of further weakness by the heavy show of crying.
But today.. Today was different. Malfoy's shoulders wracked with sobs and Myrtle was frenetic with worry; she floated and drifted with a frown on her face. Her sickly sweet voice cooed incessantly and Harry could hear snatches of her whispered pleas, "Don't... tell me what's wrong... I can help you..."
"I can't... I can't kill him.."
"Kill who, Drakie? It's all right, you can tell me. I won't tell anyone."
Malfoy looked up and stared straight at the cracked mirror, eyes leaking tears. "I have to... The bastard will kill me if I don't. And.. he's managed to loop Snape onto all this... It'll never work... I have to do it soon... Otherwise he'll kill me."
"No, no, Drakie!"
Malfoy's dull eyes widened and he continued muttering, "I have to kill him.. I have to... Kill Albus Dumbledore."
The silence stretched and suddenly, Malfoy whipped out his wand and said, coldly, "You've heard enough, Myrtle." After a second or two, in which Malfoy waved his wand and whispered the first few Latin incantations, Harry used this time to rack his brains on what to do. It was no question. After Malfoy finished wiping the memory off Myrtle, Harry would run to Dumbledore's office and warn the headmaster about Malfoy's plots. Except.. Harry furiously winced as he felt hesitation leaking into his voice of reasoning. He had spent weeks with Malfoy and the image of Malfoy as the broken and little boy that he had conjured up in his mind was now broken. Demolished and rightly so. It was dangerous harboring such feelings about the enemy.
Black and white had never seemed so perfectly clear until now. It was time to end this foolish eavesdropping and report back to Dumbledore every single thing that had passed from Malfoy's lips. Wasn't it enough that Harry had managed to keep this incognito for so long? What had he been thinking? He had to get to Dumbledore.. Now.
Nauseous with worry, Harry whirled around and, with haste, tried to slip out of the dejected girl's bathroom. However, in all his carelessness, he had forgotten to trod carefully and it was with horror that he found himself stepping on the Invisibility Cloak, causing it to yank towards the ground and away from his body.
The two froze, each trying to grasp what the other was trying to hide. Malfoy's reflection in the mirror would have been funny, if the situation hadn't been so direly horrifying. Without thinking, Harry whipped out his wand and dodged the hex that Malfoy had cast, just seconds before. The next few seconds were a tumble of shouts and yells and dodges and spells, but it wasn't until Harry slipped on a puddle and his wand skidded to the floor that it turned gruesome.
Harry instinctively shielded himself and shut his eyes, while Malfoy twisted his face and cried, "Crucio."
Nothing happened.
Harry had fully expected the agonizing pain to shoot up his body, first through his legs all the way to his beating heart, but it never came. Silence fell and Harry slowly opened his eyes only to find Malfoy staring at his wand. Taking the time as a distraction, Harry stretched his arm and was about to grab his wand when-
"Don't even think about it, Potter."
Harry gulped and slowly withdrew his arm when he found himself at the end of Malfoy's wand. Draco Malfoy had just cast the Cruciatus curse on him.. And nothing had happened. Hatred was needed to cast an Unforgiveable but Malfoy looked as if he had more than enough to spare.
"First things first, Potter." Malfoy's drawl might have been lazy to anyone else other than Harry. Harry could tell how infuriated Malfoy was from the way he shook from anger and the coldness that echoed through the bathroom. "How long have you been spying on me?"
Harry was sure he could positively feel the all-too familiar hatred, disgust, and abhorrence radiating from Malfoy; it came in a sickening rush that left Harry the sense of disorientation and breathlessness. He never heard the first question, because the long periods of time in which he had been translating what he saw, not what he heard, had left Harry a bit deaf to Malfoy's physical voice.
"Potter, you daft bastard, are you listening to me? This isn't a joke, how long have you been listening? And how the bloody hell did you get away with tampering my wand?"
The anger in Malfoy's tone reverberated and hit Harry with a fierceness that was previously unparalleled to all of Malfoy's previous insults and degrading smirks. Reality finally hit Harry and with a jolt, he jerked himself away from the intriguing silver spirals in Malfoy's grey, grey, dark eyes. What was he doing sparring here with the enemy and quite possibly endangering himself to the point of fatality? Hadn't years of Hogwarts taught him anything?
Never lose your wand when dueling with an opponent who is not only merciless, but angered. In times like these, show caution not to display weakness.
Green eyes flashing, Harry spoke without a hint of fear. "What are you talking about, Malfoy? Your wand's fine-"
"Potter, I cast an Unforgiveable. It didn't work." Lips curled, patronizing voice. "Obviously, you've done something."
Harry's mouth suddenly felt parched. Malfoy was right; he had cast an Unforgiveable. And it was more than likely he would end up doing the same thing, if given the chance. "Look, Malfoy, you're not yourself. Just.. just calm down and we'll sort this all out."
Malfoy crossed his arms and he raised an eyebrow with poise that was meant for only decoration, "Look at Myrtle, Potter."
Harry, with a sinking feeling in his chest, turned his head towards the ghost there was his wand and clenched his fists when he saw the pale-blue light glowing around Myrtle, and it appeared to Harry as if the aura itself was sucking her strength and not the spell. She didn't seem to be moving and if Harry didn't know any better, he would think that the floating girl in front of him was..
He whirled around and pointed at Myrtle with an accusing finger, "Malfoy, what the hell is your problem? The only things she's done is listen to your sorry arse and you haven't even got the decency to let her go. Stop whatever it is you're doing, you've already caused enough trou-"
All Harry saw was a streak of blond-white and then he found himself pushed up against the wall, facing a livid Malfoy and an arm rammed again his own chest.
"Potter, you may want to watch your words or else you'll be next. Now I suggest you tell me just what you did to my wand. My wand appears to be useless and we don't want that, do we?" Harry winced as Malfoy increased the pressure on his chest and his own warm, pained breath mingled with Malfoy's hissed whisper. "After all, it's not everyday that I get the chance to show the Dark Lord just how loyal I am to his cause."
Harry could see the fury in Malfoy's face, yes, but being face to face in such close proximity provided Harry the mixed emotions running through the other boy. The rage, embarrassment, humiliation, shame, and was that blood-thirst of a murderer? scared the Boy-Who-Lived to stare straight at Draco Malfoy and frantically respond.
"Malfoy... I haven't done anything to your wand. Your curse didn't work because.. Because.." Harry grasped at any coherent thought in his head. Unfortunately, his brain didn't seem to be functioning correctly when he continued, "Your feelings for me aren't strong enough. Look just let go of me and I'll..."
"Oh, Potter. Your naivety is touching. You can't truly believe that. I despise you. I loathe every single inch of your body and your mindless, dull friends. My greatest joy will be to see you within an inch of your life, begging the Dark Lord to spare your life." Malfoy was snarling now, the words spitting out of his mouth throwing themselves at the target. "And don't worry, Potter. I won't be the only one rejoicing when you're dead. Do you honestly believe that the Diggorys enjoyed seeing their son as a human sacrifice for the precious Wizarding Savior? Do you think your parents wanted to give up their lives just for one measly baby? Face it, Potter. You're nothing. You're pathetic. The worst you can do now is join that mangy mutt that you call your godfather."
For a split second, all Harry could see was the dangerous color of scarlet red. Letting out a cry of anger, he shrugged off Malfoy's grip and shoved the pale boy hard, watching him stumble with a look of surprise on his normally composed face. Forgetting that Malfoy was armed with a wand, Harry threw himself at the flailing body on the ground and wildly threw inhibited punches.
"You.. slimy git! I... hope you rot. Like your.. worthless.. father." Each pause was accentuated by a blow to the chest and head that was accompanied by a look of pain from Malfoy. It was situations like these that reminded Harry how worthless Malfoy was with physical violence. However, Malfoy knew just how to get under Harry's skin and make it itch with that blazing, hot, crimson anger. It was almost as if the blond knew that Harry could shrug off blows to the head and scars on the body, but was worthless when it came to defending verbal insults and statements that, if true, would keep Harry awake for the next few weeks or so.
Grabbing a fistful of Malfoy's green and black robes, Harry brought his enemy's face close to his, wondering what went on behind that simpering smirk and the impassive mask.
Why do you do this to me?
Malfoy coughed and groaned under the weight of Harry's body and only continued smirking. "You liked that, didn't you? Your temper is abominable, Potter. If it weren't for the fact that my arm is temporarily incapacitated, I would.."
"You'd what? Hex me?" Here, Harry shook the boy hard, smiling slightly when he heard Malfoy's teeth rattling. "Use Crucio? You just made the worst mistake of your life by casting that Unforgiveable curse. Say hello to your father for me, because you're going to meet him very soon."
Harry was satisfied to see panic flit by Malfoy's face, but the boy quickly recovered his composure. "Don't talk about my father that way, Potter. If he were here, he'd-"
There was silence and Harry finished the sentence. "He'd kill me."
The significance of Harry's words didn't go by unnoticed by the boy underneath him. A burst of strength jolted Malfoy and both boys struggled for a few minutes. Unfortunately for Malfoy, his smaller and lithe body was no match for the slight muscles that Harry had gained from hours of Quidditch practice and pulling weeds during the summer.
"You bloody parrot... You've been listening to me from the beginning, haven't you?" Harry's face must have portrayed his guilt, because Malfoy seemed to flail even more. "I'll kill you, I swear it, I will! I'll kill you, I'll bloody kill you."
It was Harry's turn, now, to scoff at the pale boy and the silver liquid in his eyes. "Shove off, Malfoy and stop acting as if it's the end of the world. It's all right. You can quit hiding. I know everything, Malfoy." Harry didn't know when his voice had turned soothing or why the words out of his mouth were rushing to get out.
"Potter, stop your sentimental drivel and get off me or I'll.."
Harry barreled on. "Look, I know everything about you." There was a lilt in Harry's voice, a slight and unsteady lilt, that Harry ignored. "I know about your plans to kill Dumbledore, I know your secrets, your dreams, your fears..." Here, Harry ventured to look up, and found himself walking, unfound, into Malfoy's cold eyes.
"You could say that I know you."
The dripping of the pipes and the soft rain eased into an uneasy syncopation with each other, as if they knew the tumult inside the bathroom could easily be disrupted. Malfoy's eyes narrowed and his face was an impassive mask, hiding everything except for the cool hatred in his eyes. Harry awkwardly let go of Malfoy's shirt and the two kept their ground, staring and wondering what the other was not saying.
It was finally Malfoy who turned away. His voice was quiet but far from resigned. "You don't know shite about me and the next time you say such utter crap will be your last."
Harry ignored the death threat it was expected from someone like Malfoy and wondered why he was subjecting himself to such cruel and hopeless misery. "Your favorite color is silver, you've always liked that color." Harry paused and took the silence to convince himself that it was perfectly normal to remember the little details; perfectly normal. "Your worst fear is getting lost, your wish is to live a simple life and open a Quidditch store..."
Harry could see Malfoy's hesitance and the stark confusion etched in his sharp face. Moonlight played with the dust and Harry was sure that he could see the streak of moon in Malfoy's hair and the sparkling beam of light in his face.
However, the apparition shattered when Malfoy snarled, desperation evident in every shadow of his face. "Shut up Potter."
Harry couldn't stop the words, no matter how much he cursed inwardly. "You love Quidditch, possibly more than marshmallow-flavored Bertie Bott Jelly beans. You can't stand Potions but you endure it because Severus Snape is your godfather..."
-myrtle, only to you, myrtle- haggard eyes and gaunt cheek bones... endless notion after notion, every thought after thought, ever confession, every sin, every heartless act of love
Harry ignored the wand beneath his leg, ignored the dripping of the rain, ignored the murderous and helpless look in Malfoy's eyes... It was suddenly very important to get his point across and to let Malfoy see just how much he knew. And.. And how much he cared.
"You envy Gryffindors for the life their future holds, far less nastier than a typical Slytherin's life."
Malfoy's voice had faded, a long time ago, into the background, so it was far beyond Harry's comprehension when Malfoy said, once again, "Shut up, Potter!" in an edgy tone that conveyed uneasiness and anxiousness.
"You secretly admire Hermione for her intelligence.."
"You worthless piece of shite, shut up, shut up!"
"You dislike Ron because your family will never be like his."
"Don't say another word, I'll curse you to oblivion, I swear it I will..."
Five minutes ago, that would have seemed out of the question. However, Harry had, in a haze of distraction and nerves, absentmindedly shifted the position of his leg that had so preciously guarded Malfoy's arm. This had, thus, enabled Malfoy to retrieve his wand which was now dangerously close to the pulse point in Harry's throat.
What are you doing, Harry? Do you value your life?! Get your wand, stop babbling!
But Harry couldn't. He was rooted to the spot and the wand that Malfoy had threatened him with was insignificant to the logic in his mind. What he was doing, Harry could not answer, but it seemed as if all these past weeks had boiled down to this one moment. That simple equation of adding, subtracting, and dividing was worthless if the solution wasn't answered.
"You hate me.. Because... Because..."
Harry's heart skipped a strained beat and he was aware of the fatigue and weariness that coursed through his veins. All the wasted days of not sleeping of only listening and all the quiet emotions that ran through his head whenever he caught sight of Draco Malfoy in the hallways and all the insults he had traded and all the guilt he had accumulated and all the empathy he had hidden and all the times he had lied to himself I won't go today, Not today, I'll go to sleep today...
All of that.. Was confirmed by Draco Malfoy when he leaned in and caught Harry's mouth with his own.
It was odd. That was one word for it. Besides the fact that the bathroom had the degree temperature of the chilly dungeons and the fact that the situation was a far cry from just "odd," Harry was sure that it was all.. Very, very.. odd.
Harry's brain, Harry was convinced, seemed to be malfunctioning. The only word that ran through his mind was that three letter word. Odd. As if kissing the enemy wasn't bad enough, but Harry's brain was shutting down, leaving him with only the sensation of warm lips with his own and a deliciously unique scent that swirled and invaded his nostrils.
All common sense had left Harry. Come to think of it, so had adjectives and reasoning, leaving him with that one infuriating word. Odd.
Kissing Draco Malfoy wasn't anything like kissing Ginny, so Harry left it be, closing his eyes like a love-stricken girl and straining to get more of that taste in Malfoy's mouth. To think that it was pleasant kissing someone with such an atrocious mouth. Laughable, really. Who cared if he was cold, tired, hungry no, famished really and dirty?
It was nice feeling this way. It felt as if he had just been cast with the warming spell and now the lovely warmth tingled from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, which he was sure was flushed with pink. Wasn't it positively odd that Harry liked having his lips locked with Draco Malfoy's own lips?
Oh, it wasn't perfect who was talking about perfection? This was flawless. Both boys fumbling, extra spit swapping, teeth knocking, awkwardness surging, Harry moaning, Malfoy trembling, and twin hearts beating.
Surprisingly, it was Harry who withdrew first. His brain, which had so traitorously left him and then just as traitorously come back, was intent on being high priority on Harry's 'To Maim/Kill/Disgorge' list. In fact, right after Voldemort, if Harry had to give it a rank.
And with the return of his brain came the common sense, the logic, and the fact that he had just swapped spit with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy - the boy who would take his place by Voldemort's side, and the same boy who had stomped on Harry's face in the train station. The boy –who in his first year- had sneered at Harry's threadbare clothing and –later on- had threatened him with revenge and death. Harry had been shown this.. this illusion of Draco Malfoy as the embodiment of innocence but it still didn't excuse the Slytherin's past actions. Odd was stupendously impossible and all Harry wanted to do now was bolt and leave his shameful actions where it had begun in the dreary girl's bathroom with its gushing toilets and broken confessions.
The words, the adjectives, came rushing by as quickly as the word odd left him. Disastrous, horrifyingly embarrassing, stupid, insane, ridiculously disgusting, abnormal, shocking, terrible, catastrophic!
It was a tragedy that Harry found a part of himself missing odd.
Sucking in air, Harry stared at Malfoy, wondering if the kiss had affected the other boy just as much as it had affected him. His question was answered by the glaze in Malfoy's eyes lust, freakish, scandalous, outrageous, humiliating and Harry swallowed, biting back the urge to run his hands through his messy crow's nest hair and pull as hard as he could. He didn't miss that conniving iridescent warmth, he didn't! Draco Malfoy and warmth didn't even shouldn't even belong in the same sentence!
And it was Harry's goddamn right to shiver like he was doing now! The indignity of his brain to leave him and then come bouncing back full of words-
contemptible, disgraceful, shameful, appalling
that left poor 'odd' with no company. Where had all his common sense been when Harry had been smashing lips with Malfoy and all the world had frozen to that one, simple, outrageous kiss? And just which window had reason jumped out of when Harry's stomach twisted with a heat that left him gasping into Malfoy's mouth?
Harry, you should leave! Right now. It's great that you... Bonded with the enemy, but he's going to get his senses back any minute now and he'll.. what was it? That's right... "curse you to oblivion..!"
Even the horndog, which had currently seemed only capable of being comical, now contributed and piped in.
He may be hot, but Draco Malfoy is a lunatic! Fuck later, run now!
Eyes wide it had to be serious if the horndog was rejecting a possible suitor Harry leapt away from Malfoy's grasp, as if burnt, and whirled around to escape. Where's my wand, where's my wand, where's my.. He sighed in relief when he caught sight of his wand on the ground and hurriedly picked it up, feeling automatically better with the protection of a possible weapon.
Poofter, shirt lifter, faggot, brainless
"Potter?"
inexcusable, atrocious, stupid, stupid, stupid
Anger filled Harry with such rapid speed that he stopped for a second to clear his head from all the words whispering in his ear. He saw Malfoy's gaunt cheek bones, haughty from sneers and snarls, and the eyes that had spoken of disaster and misfortunes. Images flashed by his head –Malfoy tossing the Remembrall, the scowl on his face when Harry had gotten picked as a seeker, Malfoy bragging about his father, "You'll be next, Mudblood!" Hexes and curses from Malfoy's wand, the triumphant and smug face when announcing Buckbeath's death, his cleverly insulting jibes at Ron, Hermione, and Harry, Malfoy singing Wealey Our King, the 'You stink, Potter' badges, Malfoy's sneering voice coalescing with Snape's, Malfoy snickering with his Slytherin friends, Malfoy lunging, Malfoy kicking, taking care to tread on Harry's fingers on his way out..-
Yet... The past few weeks and Myrtle's hazy testimony could attest to the side of Malfoy that no one had ever seen before. And Harry had been a witness of his own free will, he couldn't forget that. And just what had he seen? Could he even name a fractional part of the silent emotions or the uncanny instinct to look up whenever Malfoy entered Harry's line of vision? Harry had heard a quote once, from one of Hermione's long and tedious rants about the Muggle version of wisdom, and had never forgotten it. It isn't hatred that is the opposite of love, but indifference. It had irked him to hear Hermione loudly declare the statement, because, at the time, none of it had made sense to him.
And it did now. A funny feeling wormed its way into Harry's stomach and froze him to the spot.
You liked it.
"You!" Harry hissed and pointed at Malfoy with such conviction that a look of startled surprise flashed by Malfoy's face, before being replaced with that familiar smirk.
"Me?" The chill was back; it was in the air, in the toilets, and most significantly in Malfoy's voice. The infuriating drawl was familiar and Harry hated it.
"You.. loathsome.. ferret!!"
"That's not what I heard when we were on the ground, Potter. Change of heart?"
Harry blanched at the casual mention of the kiss –should he even call it that? An inexcusable mistake on Malfoy's part seemed a much better dictation of their momentary lip touching- and shouted, "There was no we! On the ground! At all!" Harry realized that his flustered words were probably not helping. After a swift intake of breath, Harry calmly continued, "Look. That.. That was a mistake. You started it and I'm going to end it."
With that, Harry turned around and had gotten two seconds away from the door, when a firm hand clamped his arm and forced him to turn back around. Harry found himself –or rather, his throat- at the end of a wand with one pallid Draco Malfoy at the other end. "Oh? You're not going anywhere. Besides, I never got to answer your question.."
And Harry realized how futile it was to avoid it. All the decency in the world couldn't make him act out on his will and walk out the door because first of all, Malfoy wouldn't let him. And second of all... Well it was Harry's job to make sure there was no second reason. Hatred was strong enough to push away any of the pernicious strings controlling his body.. Right? And what on earth was Malfoy talking about? What question? He dimly remembered barreling through a haze of words and secrets spilling from his mouth. And right before Malfoy had silenced him with that kiss no, no, it was just lip locking. Nothing more, Harry had touched upon the rather delicate subject of himself.
Wryly smiling, Harry licked his lips and decided to play along. "You never told me why.. You hate me. You don't have to answer it, I already know the answer. It's because.." Harry furrowed his brow. "Because..."
And Harry ceased speaking when he saw the most lightest smile flit across Malfoy's face. However, it wasn't so much a smile as more of a slight curve of the lips, as if Malfoy had thought of something extremely humorous. Harry realized that this was the first time he had seen something so-
odd. it's odd.
on Draco Malfoy's face.
And then, quite suddenly, without any warning, the harsh scowl was back and in one swift motion, Malfoy jabbed his wand in Harry's direction. Harry's eyes widened and he took a step back, feeling the impulsive need to take flight and run. When Malfoy started to mumble under his breath, Harry decided that now would be a good time to raise his wand, murmur a counter-spell, knock the wand out of Malfoy's hand, anything, but it was already too late, and how in Merlin's beard could he have been so careless...
The elegant whisper came like a swift death sentence and echoed loudly in Harry's ear.
"Mortifico Oblivios"
Draco Malfoy watched, passive and estranged, as Harry Potter's green and vivid eyes bled out in their intensity and the atmosphere slowly liquefied into a pool of green so shocking, that Draco had to shield his eyes for a moment or so. He fancied that he could see the past few weeks stumble out of Harry's head and shimmer as all iridescent memories did when they left their owner. Potter would get over it; he was, after all, the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived.
A bitter taste arose in Draco's mouth and he bit his tongue to refrain from spitting. Potter was a walking disaster, an enigmatic freak. Draco Malfoy would rather die by Voldemort's hand than accept friendship with Potter.
Potter.
Even now, Draco couldn't keep his eyes off the raven-haired boy and his dull green eyes and the famous scar on his forehead. The scarhead's lips were still red from Draco's bold move it had worked, hadn't it? He had been delighted to see that kissing Potty had effectively caught him off guard and the creamy white skin of his seemed to be immersed in the aura of green around him. Slowly, very slowly, Harry Potter, the Wizarding Savior, sunk to his knees and Draco wondered what had caused the goody-good to refrain from running to Dumbledore. Arguing with Potter always left him drained and even though his lips were curled with malevolence and his eyes showed no weakness-
because that's Potter was; a weakness
Draco was tired. Maybe that's why he turned away at the sight of Potter collapsing, looking as if a beggar to the world that had forsaken him so many times. How did Potter stand it? How could he just shrug off the disappointments that each failure brought him and how on earth did he handle the media's omnipresent glare? How did he survive, day after day, with that wretched smile on his face, when there was a Dark Lord out there, ready to kill him and rip him to shreds when the time presented itself?
Why hadn't he accepted Draco's friendship at the beginning? Why had he rejected Lord Voldemort's offer of power and even the resurrection of his family? Why hadn't he succumbed to the spiral of twisted power that the Dark Arts offered? What was it about Potter that made Draco look harder, longer, and finally colder when the question presented no solution? Any normal boy would have jumped at the chance of becoming Draco's friend except, possibly, the Weasel and only a fool would have rejected the Dark Lord's proposal of that which one most desired.
Draco's gaze flickered to Harry, who was now slumped on the floor. The spell would rid Harry of some very choice memories and Draco knew that right now Harry was probably sleeping a painless dream that would hold just the beginnings of the nightmares and appalling dreams.
Poor Potty. If only you were more like me...
Pocketing his wand after removing all traces of his magical signature, Draco watched Harry with narrowed eyes. The boy's cheeks were a dull pink and that shocking green surrounding him had eventually simmered into a vague haze of sea green. Color was important to Draco and if he were asked what color Harry resembled, he'd pick white.
And I'm that shade of black; the black that all other colors avoid.. We're the embodiment of just those two colors. White and black. After all, grey doesn't hold a part in the real world.
It was odd that Draco was feeling this way for such an inconsequential and paltry subject. This was Potter, for crying out loud! Draco had to leave soon, daylight was approaching, and... Draco cursed himself when he found himself hesitating. Questions attacked his tongue and he wondered if Harry had believed all of Draco's testimony to his hatred of the Dark Lord, his father, the mission..
Clenching his fists and groaning aloud, Draco pushed aside his doubts and walked towards the door. However, something kept him from pulling open the door and walking outside that dusty and old girl's bathroom. It was just one of the smaller pieces to the puzzle but Draco had honestly believed that Potter had magicked something unto his wand when the Crucio had not worked quite as well as he had planned.
Seeing Potter defenseless twisted something inside Draco's gut, but he knew that solving at least this small part of the whole problem would help assuage the.. the... odd feelings running throughout his entire body whenever he thought of Harry Potter.
Mustering all the things that the Gryffindor had done to Draco and his lackeys, Draco was satisfied to feel that all-too familiar rage, contempt, and hatred for Potter. Just a little bit more and...
Almost lazily casual behavior was expected of a Malfoy. Draco whispered the words in a hiss of fury and indignation, "Crucio."
As Draco walked back to his dormitories with an invisibility spell that Lord Voldemort had personally taught to him, a million thoughts swept away his mask.
One thought, however unbidden, came to his mind and no matter how hard Malfoy struggled to silence it –
Potter
-Draco felt the lazy thought swirl and he shook his head from the inanity of it all. A smile played on his lips and it was all Draco could do not to laugh as he heard the confident, ghostly voice of the Gryffindor with wide, green eyes and messy, ink-dark, locks.
"You never told me why.. You hate me. You don't have to answer it, I already know the answer..."
It was inexcusable that Draco felt so marvelously carefree when really the only emotions running through him should be loathing and revulsion. What was it about Potter that left his defenses wide open and his stomach to burn?
"... You don't have to answer it, I already know the answer."
Looking up at the ceiling of Hogwarts, Draco sighed and realized that his ecstatic mood was ruined by the heavy burden of knowledge. He stood there for a while, ignoring the sun's first hint of its presence, and wondering why nothing seemed clear to him anymore. A few days ago, Draco had been happy to hate Harry Potter and to have that same hatred directed back towards him. Routine was familiar and familiar was comforting.
"...I already know the answer."
He continued gazing up towards the top, the very top, and he thought he could see something in Hogwart's intricate designs. As if possessed, Draco slowly raised his hand to trace what he knew was hidden up there. The unfamiliar feeling of peace surged through him and he sighed again.
Mouthing the words and tracing the secrets that Hogwarts held, the Slytherin, to an onlooker, might have been thought to be casting a spell. However, the words that trickled out of Draco's silent lips belied any pretensions of spells and wand waving.
"You can't know the answer to a question that has none, Potter."
And with that, Draco was jolted back into a world that held Unforgiveable curses, cruel murderers, and fathers who couldn't love. With an instinctive scowl that concealed his handsome face, Draco Malfoy walked towards his own dormitories, all the while ignoring that veiled secret buried in Hogwart's walls.
updated: 1/7/07
11019 words! Why do I do these things? Sorry if the appalling combination of angst/dry humor didn't appeal to some of the more sensitive readers. And I also apologize if this updated version didn't quite match up with the first Mortifico Oblivios p.s. I have no idea what that translates to in Latin.. –sheepish- And the horndog was inappropriate, I know, I know. I just couldn't resist.
Now the big question; One shot or endless novel? Oh the tragedy of deciding..
If this turns out to be on-going, I would like to crank out the next chapter sometime during this year so no promises I'm not too big on those.
Thanks for reading/trudging all the way through! I know most people have better things to do than read a 33 page story, so my heart goes out to all who actually took the time to read this thing, this colossal monster of a chapter. You guys amaze me!