Fic...Of this, I am sure...Part 2
Title: Of this, I am sure. Part 2/4.
Author: jamie2109
Rating: Is NC-17, this part only PG.
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: over 20,000 all up.
Summary: Malfoy nodded slowly. “Every night. Last night was the first night since it happened that I didn’t.” Malfoy gave a little sardonic laugh at himself and looked back down at the floor. “Fancy that. The sodding Chosen One even keeps the nightmares away. Is there anything you can’t do, Potter?”
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but they should be.
A/N: I've already said that this was written for reversathon for anael and I have 25 million betas to thank for holding my hand through all this. So, to son_of-darkness, meredyth_13, and nocturnali, thank you guys for holding my hand and working with me through this marathon effort and giving me brilliant guidance. I also need to give a huge thank you to two wonderful people on my flist who read through/betaed the first half of this story for me and who gave me wonderful advice. So, thankyou to luredbyvenus and ceria_taliesin *smooches*
Part One.
Hours later, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He jumped up startled, reflexively grabbed for his wand and looked wildly at who was shaking him. “Wha…? Malfoy? What is it?” there was a note of relief in his voice, when he realised that it was Malfoy and he was in the Room of Requirement, and safe.
“Don’t wet yourself, Potter,” Malfoy said, chuckling. “I’ve been awake for hours and I was bored sitting here watching you snore. It’s about time you got up and fed me.”
“You’re joking, right?” Harry asked, disbelief plain on his face and in his voice. “You can feed yourself, Malfoy, I’m not your slave!”
“And just how do you expect me to do that? Your bloody house elf won’t come when I call it, so you’ll have to do it!” Malfoy was standing there with his arms folded and looking rather put out at having to ask Harry for anything.
Harry relented with a shake of his head. Dobby had some sense of retribution after all. He gave himself a little smile at that and called Dobby to bring them some food. He did not, however, tell Dobby to do whatever Malfoy asked. He wasn’t that stupid.
Over breakfast, Harry informed Malfoy that he would be going out for a while and that Malfoy would have to stay here. Harry still had the tunnels to check; he hadn’t even made it into any of them the night before. His statement didn’t go over well with Malfoy, however, he was sitting there looking down at his food and chewing on his bottom lip as if trying to stop himself from saying something.
“What?” Harry asked.
Malfoy looked up at him and Harry was shocked at the emotion in his eyes. That was different; Malfoy almost looked frightened for a moment, and then the look disappeared and he affected his usual scowl. When he didn’t respond to Harry’s question, Harry became agitated, but he didn’t push. He wasn’t a mind reader and wasn’t going to force a reaction from Malfoy. Things were much quieter when Malfoy held his tongue, Harry decided.
He thought it was probably that Malfoy had been starved of company of any sort since the night he disappeared from Hogwarts, and was leery of being left alone in the Room and not being allowed to leave in case of being spotted and reported. But, if Malfoy wasn’t going to tell him that, Harry certainly wasn’t going to offer to take him with him, or any other solution. He didn’t like Malfoy’s company; not as a choice in any case. The intense hatred had disappeared when his sympathies had been stirred, but that was all.
Finished with his meal, Harry stood and collected his cloak and took the map from his bag. There was no reason to keep either one a secret now, and so he opened the parchment and said, “I solemnly swear, I am up to no good,” whilst pointing his wand at it. Sure enough, it attracted Malfoy’s attention and he came to stand by Harry, watching as the lines and symbols and words spread out across the map.
“So that’s how you’ve been able to get around the castle all these years and not get caught,” Malfoy said and Harry was smugly pleased that there seemed to be some awe in his voice.
He nodded. “Yeah, my father and some of his friends made this map when they were at school here.”
“I’ve seen a picture of your father…my mother had one of Black, just one…to remind her of what happens to people who betray …” he stopped and looked at Harry, and as Harry returned his look, he must have thought better about continuing that line of conversation. He didn’t apologise though.
“Well, my father and Sirius were good friends. Along with Remus Lupin and…” and there Harry stopped as well. Reminding himself of Wormtail only made him angry and likely to hit something, and even though he had no qualms about hitting Malfoy, he’d done nothing to deserve it…so far. “And anyway,” he continued, looking back down at the map and ascertaining that Filch was in his office, “it’s come in handy from time to time.”
When he looked back at Malfoy, after saying “Mischief Managed” and refolding the map, Malfoy was looking at him with an undefinable look in his eyes.
“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Potter,” he murmured and Harry was forcibly reminded of Malfoy’s other comment in the vein about what he hid under his clothes and he quickly turned and busied himself with putting the map in his pocket to take with him. Why were these comments heading his thoughts off into areas he’d rather not think about? Sure, he was a 16 year old teenager, whose daily life had mostly been about staying alive, instead of being hormone driven like normal teenagers, but why now and why things that Malfoy was saying?
Perhaps he was just missing Ginny. Harry groaned inwardly, yes that was it. Being away from her for just these few days was difficult and he was a normal teenaged boy who was missing his girlfriend…ex girlfriend, then. He was supposed to have sex on the brain and read things into perfectly innocent comments that weren’t their intended meaning at all.
Well, the sooner he got out of this room, the better. “I’ll be back in a few hours, when I’m done checking the tunnels,” Harry told Malfoy. “Try not to get yourself into any trouble while I’m gone.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Like there’s anything to get into trouble over, in this room,” he said bitingly, but his eyes widened when Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and disappeared. “Shit, Potter, where did you get one of those? They cost a fortune and from the state of your wardrobe you’re obviously as poor as your Weasel friends.”
“Shut up about them, Malfoy,” Harry snapped back, sticking his head out from under the cloak and giving Malfoy a start. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”
Then, Harry slipped through the door shutting it firmly behind him.
.o0o.
In any event, it was several hours later, when Harry returned to the Room. The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack had been clear; he should have known that from when he saw Malfoy emerge from it. But the one that lead to Honeydukes was not and he had spent a few hours clearing away rubble from a slide, so that the path was clear.
Once that was done, he ventured quickly into Hogsmeade in search of a newspaper. He didn’t want to go without any news of what was happening in the world while he was hiding in Hogwarts. There were few people around and he was able to secretly drop a few knuts onto the counter and hide a newspaper under his Cloak, without detection. By the time he returned to the room, he was hot and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower.
Was that relief he saw in Malfoy’s eyes when he walked in the door? Harry wasn’t prepared to go that far, but perhaps Malfoy really hadn’t liked being alone all those hours in this room and was glad that he now had company once more. Even if it was Harry.
“You’re back then?” was the only thing that Malfoy said, standing when Harry took off the Cloak. The hunched shoulders and crossed arms gave away the fact that Malfoy was uncomfortable.
“You thought I wouldn’t come back?” Harry questioned, taken aback.
Malfoy shrugged. “People often say or promise things they don’t mean.” There was a frown on Malfoy’s face; fear too and Harry realised that he was beginning to be able to read Malfoy’s expressions now that they had this sort of truce and he didn’t look at him through blind hatred any longer.
“Look, no matter what you think of me and no matter what other people do, I don’t lie, Malfoy. I’m totally shit at it if you must know.” There was no humour in his voice, or sympathy really, just a begrudging understanding of what it was like to have people let you down.
Malfoy nodded and looked a little relieved. Then he spotted the newspaper and his expression turned to anticipation. “Can I read that?” he asked, pointing to it.
Harry tossed it to him. “I’m going to have a shower,” he said, but Malfoy was already flopping down on the couch and opening the paper eagerly.
A few minutes later, as Harry was standing under the water, soaking away the sweat and rinsing off the shampoo from his hair, the door burst open and Malfoy ran in agitated and in a right state.
“Potter!” he gasped out. “He has her…God… she was… he must have…”
Harry let out a shriek and almost fell over on the slippery floor of the shower when Malfoy burst in, but he managed to keep his footing and grab a towel. He wrenched open the shower curtain and stepped out to face a pacing, extremely pale and upset Malfoy. “Calm down, Malfoy and explain.”
Malfoy shoved the newspaper under his nose, which Harry couldn’t read because his glasses were on the shelf. Harry grabbed the newspaper, reached over for his glasses and when they were on his face, was able to look for what Malfoy was talking about.
Scanning the paper, all he could see was a report about Aurors raiding Malfoy Manor, to find it ransacked already.
Ministry Aurors, acting under orders from the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, raided the Manor of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy last night, as the result of information provided to them from an anonymous source. A source at the Ministry claims that upon entering the Manor, Aurors found the place ransacked. No one was found at the Manor and authorities are now believed to be concerned for the whereabouts of Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco. Foul play is suspected, as rumours continue about links to He Who Must Not Be Named. Anyone with information should contact the Ministry immediately.
Harry looked up at Malfoy, who was still pacing and wringing his hands and his chest contracted slightly. Whatever his feelings were towards that family, Lucius in particular, Narcissa was still Malfoy’s mother and losing a mother was distressing. There was not a lot he could do, though.
“He may not have her,” Harry said quietly.
“Of course he has her, Potter. God…maybe if I’d gone back…he might have killed me instead of her…” Malfoy ran his hands through his hair and looked as if he were about to throw up.
“No,” Harry stopped him. “I mean that she may have had warning that they were coming for her and disappeared first. S-Snape would have warned her, wouldn’t he?” Harry had trouble getting out the hated man’s name because it disgusted him to think that Snape might have done something honourable like warning Malfoy’s mum.
There was a pathetic light of hope in Malfoy’s eyes at that thought. “Do you think? He…” Malfoy was still pacing the three or four steps that it took to get from one end of the bathroom to the other, but the frenetic quality to his pacing had diminished somewhat. A shaky hand threaded itself through Malfoy’s hair and he took deep breath. “He might have…yes, that’s it…he must have.”
Malfoy was nodding to himself as if trying to convince himself that Harry was right and that his mother was in fact, safe. Personally, Harry thought that Narcissa was probably already dead, but he wasn’t going to voice that to Malfoy. But, no sooner did he think that Malfoy was calming down, than he looked back at him in horror, having worked something out.
“No…no,” he was shaking his head and his voice came out full of dread. “She would never have left the Manor not knowing where I was. Not of her own free will. She would want to know that I was safe. No, he has her, I’m sure of it,” Malfoy said, beginning to tremble.
Suddenly, a look of fierce determination crossed his face and he whirled around and ran out of the bathroom. Harry followed, still clad in only a towel to find Malfoy searching the room. “What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry yelled at him, worried now.
“I want my fucking wand, Potter. I’m going back and I’m going to see if there’s a way to get her out of there,” Malfoy yelled back, tossing some of Harry’s clothes over his shoulder, emptying out the knapsack.
Harry grabbed Malfoy, pulling him away from his knapsack. “No, you’re not! You’re not leaving here, Malfoy,” he roared as the boy struggled with him, only succeeding in elbowing Harry in the eye.
“Leave me alone! I have to go! I have to try and get her out of there!” Malfoy screeched and pushed Harry away so hard that Harry stumbled and fell to the floor on his arse. Scrambling up quickly, eyes smarting from the elbow, he launched himself at Malfoy and propelled them both into the wall, Malfoy face first. He twisted under Harry’s weight, but Harry refused to let him free. He just could not let Malfoy go; if not for his own secrecy, then for Malfoy’s own safety as well. He’d promised Dumbledore.
“You can’t go, Malfoy. What do you think you can do if he does have her? How many Death Eaters do you think you’ll have to kill before you even get to her? Can you kill Voldemort?”
He felt rather than heard Malfoy’s cringe when he said Voldemort’s name, but Malfoy still struggled to get free and managed to turn himself around to face Harry, attempting to use his now free arms to push Harry away. One of Malfoy’s arms was up at Harry’s throat, pressing hard and cutting off Harry’s air. They were scuffling, both pushing against each other, neither willing to compromise and Malfoy protesting at the top of his voice.
“I can do it…I can take him…for fucks sake, Potter, he has my mother!!!” Malfoy was almost in tears, his face was all screwed up and his voice had taken on an almost desperate pleading.
“No,” Harry yelled back huskily, having managed to wrench Malfoy’s arm away from his throat. “Do you honestly believe that? If you go back there, he will kill you both, but he will make you watch him kill her first. Slowly. Badly. Or make you do it under Imperious. And he will enjoy it! You know I’m right, Malfoy. You know what sort of sick bastard he is!” Harry placed his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders, forcing him to stand still and listen. He knew he was pushing it, but he had to and he could tell by the pained look on Malfoy’s face that he was right. He had to live with Malfoy for the next week or so and as he so well knew, guilt could eat you up inside to such an extent that you made mistakes. Neither of them could afford mistakes now.
As he felt Malfoy’s seething subside, Harry relaxed himself as well. Now he became uncomfortably aware that he was standing flush against Malfoy wearing only a towel. They were both breathing heavily from their fight and Harry keenly felt their closeness, perhaps because he was the one left feeling vulnerable and virtually naked, but he stayed where he was; he didn’t want Malfoy to start ranting and try and leave again. Inhaling deeply, his voice was softer, gentler when he continued.
“There’s nothing you can do by going back; only get yourself killed. And I don’t know your mum, but I don’t think she would have wanted that.”
Malfoy’s defeated response troubled him. “Why won’t you just let me go, I won’t say anything about you being here, I promise.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why do you even care what I do, Potter? It’s none of your business!” came Malfoy’s petulant reply.
“Because there’s a portrait of Dumbledore in his office and I spoke with him. He made me promise to not let you become another one of Voldemort’s victims,” Harry replied firmly, but gently. “He thought you were worth saving, as did your mum by asking Snape to take care of you.”
Malfoy’s face seemed to crumple at that and his head fell onto Harry’s shoulder and he shook with what Harry assumed were sobs. In the position that he was in, there wasn’t really anything else he could do but wrap his arms awkwardly around Malfoy’s back and let him cry.
After a long while, the heaving slowed and Harry heard Malfoy’s muffled voice from the region of his right shoulder. “There’s still a chance that he hasn’t got her, right?” When Harry nodded, Malfoy pulled back and looked into Harry’s eyes as if searching him, to ascertain if he were telling the truth. To allow him that scrap of hope.
They weakly smiled at each other; tentative as they were more used to snarling and sniping at each other. Malfoy looked a bit abashed when he saw the mess his tears had made of Harry’s bare shoulder. “Looks like you need another shower, Potter.”
“Seeing as I didn’t finish the first one, that hardly matters,” Harry answered back. His eyes caught Malfoy giving his chest the once over and he moved back further. “So, I’ll er…just go and finish it,” he stammered a little self-consciously, and fled back into the bathroom and under the hot water once more, discomfited to find that he suddenly preferred a cold shower.
.o0o.
Once he was finally showered and dressed, the two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in relative silence. Harry lay on his stomach on his bed, reading the parts of the newspaper as Malfoy finished with them. If it was not friendly, at least there was an absence of conflict. Occasionally, Harry would spend a few minutes watching Malfoy as he sat on the couch, abstractedly reading the paper; he was much nicer when he kept his mouth shut, really. Harry knew he had to be worried about his mother, as there was a permanent frown on Malfoy’s face and sometimes he did not even pretend to be reading and just stared off at the ceiling instead.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do about that. There was nothing he could do for Malfoy’s mum, and there was still a chance that Malfoy might just up and disappear. That worried Harry and he wasn’t sure why, exactly. On the one hand, he had promised Dumbledore and he intended to keep that promise as well as he could. On the other hand, if he did up and leave, it would not be fatal for Harry; he would just have to find somewhere else to stay - more an inconvenience than anything else. So, when had it become more important for Malfoy’s benefit that he stay here, than Harry’s own need for secrecy?
Once, when Malfoy looked up at him, Harry didn’t have time to avert his eyes and for a long time they just held each other’s gaze.
“Why do you insist on wearing those horrid glasses?” Malfoy asked him which broke the spell and he was able to look away.
He shrugged. “I’ve always worn glasses, and they’re not that bad.”
“Oh, please,” Malfoy snorted and went back to reading his paper. Harry was a little surprised that there was no scathing comment and he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Dinner was much more relaxed than the previous night. Malfoy was still quiet and a little taciturn, but that was to be expected. For some reason, Harry wished he were better at dealing with emotional…things. It was different with friends; even if you didn’t know the exact right words to say, a hug and a shoulder never went astray and you knew that just being there was good enough. But he and Malfoy weren’t friends; Harry didn’t have that to offer and he knew that saying the wrong thing would break this fragile peace that they’d made.
There was still the question of where all the hate between them had disappeared. Harry could tell himself that he still hated Malfoy, but that would be too easy. Maybe it was the forced co habitation that had dulled his feelings of antagonism. Perhaps, as much as he had been sure that he wanted to do this on his own and not put at risk the lives of his friends; he didn’t really want to be on his own. And Malfoy was…
…expendable?
Did he think that because he and Malfoy weren’t friends that it wouldn’t matter or hurt if something happened to him? And so, therefore it was ok for Malfoy to be there?
As he dressed for bed that night, the silence between them comfortable now, he reflected that thoughts along those lines were callous and not worthy of him in the least. Once more he caught Malfoy checking him out as he undressed; this time he attempted to be as unaffected by it as Malfoy had been walking naked across the room, and he thought that perhaps he would care if something happened to Malfoy after all.
“Potter?”
“Hmmm?”
“I…” Malfoy sighed. “Nothing. Goodnight.”
Harry raised himself up onto one elbow and looked across at Malfoy. “What did you want to say?”
Malfoy sat up from where he was lying on the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.
“Do you have nightmares about…that night?” Malfoy’s voice was small and hesitant, like he didn’t want to speak about it at all, but needed to anyway.
“No,” Harry answered, shaking his head and causing Malfoy to look up at him, taken aback. “I think about it a lot, but…Do you?” He wasn’t ready yet to tell Malfoy the details of what his nightmares consisted of.
Malfoy nodded slowly. “Every night. Last night was the first night since it happened that I didn’t.” Malfoy gave a little sardonic laugh at himself and looked back down at the floor. “Fancy that. The sodding Chosen One even keeps the nightmares away. Is there anything you can’t do, Potter?”
Harry could tell by the tone of the comment that Malfoy wasn’t being his usual sarcastic self. It was resigned and still quiet and Harry didn’t reply. For once, he wasn’t going to react to the jibe.
After a moment, Malfoy looked back up at him. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing isn’t it, Potter?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I’d known then what I know now, things would have been different. I was so furious with you, I hated you so much for being responsible for putting my father in Azkaban, because…” Malfoy paused and Harry stayed silent, biting back the retort that sprung to his lips. “Because as much as I love my father, I hadn’t made up my mind about whether or not I wanted to join…him. You made that decision for me and that made me hate you even more.”
Malfoy’s eyes burned into him, and Harry felt a rush of guilt flood him.
“Malfoy…” Harry started, but Malfoy shook his head and continued.
“No, let me finish. This year has been the worst year of my life and I realised a few things. I’m weak and I’m a coward and if I had made the right choices, my mother might not be…in the danger she is in right now. I could have…could have g-gone to see Dumbledore right away and he would have made sure she - we were alright, wouldn’t he?” Malfoy was in danger of crying again, Harry noted, as his voice was becoming shakier and his eyes were shining as they pleaded with his for confirmation.
Harry nodded. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He had often thought that Malfoy was a coward in the past and he didn’t know if things had changed, but he did think that Malfoy had had a pretty horrific year all round. “You made a lot of mistakes this year, Malfoy, but, in the end I don’t think you were a coward. A coward would have been able to kill Dumbledore. You chose the right thing to do, you made the hard decision, not the easy one.”
“But…my mother…” And then the first tear overflowed down Malfoy’s cheek, followed quickly by another one. Harry was lost now and had no idea what to say or do, but Malfoy furiously scrubbed his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of tears and gathered himself.
There was silence once more and Malfoy went back to resting his chin on his knees. Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t just lie back down and go to sleep, but realised that Malfoy had just shared something private with him, had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of him, made admissions and wasn’t going to run away anymore. He was looking for a continuation of the tenuous connection there was between them.
“I’m glad you won’t go back to him,” Harry said, surprising even himself that he said it out loud.
Malfoy shuddered and nodded. “How long will you be here? You said that you would be leaving for good at some stage.”
“A few more days, I think,” Harry answered, somewhat bothered by it. “I have to give them time to stop looking for me.”
Malfoy snorted. “You think they’ll ever stop looking for you? You’re the bloody Boy Who Lived, you’re supposed to be their hero.”
Harry frowned, knowing that they would still keep looking for him. He’d send them an owl soon to tell them that he was alright, but he was doing this on his own. “They’ll look at the places I was meant to be and see that I haven’t been there. That’s all the time I need.”
Malfoy seemed to think on that for a bit, then sighed and rearranged himself back on the couch, yawning and closing his eyes. Harry did the same.
“Night, Potter.”
“Night.”
Part Three.
Author: jamie2109
Rating: Is NC-17, this part only PG.
Pairing: H/D
Word Count: over 20,000 all up.
Summary: Malfoy nodded slowly. “Every night. Last night was the first night since it happened that I didn’t.” Malfoy gave a little sardonic laugh at himself and looked back down at the floor. “Fancy that. The sodding Chosen One even keeps the nightmares away. Is there anything you can’t do, Potter?”
Warnings: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but they should be.
A/N: I've already said that this was written for reversathon for anael and I have 25 million betas to thank for holding my hand through all this. So, to son_of-darkness, meredyth_13, and nocturnali, thank you guys for holding my hand and working with me through this marathon effort and giving me brilliant guidance. I also need to give a huge thank you to two wonderful people on my flist who read through/betaed the first half of this story for me and who gave me wonderful advice. So, thankyou to luredbyvenus and ceria_taliesin *smooches*
Part One.
Hours later, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He jumped up startled, reflexively grabbed for his wand and looked wildly at who was shaking him. “Wha…? Malfoy? What is it?” there was a note of relief in his voice, when he realised that it was Malfoy and he was in the Room of Requirement, and safe.
“Don’t wet yourself, Potter,” Malfoy said, chuckling. “I’ve been awake for hours and I was bored sitting here watching you snore. It’s about time you got up and fed me.”
“You’re joking, right?” Harry asked, disbelief plain on his face and in his voice. “You can feed yourself, Malfoy, I’m not your slave!”
“And just how do you expect me to do that? Your bloody house elf won’t come when I call it, so you’ll have to do it!” Malfoy was standing there with his arms folded and looking rather put out at having to ask Harry for anything.
Harry relented with a shake of his head. Dobby had some sense of retribution after all. He gave himself a little smile at that and called Dobby to bring them some food. He did not, however, tell Dobby to do whatever Malfoy asked. He wasn’t that stupid.
Over breakfast, Harry informed Malfoy that he would be going out for a while and that Malfoy would have to stay here. Harry still had the tunnels to check; he hadn’t even made it into any of them the night before. His statement didn’t go over well with Malfoy, however, he was sitting there looking down at his food and chewing on his bottom lip as if trying to stop himself from saying something.
“What?” Harry asked.
Malfoy looked up at him and Harry was shocked at the emotion in his eyes. That was different; Malfoy almost looked frightened for a moment, and then the look disappeared and he affected his usual scowl. When he didn’t respond to Harry’s question, Harry became agitated, but he didn’t push. He wasn’t a mind reader and wasn’t going to force a reaction from Malfoy. Things were much quieter when Malfoy held his tongue, Harry decided.
He thought it was probably that Malfoy had been starved of company of any sort since the night he disappeared from Hogwarts, and was leery of being left alone in the Room and not being allowed to leave in case of being spotted and reported. But, if Malfoy wasn’t going to tell him that, Harry certainly wasn’t going to offer to take him with him, or any other solution. He didn’t like Malfoy’s company; not as a choice in any case. The intense hatred had disappeared when his sympathies had been stirred, but that was all.
Finished with his meal, Harry stood and collected his cloak and took the map from his bag. There was no reason to keep either one a secret now, and so he opened the parchment and said, “I solemnly swear, I am up to no good,” whilst pointing his wand at it. Sure enough, it attracted Malfoy’s attention and he came to stand by Harry, watching as the lines and symbols and words spread out across the map.
“So that’s how you’ve been able to get around the castle all these years and not get caught,” Malfoy said and Harry was smugly pleased that there seemed to be some awe in his voice.
He nodded. “Yeah, my father and some of his friends made this map when they were at school here.”
“I’ve seen a picture of your father…my mother had one of Black, just one…to remind her of what happens to people who betray …” he stopped and looked at Harry, and as Harry returned his look, he must have thought better about continuing that line of conversation. He didn’t apologise though.
“Well, my father and Sirius were good friends. Along with Remus Lupin and…” and there Harry stopped as well. Reminding himself of Wormtail only made him angry and likely to hit something, and even though he had no qualms about hitting Malfoy, he’d done nothing to deserve it…so far. “And anyway,” he continued, looking back down at the map and ascertaining that Filch was in his office, “it’s come in handy from time to time.”
When he looked back at Malfoy, after saying “Mischief Managed” and refolding the map, Malfoy was looking at him with an undefinable look in his eyes.
“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Potter,” he murmured and Harry was forcibly reminded of Malfoy’s other comment in the vein about what he hid under his clothes and he quickly turned and busied himself with putting the map in his pocket to take with him. Why were these comments heading his thoughts off into areas he’d rather not think about? Sure, he was a 16 year old teenager, whose daily life had mostly been about staying alive, instead of being hormone driven like normal teenagers, but why now and why things that Malfoy was saying?
Perhaps he was just missing Ginny. Harry groaned inwardly, yes that was it. Being away from her for just these few days was difficult and he was a normal teenaged boy who was missing his girlfriend…ex girlfriend, then. He was supposed to have sex on the brain and read things into perfectly innocent comments that weren’t their intended meaning at all.
Well, the sooner he got out of this room, the better. “I’ll be back in a few hours, when I’m done checking the tunnels,” Harry told Malfoy. “Try not to get yourself into any trouble while I’m gone.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Like there’s anything to get into trouble over, in this room,” he said bitingly, but his eyes widened when Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and disappeared. “Shit, Potter, where did you get one of those? They cost a fortune and from the state of your wardrobe you’re obviously as poor as your Weasel friends.”
“Shut up about them, Malfoy,” Harry snapped back, sticking his head out from under the cloak and giving Malfoy a start. “I’ll be back when I’m back.”
Then, Harry slipped through the door shutting it firmly behind him.
.o0o.
In any event, it was several hours later, when Harry returned to the Room. The tunnel to the Shrieking Shack had been clear; he should have known that from when he saw Malfoy emerge from it. But the one that lead to Honeydukes was not and he had spent a few hours clearing away rubble from a slide, so that the path was clear.
Once that was done, he ventured quickly into Hogsmeade in search of a newspaper. He didn’t want to go without any news of what was happening in the world while he was hiding in Hogwarts. There were few people around and he was able to secretly drop a few knuts onto the counter and hide a newspaper under his Cloak, without detection. By the time he returned to the room, he was hot and sweaty and in desperate need of a shower.
Was that relief he saw in Malfoy’s eyes when he walked in the door? Harry wasn’t prepared to go that far, but perhaps Malfoy really hadn’t liked being alone all those hours in this room and was glad that he now had company once more. Even if it was Harry.
“You’re back then?” was the only thing that Malfoy said, standing when Harry took off the Cloak. The hunched shoulders and crossed arms gave away the fact that Malfoy was uncomfortable.
“You thought I wouldn’t come back?” Harry questioned, taken aback.
Malfoy shrugged. “People often say or promise things they don’t mean.” There was a frown on Malfoy’s face; fear too and Harry realised that he was beginning to be able to read Malfoy’s expressions now that they had this sort of truce and he didn’t look at him through blind hatred any longer.
“Look, no matter what you think of me and no matter what other people do, I don’t lie, Malfoy. I’m totally shit at it if you must know.” There was no humour in his voice, or sympathy really, just a begrudging understanding of what it was like to have people let you down.
Malfoy nodded and looked a little relieved. Then he spotted the newspaper and his expression turned to anticipation. “Can I read that?” he asked, pointing to it.
Harry tossed it to him. “I’m going to have a shower,” he said, but Malfoy was already flopping down on the couch and opening the paper eagerly.
A few minutes later, as Harry was standing under the water, soaking away the sweat and rinsing off the shampoo from his hair, the door burst open and Malfoy ran in agitated and in a right state.
“Potter!” he gasped out. “He has her…God… she was… he must have…”
Harry let out a shriek and almost fell over on the slippery floor of the shower when Malfoy burst in, but he managed to keep his footing and grab a towel. He wrenched open the shower curtain and stepped out to face a pacing, extremely pale and upset Malfoy. “Calm down, Malfoy and explain.”
Malfoy shoved the newspaper under his nose, which Harry couldn’t read because his glasses were on the shelf. Harry grabbed the newspaper, reached over for his glasses and when they were on his face, was able to look for what Malfoy was talking about.
Scanning the paper, all he could see was a report about Aurors raiding Malfoy Manor, to find it ransacked already.
Ministry Aurors, acting under orders from the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, raided the Manor of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy last night, as the result of information provided to them from an anonymous source. A source at the Ministry claims that upon entering the Manor, Aurors found the place ransacked. No one was found at the Manor and authorities are now believed to be concerned for the whereabouts of Narcissa Malfoy and her son Draco. Foul play is suspected, as rumours continue about links to He Who Must Not Be Named. Anyone with information should contact the Ministry immediately.
Harry looked up at Malfoy, who was still pacing and wringing his hands and his chest contracted slightly. Whatever his feelings were towards that family, Lucius in particular, Narcissa was still Malfoy’s mother and losing a mother was distressing. There was not a lot he could do, though.
“He may not have her,” Harry said quietly.
“Of course he has her, Potter. God…maybe if I’d gone back…he might have killed me instead of her…” Malfoy ran his hands through his hair and looked as if he were about to throw up.
“No,” Harry stopped him. “I mean that she may have had warning that they were coming for her and disappeared first. S-Snape would have warned her, wouldn’t he?” Harry had trouble getting out the hated man’s name because it disgusted him to think that Snape might have done something honourable like warning Malfoy’s mum.
There was a pathetic light of hope in Malfoy’s eyes at that thought. “Do you think? He…” Malfoy was still pacing the three or four steps that it took to get from one end of the bathroom to the other, but the frenetic quality to his pacing had diminished somewhat. A shaky hand threaded itself through Malfoy’s hair and he took deep breath. “He might have…yes, that’s it…he must have.”
Malfoy was nodding to himself as if trying to convince himself that Harry was right and that his mother was in fact, safe. Personally, Harry thought that Narcissa was probably already dead, but he wasn’t going to voice that to Malfoy. But, no sooner did he think that Malfoy was calming down, than he looked back at him in horror, having worked something out.
“No…no,” he was shaking his head and his voice came out full of dread. “She would never have left the Manor not knowing where I was. Not of her own free will. She would want to know that I was safe. No, he has her, I’m sure of it,” Malfoy said, beginning to tremble.
Suddenly, a look of fierce determination crossed his face and he whirled around and ran out of the bathroom. Harry followed, still clad in only a towel to find Malfoy searching the room. “What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry yelled at him, worried now.
“I want my fucking wand, Potter. I’m going back and I’m going to see if there’s a way to get her out of there,” Malfoy yelled back, tossing some of Harry’s clothes over his shoulder, emptying out the knapsack.
Harry grabbed Malfoy, pulling him away from his knapsack. “No, you’re not! You’re not leaving here, Malfoy,” he roared as the boy struggled with him, only succeeding in elbowing Harry in the eye.
“Leave me alone! I have to go! I have to try and get her out of there!” Malfoy screeched and pushed Harry away so hard that Harry stumbled and fell to the floor on his arse. Scrambling up quickly, eyes smarting from the elbow, he launched himself at Malfoy and propelled them both into the wall, Malfoy face first. He twisted under Harry’s weight, but Harry refused to let him free. He just could not let Malfoy go; if not for his own secrecy, then for Malfoy’s own safety as well. He’d promised Dumbledore.
“You can’t go, Malfoy. What do you think you can do if he does have her? How many Death Eaters do you think you’ll have to kill before you even get to her? Can you kill Voldemort?”
He felt rather than heard Malfoy’s cringe when he said Voldemort’s name, but Malfoy still struggled to get free and managed to turn himself around to face Harry, attempting to use his now free arms to push Harry away. One of Malfoy’s arms was up at Harry’s throat, pressing hard and cutting off Harry’s air. They were scuffling, both pushing against each other, neither willing to compromise and Malfoy protesting at the top of his voice.
“I can do it…I can take him…for fucks sake, Potter, he has my mother!!!” Malfoy was almost in tears, his face was all screwed up and his voice had taken on an almost desperate pleading.
“No,” Harry yelled back huskily, having managed to wrench Malfoy’s arm away from his throat. “Do you honestly believe that? If you go back there, he will kill you both, but he will make you watch him kill her first. Slowly. Badly. Or make you do it under Imperious. And he will enjoy it! You know I’m right, Malfoy. You know what sort of sick bastard he is!” Harry placed his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders, forcing him to stand still and listen. He knew he was pushing it, but he had to and he could tell by the pained look on Malfoy’s face that he was right. He had to live with Malfoy for the next week or so and as he so well knew, guilt could eat you up inside to such an extent that you made mistakes. Neither of them could afford mistakes now.
As he felt Malfoy’s seething subside, Harry relaxed himself as well. Now he became uncomfortably aware that he was standing flush against Malfoy wearing only a towel. They were both breathing heavily from their fight and Harry keenly felt their closeness, perhaps because he was the one left feeling vulnerable and virtually naked, but he stayed where he was; he didn’t want Malfoy to start ranting and try and leave again. Inhaling deeply, his voice was softer, gentler when he continued.
“There’s nothing you can do by going back; only get yourself killed. And I don’t know your mum, but I don’t think she would have wanted that.”
Malfoy’s defeated response troubled him. “Why won’t you just let me go, I won’t say anything about you being here, I promise.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Why do you even care what I do, Potter? It’s none of your business!” came Malfoy’s petulant reply.
“Because there’s a portrait of Dumbledore in his office and I spoke with him. He made me promise to not let you become another one of Voldemort’s victims,” Harry replied firmly, but gently. “He thought you were worth saving, as did your mum by asking Snape to take care of you.”
Malfoy’s face seemed to crumple at that and his head fell onto Harry’s shoulder and he shook with what Harry assumed were sobs. In the position that he was in, there wasn’t really anything else he could do but wrap his arms awkwardly around Malfoy’s back and let him cry.
After a long while, the heaving slowed and Harry heard Malfoy’s muffled voice from the region of his right shoulder. “There’s still a chance that he hasn’t got her, right?” When Harry nodded, Malfoy pulled back and looked into Harry’s eyes as if searching him, to ascertain if he were telling the truth. To allow him that scrap of hope.
They weakly smiled at each other; tentative as they were more used to snarling and sniping at each other. Malfoy looked a bit abashed when he saw the mess his tears had made of Harry’s bare shoulder. “Looks like you need another shower, Potter.”
“Seeing as I didn’t finish the first one, that hardly matters,” Harry answered back. His eyes caught Malfoy giving his chest the once over and he moved back further. “So, I’ll er…just go and finish it,” he stammered a little self-consciously, and fled back into the bathroom and under the hot water once more, discomfited to find that he suddenly preferred a cold shower.
.o0o.
Once he was finally showered and dressed, the two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in relative silence. Harry lay on his stomach on his bed, reading the parts of the newspaper as Malfoy finished with them. If it was not friendly, at least there was an absence of conflict. Occasionally, Harry would spend a few minutes watching Malfoy as he sat on the couch, abstractedly reading the paper; he was much nicer when he kept his mouth shut, really. Harry knew he had to be worried about his mother, as there was a permanent frown on Malfoy’s face and sometimes he did not even pretend to be reading and just stared off at the ceiling instead.
He wasn’t quite sure what to do about that. There was nothing he could do for Malfoy’s mum, and there was still a chance that Malfoy might just up and disappear. That worried Harry and he wasn’t sure why, exactly. On the one hand, he had promised Dumbledore and he intended to keep that promise as well as he could. On the other hand, if he did up and leave, it would not be fatal for Harry; he would just have to find somewhere else to stay - more an inconvenience than anything else. So, when had it become more important for Malfoy’s benefit that he stay here, than Harry’s own need for secrecy?
Once, when Malfoy looked up at him, Harry didn’t have time to avert his eyes and for a long time they just held each other’s gaze.
“Why do you insist on wearing those horrid glasses?” Malfoy asked him which broke the spell and he was able to look away.
He shrugged. “I’ve always worn glasses, and they’re not that bad.”
“Oh, please,” Malfoy snorted and went back to reading his paper. Harry was a little surprised that there was no scathing comment and he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Dinner was much more relaxed than the previous night. Malfoy was still quiet and a little taciturn, but that was to be expected. For some reason, Harry wished he were better at dealing with emotional…things. It was different with friends; even if you didn’t know the exact right words to say, a hug and a shoulder never went astray and you knew that just being there was good enough. But he and Malfoy weren’t friends; Harry didn’t have that to offer and he knew that saying the wrong thing would break this fragile peace that they’d made.
There was still the question of where all the hate between them had disappeared. Harry could tell himself that he still hated Malfoy, but that would be too easy. Maybe it was the forced co habitation that had dulled his feelings of antagonism. Perhaps, as much as he had been sure that he wanted to do this on his own and not put at risk the lives of his friends; he didn’t really want to be on his own. And Malfoy was…
…expendable?
Did he think that because he and Malfoy weren’t friends that it wouldn’t matter or hurt if something happened to him? And so, therefore it was ok for Malfoy to be there?
As he dressed for bed that night, the silence between them comfortable now, he reflected that thoughts along those lines were callous and not worthy of him in the least. Once more he caught Malfoy checking him out as he undressed; this time he attempted to be as unaffected by it as Malfoy had been walking naked across the room, and he thought that perhaps he would care if something happened to Malfoy after all.
“Potter?”
“Hmmm?”
“I…” Malfoy sighed. “Nothing. Goodnight.”
Harry raised himself up onto one elbow and looked across at Malfoy. “What did you want to say?”
Malfoy sat up from where he was lying on the couch and wrapped his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.
“Do you have nightmares about…that night?” Malfoy’s voice was small and hesitant, like he didn’t want to speak about it at all, but needed to anyway.
“No,” Harry answered, shaking his head and causing Malfoy to look up at him, taken aback. “I think about it a lot, but…Do you?” He wasn’t ready yet to tell Malfoy the details of what his nightmares consisted of.
Malfoy nodded slowly. “Every night. Last night was the first night since it happened that I didn’t.” Malfoy gave a little sardonic laugh at himself and looked back down at the floor. “Fancy that. The sodding Chosen One even keeps the nightmares away. Is there anything you can’t do, Potter?”
Harry could tell by the tone of the comment that Malfoy wasn’t being his usual sarcastic self. It was resigned and still quiet and Harry didn’t reply. For once, he wasn’t going to react to the jibe.
After a moment, Malfoy looked back up at him. “Hindsight is a wonderful thing isn’t it, Potter?”
“How do you mean?”
“If I’d known then what I know now, things would have been different. I was so furious with you, I hated you so much for being responsible for putting my father in Azkaban, because…” Malfoy paused and Harry stayed silent, biting back the retort that sprung to his lips. “Because as much as I love my father, I hadn’t made up my mind about whether or not I wanted to join…him. You made that decision for me and that made me hate you even more.”
Malfoy’s eyes burned into him, and Harry felt a rush of guilt flood him.
“Malfoy…” Harry started, but Malfoy shook his head and continued.
“No, let me finish. This year has been the worst year of my life and I realised a few things. I’m weak and I’m a coward and if I had made the right choices, my mother might not be…in the danger she is in right now. I could have…could have g-gone to see Dumbledore right away and he would have made sure she - we were alright, wouldn’t he?” Malfoy was in danger of crying again, Harry noted, as his voice was becoming shakier and his eyes were shining as they pleaded with his for confirmation.
Harry nodded. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He had often thought that Malfoy was a coward in the past and he didn’t know if things had changed, but he did think that Malfoy had had a pretty horrific year all round. “You made a lot of mistakes this year, Malfoy, but, in the end I don’t think you were a coward. A coward would have been able to kill Dumbledore. You chose the right thing to do, you made the hard decision, not the easy one.”
“But…my mother…” And then the first tear overflowed down Malfoy’s cheek, followed quickly by another one. Harry was lost now and had no idea what to say or do, but Malfoy furiously scrubbed his cheeks, wiping away the evidence of tears and gathered himself.
There was silence once more and Malfoy went back to resting his chin on his knees. Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t just lie back down and go to sleep, but realised that Malfoy had just shared something private with him, had allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of him, made admissions and wasn’t going to run away anymore. He was looking for a continuation of the tenuous connection there was between them.
“I’m glad you won’t go back to him,” Harry said, surprising even himself that he said it out loud.
Malfoy shuddered and nodded. “How long will you be here? You said that you would be leaving for good at some stage.”
“A few more days, I think,” Harry answered, somewhat bothered by it. “I have to give them time to stop looking for me.”
Malfoy snorted. “You think they’ll ever stop looking for you? You’re the bloody Boy Who Lived, you’re supposed to be their hero.”
Harry frowned, knowing that they would still keep looking for him. He’d send them an owl soon to tell them that he was alright, but he was doing this on his own. “They’ll look at the places I was meant to be and see that I haven’t been there. That’s all the time I need.”
Malfoy seemed to think on that for a bit, then sighed and rearranged himself back on the couch, yawning and closing his eyes. Harry did the same.
“Night, Potter.”
“Night.”
Part Three.