Rating:
15
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Ginny Weasley/Harry Potter
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Slash
Era:
Harry and Classmates During Book Seven
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 12/25/2006
Updated: 10/20/2007
Words: 96,401
Chapters: 16
Hits: 29,259

Some Kind of Miracle

Annie

Story Summary:
Draco is determined to live the last nine months of his life with no regrets. But when a series of unfortunate events exposes a list of his innermost wishes, ambitions, and desires to Harry Potter’s eyes, he might find that facing his imminent death is not so easy after all. H/D, post-war.

Chapter 08 - A Confrontation

Posted:
06/24/2007
Hits:
1,318
Author's Note:
My betas, Emily, Christine, and Sharon, are full of win.


It is difficult to say who do you the most mischief: enemies with the worst intentions or friends with the best.

- E.R. Bulwer-Lytton

Chapter 7: A Confrontation

Nearly two weeks passed before Harry came into close contact with Malfoy again. Even during their detentions, they always worked in silence and as far apart as possible. Harry found this extremely odd, considering the number of classes they had together and the extraordinarily high number of encounters they'd had on the first day of school. When they finally did happen across each other, it was in the most unexpected of places.

"You don't have to come, y'know," said Harry with an exasperated sigh as he climbed the spiralling steps up to the Owlery with Ron. It was Sunday morning, but despite the early hour, Ron had insisted on accompanying Harry on the trivial task of sending, by owl post, an order for a new winter cloak.

"Oh, come on, Harry," said Ron with a hint of exasperation. "First you were ill for a week, and then when we got here our timetables were completely different. We never have time to talk anymore. Besides," he added, holding up an untidily rolled-up scroll of parchment, "I have to get this order in."

"I could've sent it for you," said Harry morosely with a shrug, trying to shut out the tiny voice at the back of his mind screaming, Don't push Ron away, too!

A guilty look came across Ron's face. "Well, I wanted to avoid being dragged to the library by Hermione, too," he said sheepishly.

Harry smiled. "Of course."

They ascended the stairs in uncomfortable silence. Every so often, Ron would steal a fleeting sideways look at Harry, and Harry, though fully aware of the wariness he was being regarded with, pretended not to notice.

When they arrived in the Owlery, Harry immediately looked around for Hedwig. Then, with a pang, he remembered that she had been hit by a Killing Curse gone astray during one of the battles.

"Looking for Hedwig?" Ron enquired. He walked over to Harry's side and smiled at him sympathetically. "Bad luck, mate. Couldn't have done anything about it though..."

"Yeah." Harry gazed at the rows of school owls. "It feels odd not going to her first with post, though."

Ron shrugged. "A lot of things are different now. It'll take some time to adjust."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Hermione's rubbing off on you."

"Why d'you say that?" Ron asked, looking both affronted and pleased by Harry's comment.

"You're a lot more serious now."

Ron laughed nervously "I guess I've realised that life isn't just about Quidditch and food anymore. Things seem a lot less... I dunno, carefree."

Harry didn't say anything in response to this. Instead, he busied himself with finding a suitable owl.

"Hey, Harry?"

Harry paused in the middle of affixing his order form to the leg of a small scops owl and turned around. "Yeah?'

Ron hadn't moved. "I know you probably want to be left alone right now, and I completely understand, but... are you really okay? You can tell me," he added hastily upon receiving a blank stare from Harry. "If there's something you want to talk about that you don't want Hermione to know..."

I think you've got it the other way around, Ron.

"No, nothing," Harry said shortly, turning back around and tying the knot a little too tightly. The owl screeched in protest and shot Harry a reproachful look. "Sorry," Harry added guiltily to the creature.

"Well, you seem a little distracted lately..."

Harry stifled an exasperated sigh as he carried the owl over to the window. He hadn't told Ron or Hermione about Malfoy kissing him (on the contrary, he was still trying to erase all traces of it from his conscious memory), so they didn't know about that half of the explanation for his lack of awareness. But the other reason... they were fully aware of that... well, somewhat...

"It's just a little overwhelming, coming back to school right after the war and all," Harry explained. He shifted uncomfortably. Why couldn't he bring himself to pour out his worries to Ron? The two of them had always been open with each other in the past.

"That's true," Ron said dubiously. "But what about Malfoy? Why're you two suddenly so chummy?"

"We're not," Harry replied immediately. He thrust the owl off his arm and watched it flap off into the distance, aware that a nervous knot was starting to grow in his stomach, the same one that had recently started making regular appearances every time Ron mentioned Malfoy's name. "Ron, you were the one telling me he was purposely trying to get me into trouble with McGonagall just two weeks ago."

"But you haven't complained about your detentions yet," Ron pointed out. Was it just Harry, or did Ron look suspicious?

"W-we don't really talk much," Harry stammered. "I mean, there are a lot of books, so we're working most of the time..."

"He hasn't said anything nasty to you yet?" Ron questioned, raising his eyebrows. He looked unconvinced. "He must've at least tried to curse you once or twice while Pince wasn't around."

Harry couldn't bring himself to turn around and face Ron for fear that his face would make known his lies, so he continued to stare out the open window into the clear blue sky. "Really, Ron, I don't think he wants to ruin his last chance at life so quickly," he said carefully.

His mind immediately flashed back to Malfoy's list, and a number of burning questions he hadn't had the chance to ask yet popped up. I'll ask him tonight, he promised himself.

"I wouldn't be so quick to assume that," Ron warned, shaking his head. "He's not like the rest of us. If he cared so much about life, he would've stayed away from You-Know-Who. A bloke who willingly gives up his life to Dark magic is either stupid or mad - and we both know Malfoy isn't that stupid."

"That's the first thing you've ever said about Malfoy that resembled a compliment," Harry said teasingly. He placed his elbows on the windowsill and leaned forward, enjoying the calming effect the cool breeze had on his jangled nerves. "As for his joining Voldemort's side... Well, I don't really think he had much of a choice. He was scared. His father was a Death Eater; he must've felt obligated to become one, too."

Ron shook his head in amazement. "I can't believe you're siding with him," he said petulantly, joining Harry by the window. "Harry, he murdered people!"

"I know, Ron," said Harry, his voice rising, as he continued to avoid Ron's eyes. "You think I don't care? I never said he deserves a second chance! I just think that... that maybe we ought to look at things from his perspective, too. As hard as it is to believe sometimes, he's still a human being."

Ron's anger was unmistakable now. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that Hermione and Ginny were right about you!" he said loudly.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his own anger evaporating and the uneasiness that had preceded it edging back in to take its place.

"They said you were the one who tipped the vote at Malfoy's trial. I mean, the rest of the school thinks so, too. Ginny even showed me some cock-and-bull article written by that Skeeter woman... said it was proof that you had done it..."

Harry swallowed, gripping the stone ledge under his hands tightly. "About that, Ron..."

"Naturally, I said it was codswallop," Ron rambled on, "but honestly, judging from the way you just defended Malfoy, I'm beginning to see how someone who doesn't know you as well as I do might believe the rumours floating around."

Ron took a deep breath, as if prepared to give Harry a piece of his mind, and then seemed to remember that he was supposed to be supporting Harry through his post-war trauma. Thus, in a very un-Ron-like fashion, he released his breath and said in a voice of forced calm, "Who do you think was the one who really freed him? Can't imagine anyone would be thick enough to..."

Yeah, I can't either, Harry thought sullenly as his panic retreated back into its dark confines - for the moment. The little voice that had been niggling at him to tell Ron all week, however, only grew stronger. In an effort to ignore it, Harry said, "Didn't you come to send that broomstick order?"

"Oh, yeah, I did," said Ron quickly. Leaving Harry at the window, he began looking around for an owl.

Harry waited while Ron went through the process of attaching his order form to one of the school's owls and bringing it over to the window. Once the owl had flown away, Harry turned and walked over to the door. "Hermione's probably wondering what's taking us so long," he said in a low voice, reaching for the door handle.

Before Harry could grasp it, however, the door swung open. Harry reflexively leapt back to avoid being hit in the face.

"Watch where you're -" he started to say indignantly, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the culprit.

"Mind your step, Potter," said an all-too-familiar voice, dripping with scorn.

"Piss off, Malfoy," Ron said unkindly before Harry could think of anything intelligible to say.

"Why, fancy meeting you here, Weasley!" Malfoy drawled as he glanced over Harry's shoulder and caught sight of Ron. "I would have thought there'd be no need for you to visit the Owlery anymore, seeing as you no longer have any relatives to send post to."

The blood drained out of Ron's face. "Say that again," he challenged, his voice shaking with suppressed rage, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

"Malfoy, leave him alone," Harry said coldly, stepping to the right and blocking Malfoy's view of Ron. "You've got some fucking gall, saying something like that to him. Last I heard, you haven't got any parents to correspond with either."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, but his smirk remained affixed. "I don't know if you're in the right position to say something so bold, Potter," he said smoothly.

"And I don't know what the hell you mean, Malfoy," Harry said furiously, spurred on by the deafening sound of the blood pounding in his ears. Ron no longer existed; for the moment, Harry and Malfoy were back in the world born from their mutual hatred for one another.

"The Slytherins. My housemates. You're the reason why their families are dead." The words were said in a low hiss, unnervingly akin to the sound of Parseltongue. "It's because of you that they were forced to choose a side, and now they're suffering the consequences of it. You killed them; you know that, don't you?"

Despite Harry's best efforts to shut out Malfoy's goads, his voice still rose an octave as he stammered, "It's not - don't pretend you care -"

"I may not care, but you do." Malfoy met Harry's glare smugly. "And you know what, Potter? It bothers the hell out of you, because you're weak."

The control Harry had been struggling to maintain shattered. With the roaring sound of his own accelerated heartbeat flooding his ears, he decided wildly that he would kill Malfoy once and for all. His fingers fumbled in his pocket for his wand, but before he could find it, he became aware of the cool tip of Malfoy's pressing against the sensitive skin of his throat.

"Don't think about it, Potter," Malfoy said silkily, using his wand to tilt Harry's chin up. He smiled maliciously at Harry's sharp intake of breath. "We still have a week's worth of detentions left, and I'm not ready to carry them out on my own."

"Then I'd recommend you withdraw your wand," Harry said through clenched teeth, Malfoy's wand jabbing uncomfortably into his Adam's apple with each word he spoke.

Malfoy drew back and lowered his wand. His eyes flicked over to where Ron stood, apparently too confused by the exchange going on between Harry and Malfoy to think of a suitable curse, and his eyebrows raised a notch. Then, without a word, he turned and began walking away.

"Don't you have anything you came here to send?" Harry blurted out after Malfoy's retreating form in frustration.

"I'll come back when the environment is more sterile," Malfoy responded snidely, waving his wand over his shoulder without looking back.

Harry would have chosen that moment to throw a hex at Malfoy, but unfortunately, he was distracted by a strangled yelp behind him. He wheeled around to see Ron clutching his right hand and staring down at his wand, which was lying at his feet, with an apprehensive expression.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked worriedly, hurrying over to Ron and momentarily pushing thoughts of Malfoy out of his mind.

"My wand!" Ron exclaimed angrily. "It burned my hand!"

"Oh." Harry bent down and picked up Ron's wand. He examined it closely before handing it to Ron. "You must've gripped it too hard or something."

Ron took his wand back morosely. "I'm going to make sure I murder that slimy bastard with my own hands someday," he swore, his lips curling back in a most indecorous snarl. "How could he - the hell is he -"

"Yeah, well, make sure you let me have a go at him before you finish him off," Harry interrupted darkly. It seemed, after all, that Ron was right and that Malfoy really didn't deserve sympathy of any sort - no matter how many lists of things to do in the next nine months he made.

---

Draco's heart pounded rapidly as he raced down the spiralling staircase leading from the Owlery, taking the steps two at a time. He was both delighted and nervous at once; delighted because he had finally satiated a part of his desire for revenge against Potter, but nervous because he didn't know how long their current standings would last before Potter retaliated.

Still, he never would have expected that Potter's line would be so easily crossed. Draco had always suspected that death was one of Potter's weak points, but he'd nonetheless had trouble containing his surprise when it took only a few well-placed comments to push Potter over the edge.

So he's not invincible after all, Draco thought grimly as he slowed down his pace and began heading towards the Slytherin common room.

---

The first thing Ron did when he and Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room was recount every detail of their encounter with Malfoy to Hermione. Hermione listened raptly, shaking her head every once in a while, but otherwise making no interruptions.

"And then he walked away, just like that." Ron snapped his fingers. He seemed to be replaying the scene in his head, because an ugly scowl suddenly appeared on his face. "Can you believe it, Hermione? After everything he's gone through, he still hasn't got a scrap of decency in him!"

"I think it's going to take a lot more than the threat of death to turn Malfoy around, Ron," Hermione said with a sigh. Her gaze flitted to Harry as she added, "He hated your family, so I doubt he feels any remorse for what he did. Still, I never would have expected him to sink so low..."

Harry said nothing. His rage had cooled down. Now he felt - and there was no other way to describe it - betrayed. It was as though the vulnerable side of Malfoy that Harry thought he had seen the night of their first detention had been nothing more than a figment of Harry's imagination; an illusion that Malfoy had, with a few biting remarks, trampled on and destroyed.

"He made Harry out to be a murderer, too!" Ron exclaimed furiously. "As if it's Harry's fault those Slytherins' parents chose to join You-Know-Who... Harry, you shouldn't have let him get to you..."

Hermione looked concerned as she turned towards Harry. "You know that he was just trying to provoke you, right? Malfoy's made a living out of locating people's weak spots. He knows exactly what to say when it comes to hurting you, Harry. You shouldn't listen to him."

"Maybe he was right," said Harry dully.

"Harry!" Ron looked outraged. "You're not saying you believe him, are you?"

Harry picked at a hole in the arm of the sofa he was sitting on. "I did a lot of things during the war that neither of you know about," he said sullenly. And a lot of things after it that one of you doesn't know about, he added silently to himself.

"We may not know much of what happened, but Malfoy knows even less," Hermione replied. She didn't look upset or angry, just determined to have Harry hear her out. "Who do you think knows you better? Us or Malfoy?"

"You, but -"

"And yet you still think Malfoy is a better judge of your character?"

"I didn't mean that -" Harry began to say, but Hermione interrupted him again.

"Then why don't you trust us when we tell you you're not a killer?" Now signs of agitation were beginning to creep into Hermione's voice. "How many times do we have to tell you that you're not at fault before you finally start to believe it? Harry, it's not like you to linger on these kinds of things... It's been nearly a month since the end of the war..."

"Yeah, she's right," Ron added before Harry could open his mouth to defend himself. "You're a completely different person now. Everyone's noticed it. McGonagall even came up to me the other day and told me to keep an eye out for you, and she never talks to me unless she's got something important to say."

This time, Harry was determined to get a word in; thus, the moment Ron finished, he said loudly, "You're both worrying too much!"

"Who's worrying too much?" asked a voice from behind Harry.

Harry turned around. Ginny was standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the dormitories, her eyebrows raised. "What's going on?" she asked as she walked over and sat down next to Harry.

"We're trying to explain to Harry that he didn't kill anyone who didn't deserve to die," said Ron. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him, Ginny."

"I'm not his mother, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, she put her hand over Harry's and asked quietly, "Run-in with Malfoy?"

"How did you know?" Harry replied wryly. "It's nothing, though. He was badmouthing your mum and dad, and I lost my temper."

Ginny's lips tightened. "What did he say?"

"Er -"

"It doesn't matter," Ron cut in angrily. "The fact still stands that he's a scumbag who isn't fit to be talking crap about anyone. He ought to be in Azkaban chatting it up with the Dementors, not over here gloating about how many people he's helped finish off!"

"Ron, calm down," Hermione said, patting his arm soothingly. She sighed and looked over at Harry and Ginny helplessly. In a painfully obvious attempt to change the subject, she said, "Anyway, I think I'm going to head down to the library now."

"You mean you haven't stopped by yet?" Ron asked incredulously. This startling fact seemed to be enough to distract him from thoughts of his and Harry's recent encounter with Malfoy. "I thought for sure you would've run up there the moment the start-of-year feast ended."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," Hermione scoffed. "Of course I've gone to the library. Just because we're dating doesn't mean I'm obligated to keep you updated on every waking moment of my life."

"Oh, is that why you never come down to dinner anymore?" Ron asked accusingly. He looked very miffed; apparently, he did think he deserved to be informed of Hermione's daily activities. "You're not meeting someone up there, are you? No secret meetings, like the ones you had with Vicky?"

Hermione shot Ron a withering glare. "Honestly, that comment doesn't even warrant a reply. But if you must know, I've also been visiting Lupin to stay updated on what's happening with the Order."

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to see him?" Ron demanded indignantly. "I would've gone with you! Lupin never has time to talk after class."

"Ron, you have more free periods than I can count on one hand," Hermione chided. "Can't you go see him during one of those?"

Ron muttered something about being occupied with prefect duties. Hermione clucked her tongue but said nothing more; Harry supposed she had grown accustomed to Ron's excuses.

"Anyway, do you want to go outside and play Quidditch, Harry?" Ginny suggested in the silence that followed.

"Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed eagerly. "I haven't flown for ages. What d'you say, Harry?"

"I wasn't asking you, you dolt." Ginny stuck her tongue out good-naturedly at her brother, then turned to Harry. "He's right, though. Chances are McGonagall will end up not reinstating inter-house Quidditch, so we'll have to organise games on our own. Besides, it's nice outside, and it really has been a while since we last played."

Harry perked up slightly at the topic of Quidditch. Of course - Quidditch would make him feel better in an instant. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to streak through the air with no restraints, to feel the familiar swooping sensation that weakened his knees and made him feel weightless.

"Good idea," he said, standing up. "Do you two have brooms?"

"I think the school still has some in the broomstick shed," Ginny said with a shrug. "We can use those for now."

"But those are practically falling apart!" Ron protested, looking scandalised at the idea of riding on such unseemly brooms.

Ginny glared at Ron. "Do you have a better idea?"

Ron seemed to wilt under Ginny's fierce glare. "No, not really."

"Then let's go. Hermione, do you want to come?"

"No, thank you," Hermione replied disdainfully. "Mind you three wear your cloaks and scarves, though. It's cold outside."

They stood up and bid farewell to Hermione. She waved them off, looking both annoyed and amused at their enthusiasm over Quidditch. As Harry followed Ginny out of the portrait hole, his step notably lighter than before, he made a mental note to himself to buy the two Weasleys new brooms for Christmas.

---

Sundays were depressing, Draco decided, as he wandered about the school grounds aimlessly later that evening. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about Sundays. They nestled safely between Saturday, the peak of the weekend, and Monday, the beginning of the week. Sundays were lazy, sluggish days, days that existed to satisfy the inner sloth in everyone. People spent Sundays loafing about their common rooms, attempting to finish extra homework while really discussing relationship troubles or playing games of wizard chess with friends instead.

Sundays were, in short, the bane of Draco's current existence.

There was once a time when Draco would have welcomed the arrival of a Sunday. It meant he could slink back down to the cool shelter of the Slytherin common room, where he'd employ his fellow housemates (usually first years) to nick food from the kitchens for him.

But Draco was no longer in a good position to exercise that kind of power. The Slytherins were scared, but not of him. In their eyes, Potter's involvement in the outcome of Draco's trial was proof that he was a disgrace to the ideals of their house. Even the first years now spread malicious rumours about "the Malfoy bloke who owes a life debt to a Gryffindor" behind Draco's back. Needless to say, the comfortable Sundays Draco had once enjoyed were no more.

Thus, instead of benefiting from the luxury of awestruck housemates, he was walking towards the Quidditch pitch in the cold evening air. The sun was just beginning to set, and the grounds were swathed in rosy hues of purple, red, and orange. Draco would have found it very beautiful were he not so preoccupied with the fact that he now had one less Sunday afternoon to waste away before his imminent death.

"Bloody Potter," he swore under his breath, even though he knew it was partly his fault for not making better use of his time.

I should probably add "watch a sunset all the way through" to the list, he thought guiltily, as he gazed up at the fading light on the horizon.

As Draco neared the pitch, the tall shadows of the three nearest goalposts came into view. Draco looked up and saw, with a pang of longing, the six hoops gleaming gold in the waning daylight. It had been over a year since he last sat on a broom, and his desire to fly again at that moment was painfully strong.

Not a chance, he reminded himself gloomily. Of all the things he had been allowed to purchase at Diagon Alley, a broomstick had not been one of them. After all, McGonagall couldn't have the school convict escaping the grounds by air.

Draco stepped through the spectators' entrance and onto the field. His shoes sunk into the soft turf and he breathed in the smell of damp earth, remembering the endless hours he had spent practising on this very pitch - practising to beat Potter just once, a feat he had never managed to accomplish.

Ah. Another thing to add to the list.

Suddenly, the sound of a distant voice made Draco tense up. Someone else was on the pitch.

Draco hurried over to the stands and ducked behind them. He crouched down in the shadows and waited with bated breath, hoping whoever it was hadn't seen him. If another student found him, who knew what would happen? He would get in trouble for being outside at night, that was for sure; and there was no way he was going to risk another detention.

After a few seconds, the person spoke up again.

"I'm fine, really. I'm just going to take another few laps around the goalposts, and then I'll be right in."

Draco strained his ears. The voice - he was sure it was male now - sounded vaguely familiar, but was still too far away for him to recognise it.

"We don't mind waiting for you down here," said a second voice, this time female.

"Yeah, it's not a good idea to stay out here alone in the dark," a third person chimed in. "Besides, McGonagall will kill us if she finds out we left you by yourself."

The first boy sounded slightly aggravated by his companions' persistence as he replied, "I'm sure. Go on ahead. I won't try to escape on my broom or anything like that."

The girl laughed. "Well, that's a relief. We'll see you later then. Don't forget, dinner starts in half an hour."

"See you."

Draco shrunk back as the sound of the boy's friends' footsteps drew near. When they walked into view, he tried to get a good look at their faces, but the falling darkness made it too hard to see. To Draco's relief, neither of them glanced in his direction as they left the pitch.

Now's a good time to leave, Draco reasoned once the sound of the boy kicking off reached his ears. He won't see me from up in the air...

Curiosity, however, kept him glued to his spot. Even though he had nothing to gain from it, Draco wanted to know which of the Hogwarts students loved flying so much that he would rather stay in the chilly night air and practise alone than return to the warm castle with his friends.

Gathering his courage, Draco crept forward until his view encompassed the entire pitch. He searched the skies, squinting to see in the darkness. He could make out a faint blur streaking across the starless night sky, but nothing more than that.

Forgetting that he wasn't supposed to be there, Draco stepped out from behind the stands. He watched as the boy circled the distant goalposts twice. Even though Draco's view was limited, he had to grudgingly admit that whoever the kid was, he had excellent form. He was so seamlessly aligned with his broom that it was almost as if they were one as they soared through the air.

As Draco continued to watch, the boy effortlessly completed three tight loops in the air before turning sharply into a dive, out of which he easily pulled a metre or so above the ground. He then began slowing down until he was drifting about languidly, the soles of his trainers grazing the tips of the grass on the field.

Draco let his breath out in one hiss. Now he knew why the boy had sounded so familiar. He could recognise that flying style anywhere. For countless years he had secretly and bitterly studied and tried to learn that skilfully controlled dive, those sharp, quick manoeuvres.

How could he not have known, then, that the person unknowingly sharing the pitch with him was Harry Potter?

---

"I saw you on the Quidditch pitch."

Harry's hand paused half-way to the bookshelf. "What did you say?" he said warily, turning to look at Malfoy. This was the first time since their detention that Malfoy had spoken up first.

"I went out to the field and saw you flying." Malfoy's eyes were determinedly fixed on the book whose cover he was carefully realigning. "I was watching from the stands."

"Oh." Harry put the book away, feeling slightly disconcerted now that he knew he had been watched. "What were you doing outside at night? McGonagall said -"

"I know what McGonagall said," Malfoy snapped. He tapped the spine of the book on his lap, and it rebound itself noiselessly. "I don't care."

"You should. She's the reason you're still alive."

"Don't transfer the blame onto someone else, Potter."

Harry made a noise of disbelief as he checked the rest of the books on the second shelf for loose or torn bindings. "I suppose you still believe I didn't do you a favour when I voted to send you back to Hogwarts."

Malfoy put his book back and pulled out another one. "You don't care at all that I was watching you?"

With a shrug, Harry replied, "Well, it's not like I was practising secret Quidditch strategies or anything. I'm more worried about your being allowed to roam the grounds freely."

"'I won't try to escape on my broom or anything like that'," said Malfoy. He smirked. "That's what you said."

"Oh," Harry said again. He found it slightly disconcerting that Malfoy had memorised what he said. "You heard that, too?"

"Is there a problem with my hearing it?"

"No, it's just that -"

"Don't bother explaining yourself." Malfoy shot Harry an appraising sort of look. "For someone who likes to snoop around in other people's business, you sure do hide a hell of a lot of things from your friends."

Harry frowned. "They're better off not knowing everything," he said shortly.

"How valiant of you to try to protect them from the horrific details of your sins," Malfoy sneered. He stood up and brushed his robes off. "Anyway, I'm leaving."

"Not yet," Harry quickly said. He waved his wand, and the book Malfoy had left on the floor flew back into its place on the shelf. "I have a few things to discuss with you first."

"Make it quick then. I've already seen too much of you as it is, Potter."

Harry took a deep, steadying breath. "Fine. First of all, don't ever say a word about the Weasleys again."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Yes, because I have all the reason in the world to listen to you."

"You should know that what you said to Ron was low, even for you. Besides, you owe me."

"My life, not courtesy," Malfoy replied stonily. "I have no remorse for what I did, Potter. On the contrary, I'd say that the world should be thanking us for ridding it of two more Weasleys."

Revulsion and hatred swelled up within Harry. "'Us'? There is no 'us' anymore, Malfoy. The Death Eaters are all in Azkaban, and you were never really one of them to begin with. I can't believe you," he added, slowly and disgustedly. "It's a bit rich for you to be bragging about watching your dad's mates murder two innocent people after you couldn't even bring yourself to kill Dumbledore while he was at your mercy."

Malfoy's face visibly blanched. "How did you know?"

It took Harry a few seconds to remember that he had been immobilised behind the door. When he did, he bit his lip and said, "It doesn't matter how I know. Either way, you couldn't do it. You're not a murderer at heart, no matter how much you try to convince yourself and other people."

"I suppose you're going to use that bit of information to blackmail me," Malfoy said. He arched an eyebrow, silently daring Harry to affirm this. "And here I was thinking Gryffindors were supposed to be decent, honest folk..."

"The same way you're trying to blackmail me?" Harry enquired, ignoring the latter quip. "You can tell Ron, by the way." He crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping his strategy of reverse psychology would work. "I might as well get a laugh out of watching you try to convince him."

"I don't need to rely on that particular secret of yours anymore," Malfoy said quietly. His eyes gleamed silver for a split second before fading back to dull grey.

Somewhat nonplussed, Harry thought for a moment to ask Malfoy what he meant. Then, figuring Malfoy wouldn't tell him anyway, he decided to continue with what he had been saying before instead. "Second of all, I want to know more about your list."

"What's there to tell you?" Malfoy said, a guarded tone creeping into his voice. He folded his arms across his chest, as though to protect himself from Harry's questions.

Harry suddenly felt awkward. Perhaps it was too much for him to ask Malfoy about the list. After all, it was probably a personal topic...

"Why did you write it?" he asked anyway, ignoring his nagging conscience.

"So that you could read it," Malfoy replied sarcastically. He shouldered past Harry. "Leave me alone, Potter. I want to go to sleep."

"Wait," Harry said desperately, grabbing Malfoy's sleeve. "I thought maybe... well, I thought I could help you do some of those things."

Malfoy turned around sharply. For a moment, he looked confused; then, his usual mask of cold indifference slid back into place, and he drawled, "Seeing as your definition of assistance involves drawing my death sentence out longer, I can't say I'm too eager to accept your aid."

"Will you ever shut up about that?" Harry asked irritably. "Do you want me to lend a hand or not? Felix Felicis isn't easy to brew, you know."

"In case you don't remember, Potter, all of your achievements in Potions were brought about by Snape's book - not your own aptitude. So no, I don't want you to help me brew the potion."

Harry bit his lip. He won't change, a small voice in the back of his head insisted. You can't do anything for him. Just leave him alone.

Still, Harry refused to believe what logic deemed reality. After all, reality had deceived him countless times already; too many times, in fact, for him to trust its validity anymore.

"Well, what about any of the other things?" he asked, wincing when Malfoy shot him a disbelieving look.

"Honestly, Potter, what's wrong with you? You've helped enough by lending your lips." Malfoy tried to tug his sleeve out of Harry's grip. "I'm not going to accomplish anything if you keep detaining me after detention like this."

Frustrated, Harry let go of Malfoy. "Why do you always try to do everything on your own?" he demanded.

"Oh, and you don't either?" Malfoy shot back.

"The difference between you and me is that I can manage on my own and you can't," Harry replied angrily. "You may not realise it, but you've had someone else to do shit for you all your life, Malfoy."

Malfoy scowled. "I managed while I was working for the Dark Lord. I was a Death Eater. Death Eaters don't accept assistance from others."

Harry laughed softly. "You'd like to think that's true, wouldn't you? Why don't you just give it up and admit to yourself that you're glad you have another chance at life? You wrote up a list of things you want to do before you die; that pretty much gives your feelings away."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy flushed pink. "Don't think you understand how I feel."

"I don't," Harry said simply. "If I did, I wouldn't be wondering how the hell you can kill another human being and not feel the slightest bit guilty. But dying is something universally feared, which is why I want to help you, even if you don't deserve it."

Malfoy's lower lip seemed to tremble for an instant, and Harry felt a faint stirring of panic. But then Malfoy turned away and the panic disappeared, leaving Harry annoyed, furious, and everything else he usually felt in the other boy's presence.

"Tomorrow's our last detention," Malfoy said in a low voice. "You'd better not forget about it." He began walking away, but paused just before he turned around the corner. "By the way, you ought to listen to your friends about staying out after dark."

"Okay?" said Harry bemusedly. Not until after Malfoy was gone did the full significance of his words strike Harry.

Our last detention. The words echoed in Harry's head. Of course; there was only one section left in the library for them to go through. After that, they were free of the punishment McGonagall had set.

A strange, heavy feeling settled in Harry's stomach. He stood for a moment, perplexed, trying to figure it out. It was almost... disappointment. But that didn't make sense; he was supposed to hate his detentions with Malfoy.

Harry sighed. It seemed that, as of late, he was confused more than usual. After a few minutes of quiet reflection, he turned around and left the library as well.


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