Reappraisals

Chapter Three

Draco stared after Harry as he ran out of the library.

"It must've been what I said," he mused quietly. "But why would he be so upset about achieving his life goal?"

Hermione and Ron came back, both of them laden with books. Ron dumped his on the desk with a loud band, which started Draco out of his reverie.

"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked from behind her pile of books.

Draco was gathering all of his things together hurriedly. Doing up his bad, he too left the library, determined to find Harry.

"What was that about?" Ron asked, confused.

"I have no idea," Hermione responded, brow furrowed.

_

"Harry?" Draco said softly. He had found the Gryffindor in the disused Transfiguration classroom, curled up in one of the corners.

"What's wrong?" Draco tried again. Kneeling down on the flower, he tilted Harry's chin up to meet his eyes.

"Go away, Draco," Harry replied, equally as quiet. Draco blinked, once, twice, as though he had been slapped.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"Please, leave," Harry said. "If you stay, I know I'll tell you, and I don't want to. I'm not allowed to."

"What do you mean?" asked Draco. "I'm not going to force you to tell me anything."

"You can stay if you promise not to ask, at all," Harry responded.

"I promise," Draco said solemnly, moving to sit behind Harry, against the wall.

Harry shuffled back so he was leaning against the Slytherin's chest. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry's midsection, and for a long time, they just sat and said nothing.

Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"Draco?" he murmured, partially asleep.

"Mm?" came the reply.

"Can you talk to me?"

"What about, Harry?"

"Anything. Everything."

"You'll have to be a tad more specific than that."

"Well...tell me about...something you're interested in."

"Interested in?" Draco repeated. "Hmm..."

"Do you speak any other languages? Play any instruments?"

"I speak a couple of languages - French, Italian, Spanish, Latin and Gaelic - and I play the piano, flute, harp and tin whistle. It's a type of Irish instrument - it has an amazingly beautiful sound."

"You like music, then?"

"I love music. I don't think I would be able to live without it."

"Wow."

"Mmhm. It kept me sane last year."

"What do you mean?" Harry echoed, shifting slightly.

Draco hesitated momentarily. "I guess...my instruments kept me from offing myself a couple of times, to put it crudely."

At this, Harry sat up fully and turned to look at Draco, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

"You did what?" he demanded.

Draco shrugged, pulling up the sleeves of his robes slightly to show his forearms. They looked perfectly normal to Harry, who raised his eyebrows questioningly.

The other boy pulled out his wand and muttered "Finite Incantatem". A ripple passed down his arm, showing quite a few fading scars.

"Glamour charm," Draco explained.

Harry gently lifted Draco's right arm and held it, looking in fascination at the cobweb-like scars criss-crossing his skin.

"Oh, Draco," he said. Draco shifted uncomfortably and muttered the spell under his breath. His skin rippled again, and the scars disappeared.

"Why?" Harry asked, lifting his eyes to Draco's shuttered silver-grey ones.

"Because of my father," he replied succinctly.

"What did he do?" Harry questioned.

"He was just a general prick," Draco explained. "You know, the usual."

"You're being annoyingly vague," Harry told him. "Did he hit you or something?"

Draco nodded silently. "Not often," he said hurriedly, seeing the expression on Harry's face. "Just when I did badly at school, or disgraced the family name, or something."

"You never do badly at school," Harry said. "You're abnormally intelligent."

"Not badly, as such," Draco said. "Just if someone beat me in classes, which was most of the time, except in Potions."

"Who beat you?" Harry asked curiously.

"Hermione, of course," Draco answered. "And you in Defence Against the Dark Arts." He smirked. "I was more likely to succeed in practicing the Dark Arts rather than defending myself against them."

Harry gave a half-smile at this.

"But...why do you cut yourself?" he asked.

"Did," Draco corrected. "I haven't since I made friends with your lot."

"My lot?" Harry was confused.

"The Gryffindors. Your friends, you know?"

"What's the time?" Harry demanded suddenly. Draco whispered "Chronos", waved

his wand and answered.

"Six twenty-four," he said.

Harry swore. "I have to go," he told Draco, standing and straightening his robes. He dropped a kiss onto Draco's forehead and left the classroom.

When he had left, the Slytherin stood and realised that it was the second time in a day that he had been left suddenly by the other boy.

_

Harry was walking quickly through the hallways towards the Gryffindor common room. He hadn't realised how long he and Draco had been in that room together - three hours, approximately. It certainly hadn't felt that long, but Harry thought that maybe he had fallen asleep.

When he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, she smiled at him and asked

"Password?"

"Lava lamps," Harry said. She swung open, and Harry climbed in through the portrait hole. Immediately, Hermione and Ron stood from where they were sitting together in front of the fireplace and came over to him.

"Where were you, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"With Draco," he replied.

"But, when Ron and I left, you were in the library together. When we returned, you weren't there, and Draco left without saying anything. What happened?"

"Um...nothing," Harry lied. "Why would you think something had happened? A messenger just came in and told me that Professor McGonagall wanted to see me about my Transfiguration essay. I don't know why Draco left."

"Why did McGonagall want to see you for your essay, mate?" Ron asked.

"She wanted to ask me something about one of the facts I put in," Harry said, thinking quickly. Hermione seemed to accept that and Ron, seeing his girlfriend agreeing, did the same.

"You're sure you're okay? You've been away for quite a while," Hermione said.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry replied impatiently. "I'm fine. Care for a game of chess, Ron?"

"Sure. I call white," Ron said.

Harry nodded and sat down on the black side of the board that was set in front of the fireplace, two armchairs on either side. Ron sat in the other chair and began to return the pieces to their proper places.

"What are you doing, Mione?" Harry asked curiously.

"An essay," she mumbled, immersed in her work.

"Pawn to D5," said Ron.

Harry turned back to the chessboard and leaned back.

"Pawn to B4."

"Knight to D7."

"Pawn to A4."

"Knight to F7."

"Rook to A3."

Ron sighed and wriggled uncomfortably.

"This is boring," he whined, sounding like a 6-year-old.

"What do you suggest we do, then?" Harry asked. Hermione hadn't even looked up.

"Why don't we..." Ron mused. "Go flying?"

Harry brightened slightly. Flying always helped him feel better.

"Definitely," he replied. He ran upstairs and grabbed his Supernova, the second-latest model of broom. The only one above it was the Platinum. Ron grabbed Harry's old Firebolt, which had been given to him when Harry bought his latest broom, and followed him out to the Quidditch pitch.

_

She sat in her dormitory, a knife clenched in her right hand She tilted it slightly, allowing the light to play on its silver blade. Growing bored quickly, she lifted up the hem of her robes until they were resting on the very top of her thighs, baring her tanned legs. The knife lifted, and the blade traced a light line across her leg, white against brown. The mark quickly faded though, and she drew the line again, although this time digging deeper. Blood welled from the cut; unsatisfied, she went over the slash continuously, until her entire leg was covered in blood. Smiling, she dripped some into a vial, stoppered it and hid it in her pocket. She conjured bandages, preferring to let the cuts heal the Muggle way - that way, they left scars, which she wanted - and dropped her robes over her slim legs. Without a trace of a limp, she left her room and walked down the stairs to the common room, joining the other people in there as was expected. She smirked to herself as she heard the naïve students ponder over the movings, but pretended to participate in the conversation, pretending she believed some of the completely inacrate ideas to throw them off track.

_

"Harry," Hermione said contemplatively the next morning. "Were the Potters a pureblood family?"

Harry blinked. "Er...I think so. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering," Hermione replied with the air of someonewho was not "just wondering" at all.

Ron and Harry shared a look, but shrugged it off and turned back to their Potions' essays, which were due in the next lesson, and had predictably been started only a moment before.

"Harry!" Seamus called in a singsong voice, stepping through the portrait hole. "Someone's here to see you!"

Harry stood, looking slightly curious. "Who is it?" he asked, his eyes flickering to the seemingly uninhabited space behind the Irishman.

"Wouldn't have a clue," Seamus confessed. "I only saw this."

He held out a quickly scrawled note.

Could someone please get Harry out here for me?

"It was pinned next to the portrait hole," Seamus explained. "Any idea?"

Harry shook his head and stepped away from Seamus, who continued on into the common room and threw himself down next to the recently vacated seat beside Ron and began an exuberant discussion on something.

Harry shook his head, smiling slightly, and stepped outside the portrait hole, closing it gently behind him. Suddenly, there was a ripple in the air, as though of some inconsistency in the oxygen.

Twirling the cloak over his shoulders appeared Draco Malfoy, looking highly indignant.

"Draco?" Harry asked, amazed. "Since when do you have an Invisibility Cloak?"

Draco gave him a withering look.

"Potter, I am the spawn of the devil himself," he drawled. "Of course I have a damned Invisibility Cloak, and you don't deserve to have one, the way you clank around the school at night."

"How did you know I had a Cloak?" asked Harry.

"It's obvious," Draco shrugged. "Now...something I wanted to talk about."

Harry gulped. "I didn't do it," he told the Slytherin.

"Guilty conscience, eh, Potter?" Draco smirked, unknowingly echoing Argus Filch's words of two years before.

"What did you want, Draco?" Harry asked. Draco adopted a hurt look.

"Well, if you don't want me, I'll just go!" he said, making to put on the Cloak. Harry stayed his movements with a hand.

"You know that's not what I meant," he said softly. Draco flashed him a grin.

"Of course I do," he said. "Just making sure. Why did you keep leaving me today?"

Harry looked confused. "What do you mean, leaving you?"

"You left me in the library, and then again when I found you..." Draco reminded.

"Oh...sorry." Harry seemed to make a decision. "Hang on a minute," he said. He told the Fat Lady the password - Draco smirked at the fact that he didn't even try to lower his voice - and called through the portrait hole.

"Mione? Ron? I'm just going out for a bit, I'll be back soon," Draco heard. He tilted his head inquisitively at the Gryffindor when he turned around and shut the portrait hole firmly.

"Come on," Harry said, taking Draco's hand and leading him down the corridor. "We should talk."

_

When they had reached the statue of Barnabas the Barmy, Harry walked three times in front of it, thinking. A door materialised once he stopped; he smirked at Draco, superiority on his face.

"Bet you've never seen this before," he said.

"What, this old place?" Draco said. "I come here heaps."

Harry's face fell slightly.

"You do not!" he said. "I bet you're just saying that."

"Of course I'm saying it, you twit," Draco replied. "Did you think I wrote it down? It's the Room of Requirement. Salazar created it especially for Slytherins."

Harry pouted.

"Not fair," he sulked. "So typical, Slytherins having this made for them..."

"How else do you think we've been getting away with our famous orgies?" Draco fell about with laughter when he saw the look on Harry's face.

"Oh, you're so gullible," he giggled. "I'm joking, Potter."

Harry relaxed slightly. "Well, it wasn't very funny," he grouched. Draco snickered and opened the door, going inside. Harry followed him and closed the door, surveying the contents.

There was a fire crackling in the fireplace; two squishy armchairs were in front of it, with a chess table between them. Over on the wall, there was a massive lounge with a few pillows on it. Harry walked over to it, sat down and beckoned Draco over to sit next to him.

Draco took his time walking over, looking around the room. He smiled slightly to himself as he wandered over and sat, snuggling in next to the other boy.

"So why did you bring me here, Harry?" he asked.

"Because there's something you should know," Harry replied, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly.

"That doesn't sound promising," Draco told him. "Let me guess...you're actually straight, and this is a huge scheme devised by the Gryffindors to humiliate me?"

"No," Harry said irritably. "Will you be quiet for a bit? I'm trying to confess something here."

Draco looked suitably repentant.

"Sorry, Harry," he said, grinning a bit to himself.

Harry nodded and continued. "Well...you have to promise not to tell anyone, at all. No one except Dumbledore and I know about this, okay?"

"Not even Hermione and Ron?" Draco asked. Harry shook his head.

"No one," he said. "Do I have your word?"

"Promise," Draco said, feeling a slight sense of de ja vu.

"There's a prophecy, about me and Voldemort," Harry said slowly. Draco made no reaction. "It says...it says that I have to kill Voldemort, or die, basically."

"And what's wrong with that?" Draco frowned. "I thought you'd love to get revenge on the bastard for killing your parents."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Harry replied. "That would be fantastic. I just don't know if I have the power to kill him."

"You think you're not a strong enough wizard?" Draco interpreted.

"Well, I know I'm not, I wouldn't be able to use Avada Kedavra if my life depended on it - " he laughed ironically at this, realising after he said it, " - but I don't know if I'd actually be able to murder someone."

"So that's why you left today in the library," Draco said slowly. "Because I said that you were destined to fulfil your life's purpose, which is to kill Voldemort. But isn't that a good thing? If it's your fate to do that, then it will happen, won't it?"

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But that means I'm going to be responsible for someone's death."

Draco hesitated slightly. "Harry...don't get mad at me for saying this...but you already have blood on your hands, however indirectly."

Harry tensed. "How do you mean?" he asked.

"Well...your parents died defending you..." Draco said, still hesitating a bit. "And Cedric."

He could feel Harry next to him, torso ridden with tension.

"You're right," Harry said finally. "It's true."

Draco let out a sigh of relief, glad that Harry wasn't going to kick him out for saying something so heartless - necessary, but heartless.

"But I don't have blood on my hands directly," he continued. "I didn't personally kill anyone."

"No, you didn't," Draco agreed. "But it looks like you're going to have to."

"I guess," Harry shrugged unhappily. "It just...feels so weird, knowing that I am going to kill someone. Someone will be dead, never to breathe again, because of me."

"And he deserves it," Draco spat out suddenly, sitting upright. "The lying, cheating, cruel bastard deserves every fucking thing you could possibly do to him."

Harry started at Draco's outburst.

"Calm down," he said soothingly, rubbing his hand over Draco's back. "Calm down, love. Don't think on it."

Draco relaxed into Harry's caress.

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked.

"With what?" Harry replied.

"Preparing yourself," Draco said. "For killing Voldemort."

"What do you mean, preparing myself?" Harry asked, brow furrowing.

"Well, curses, hexes, anything that will help, really."

"I doubt Jelly-Legs are going to help me to kill the Dark Lord," Harry replied dryly.

"Dark curses, Harry," Draco said calmly. "They will."

Harry blanched slightly, but nodded his agreement.

"Come here, oh my star is fading,

I swerved out of control,

If I, if I'd only waited,

I'd not be stuck here in this hole...

Come here, oh my star is fading,

And I swerve out of control,

And I know if I'd only waited,

When would I get out of this hole?

And time is on your side,

It's on your side now,

Not pushing you down,

And all around,

No, it's no cause for concern.

So come here, oh my star is fading,

And I swerve just out of reach,

And I know I'm dead on the surface,

But I am screaming underneath,

And time is on your side,

It's on your side,

Not pushing you down,

And all around,

No, it's no cause for concern.

Stuck on it,

This bore and shame,

I'm on the way back down again,

Stood on the edge,

Tried to lose,

Stick to the stars,

See what you may,

It won't change a thing,

I'm sick of secrets,

Stood on the edge,

Tied up but loose,

Oh you came along and cut me loose,

Oh, you came along and you cut me loose,

Oh, you came along, and you cut me loose."

~Coldplay, Amsterdam