Down With This Ship

Down With This Ship

Draco hits Harry, and Harry doesn't say anything about it, doesn't say no, so it must be okay. And Draco is more and more his father's son.

The first time he hits Harry to make him stop talking, and it's just once, one quick sharp slap that leaves a red handprint on Harry's cheek. Draco doesn't say he's sorry, because he isn't. To be sorry you have to be wrong. And Harry doesn't say anything, so he guesses it worked.

He can't remember why he hit him the second time, or even where it was. The third time he blacks Harry's eye and splits his lip; the third time he hits him more than once. He still isn't sorry and Harry still doesn't ask for an apology.

Draco knows that this is how relationships work, that somebody has to be stronger and somebody has to be weaker. Generally it's the woman who's weaker. Draco hit Harry first, and Harry hasn't hit him back; that makes Draco stronger. He's glad--he couldn't have borne it if he wasn't. Couldn't have stood and taken whatever Harry chose to say and do to him, a smile on his face and a song in his heart. Draco hasn't the strength to be weak.

All the same he's glad that Harry isn't a woman, even if it is unnatural. He's glad they won't be able to have kids. Harry's an adult and Draco can't do anything to him he doesn't allow done. But kids don't have any choices.

The fourth time Draco hits Harry he breaks Harry's cheekbone, and one of the small bones in his hand. It's his wand hand, and the pain is unimaginably bad. He thinks that now Harry will stop him, now Harry will say it's enough, now Harry will leave him. But he doesn't, and Draco doesn't know what to do. He leaves Harry sitting on the couch, pressing a bag of frozen peas to the side of his face, and slams out of the apartment. He feels better as soon as he's away.

He doesn't know why he's so angry, or even if he's angry; mostly he feels sick to his stomach. Because this is Harry's fault, this is what Harry's made him, what Harry's let him become. This is his father's logic, and he knows there's something wrong with it, even if he doesn't know what.

He goes into the first bar he sees and orders firewhiskey, a double, straight up, and when it comes he drinks it so fast his eyes tear up and he coughs. He orders another one, and this time it goes down more smoothly. By midnight he's so drunk he's cross-eyed, and the only thing keeping him upright is the effect of gravity and his elbows on the table.

He has a choice. He can go home to Harry, the way he wants to. He's not done anything wrong, there's no one to stop him, and Harry will have him back no matter what. Or he can walk away; he knows that wrong or no if he keeps going back he'll end by killing Harry. Draco's never been good at life or death decisions, and he has the mark on his arm to prove it.