Animus

Animus (Part 4)

I wake up to find that this day is much like the one before.

It’s cloudy.

I have a headache.

I get up and walk to the bathroom where I relieve myself.

I down some hangover potion.

And finally I make my way downstairs to the smell of coffee.

I see that Malfoy is in the kitchen again, drinking coffee in the exact same spot as yesterday. I get such a strong sense of deja vu that I start to feel like I’m drowning in it.

He looks up at me as I enter, pushes aside the coffee mug and stands up.

All right, this is new. And so is the clothing. The Muggle jeans and gray t-shirt are a definite improvement over the vinyl.

I notice that he looks edgy, nervous. “Harry, I’m glad you’re up, I wanted to speak with you,” he says.

I cross my arms against my chest and lean against the counter. “So speak,” I say coolly.

He runs a hand through his hair and again I think...edgy, nervous. Something is definitely going on here. I force myself to wait patiently until he tells me what that something is.

“It’s about last night,” he starts. “I think...I think I overreacted when you asked me that question.”

I cock my head to the side and look at him quizzically; unsure of where this is going.

“No, I know I overreacted. I mean, it was just a question, right? And really, what harm would it have done to answer it? So ummm..if you want to ask me...again...you can. I’ll answer.”

A grin slowly materializes on my face as things become clear.

Draco Malfoy - ever the pragmatic Slytherin. Apparently he’s decided it’s best not to make waves so that I don’t kick him out on his arse.

Without the money. 

So whether he wants me inside his head or not, he’ll answer the questions I throw at him, because he thinks he has no choice.

Well, all right then. Since he’s willing to answer my question now; I repeat it, because I really did want to know. I always have wanted to know.

He nods as he acknowledges what I’ve asked. Speaking haltingly, as if it pains him to do this, he begins to answer. “You rejected me, remember? You wouldn’t shake my hand, that day we met...”

“I rejected you because you were being an elitist snob, Malfoy.”  

“I know that. Now. But back then no one had ever rejected me before. I was embarrassed and angry and....”

“Bullshit,” I say calmly.

He frowns at me. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t deny that my rejecting you upset you. But there had to have been more to it than that. You did everything in your power to make my life miserable back then. Why?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and as he does so, he stops looking at me, choosing instead to stare at a point somewhere over my shoulder. His eyes seem to lose their focus and I suddenly find myself thinking that Malfoy is no longer here. Physically yes. But mentally he is somewhere else; maybe in the past that I’m pushing him to relive.

 

“Because you were the sun, Harry,” he says in a soft, faraway voice.

Did I hear that correctly? Did he say I was the sun? Honestly, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think Malfoy had gone completely barmy. After a few seconds, I finally manage to sputter out a very confused sounding, “What?”

“You were the sun and I was the moon. You see, the moon can shine brightly and gloriously when it’s alone. But when the sun comes....when the sun comes no one sees the moon anymore. That’s how you and I were. No one saw me once you happened along. No one; not my parents, not my teachers, not even my friends really. You eclipsed me. And I hated you for it.”

So. I have my answer at last. And it’s not quite what I expected. Malfoy was cruel to me because he felt inferior to me? When he’s the one that had both of his parents alive and a huge manor and more money than God? It just doesn’t make sense to me. I try to understand it; to put myself in his shoes, but I just can’t.

 

I don’t voice any of these thoughts though. I’m fairly sure there would be no point. This is the only explanation I’ll get from him. “That’s a beautiful analogy, Malfoy,” I finally say in my best sarcastic voice.

His eyes focus and I can see that he is back in the here and now. “Thanks,” he says as he matches my sarcasm note for dripping note. “I stayed up all night thinking of it.”

At hearing this, I crack a smile. Believe me I don’t want to, but I can’t help it, it was a funny thing to say. Malfoy smiles as well, although his is a guarded smile and quickly fades away.

“All right. So I was the sun and apparently because of that your life was awful. But that was the past. Why do you hate me now?”

“Who says I do?”

“Oh come on, Malfoy. I can see it in your eyes every time I touch you. Or do you look at all your clients that way?”

He gives me a withering look and turns away. “Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you think you are, Harry,” he says.

I open my mouth to continue the discussion, then suddenly close it, deciding it’s better just to drop the subject. If he wants to play coy, so be it. I have another question that I’d rather ask anyway.

“So long as you’re being all cooperative and honest, there’s something else I’d like to ask you.”

He sighs. “Yes, I thought you might.”

His obvious discomfort at being asked another question doesn’t deter me. “How did you end up like this? Selling yourself?”

He turns back towards me, his face twisted into a scowl. “And why do you want to know that, Harry? So you can rub my nose into my failures even more than you’ve already done?”

I can see why he would think that, but I don’t really need any further ammunition to hurt him. The truth is, I just really want to know. And I tell him so. He must see the truth in my face because he’s going to answer. Don’t ask me how I know this; I just do.

Two seconds later he proves me right by saying, “Fine. I knew you were going to ask me that anyway. Gods, I need more coffee. I’d ask for something stronger, but I’m afraid to get you started.”

I freeze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” he says as he walks over to the coffee pot and pours himself another cup. He sits back down at the kitchen table and makes a point of looking anywhere but at me as he talks; even when he’s addressing me directly.

I settle back against the counter comfortably.

This should be interesting.

“When the war ended, my wand was destroyed and I was bound from doing magic with any other wand.” He pauses. “You probably know that already.”

“Yes, I do.” I was one of the people who decided that would be a fitting punishment to those that had flirted with the dark side without joining it fully.

“You’re also probably aware that our lands, our home, our money were all seized....”

 “To use as reparation to the families hurt in the war. Yes, I know all that.” Again, partly my doing.

He nods, seeming to take no offense at my interruption. “After that, things became very difficult for us. The wizarding world completely turned its back on us. There’s no mark on this arm,” he says as he holds out his arm for my inspection. Indeed, it is smooth, unblemished. “But my father’s taint carried over to us anyway. The name Malfoy suddenly became synonymous with dirt. No one - and I mean no one - would give us a second chance. We had no money, no jobs, no shelter, barely any food...It was a living hell. To go from having everything to having nothing within a matter of weeks...from being respected and admired to being despised and avoided...” His voice cracks slightly and he stops and shakes his head.

After taking a moment to compose himself he begins to speak again. “It was...it was very hard. After a while, I finally realized that there was no longer a place for me in the wizarding world, so I left it to live life as a Muggle. I figured at least in the non-magical world, no one would know me or my reputation. I thought I could make a fresh start.”

He stops speaking again and takes a deep breath. That far away look is in his eyes again and I know that he is no longer in my kitchen but in his own private world of memory.

Finally he speaks again, easily picking up right where he left off. “Unfortunately, that turned out to be no easier. At that point I’d never worked a day in my life, and I had absolutely no knowledge of how Muggles lived. I couldn’t even walk into a room and turn on the damn light switch. I didn’t know what a car was...a phone..didn’t understand the money..had absolutely no skills. I was damn lucky they didn’t cart me off to some insane asylum, the way I was behaving. As it was, I ended up on the street, with no money and no place to stay.

I was desperate. And when someone came up to me and told me he knew a way that I could make some money, I was interested. I hated it, that first time. It hurt and the man was vile. And I swore to myself that if I got through it, I would never do it again; that I would never stoop so low. But then he put the money in my hand...and Pete came along with promises of more...and...and...the rest is history I guess...”

He doesn’t so much finish the story as he lets it trail into oblivion. As our mutual silence fills the air, I notice that he’s looking down, one hand absently rubbing the place on his arm where the dark mark would have been.

I tear my eyes away from his skin and concentrate on trying to digest all that he’s just said. As I do, I begin to feel the first stirrings of pity within me. But much like the other night, I don’t want to feel this particular emotion towards him. I refuse to. So I push it away. I push it away by telling myself that yes, he has had it hard, but so have so many others. His tale, sad though it may be, is just one of thousands written by a very brutal war.

Mine included.

“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you now?” I ask once the pity has been properly squashed and hidden.

He looks at me, his eyes dull. “You asked me. I told you. That’s all.”

Yes, I did, didn’t I? And he did oblige.

And yet there’s something that’s not quite right about what he’s told me. It’s not that I think he’s lying to me, but something is off; like he’s keeping a very important detail from me.

It takes me a few moments but it finally hits me. Malfoy began his story by saying “us” and “we”. He ended it by saying “I”. He went from talking about more than one person to talking about himself only.

I take an educated guess as to who the “we” might have been. “What about your mother, Malfoy?” I ask.

His body goes rigid; his eyes no longer dull. They are blazing with a scorching intensity that is difficult to withstand. “What about her?” 

Nevertheless, I continue. “You haven’t said what happened to her. Where is she? Is she...?”

Suddenly Malfoy jumps up and comes toward me, moving faster than I think I’ve ever seen him move. He is very, very close to me, mere inches away from me, his hand on my arm, nails pressing into my flesh. “Look, I am painfully aware that you hold all the cards in this relationship, but I will not answer any questions about my mother. And if you push it I’ll leave. I don’t need the sodding money that badly. Do you bloody well got that?”

I am too stunned by his sudden vehemence to do anything but nod in the affirmative.

He says, “Good,” then suddenly seems to remember where he is and what he’s doing and he lets go of my arm and steps back. He looks disconcerted and uncomfortable. “I...I think I’ll go up to my room now,” he says as he all but runs out of the kitchen.

I rub the spot on my arm that he touched and find that it tingles; a reminder of his anger.

It’s only later when I’m showering that it strikes me that I should have kicked Malfoy’s teeth in for touching me that way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spend a full day at work which pleases my boss to no end. He spends all of it smiling at me and telling me what I good job I’m doing.

Bloody wanker. Does he thinks he’s currying my favor fawning all over me like that? If I were him, I would have had me fired months ago.

By five o’clock I am more than ready to get out of here. At one minute after five, I am apparating into my living room.

The first thing I notice as I walk through the house is that there is a pleasant smell coming from the kitchen. The second thing I notice is that the spilled wine and shattered glass from last night have been cleaned up.

My guest has been busy.

I walk into the kitchen to find him stirring something on the stove. It smells like some kind of stew. It actually smells quite delicious.

“You made dinner?” I ask, although it’s perfectly obvious that he did.

He doesn’t turn around to look at me. “We have to eat, don’t we?”

“Something else you’ve picked up since joining the Muggles?”

Now he turns to me. “As a matter of fact - yes. You’d be surprised at the things I can do now.”

A sarcastic reply is on the tip of my tongue but I swallow it. The man did just make dinner after all. And it wasn’t even part of our bargain.

He returns to his cooking and I go upstairs to wash up and change into more comfortable clothing. When I get back downstairs, the meal is ready and the table is set.

We eat it in almost complete silence, something that doesn’t surprise me. I figure I’d better start getting used to the silence since I doubt we’ll be enjoying lovely chit-chats anytime soon. I limit myself on my alcohol intake, deciding that I really don’t want to wake up with a headache three mornings in a row.

It is towards the end of the meal that he breaks the silence. “I see you managed to stay at work for a full day,” he says.

“Oh be quiet, Malfoy,” I respond automatically.

“You know what strikes me as interesting, Harry?” he asks as he leans over the table. Without waiting for my reply he says, “It’s the fact that I have to call you by your first name but you get to call me by my last. Now why is that?”

“Because that’s the way I want it. Malfoy.”

He smirks. “Oh I get it. It’s because in your little mind it gives you some kind of power over me. Because it’s all some big power trip with you, isn’t it?”

I am determined not to let him get to me. I force a smile on my face and ask, “So what if it is?”

He sits back in the chair, smirk completely gone. “What happened to you, Harry? What happened to the person you used to be? Are you in there anywhere? Or is it just your hatred of me that turns you into this cold, heartless bastard?”

All right. Enough is enough. Now I’m pissed off. “What happened to me, Malfoy, is an entire lifetime of hell being thrown at me from every direction! What happened is that my parents were murdered before I even knew who they were! What happened is that I was raised by people who couldn’t care less about me! What happened is that I was scorned and ridiculed and bullied for half my fucking life! What happened is that I was thrown headfirst into a war when I was fifteen fucking years old and that I’ve seen more death and pain than anyone my age should ever have to! That’s what happened!”

Funny, but when I started my tirade, I was sitting down comfortably. Now I’m standing, gripping the sides of the table so hard that my knuckles are white, and my throat dry from shouting. I stand there, panting as if I’d run a marathon or something and I wait for Malfoy’s reaction. I think I’m waiting to see if I’m going to have to beat the ever-loving shit out of him.

He stares up at me, his gray eyes big. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

I shake my head to clear it. Obviously I’m not hearing right. “What?”

“I’m sorry you had such a bad life. I never knew. I’m sorry.”

My anger, which had been red-hot just a moment ago, is quickly dissipating, leaving me feeling confused and suspicious. “What are you playing at?”

“Nothing.” He sighs wearily. “I’m not playing at anything. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry that all that happened to you.”

“You’ve really changed, haven’t you Malfoy?” When I ask the question I’m being sarcastic. I expect a sarcastic reply in return.

But there is none. “Yes, I have.” So earnest, so sincere. I don’t think I’ve ever heard this much raw honesty in his voice. Ever.

I stare down at my plate. I feel so confused. I don’t understand what’s happening. This is not how we interact.

I need something that will put us back on familiar ground; where I feel safe. I grasp at this intangible, like a drowning man grasping for his life preserver.

And when I find it, it is blessedly sweet and I say it with a note of triumph. “Let’s go upstairs, Malfoy.”

Draco seems to understand, for he just sighs and says, “Right.”

We head straight into my room, he following behind me, leaving dishes and cups scattered all over the table.

I open the curtains to let the moonlight in, then turn around to face him.

He pulls his shirt over his head and lets it fall to the floor. “So. How would you like me tonight? On my back, my stomach?”

I don’t answer, instead I grab his arm and pull him over to the bed so that he is in front of it, the back of his knees against the mattress. Then I give him a light push and watch as he falls onto it. “Hands and knees,” I order.

He takes off his jeans without a word, then turns around and maneuvers himself into the position I requested.

I gaze at him, letting myself enjoy his beauty. He always was too pretty for his own good. His body - too pretty, too lean.

The bite mark on his shoulder appears dark and red in the wan light. A striking contrast to his natural paleness.

 

I run my tongue across it and he shudders.

I undo my trousers and pull them down just far enough so that I can do this, I don’t even bother with my shirt or my shoes.

I push inside him, my forehead against the back of his neck and I have to wonder if anything has ever felt this good.

Then, almost reluctantly, I begin to move.

This time when I finish, I mark him twice, once on his shoulder, once on his throat.

He barely makes any noise despite the fact that I know he felt pain.

I roll off of him and onto my back, to wait til I catch my breath. He also rolls onto his back, apparently doing the same.

He speaks only a second before I was going to ask him to go.  

“Why am I here, Harry?” His voice snakes through the dark; runs over me, through me.

It’s a complicated question. It shouldn’t be but it is. I try to think of a suitable answer, something that will satisfy him. And myself. But I can’t. I finally settle for the truth. “I don’t know,” I whisper. 

He nods, I can’t see him but I can feel the action against the mattress. “I’ll go now,” he says.

“Yes. Go.”

And he does, just that quick. One moment he’s next to me, the next he’s nothing more than quicksilver in the moonlight. He closes the door behind him, leaving me alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’m dreaming again.

I know this dream.

I hate this dream.

I’m standing inside an oppressively small cottage. It is dark with crumbling walls and scorched floors. On the other side of the room stands Voldemort. Behind him stand the dead; my parents, Sirius, Cedric, Seamus, Tonks, Dumbledore and countless others.

These are not pretty, shimmering ghosts. These are rotting, bloody remnants of living flesh.

They hold out their twisted hands to me, imploring me to help them. But I’m so tired. I am so tired and all I want to do is lay down and sleep forever.

They won’t let me ignore them however. They continue to beseech me until I feel I have no choice. I must fight Voldemort. The dead need a champion, someone who will avenge them. They need me.

I take one step forward and suddenly I am across the room and in front of Voldemort.

He looks at me, red eyes flaming and hisses, “Have you come to kill me? Do it quickly, before I kill you, boy.”

I grab a hold of his neck and squeeze for all I’m worth. Behind them the dead attempt to cheer me on with their mangled vocal chords. I squeeze harder and harder until I have my enemy on his knees.

I close my eyes and pray that this will be over soon. Shouldn’t he be dead by now? How much longer must I do this?

I open my eyes and look down but I am no longer looking down at Voldemort.

It is Draco who is on his knees in front of me.

His sightless grey eyes stare straight ahead. His body begins to grow cold underneath my fingertips as blood flows from his mouth and onto the ruined floor...

            

I wake up screaming.