Blackmail

Chapter 10

A week passed. Aside from attending classes and meals, the majority of that week Harry spent lying listlessly on his bed, scarlet curtains drawn around him, blocking out the sunlight.

Ron would come up to sit on the bed next to him. "Come on, Harry, maybe it’s for the best," he would say, trying to console his friend.

"Maybe," Harry would agree dutifully.

Hermione would come after she finished all her homework for the evening. She would advise differently. "You need to talk to him."

"No, Hermione," he would mutter whenever she said this, which was quite often.

"It’s worked last time, didn’t it?"

"Obviously not, or else we wouldn’t be in this position," Harry argued with her, traces of anger beginning to grow in his voice.

She sighed and sat back. "Fine, Harry. Be stubborn."

"I’m not being stubborn," he insisted.

"Harry-"

"Don’t you understand, Hermione? He was going to turn me over to Voldemort," he continued, having filled both Ron and Hermione in on the whole story a few days ago. "If he had succeeded, I would be dead by now. I can’t simply forgive him for that and have us go merrily on our way."

"I do understand that. But Harry, that was in the past," Hermione pointed out. "That was before you two fell in love. I’ve never seen you so happy as you were with him. If you two can just talk this problem out-"

"No. Face it, Hermione. It’s over," Harry said in a tone that clearly indicated that he wasn’t going to continue with this discussion any longer.

"Fine," she stood up and put her hands on her hip, glaring down at him. "Don’t even try to rectify things, just throw everything you had away. I’ve tried to help, but I just can’t think of anything else to tell you. Rot up here in your room for all eternity for all I care."

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

That particular incident happened a couple of days ago, and Hermione had been giving Harry the silent treatment since then. In addition to that, Ron was annoyed with him for upsetting Hermione. Things became awkward between the three of them, both during classes and in between. When Ron had accidentally spilled beetle’s eyes on him one day in Potions, Harry had taken it personally, and gotten back at him by charming his hair bright green. Hermione had fixed it quickly enough with a wave of her wand, but Ron still remained offended.

Harry was just thinking that his life couldn’t possibly get any worse, when he was informed by Professor McGonagall that it was required for him to attend the Quidditch final that was to take place that afternoon. "It’s your duty as a captain and as a Gryffindor," she told him, "to show your support for the other students playing in the final game of the year."

"Yes, Professor," he replied, not up to arguing with the stern Professor.

So that afternoon, Harry found himself making his way down to the pitch to watch Slytherin play against Ravenclaw in the Quidditch final.

He was one of the last students filing into the stands. Harry’s eyes automatically raked over the crowd, searching for the familiar flashes of flaming red and bushy brown hair. He spotted them sitting at the very top of the stands, and was halfway there before remembering that they were angry at him.

Harry sighed. He couldn’t just go around in the world friendless. He needed to start making things right with people. He decided to start with Ron and Hermione.

He finished climbing the stairs and sat next to the two of them, who both turned to him in surprise, not expecting Harry to sit with them. Harry gave them both a small smile. "Guys…" he started to say.
"It’s okay, mate," Ron butted in. "It doesn’t need to be said."

"It does," Harry insisted. "I was rotten to the both of you. I’m sorry."

Hermione smiled at him. "We are too, Harry," she said while Ron nodded. "It’s your life after all, it’s for you to live the way you want to. It’s not up to us to control that."

So things got back to normal between the trio of friends, and Harry’s mood lessened somewhat as he settled back to enjoy the Quidditch game.

The two teams came out onto the field, followed by boos and cheers scattered throughout the audience. The Ravenclaws were being particularly boisterous, as this is the first Quidditch final that had played in for a long time.

The two captains, Draco Malfoy and Oorla Quirke stepped out to the middle of the field to clasp hands quickly. Tenseness was evident on Oorla’s face. However it twisted into a scowl when Draco gave him his trademark smirk.

The captains returned to their teammates, and few minutes later, with the sound of Madam Hooch’s whistle, the game began.

The Slytherins seemed intent on making this a dirty game. Every time a Ravenclaw Chaser got within a few feet of the Slytherin goal posts, a Bludger would immediately cut her off. Elbows and knees were everywhere. A foul was called on a Slytherin Chaser for blagging the broom of the Ravenclaw Keeper. A particularly nasty stooging incident occurred about halfway through the game.

And Draco Malfoy was in the middle of it all, calling out the occasional instruction to his Slytherin teammates, but the air was mostly filled with his criticisms, and his voice was grating on Harry’s nerves.

"Goyle!" he called out at one point, flying over the audience. "Get to that bloody Bludger, you goon!"

Harry felt his face twist into a scowl. Draco flew near the Gryffindor side, glanced carelessly into the audience… and then his and Harry’s eyes locked.

Harry started and sat up straight as a jolt of electricity ran through him. Draco was hovering in the air before him, with a confused look on his face. Then Harry saw him blink once slowly, subtly shake himself, and fly away. "Blast it, Goyle! Hit the damn Bludger!" he continued with the shouting, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

But Harry had felt it. He and Draco still had that connection. And even though they were at odds with each other, it was obviously going to remain.

"Stupid… idiotic… thing," he muttered almost unconsciously at the connection. "Don’t you understand that Draco and I don’t bloody want this?"

Through his rantings, he slowly became aware of an elbow jabbing into his side. "Ow!" he said, pulling away. "Hermione!"

"You were talking to yourself," Hermione hissed at him. "People were looking."

"Sorry," he murmured to her.

He sat back, folded his arms, and glared at the green blur that was Draco. This… this… whatever it was between them wasn’t going leave them alone. It would always be there. Harry heaved a sigh. He and Draco would have to make amends. Hermione was right, they did have to talk. And Harry resolved to do it tonight.

* * *

After the Quidditch game (which Slytherin won, 220 — 90), Harry let the crowd walk past him, chattering excitedly, and went to the changing rooms, where he waited for Draco to emerge. He finally did about fifteen minutes later, freshly showered and wearing clean robes. Draco didn’t seem to notice him leaning there against the side of the building, so he cleared his throat once.

Draco’s head jerked up. "Potter," he spat.

Harry walked towards him slowly. "Draco."

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

"We need to talk."

Draco lifted his nose up into the air and started to brush past him. "We don’t need to talk about anything."

Harry reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him, bracing himself for that now familiar bolt of electricity. "We do," he insisted.

Draco stared at the hand resting on his shoulder for a minute before pulling away. He stepped back, but didn’t completely walk away from Harry. "Potter…" he started exasperatedly.

"Don’t tell me you don’t feel it," Harry said, almost accusingly. "Don’t tell me that whenever we look at each other, like during the game, you don’t feel it. When we touch, like just now, it’s there. It’s there, Draco. That thing between us is there. And I have a feeling that it will never go away."

"Potter…" he said again, although this time more softly. Draco stared at him for a minute, then his face grew hard again. "That may be true, Potter. Something might always be there between us, but that doesn’t change things. I still hate you."

"For what?" Harry said softly. "Why do you hate me?"

"Because…" Draco swallowed. "Just because."

"Listen, Draco," Harry started urgently. "If it’s still about your father, I-"

"Don’t you talk about my father!" Draco yelled furiously.

"Draco-"

"Don’t act like you know what happened," Draco continued angrily, backing away. "You don’t, Potter. You may think that you’re all knowing, perfect Harry Potter that knows all and feels all. But you’re don’t. You don’t know a bloody thing."

With that, Draco turned and stalked away.

Harry sighed and slumped against the course stone wall.

Well that went well.