Children of the Eighth Day

Draco stood in the doorway to Harry's bedroom, arms and ankles crossed, leaning on the doorframe. Harry had his head stuck in the wardrobe; every few moments, another piece of clothing would come flying out, landing haphazardly in and around the open suitcase on his bed. Robes, socks, boxers, a pair of holey denims that were almost certainly from Harry's days of living with the Dursleys. Draco scowled.

"So that's it, then, is it?" he asked. Harry whirled around so quickly, Draco never even saw him draw his wand.

"Merlin in a teacup!" Harry exclaimed, clutching his chest when he saw who it was.

"Big Bad Bill says the word and you go gallivanting off on whatever fool's errand he sets for you." Draco narrowed his eyes. "What is it with you and Weasleys?"

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Harry asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You scared the shit out of me."

Draco didn't feel the need to respond. They stared at one another for a long moment before Harry looked away first. He always did.

"Look, I was going to tell you," he began.

"I'm sure you were," Draco said. "I can picture it now: I receive a hastily written letter that reads, 'Dear Malfoy. Sorry I broke our agreement, but I've always been a hypocrite, and just assume everyone will forgive me anyway. Sincerely, Potter."

Potter stood up and took a step towards him. "That's not how it — I'm not a hypocrite!"

"You are and always have been," Draco countered, pushing himself off the doorframe and stepping into the room. "Poster boy for Dumbledore's special brand of willful ignorance and selective morality."

"Oh, you're one to talk!" Potter yelled, taking another step so that they were face to face. "I'd watch where I was throwing those stones if I were you, Malfoy; I'm not the one who switched sides when the tides started to turn."

"At least I made my own choice," Draco said, his voice low and quiet. "At least I chose not to be led around by the man convinced he could write my destiny for me."

There was a flash of movement, and for a moment, Draco thought Potter was going to punch him. He drew his wand and leaped back, his muscles finding a dueling stance without his mind ever acknowledging the instruction. In the space of a breath, they were facing one another, wands drawn, hearts pounding.

"What are you going to do?" Draco drawled, a smile creeping across his dry lips. "Hex me until you feel you've regained the moral high ground?"

Potter took a deep breath and straightened. He tossed his wand onto the bed and deliberately turned his back to Draco. "I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," he said.

Slowly, Draco allowed his body to relax, his wand arm to drop to his side, though his fingers still fisted the ebony so that his knuckles were white. He knew he should go. There was nothing to be gained by remaining, no honor in as much as admitting defeat by continuing the conversation, but his feet remained rooted to the floor.

Potter sat on the edge of the bed again, rubbing his hand over his face. Draco could just make out the faint outline of the words carved into his skin there. I will not tell lies...

"What do I do?" Harry asked. He looked up at Draco, his expression set in stone, a look Draco remembered from long nights, years ago, as someone read a casualty report or talked tactics for the following morning. "We said we'd leave the dead to the dead," he said, "but there are ghosts waiting for me everywhere here. Bill Weasley is only one."

"Bill Weasley is a grief-stricken fool," Draco spat, more vehemently than he'd intended. "He wants everyone to suffer because he suffers, wants the world to burn because he's been burned."

"Sounds familiar," Harry said.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco retorted. "You've never wanted the world to burn. You want to fix it. To save it. If it were up to you, we'd all be up to our eyeballs in rainbows and puppies."

Harry snorted, then said, "I wasn't talking about me."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"The thing is," Harry continued, "I saved the world. And now that's how they all see me. The guy who saved the world. Why shouldn't they expect me to do it again?"

"Because that's rubbish," Draco replied. He paused, then sat on the foot of the bed, trying to touch as little as possible. "You didn't perform some miracle. You killed a man. End of story."

Harry shook his head. "That's why I like you, Draco. You don't mince your words."

"You asked what you do," Draco said. "You tell them to fuck off is what you do."

"Be like you, you mean," Harry said. "Sever all ties."

"Are you saying they aren't severed already?"

Harry sat very still for a moment. "No," he said. "If they were, Bill wouldn't have asked me to go, and I wouldn't have said yes." He stood up and began throwing clothes into the suitcase that had missed the first time.

"That's it then," Draco said, standing. "Good to know where things stand." Harry looked up at him quizzically. "You'll keep a promise to Bill Weasley, but not to me," Draco clarified.

"I can do both," Harry said. "I'm not going to get sucked in—"

"You already are," Draco said. With the angry snap of a sudden Disapparation, he was gone.