Incendium

CHAPTER THREE: Confrontation

Harry shivered in the cold, dim hallways of a nocturnal Hogwarts. He was listlessly wandering the empty corridors, taking a flight of stairs here and there, not particularly paying attention to where he was going. He wasn't frightened of bumping into Filch or Mrs. Norris, as he wasn't out past curfew... yet. His mind was most definitely elsewhere.

Malfoy's surprise visit to the Owlery that afternoon had brought something painful to Harry's attention. He now remembered exactly why it was that compassion for Malfoy was so detestable to him when he had felt it first. Malfoy was his enemy, and for a very good reason. Ever since Harry refused Malfoy's hand on the Hogwarts Express, Malfoy had been making Harry and his friends' lives miserable. He teased, insulted, harassed, affronted, mocked, and ridiculed Harry, Ron and Hermione incessantly, to the point when it felt strange to let even a day pass without Malfoy's snide remarks. He made it his mission - nay, his duty - to show up Harry's magical powers whenever he could, even in the slightest of ways. He sneered publicly at Ron's hand-me-down robes and brooms, calling the Weasley family poor in front of as many people possible. He had called Hermione a Mudblood more times than Harry dared to count - once was enough for lifelong enmity.

Then why do I still see something else in him? Harry wondered to himself. He knew he should hate Malfoy for all the things he'd ever done to his friends - there were many to back him up - but his compassion was confusing him. Compassion was something inherent in Harry. He knew intrinsically not to judge people on their past mistakes, or for their face value, because often times he was wrong. Harry had never given this consideration to Malfoy, but having heard such a poignant monologue made Harry wonder whether he should. He couldn't just ignore what he had heard - it was something that Harry could understand and empathize with.

The familiarity Harry felt with Malfoy's feelings was probably what annoyed him the most. Maybe if he didn't understand what Malfoy meant by the 'pressure of expectation' or 'unloving, so-called family members', he would be able to ignore the Slytherin's monologue and get on with his life. This was not the case. Harry felt compelled to share in Malfoy's grief, but equally as compelled to stick by his friends' hatred.

Harry stopped suddenly in mid-pace, closed his eyes, and sighed loudly. As it stood, Harry knew two facts in Malfoy's defence: that Malfoy's mean streak probably stemmed from something other than innate evil - as Harry and his friends had always assumed - and that he could commiserate with Malfoy about some of his closest-held emotions. This, coupled with Harry's forgiving nature, made Harry shake his head and groan inwardly. Everyone deserves a second chance, he thought to himself, even if your name is Draco Malfoy.

Having made this resolution, Harry gathered himself and looked around. He had somehow made his way to the Ravenclaw dormitories on the sixth floor of the Southern wing, a good ten or fifteen minutes' trek back to Gryffindor Tower. He sighed and turned in the opposite direction, hurrying through the empty corridors. His decision to give Malfoy a chance, though it was very generous and compassionate, disconcerted Harry, and he wanted to sleep on it and give his mind a rest.

Harry rounded the next corner quickly with his head bent in concentration, and collided with a large, sturdy object. He staggered backwards from the force of the impact and looked up to see Draco Malfoy looking just as stunned as Harry. As soon as he regained his footing, Harry straightened himself up and tried to maintain a level eye with Malfoy.

"Watch where you're going, would you Potter?" Draco sneered, brushing imaginary dirt from his robes. Harry winced slightly and tried to keep his resolve.

"Sorry, Malfoy, I wasn't watching where I was going," Harry assented. Draco squinted at Harry, trying to find a hidden agenda amongst the nicety.

"Damn right you weren't. What are you doing out this late, anyway? Shouldn't you be in your common room talking with your little friends?" Malfoy prodded, trying to gain some response from his usually active enemy.

Harry bit back a quick "I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy" and sighed. "I was thinking to myself. It's not past curfew yet, so I thought I'd get some time alone before going to bed." Draco stood, puzzled, and tried once more to incite a reaction from Harry.

"Thinking? About what? Your oh-so precious but oh-so dead parents?" At the mention of his parents, Harry couldn't hold himself back any longer.

"What the fuck would you know about my parents, Malfoy?" He asked angrily, balling and unballing his fists to keep himself from punching Malfoy in the nose. Draco smiled wryly at the other boy's profane outburst.

"And, if I may I be so bold, what the fuck would you know about your parents, Potter?" Harry then stepped quickly to Malfoy and threw his right fist into the boy's face. Draco staggered backwards and his face contorted in pain before he quickly hid it behind his hands. Harry suddenly realized what he had done and immediately felt sorry; mostly for breaking his resolve, but also for the blood trickling from Malfoy's nose. Draco composed himself and stood upright, glaring at Harry through narrowed eyes. Harry groped in his mind for words, but instead produced a scarlet-coloured handkerchief and handed it to Malfoy. Draco snatched the handkerchief and held it to his nose.

"Sorry," Harry blurted, taking a concerned step forwards. Draco's eyes flickered in fear, but he didn't move. "Are you okay?"

"You're joking, Potter. You just broke my fucking nose, do you think I'm okay?"

Harry sighed in exasperation and snapped, "Stop it, Malfoy."

"Stop what? Bleeding? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to inconvenience you by bleeding when you punched me."

"Stop... doing this."

"Potter, you're not making much sense here..."

"Stop pretending."

"You know, Potter," Draco said, dabbing at his nose, which had stopped bleeding but was still very bloody. "I never thought you were particularly bright, but I never thought you were stupid enough to think that I was pretending to bleed."

"I don't mean the bleeding. I'm sorry about that. I mean stop pretending to be this... evil, vindictive person." Malfoy pushed his eyebrows into a confused V-shape.

"What? Potter, I think you've gone completely insane. I have no idea what you're talking about." Harry sighed and took a deep breath. He had already opened his mouth; why bother trying to go back on it now?

"You, Malfoy! I'm talking about you. You're not who everyone thinks you are. You're not who you pretend to be. You pretend to be this horrid person, when really you're just frightened. You've got more pressure on you than you can handle and the only way you get through it is to put people down. Somewhere inside you there's someone who just wants to make real friends and have real relationships... real parents. You're bound by what people expect of you and... and... and you're a fool, Malfoy, and I pity you." Draco had stopped dabbing his nose and stood in front of Harry, crimson blood spread under his nose. His expression revealed nothing, but his grey eyes displayed his utter bewilderment at Harry's outburst. Before long, he remembered himself, spat into Harry's handkerchief, and wiped his nose free of blood. When he was sure there was only a vague red tint to his nose, Malfoy straightened himself and levelled his gaze with Harry.

"How very astute of you, Potter; I had no idea you were so perceptive."

Harry sighed. "Perceptivity has nothing to do with it, Malfoy -"

"Oh, well then, I'll make sure I never attribute the trait to you again."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "I heard you the other night... when you were writing the letter to your father."

"How -"

"I fed you a stupid truth serum, you dolt." Harry sighed and ran both his hands through his already messy hair. "I heard everything you said. I know why you're so mean, Malfoy." This time, both Malfoy's face and eyes betrayed the shock that pervaded his body. He shoved Harry's handkerchief in his pocket and pulled up his steely front again.

"Well, I admire your gall, Potter. Sneaking out after dark just to feed me a stupid serum. I suppose Granger concocted the potion in question. Poor girl, you've got her running all your dirty little schemes for you."

"Look, Malfoy, would you just stop this?"

"I'm not doing anything, Potter."

"Don't give me that shit, Malfoy. You're just pretending to be someone you're not; someone expectations have created for you. I know this isn't who you really are, so stop trying to convince me of it!"

A silence drifted through the empty hallways while the two boys stared at each other. Malfoy thinned his eyes and pursed his lips, glaring angrily at Harry. Harry held his gaze and lifted his chin slightly.

"You're a fucking prick, Potter. What gives you the right to say this to me? What makes you think you have the fucking right to pull something so... personal from me?"

Harry broke the tense eye contact and looked down. He wrung his hands nervously at what he was about to say, and looked up at Malfoy, whose expression was expectant and his eyes inquisitive.

"Because I know exactly what it feels like," Harry said slowly and quietly, watching the demanding expression melt from Malfoy's face into one of quiet concern and compassion. Harry looked away again, unable to meet Malfoy's eyes any longer. He was sure that even though Malfoy had looked compassionate, he would never act on it. He'd probably shoot him down, tread all over his confession, and then proudly display his findings tomorrow morning to the Slytherin breakfast table.

Harry sighed, resigned to his fate, and looked up. Draco was not scowling, however, but had closed the space between them with a confident step forward and was reaching for Harry's face with his hand. Before Harry could fully comprehend what was happening, Draco's lips pressed against his own firmly. Harry, however, was frozen in shock; his eyes still open and his mouth unmoving. Draco moved his lips slightly; enticing Harry's to do the same. Harry gulped and closed his eyes, moving his own lips gently against Draco's. Draco's hand wound its way through Harry's raven locks, gently pulling Harry's head closer to his own.

Then, something wrenched painfully inside Harry's stomach and he leapt back from Draco.

"Wh... What was that?" Harry stuttered awkwardly, nearly tripping over his feet as he stumbled backwards.

"A kiss, Potter," Draco said gently.

"What... Why did you do that?"

"I thought... isn't that what you were telling me?"

"Why the fuck would I want that from you, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, almost immediately regretting it. Draco lifted his chin defiantly, and Harry knew instantly he was drawing up his guard again. Taking a sharp breath in, Draco thinned his eyes.

"Very well, Potter," he said, straightening his robes, "have it your way."

Without giving Harry the chance to say a word in his defence, Draco stormed past Harry, thrusting the bloody, scarlet handkerchief into his chest.

++++++++++

Hermione was the only one in the common room as Harry entered, reading through her Standard Book of Spells Grade 7 in the amber glow of the fire. She looked up at the sound of the Fat Lady closing behind Harry. Instantly she looked concerned at the vague expression on Harry's face and closed her book.

"Harry! Where have you been? You just disappeared after dinner, and nobody knew -" She stopped herself and gasped softly as her eyes settled on Harry's bloodstained hands. "Harry," she said, standing up and moving quickly towards Harry.

"It's okay, Hermione, it's not my blood."

"And that makes it okay?" She dragged Harry to the big, comfy couch, tightly gripping his wrist. She sat him down and took the handkerchief from him. "Whose blood is it?" She asked softly, looking at Harry in concern. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Malfoy's." Hermione tisked and folded the handkerchief gingerly into a neat square.

"What happened, Harry?" Harry rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't really up to explaining any of what had happened between him and Malfoy, but he knew Hermione wouldn't take 'nothing' for an answer.

"I punched him in the nose for some crack he made about my parents," Harry said bluntly, his eyes still closed against Hermione's inquisitive gaze. He could hear her sigh, and she laid the handkerchief back on his hands. He gripped it tightly, bracing himself for Hermione's inevitable scolding.

"Harry," she began in a warning tone, "you should know better than to do things like that. Especially to Malfoy. He's going to tell everyone, you realize that? He'll go straight to Snape as soon as he gets back to the dungeons and tell him what you've done. God, Harry, not even saving the school from a Basilisk would make up for the points Snape's going to take from us for this one. Not to mention you're going to be in detention through the Christmas holidays!" Harry opened his eyes and put a bloody hand on Hermione's arm. She glanced at his hand and noticed, thankfully, that the blood had dried. She wondered vaguely what Harry had been doing with the handkerchief to get his hands so dirty.

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. Malfoy's not going to tell anyone."

Hermione sputtered for a moment. "But... but... come on, Harry, nobody could miss a big bruise on Malfoy. Even a paper cut stands out on that boy's pallid skin."

"Don't worry, Hermione, I assure you this won't be a big deal. Unless, of course, you tell Snape I punched him." Hermione sat up straight, looking mildly offended.

"I'm not that foolish, Harry." Harry removed his hand from Hermione's arm, leaving some flecks of dried blood that she hastily brushed away, and looked over at the fire. "Now, I'm going to bed. You should probably get to bed soon, too. Ron told me you have a quiz in Divination tomorrow." Harry grimaced at the mention of schoolwork; he had barely scraped by this week because of his constant distraction. "Goodnight," Hermione said, picking up her book and standing up.

"'Night Hermione," Harry replied without moving his eyes. Hermione sighed curtly to herself and strode off towards the spiral staircase. As soon as Harry could no longer hear her footsteps climbing the stairs, he grabbed a pillow and fell down on the couch into the foetal position. Now that he was alone, his mind was free to wander.

There was no denying it, not even to himself - the kiss had been good. He had never been kissed like that before, even though his repertoire only included one experimental kiss with Hermione in sixth year, and an unfortunate snog-fest with Katie Bell after the last Quidditch game of fifth year. Both experiences had been good and bad, but for very different reasons. The snog-fest with Katie was something that had little to do with... well, anything, really, except a prodigious victory over the Slytherins. Harry also suspected it had something to do with the little scar on his forehead, but at the time he didn't seem to mind what her motivations were. The kiss with Hermione was good, insomuch that it confirmed to them both that there was no hidden feelings lurking there; however, it did have them in awkward silences for a month or so afterwards, until they finally confessed their secret to Ron.

The kiss with Draco was totally different. It was innocent and personal, something that they shared out of a mutual understanding rather than exploration or hormones. Whether he liked it or not, Harry knew the kiss meant something; what it meant, exactly, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was the beginning of something. He knew Malfoy had let down his closely monitored guard to share the kiss with him, and it would be difficult to compel him to do so again. But - was that what he wanted? It was just one kiss, something that could easily be written off as temporary insanity. Besides which, it was Draco Malfoy. A boy to whom Harry had been a sworn enemy until an hour ago. There's no way I could possibly want to kiss him again, Harry thought rationally to himself, but found his mind drifting back to the jolt of electricity he had felt when Draco's lips had met his.

Harry groaned aloud to himself and covered his face with his hands, which were still holding his scarlet, blood-soaked handkerchief. His stomach wrenched again and he felt sick. Even though he knew that Malfoy wouldn't tell anyone about what had happened in front of the Ravenclaw dormitories, he couldn't help worrying that the Grey Lady had been floating around and seen them. Harry didn't even want to consider the consequences of the news getting around. Nobody would understand...

And without another conscious thought, Harry's mind floated into his imagination and didn't turn back.