Golden Thread Of Trust

Golden Thread Of Trust

Chapter 3: Close To The Edge

When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You’re caught in a one way street
With the monsters in your head
When hopes and dreams are far away and
You feel like you can’t face the day

Let me be the one you call
If you jump I’ll break your fall...

Savage Garden - "Crash And Burn"

Draco woke up with a start the next morning and tried to remember his dream. It was something weird... That maze again, trees with branches rustling in the wind, a strange, whispering voice, dark shadows... and Harry Potter. Strange. In his dream, Harry had been friendly, and he never was friendly to Draco. No wonder, considering Draco’s behaviour all those years. In the dream Harry had been guiding him, and Draco’s carefully built walls had begun to crumble. He shuddered.
’I would never be weak in front of Harry. Um... Potter, I mean.’
Some of his classmates sat in the common room when he entered, but when they saw him their conversation ceased and they greeted him with an icy silence. He went up to the Great Hall and sat down by himself at the Slytherin table. He looked down at his breakfast and didn’t raise his eyes until he finished it.
’Another Sunday. What shall I do today? Same as always, study, of course. If I keep studying this much I’ll be bloody better than Granger,’ he thought bitterly. He went down to his dormitory and fetched his homework for Potions, Transfiguration and Study of Ancient Runes. Then he sat down at an empty table at the far end of the library and started working.

Harry sighed. For once, Hermione did not want to do homework, since she was very busy being with Ron. They had a long and difficult Potions essay to write, and he didn’t understand it one bit. He sighed again and went down to the library alone. When he spotted a lone figure at a table, an idea started to form in his mind. He had to find a way to get to know Malfoy, and this might just be the opportunity he had waited for.
"Hi," said Harry nervously.
"Hullo, Potter," Malfoy answered without looking up.
Harry took a deep breath.
"You’re pretty good at Potions, right?"
"Mhm," the blond answered noncommittally.
"You know this essay we’re supposed to write? I don’t understand anything, and I was wondering if you could help me?"
Draco looked up in amazement.
"Why don’t you ask Granger? No offence," he added.
It was a justified question, Harry thought. He made a face.
"She’s making out with Ron somewhere."
"Well, all right," said Malfoy and moved his things so Harry could sit down next to him.
They were supposed to write an essay on Veritaserum and it consisted of a lot of rare and complicated ingredients. When he was finished, Harry sighed contentedly.
"Thank you, I could never have managed that on my own."
"Welcome," Malfoy simply answered. "What are you doing in Transfiguration?"
"Um... Animagi, again," Harry answered.
"Us too. That one’s a little bit more difficult."
"Hmm. I think it sounds considerably easier."
They worked in silence for a while, then Malfoy suddenly said:
"I wonder why there’s so few animagi?"
"They say it’s very difficult and dangerous, and I think there’s a lot of unregistered animagi as well."
"You have experience of that, I suppose," said Malfoy and raised one eyebrow.
"So have you," Harry reminded him.
"Yeah, but that’s just one. You said ’a lot’."
"I know at least three more," said Harry casually.
Malfoy looked curious.
"But I’m not going to name them," he added. Did the other boy look a bit disappointed? But Harry didn’t want to reveal Sirius’ secret, at least not until he was free of his charges, and the exact circumstances around Peter Pettigrew’s supposed death weren’t commonly known either.
"My father was one."
"Really? What kind of animal?"
"A stag. His nickname was Prongs. Have you started Quidditch practice yet?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
"I’m not on the team anymore."
Harry looked startled.
"Why not?"
"Guess they didn’t want me anymore," Malfoy answered. There was no trace of emotion in his voice.
"Well, their mistake," said Harry carefully. "Don’t you miss flying?"
"Yes, I do," said Malfoy longingly. "But it’s not the same without Quidditch practice."
They finished their essays and Harry stood up.
"Thanks," he said.
"You owe me one," Malfoy answered with a small smile.

When Harry walked back to the portrait hole he wondered why he felt so uneasy. It felt like an odd sense of foreboding. Harry frowned. Professor Trelawney would be really proud of him, all right.

Draco watched Harry leave, and his smile faded. Little did Harry know that he would never be able to return that favour. By tomorrow it would be too late...

Harry’s anxiety grew all afternoon and all evening, and by bedtime he was so wound up that he couldn’t possibly sleep. He lay in bed, his mind whirling, and finally he got up and fetched his invisibility cloak. Leaving the door slightly ajar so the sound of it closing wouldn't wake his roommates, Harry walked aimlessly through the corridors, stopped and looked out of the window. The window was facing south, and Harry could see the lake far below. The rain fell and scattered the otherwise mirror-blank surface. A flash of lightning revealed a person standing by the edge of the cliff, next to the stairs, heavy robes billowing in the strong wind.
’He’s standing awfully close to the edge,’ Harry thought nervously. ’Wait! That silver-blond hair... Close to the edge... Oh no!’
"Accio Firebolt!"

He lifted his gaze from the rocky shore far, far beneath him and turned his face upwards. It was a stormy night, rain splashed on his cheeks, and his blond hair and robes were ruffled by the wind. This fall would only be the final part of a fall that begun a long time ago. He didn’t leave a letter. There was no one to read it; no one would miss him, and there was nothing to say. When he was younger he would imagine his own death, and how sad everyone would be, and how they would cry at his funeral. Children have so many illusions. They think that people care about other people just because they are human beings, but no; some people don’t count. A Malfoy on the wrong side, for example. It was time to end this, to escape the nightmare that was his life. He had thought about this a long time. There was nothing to hold him back. He was almost curious about what was going to happen. Maybe someone was waiting for him... Draco sighed. What if he became a ghost, haunting the boy’s bathroom? Moaning Malfoy. He almost chuckled. Am I insane? Death is only a new great adventure. Was this the right decision? Yes, life wasn’t worth it anymore. He took a deep breath and shifted his weight... And suddenly a voice called out through the storm.
"NO!"
Something flew past him and came to a halt in the air in front of him. Draco was so surprised that he took a few steps back, giving Harry enough room to dismount his broom and step between Draco and the edge. He grabbed Draco’s arms and pushed him further back, away from the jagged drop.
"Potter," he said between clenched teeth. "Get lost!"
"No! I won’t let you!"
Draco struggled to get loose, but Harry threw him down and pinned him to the ground.
"Why do you care?" Draco shouted, furious.
"It’s your fucking life, that’s why!" Harry shouted back, equally angry.
Draco stopped fighting, and fell back on the ground. Tears started to trickle down his cheeks. He hoped Harry wouldn’t notice. At least it was raining. He was taught never to be weak, and never when anyone could see it. But no, it was too late to hold it back. Harry heard a couple of quiet sobs, and he didn’t know what to do.
"It’s all right," he said gently.
"No, it’s not," Draco hissed.
"It will be," Harry promised.
"It’s too late!" Draco sobbed, and began crying for real this time.
Harry wanted to comfort him, so he put an arm around the other boy’s shoulders. Eventually, when Draco’s crying subsided, Harry said:
"We should get you inside. You’re completely soaked."
"Who cares?"
"I care."
He helped Draco get up and grabbed his broomstick. He walked Draco back to the Slytherin dormitories in the dungeons.
"You sure you’ll be all right?"
Draco dropped his eyes and nodded.
"See you," said Harry and headed back to his own dormitory.

Harry remembered his second year at Hogwarts, when everyone thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin. He remembered how good it felt to have someone who believed in him and trusted him. How good it felt to have friends. What would it be like to face it alone, like Malfoy had to? Harry didn’t quite understand why everyone hated him. He didn’t. But Malfoy always seemed so strong and self-sufficient. Could that be all? Was that enough to make him suicidal? He had to find out if he wanted to save him.

Monday morning came, and during the day Harry started to form a plan. After dinner he made up an excuse for Ron and Hermione, who barely noticed, and went in the direction of the dungeons. Halfway there he hid partially behind a suit of armour and waited. When Malfoy eventually passed by, Harry grabbed his sleeve and pulled him with him into an empty classroom.
"Wha..." Malfoy began, but Harry interrupted him.
"Shh."
He checked that no one had seen them and closed the door.
"We need to talk."
"I don’t need to talk to you," Malfoy answered irritably.
"Please," Harry said. "You know I won’t tell anyone."
Silence.
"All right," he said finally. "What do you want?"
"Why did you do it?"
"It’s none of your business!"
"I’m making it my business," Harry stated.
Draco didn’t know what it was that persuaded him to unburden his mind to Harry, perhaps it was just that someone was willing to listen. He started pacing.
"Do you know what it’s like to make a sacrifice, Potter? To let go of the things that you treasure the most? Voldemort wasn’t happy with my father’s actions the years when he was thought to be dead, as you know. He had to prove his loyalty again and again. Voldemort had his eyes on our family all the time, searching for the slightest trace of disloyalty. And then I had enough of it; I refused to become a Death Eater and stayed at Hogwarts. His vengeance came quickly. He couldn’t get me, but he killed my mother and father and destroyed my childhood home. And it was my fault."
"No, Draco! It wasn’t your fault. It was Voldemort’s fault! You did the right thing."
"What is the right thing?"
"Voldemort was evil. You turned away from that."
"I know it was the right thing to do, that’s why I did it. Because I believed that perhaps justice exists, and loyalty, and courage. So I did ’the right thing’. And you know what? There is no fucking difference! There’s only pain."
"No, there’s not," said Harry softly. "There’s trust... and friendship."
"Not for a Malfoy."
"Yes, I believe there is."
"Potter, have you been using your eyes?"
"Have you been using your eyes?" Harry replied.
Malfoy was quiet for a while.
"Are you offering me your friendship?"
"Yes," Harry replied and held out his hand.
Both boys were acutely aware of the similarity to the situation six years ago, on the train. But now they were two very different people, and Draco took Harry’s hand and pressed it.
"Can I call you Harry, then?" he asked.
"Of course, if I can call you Draco," Harry said, and smiled.
Draco smiled back. It was a very small smile, but a genuine one.