Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.
Chapter 14
Chapter Summary:
Draco received news he never wanted to hear, and comfort from someone who never wanted to comfort.
Posted:
12/04/2002
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“I don’t wanna be
Going through the motions
Losing all my drive
I can’t even see if this is really me
And I just wanna be alive
Will I stay this way forever,
Sleepwalk through my life's endeavor?
”
--Sarah Michelle Gellar “Going Through the Motions”
Draco was surprised that even by the next week, Harry had apparently not told.
That didn’t mean that he didn’t remember.
He went as far as to trade partners in Physical Combat, and he refused to speak, except when absolutely necessary during Potions Class, and sometimes even not then. He never looked him in the eye, never responded to anything; the truce between them turned to simple hatred from Harry and embarrassment from Draco.
It was right around then that Hogwarts started to become an endless hell that Draco could barely get through. The days seemed months long, and the nights far too short and lonely. The Famous Witches and Wizards card was frayed and damaged, and Draco had already opened all the chocolate frogs from Halloween and had found no more Harry Potters.
Christmas was drawing closer, and people were preparing to rush home again, working frantically at their homework so it would be a relatively stress-free vacation. Draco went slower on his own work, meaning his grades improved radically. ‘Daddy will be proud,’ Draco thought glumly as Professor McGonagall praised him on his turn around.
The letters from his mother had stopped abruptly, and his pleas for contact were to no avail. Pansy constantly hinted at their future marriage, and had more than once tried to sit him down for a talk about his future and how many children he wanted. Blaise had become obsessed with the Dark Arts, and there was no doubt in Draco’s mind he was either part of the Death Eaters, or very close to it.
Soon enough, Draco became a machine—he was going through the motions, but never allowing anything to register with him. The pain of his rejection still burned coldly in his heart, and whenever his mind traveled over to Halloween night, and the broom closet, and the frigidness that Harry had emitted, he winced and writhed inwardly. No longer could he dare entertain the idea that he and Harry could be friends.
But there was a silver lining to the thunderstorm. Harry had kept silent. That simple action made life tolerable. The books Draco was reading nonstop made it livable. He had even begun to read some Muggle books, staying away from any fantasy. He had a liking for some of the American science fiction he picked up, and his copy of Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card was only a couple weeks old, but the binding was already well worn. These books found refuge under his mattress. Should anyone discover he was reading Muggle books on his free time, he could just imagine the reactions.
School had become to rote he was barely conscious through half of them, yet still managed to pull good grades.
What he did in the space between his reading and his classes was watch, and listen, and learn more and more about the situation in the wizarding world.
Fudge, the pompous moron they had put in charge of the MOM, seemed to still want to think Voldemort’s return was nothing but a rumor. The papers had gone crazy over the summer when some kid from Hogwarts had let it be known that Dumbledore had said that Cedric Diggory had been killed by Voldemort.
Otherwise, the loyalty of the MOM was appearing to be wavering, and, like typical politicians, they seemed to be more concerned with their statuses than with fighting a war. Public opinion of them was waning, and if they weren’t careful, they would find that once they woke up and grasped that they needed the support of the people, it would be too late.
Draco spent hours wondering which would be the winning side. No doubt Voldemort could have done amazing things with the power he had amassed before his downfall, but he hadn’t been given the proper time. And this time around, the Ministry would know what to expect.
But so would Voldemort. He was mortal, but only for a short while. Soon enough he would repeat the countermeasures that kept him alive fourteen years ago, and it would become near impossible to defeat him.
Maybe it would be best to surrender to Voldemort, and then unseat him once he was in power. A coup, of sorts. Both ways, it was going to be bloody, and lives would be spent like autumn leaves. But against his better judgment, Draco yearned to be on Harry’s side, even though his side was bound to be filled with Muggle lovers and Mudbloods.
Researching Magical Warfare became a topic of interest for him, and with his Wizard’s Chess board, a gift that was wasted on him since he had no idea how to play, he set up elaborate battles between the white and black pieces. He trained the small, but elaborate, playing pieces to act out these battles, and after a while, he figured that it was possible for the good side, or the white side on the chessboard, to win, but there would be a lot of deaths.
All this activity served the simple purpose of assuaging his pain and grief over Harry. Sometimes he would wander down to the kitchens, and discreetly ask Dobby about Harry. He always received the same answer: both boys were lost. Soon enough he became frustrated with that answer, and would leave in a furious mood.
But he was also becoming worried. His mother hadn’t written him at all. The newspapers hadn’t made a peep about where his father was. Draco had long since sent off a letter asking for an invisibility cloak, but beyond that, there was no contact between Draco and his family.
In the middle of November, he was getting dressed to go down to the Great Hall, dreading Potions since he and Harry would have to test a Babbling Potion on each other and with his luck, Harry would sabotage the mixture.
When Draco entered the Great Hall, there was a hush. People swiveled around in their seats to look at him. A sense of foreboding similar to a wrecking ball hit him in the stomach, and he took a step back.
Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall saw him from the front of the Hall and rushed forward. McGonagall’s face was pinched and worried, while Snape and Dumbledore’s expressions were guarded. Placing her hands on his shoulder, McGonagall led Draco from the Hall, saying, “Someone needs to speak with you.”
Through the castle, Draco was escorted by the teachers to a stone gargoyle. Dumbledore said in a stern voice, “Sugar quills,” and the gargoyle came to life and sprang to the side. Long, winding and moving stairs went straight up, and Draco was put on first, with the teachers behind him. Up and up they went, until Draco thought it was possible he was going to get a nosebleed before they reached their destination.
But finally, they did, and Dumbledore reached past Draco to open the door. In amazement, Draco entered, staring around the room. It was the first time he had been in Dumbledore’s office, and though he couldn’t stand the man, it gave him a bit of an adrenaline rush.
But the rush died upon seeing two Ministry of Magic official waiting by Dumbledore’s desk. One Draco recognized as Lilith McTiernan, head of the Council of Magic Law. The other man Draco recognized but couldn’t put a name to his face.
“Mr. Malfoy?” McTiernan said, putting out a hand. “My name is Lilith McTiernan, and this is my partner, Dimitri Rinaldi.” Draco shook the man’s hand as well and stepped back. Their grim faces made him uneasy.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a friendly visit for old time’s sake,” he said. McTiernan stepped back.
“Mr. Malfoy, there is no easy way to say this. I regret to inform you that your mother was found dead in your manor late last night.”
Draco stumbled. Not just with his feet, but somewhere, he felt his whole self stumbled. He stepped back from the bearers of the bad news, and was hit harshly in the back by a desk. But he welcomed the pain and almost wished for more, anything to grab his mind back from this hell.
“Mummy?” he whispered, calling to her. McGonagall whimpered and stepped forward, but the movement shocked Draco into action, and he turned and fled.
The winding corridors of Hogwarts, some with classes lining them, and others with only candles to illuminate the stone walls, provided Draco amble ability to run, run, run. Maybe with running he could run straight back to yesterday, away from the pounding in his ears and the numbness in his head.
Turn right, turn again, turn until he was probably running in the opposite direction.
Then down one corridor, he blindly slammed into someone. The shock sent him flying to his hands and knees, and he rested his forehead against the cold floor, telling the tears they couldn’t come, they had to wait until he could fly from Hogwarts.
Something soft hit Draco’s hand, and he glanced at it, his eyes burning. A Daily Prophet. Twinkling, bright headlines blinked at him lazily. “Narcissa Malfoy Found Dead! Work of Dark Arts Suspected!’ Everybody knew. Draco could hear the words of McTiernan and of the story before him shrieking in his head.
With a hint of desperateness, Draco covered his ears with his hands and opened his mouth in a silent scream.
Harry Potter, meanwhile, was being pulled to his feet by Granger and Weasel. They were silent, and Granger seemed torn between pity and hate.
“Are you okay, Fer-, Malfoy?” she asked nervously. Draco pulled himself up, away from the three of them, especially Harry, who was radiating heat. Draco wanted to fly at him and make him hold him, because he needed a friend horribly. With stumbling feet, he raced away from the three.
His next turn took him into a corridor with no candles, the only light from a solitary window on the other end. Draco leaned against the wall and collapsed, both his knees and head aching from his collision with Harry.
The tears finally came. They splashed against the stone, and his sobs echoed in the hallway. His mother. Was it his fault? Was she punished for something either he or Lucius did?
There was a surge of hatred for Lucius. The bastard probably didn’t even care.
The cold fear of what would happen to Draco now that he had no parents pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe.
Someone stepped into the hallway.
Draco needed to pull himself together, knowing the whole school would know by dinner about what had happened, but he didn’t need everyone to know that he had collapsed crying in a hallway.
The person stepped forward.
“Go…away…” Draco rasped. The person stood over Draco for a moment, and he could only bring himself to look at the person’s feet. The sneakers were covered partially by Hogwarts robes. “Go away!” Draco commanded again, rolling away from the feet and trying to climb to his own, ready to duel if need be.
“Draco?” a tentative voice said quietly. Potter. Oh saints, why, of all people, did Potter have to be here now? If he had come to complain about their tumble in the hall, or of the kiss in the closet, Draco was going to throw himself out the nearby window. “Are you okay?”
That horrible aching was wearing away at Draco, and he gasped out loud at how painful it was to roll on his back, the effort to stand too much.
“She’s dead. I bet…she always detested how deep my father is in the Dark Arts….I bet…she protested, so they killed her,” he said suddenly, and so roughly that Harry visibly jolted. “I bet Lucius did it. The bastard. He did it so I would have no where and no one to turn to.”
Harry seemed torn between disgust for the boy lying on the floor, and sympathy. Finally he dropped to his knees and Draco turned slightly to face him. His face was wrought with worry and sympathy.
“My mother is dead,” Draco whispered, his voice strained.
“So is mine,” Harry replied softly. Draco pulled himself up against the wall and drew his knees up. He felt so childish, but he was drawn to Harry more because, for once in either of their lives, they were connected by something intense. Harry has had to deal with the death of his parents for 15 years, while Draco had only 15 minutes. As Draco thought about it, he started to cry again, burying his face in his knees and weeping for what he had lost.
Then Harry did something unexpected.
He draped his arm around Draco and began to whisper comforting things. The arm that had flinched away from Draco for the last month now rested gently on Draco’s shoulders. Harry leaned against him, as if trying to pass strength to him. The hall was completely silent save Draco’s quiet, constant sobs.
Finally, he wiped at his eyes and laughed weakly. “Guess why I’m so upset,” he said quietly to Harry. Harry shrugged.
“Why?” Draco tried to ignore how good Harry smelled.
“Because…there isn’t anyone to love me anymore. My mum pretty much had that covered.” The words sounded ridiculous to Draco, and he laughed a bit, a hollow, empty laugh that got lost in his mouth and turned into a sob. But Harry stared at the wall opposite them,
“That’s not true,” he whispered shyly.
“Yes, it is,” Draco said forcibly. “Everyone hates me. You certainly hate me, everyone else hates me. And I don’t have other family. I’m just a pitiful little fag…”
Harry had turned to Draco and was studying him. Then he did something unexpected.
He reached forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s, silencing Draco’s pitiful arguments. The kiss was slow and innocent. Harry obviously was just as surprised he was doing it, and Draco was too shocked to kiss back at first.
It was brief but delightful. Every nerve ending in Draco lit up and danced with happiness and delight, and he lifted a hand to link fingers with Harry’s free hand. On Harry's lips, Draco could taste his own salty tears
When Harry pulled away, he bit his lip and pulled away from Draco, then buried his face in his knees. Draco began to ponder whether or not it was wrong to kiss someone when you are supposed to be grieving. They sat in shocked silence for a few moments, and then Harry stood, his face burning and said, very formally, “I have to get back to Ron and Hermione. I am sorry about your mum.” Then he left.
Draco felt a tiny surge of anger against Harry. What kind of game was he trying to pull? First he says he wants nothing to do with Draco, next he’s kissing him and holding him? It was ridiculous, it was infuriating…
It was magical.
--
Draco stumbled back to his dorm, and collapsed onto his bed, where he wept quietly until he was too exhausted to do anything but curl into a tiny ball and wish that it didn’t have to be the death of his mother that had made Harry reach out to him. And he was angry, because he was sure that Harry had kissed him out of pity.
Late that night, he left his dorm, not being able to stand how Blaise sat and waited for him to emerge. As he wandered the hallways, tears came to his eyes again, and he swiped at them furiously. The skin beneath his eyes was dotted with broken blood vessels, a testament to the extent of his crying.
‘Get a grip on yourself!’ he shouted at himself. ’You’re a Malfoy, for heaven’s sake! You are part of the most powerful family. You can make it through this!’
“Mr. Malfoy.” Draco started, and realized he had inadvertently wandered to near Dumbledore’s office. He couldn’t remember whether or not he meant to do it, but it didn’t matter now. Dumbledore was standing before him, holding a package.
“Professor!” Draco exclaimed, prepared to come up with an explanation, but Dumbledore quieted him.
“No need to explain, Mr. Malfoy. Sometimes late night walks are the best to take.” He held the package out to Draco, and Draco warily took it. “Ms. McTiernan gave this to me to give to you,” Dumbledore explained, studying Draco, who was playing forlornly with the twine that tied it, “because you ran out so fast. It was found in your manor, and it is believed to be your birthday present.” Draco undid the strings, and as the paper fell open, Draco found himself holding the silky fabric of an invisibility cloak. Folded within the material was a small piece of parchment.
‘Whatever mischievous activity you manage to get yourself into with this gift, know that it comes from someone who will always love you. Love you, your mother.’ Draco began to cry again, but silently, so the tears fell into the fabric and disappeared. Dumbledore watched quietly, while Draco clutched the note to his chest and relived the last day over again.
Once the tears had subsided a bit, Dumbledore reached out and touched Draco’s shoulder. “I’m not normally the crying type,” Draco forced out. Dumbledore smiled kindly.
“If this isn’t a time to shed tears, then when is, and what are tears for?” he said comfortingly.
“May I keep this?” Draco said, holding it up. Dumbledore folded his hands and nodded.
“I believe only one other student has such a beautiful cloak,” he said, with a knowing wink.
“Who?” Draco inquired.
“Why, I believe Mr. Potter.” And with that, he swept away. Draco watched him go, and then looked at the cloak in his hands. He shoved the paper into his pocket and let the cloak fall open. It shimmered in the faint light from the dying torches on the walls, and when he swept it over his shoulders. Instantly his body disappeared, and when he pulled the hood over himself, he could feel his body, but couldn’t see it. It was eerie but comforting; finally he was successfully invisible from everyone, a feat he had been aiming for since the school year started.
For the next couple days, it was unofficially known that Draco wasn’t expected to show up to classes. He spent most his time in the classes he was missing, except under the cover of his invisibility cloak. Any time someone approached him, he made it crystal clear that he didn’t want to talk about his mother, or speculate on who did it. It was common knowledge that her murder was connected with the Dark Arts, and some went as far as to accuse Lucius, oblivious the fact that Draco was almost dead sure it was either Voldemort or Lucius in a desperate attempt to silence her from trying to stop Draco from joining the Death Eaters.
How he burned over that. His nights and days were plagued with thoughts of betrayal, and he constantly went over a plan to murder Lucius with his own hands. The bastard hadn’t even tried to contact Draco in any way.
The only thing that kept Draco from going mad with hatred was seeing Harry. The boy was painfully shy around Draco now, speaking in soft tones and never meeting his eyes. No doubt, he was worried Draco was mad, or had told.
Finally, he made a move.
Draco was walking to Potions through the foyer when Harry caught up with him. “We need to talk,” he said, pointing to the very same broom closet they had used on Halloween. Reluctantly, Draco followed him, and waited by nervously as Harry carefully shut the door.
“Listen, Harry, about that night,” started Draco, but Harry shook his head.
“No, just listen to me, okay? That night, you were upset and I wanted to…comfort you and I did what I thought you would like. But you have to look where I am coming from…I have no idea what I am doing.”
“Neither do I,” interrupted Draco. “And I am not asking you to marry me. All I want is to know that you felt something.”
“I don’t know!” Harry said, exploding. “You are the first person, much less guy, I have ever kissed. We’ve been arch enemies for five years, and now all of a sudden we’re dating? It’s too weird for me! I don’t know how I am supposed to react.”
“So you felt nothing?” Draco whispered, the beginnings of despair edging their way into his tone. Harry put a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes, sighing. Pursing his lips, he let out his breath slowly as he considered his answer, and Draco got the craving to kiss him again. He checked his urge and tried to concentrate on Harry.
Finally, Harry spoke. “I may have. I don’t know what I am supposed to feel.”
“We could try again,” Draco offered shyly. Colour crept to Harry’s cheeks, but he nodded. His stomach jumping and twisting, Draco stepped forward. The two boys stared at each other for a short period of time, then both began to move.
They met halfway, their heads tilted opposite ways and their eyes closed. Neither knew how to do it, and so they depended heavily on each other.
After a few seconds that seemed likes hours of innocence passed, Draco boldly slipped one hand to the back of Harry’s head, while he used his thumb on his free hand to slowly pry Harry’s lips apart.
Harry froze as Draco slipped his tongue into the warm comfort of Harry mouth, but he never pulled away, and soon him melted into the kiss, his own tongue playing teasingly with Draco’s, and making soft noises in his throat as he reached around and pulled Draco to him. Their bodies pressed against each other, and the temperature in the broom closet rose sharply.
Within moments, the kiss was ended as both boys pulled back, but remained in their embrace. Their breaths came out in short gasps, and the basked in the afterglow of the kiss.
Draco brought one hand to touch Harry’s lips, and a single finger to trace their curve, touch his nose.
“Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice shuddering. Draco shushed him and brushed his lips against his once more. “No one can know,” Harry said.
“I know.”
“Ron and Hermione are waiting.”
“I know.” Neither made a move to break the embrace, but finally Harry did, however reluctantly. With one last glance, he slipped away to meet his friends. Draco lingered, listening to his own breathing, and wondering where something like this could go.
‘Forget that,’ he told himself, leaving the closet as well. ‘Think only of the kiss.’
When Draco arrived back at his common room, Blaise was sitting with a group of Slytherins by the fire, and they all were speaking in hushed tones until he entered. They gave him calculating looks, and looks of pity ill-disguised as curiosity.
When Blaise saw him, he beckoned Draco to join them, and unenthusiastically, Draco did, greeting the Slytherins gathered. They all watched him as he sat in a free armchair, and he delighted in the fact they had no idea he had just come back from kissing none other than Harry Potter.
“We were just discussing what the Dark Lord was doing now,” Blaise said, his voice low and secretive.
“Going the bathroom. How are we supposed to know?” Draco said, glancing around the circle. Some people smiled at his small joke, but lost the smile when Blaise spoke again.
“Of course, he’s building up his army,” replied Blaise, as if this was the most intelligent response anyone could come up with. Draco nodded, and everyone looked at him expectantly.
“Well?” a girl said, breaking the silence. Draco was confused and let that be known.
“Well, what? I don’t have the agenda of the Death Eaters up my pants.” Everyone chuckled.
“No, we all want to know if you are going to join,” the girl said, smiling at him. Rolling his eyes, Draco sighed.
“And what, break the family trait? Not likely,” he said. Everyone smiled and laughed, comforted to know that even though it was probable that Draco’s mother had been killed by Death Eaters, he was still loyal.
That night, Draco pressed his face into his pillow and wept silently for his mother. It wasn’t fair; he prayed she hadn’t known that she would be betrayed by her husband. He hoped she hadn’t seen or felt anything before her death. He prayed that they had given her a proper burial, since he couldn’t bring himself to go.
And as his tears soaked his pillow and his face became hard as they dried on his cheeks, he also wept for himself. He finally had Harry, but he couldn't find himself.