Breathe Again
By OracleVortex
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Harry Potter etc. Blah.
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It was a bitter day, a harsh day, and one that I had no care to attend, let alone celebrate. It was our 7th year graduation at Hogwarts, hardly something to break out the wine for. Although, on a second thought, perhaps wine would dull the sourness of it all.
It was during the revered moment of silence, in which we honoured the dead, that I allowed my gaze to wander the hall. There he was. Harry Potter. Saviour of the wizarding world. The raven-haired 17-year old sat at the end of the table, unusually close to the doors. For once, he and I were diagonal from each other.
He glanced up almost lazily, eyes meeting mine. I found myself starting into emerald orbs, blank and empty, endlessly tired. I blinked and he was once more examining folded hands in his lap.
The last three years have been especially hard on him. I know, I can see it and feel the change in the Boy-Who-Lived, and lives, despite all odds. Potter managed to defeat Voldemort last year, and had been dealing with rogue outcrops of evil wizards since then. Contrary to his appearance, Potter was quite the powerful caster, and could stand up to two of the Unforgivable Curses, and deal out deadly curses and hexes easily. Much rested on his shoulders.
Another thing I had noticed about him was how he seemed to be losing energy, willpower, and the very centre of his bones. Sure, he was capturing outlaws left and right, but he was no longer doing it with feeling. It was as if the grief and despair of everything had overwhelmed him, had taken control and set him on auto-fight. Less and less I heard the Golden Child's laughter. Less and less I saw his smile. Less and less I verbally sparred with him; he put no thought into it and just stared at me.
Potter didn't play Quidditch anymore, either. He was too busy. Between studying for classes and saving the world, his passion for the wizarding game was squelched and his social life, the pathetic thing that it was, was lost. After graduation, he was rumoured to be working for the Ministry, as an Auror, hunting rogue wizards and basically doing what he had been…except for money. Potter, being the blasted saint that he was, had probably accepted, feeling that it was his duty. His duty.
The essences of Harry Potter were lost, sacrificed to duty and responsibility. It wasn't his fault that he was born who he was, that his were the parents that faced He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, that it was he who had power enough to defeat Him again and again! It wasn't his fault, it wasn't his job, and it wasn't his obligation. And I hate it that things have made it seem so. I hate it. Don't get me wrong, I hate him too, but going onto the grounds and seeing him just standing beside the lake, silently gazing into nowhere…it infuriated me.
There's a saying; hold your friends close, and your enemies even closer. And I realize that, because I have no true friends, I have treated Potter like both. Considering this, I think that I noticed the change in Potter even before his friends did. I used to relish the fiery exchanges between us, the verbal shots, the nasty glares, everything. By the glint in his eyes and the jaunty set of his jaw, I had known that he had valued it too. Personally, I think my purpose in life is to keep him on his toes, to keep him feeling and breathing and paranoid. It's bloody hard to do that when he takes on an apathetic personality.
The moment Dumbledore started the feast was the moment that Potter disappeared. Many probably assumed that he had been called away, to fight crime and whatnot, but I knew better. I was staring at him, after all, musing his change. I knew he had escaped. Escaped to that bloody lake again.
I slipped away as soon as I could, discarding the painfully cheerful banquet for a chilly walk on the grounds. I followed the main path unhurriedly, gooseflesh rising on the back of my neck. Then I saw him there. Again he was standing beside the blasted lake, just staring. Just staring.
An angry fire flared within me, and I stalked over to where he stood, taking a personal satisfaction in the snapping of the twigs beneath my shoes. He didn't turn at my approach, though I knew he knew I was there. Hands fisted on my hips, I stood a foot behind him. "Potter!"
His head tilted in recognition, though he did not look at me. A sudden wind appeared, rippling the fabric of his flannel shirt. Really, I hate his wardrobe. If I didn't know better, I would have thought that he wore house elf hand-me-downs. It's a small irritation, but I think that it bothers me more than it bothers him.
"Potter!" I said again.
"What?" The reply was soft, and I barely heard it.
"Bloody hell, what is wrong with you?" I spun him around, gaze coming even with his. "Don't play these stupid games, Potter."
"I haven't a faintest idea what you're talking about, Malfoy." Potter said in a monotone.
"Bullshit you don't."
"Go away."
"No!"
His head was tilting, drifting back to the body of water behind him. I could see the waves reflecting in his eyes. "Leave me be, Malfoy…"
"Why are you acting like this?" I hissed. "You're everyone's golden child and half the time they don't even know you anymore!"
"What do you care?"
"I don't." I said first. Potter snorted lightly, and I shook my head. "Well, I do, but…I don't."
"Go away Malfoy." He said unfeelingly.
I couldn't stand it. I had to get a reaction out of this boy, and I was going to do it in anyway that I could. I started insulting his family, friends, Dumbledore, everything I could think of. He only stared blankly at me, a thin veil of no-feeling falling into place before his empty eyes. I swore at him and his name, his job and accomplishments, pulling out all the stops, looking for a loose brick in his wall of defence. Still he watched me, gaze occasionally flickering to the great body of water behind him.
"Heartstrings," I finally snapped at him, "Why do you keep looking at that bloody lake?" Potter turned around, and for a moment he didn't speak. The lapping of the water reached my ears and Potter said a phrase that truly chilled me.
"Ever wonder what it's like to drown?"
I didn't answer.
"Do you, Malfoy?" He spun to face me. "Do you?" There was something alien in his eyes, something that shifted dangerously. I was suddenly self-conscious of the fact that one of the world's most powerful wizards was asking me about dying.
"Not really…" I answered carefully.
"No." Potter murmured. "You wouldn't would you?" He flexed his hands, the sleeves of his shirt sliding down to his wrists. "I think about it all the time, Malfoy…I think about it every single bloody day as I drown in this world."
"Potter?" His hands clenched into fists, and somewhere in me an alarm rang out. "H...Harry?"
"Dammit, I hate this world!" He screamed. "I hate this place, I hate this power I have, and I hate just being here!" His voice lowered and I had to strain to hear him. "People think that because I defeated Voldemort, I have to clean up his mess. Gods, don't they know what this is doing to me? Don't they care that whenever I close my eyes all I see are images of bloody massacres that never should have happened? Don't they realize that whenever there is silence, all I can hear is screaming, and yelling and the echoes of blasted curses?" He dropped to his knees, fingers curling in the fading grass. "I'm slowly falling apart, Draco, and it's all I can do to remember that there are hundreds of people out there that still need me alive."
I watched him sob dryly, his shoulders shaking with the soundless motion. I carefully approached him, touching him lightly on the back. He flinched, and spoke again. "Every day I want to die, Draco. I want to curl up somewhere and just pretend that I don't exist and that evil doesn't exist and that the world is a bright cheery place of sunshine and rainbows. But everyday something comes along to remind me that reality is harsh and that I can't afford to do that. I want my turn to be over; my job to be finished, but there are things out there that only I can do. I know that. I'm tired as hell, but I still have to keep going. Even if it kills me."
"You don't have to do it alone you know." I said, surprised at the words leaping off my tongue. "You have Granger and that idiot Weasley."
"He's not an idiot." Was his muffled reply.
"You know what I mean. Dumbledore will back you up, along with half the people that you've ever helped or met. You just have to trust people occasionally."
"This coming from you?"
"It's time it came from someone."
He paused. "What about you?"
The question was so sudden and so unexpected that I had to pause to think for a moment. "Me? I'll be here to make sure you don't drown."
There was another pause. "Thanks."
"If anyone gets to make you drown, it'll be me."
He laughed, leaning back on his haunches. He glanced up at me and then stood. "I really do hate you, you know?"
I grinned at him. "I despise you as well, you bloody prick." I gave him a light push towards the castle. "Stay away from the lake, and start to feel would you? I thought I was right in assuming you were abducted by aliens or something."
He smiled. "Shut up, Malfoy."
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Tear, tear, everyone! No romance though…they are just enemies. Deal with it.