Give me malice Give me a break (HPFF - Draco/Harry)
Rumor – So it's a slash and if you don't like that don't read it! Also we own nothing … it's just our playground
Harry was confused. What in the name of Dumbledore was Draco Malfoy doing here?
It had been five years since the infamous battle at Hogwarts had taken place, in which Voldemort was finally defeated. Lives had been lost, loyalties had been tested. The last that Harry could remember, Draco had fled the scene with his parents, scurrying away like the coward that Harry had always known he was. Wanker. All talk and no action. Crybaby, cry.
The Malfoys hadn't made it very far, despite their plans of leaving the country. He vaguely remembered seeing Draco in the trials that followed shortly after Voldemort was killed. Draco got off lightly, as he was seen as an impressionable young man, brainwashed and threatened into joining the Death Eaters. His parents both received sentences in Azkaban, but their sentences were cut remarkably short for their crimes, in lieu of naming other Death Eaters. Still, it would be several years before Draco saw either of his parents.
Harry felt a grim satisfaction in knowing this. After Draco bullied Harry all throughout Hogwarts, frequently picking on him for being an orphan and not having many friends, now Draco would have a taste of what that felt like, being alone. The majority of his family and friends were in jail, serving longer sentences. Of these included his dim-witted minions, Crabbe and Goyle. His girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, got shipped off to live in Romania with her pureblood aunts and uncles, after she was cleared of all charges.
His extended pureblood family didn't want anything to do with the boy, last Harry had heard, for his cowardice. Thus, Draco Malfoy was alone. Oh, how the tables had turned. Before, Harry would have loved to shove it in Malfoy's face, reveled in his pain. He found it quite difficult, however, to enjoy the boy's pain, seeing as he knew what it was like, that crippling loneliness. He didn't wish that on anyone, even Malfoy. Then again, maybe it would take the boy down a few notches, put him in his place. He was still an arsehole, after all.
"What's that berk doing here?" came a voice at Harry's ear. "Doesn't he know that he's not welcome?"
There was a tinge of amusement to the girl's tone.
"Hello, Ginny," Harry replied, turning to his girlfriend of four years.
She gave him a chaste kiss before sitting down next to him.
"Okay. So, when can we get this party started?"
Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to do this. It had all been Hermione's idea.
Today, he was doing a book signing, something that he vowed he would never do, ever since his experience with Gilderoy Lockheart. Much less, Harry had never liked the idea, the business of writing a book. He had spent his entire life in the spotlight. After defeating Voldemort, he had planned on living a simple existence. It had taken years of Hermione badgering him to get him to agree to the idea.
His mind floated back to the conversations they used to have:
"Harry. There is always going to be someone out there who thinks that they know what went on. You'll be in the history books forever. You might as well set everybody straight with the truth. Nobody knows it better than you."
That hadn't been enough to convince him.
"Harry," Hermione had whined. "If I have to read another story about how you murdered Voldemort with your own wand, with your own spell, I'll go absolutely mad. You haven't even done an interview since the attack -"
"Leave him alone, 'Mione," Ron, his best mate, had interrupted her. "He's spent his whole life being The Boy Who Lived. Give the bloke some time. Besides, I thought that we explained it fairly well during that interview with -"
"Yes, Ron, we were fairly spot-on. Especially the part where you went off about how you heroically rescued me, last minute, from being killed -"
"But that was true!" defended Ron.
"That may be so, but with the way you phrased it, I sounded like some barmy damsel in distress. Thanks for that."
"We all know that you're brill, 'Mione. Swallow that pride of yours. I've told you, now that we're together, you have to let me take care of you -"
"I don't need to be taken care of, Ronald. I'm perfectly capable -"
"I know," sighed Ron, rolling his eyes. "I know that you don't. I still saved your life, though, okay? You needed me then. And if we didn't say what needed to be said, it's not like there weren't other witnesses. They'll piece it together. It's hardly been a year, 'Mione. Come on, give the bloke some time. The wound is still too fresh."
"Harry?" Hermione pleaded.
"Ron's right, Hermione," he had replied kindly, and then, to Ron, "How about a game of Exploding Snap?"
Of course, that had only been the beginning of it. Over the past few years, Hermione had badgered him, to no avail. With the fifth year anniversary of Voldemort's defeat coming up, however, she had gotten especially ruthless.
"You don't even have to write it yourself, Harry," she said to him one evening. "I found this wonderful writer, who is willing to write it for you. You'd just have to share all the gory details -"
"Hermione -"
"Don't worry, it's not Rita Skeeter. She'll write it the way that you want her to, I promise. Please, Harry?"
"I don't know, Hermione. I just don't see the point. It's over with now."
With that remark, Hermione was practically livid.
"It's history, Harry. And you're the only one out of all of us that knows the complete story. Please. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Sirius, or Dumbledore, or Remus, or Tonks, or Fred. Do it for them, do it for the fallen. Bloody hell, do it for me."
Harry wasn't entirely sure why it mattered so much to Hermione, but he agreed to at least meet this woman writer. It turned out that she was a squib, poor and getting by on the occasional freelance piece to the "Daily Prophet." She had seemed friendly and down on her luck. Harry had agreed to do it, and while he had only planned on doing one book, the woman ended up writing a complete novel detailing his first year. The book had been so popular, she wrote another one. There were five more in the works now, each detailing a year at Hogwarts.
This particular book signing was for the second book. Harry hadn't even bothered reading it; he had lived it, after all. In fact, he wouldn't have shown up to this bollocks of a book signing if all the proceeds weren't going to S.P.E.W. For every book sold, a knut would go to the organization, which had taken flight shortly after Voldemort's defeat. With all of the publicity, it didn't look like it was going anywhere either. Currently, Hermione was working on shortening the work day for a house-elf. In the long run, she hoped to get them health benefits, decent pay, and probably the right to vote, while she was at it.
"Ever think Hermione had an agenda roping me into this book-writing posh?" Harry asked Ginny, twenty minutes later, as he scrawled his third of a thousand-to be signatures of the night.
"Oh, I wouldn't put it past her," she grinned back.
Flourish and Blotts was packed. No, it was beyond packed. Harry couldn't even make out the bookcases. All that he saw were robes, robes of every color, and faces, some young, some old, all eager for their signatures.
Ginny smiled brightly at the young witch in front of the table that they were sitting at.
"What's your name, love?"
Draco Malfoy's pale face stuck out in the sea of faces. He was leaning against something - be it wall or bookcase - about twenty people down. His face was expressionless, patient.
Harry was still confused.
"Do you think he's here to throw this all in my face?" he murmured to Ginny.
"We'll find out soon enough," she whispered back, passing a book to Harry to sign.
"Was it scary to leave your family and go to Hogwarts?" asked the small child in front of the table, catching Harry off guard.
"You're about to enter your first year, yeah?" Harry asked.
The child swallowed and nodded.
Harry hadn't expected this.
"Well, it can be kind of scary," Ginny chipped in. "All of my brothers went to school before I did, as I was the youngest. They told me horror stories about the place. The summer before I went, I didn't want to go. My first year was bollocks, but in the end, I still made a lot of friends and had a really good time. I was able to keep in touch with my mum and dad, too, through owl. You'll be learning about so many interesting things and meeting so many interesting people, though, that you won't have time to miss anyone."
The child looked to Harry for affirmation.
"It's true," Harry replied clumsily. "I mean, I never had a family to miss, and I went in knowing no one… but I found a whole new family at Hogwarts."
Harry added his signature underneath Ginny's and handed the book to the child.
"You'll love it there," Ginny added.
The child smiled, thanked them, and ran off.
"Well, that was interesting…." Harry breathed, running a hand through his hair.
"What, Potter, don't want any children?" Ginny asked, already reaching for the next book from the next person in line.
Harry shrugged.
His eyes wandered back to Malfoy, who was still staring at him from down the line.
Bugger. What did he want?
His annoyance must have shown on his face, for Malfoy's lips twitched into a fleeting smirk that Harry remembered all too well.
"Doesn't look Malfoy has changed at all," Harry muttered.
"What's that?" Ginny asked.
Harry shook his head.
"I know that we just started, Ginny, but I think that this is shaping up to be too much for me-"
He got to his feet.
"Harry. Where are you going? Harry -"
"Just give me a minute, Ginny. I need some fresh air, that's all. It's stuffy in here and -"
"Hermione is going to go bonkers if you don't-"
"It'll only be a minute, I promise."
With that, he pushed through the throng of people, purposefully avoiding Malfoy as he made his way past. Several people shot him curious looks as he made his way outside.
"Pardon me," he mumbled. "Excuse me, ma'am. No, no, I'll be back. It's just a bit stuffy in here, that's all. I've got allergies. I just needed a breather. I'll be back in a minute."
Finally, he made it outside.
"It's Harry Potter!" squealed a gaggle of teenage girls outside the front doors.
"Er, hi, everyone," he said awkwardly. "It's stuffy in there, and I'm a bit claustrophobic. I've got allergies, too, you know. I'll be back in a minute."
He began walking quickly from the store, from the long line of adoring fans, from a book series that he had never originally wanted to be a part of. Before he knew it, he was running, slipping through the streets without a sense of direction. He ran until he felt the tension leave his shoulders, until his anxiety had ebbed.
He thought that things would be easier with Voldemort gone. In a sense, they had; he no longer had to fear his imminent demise, or the imminent demise of his loved ones. Not by Voldemort anyway. He had lost many people to him. Everyone had. But that part of his life was settled now. He would never forget his dead friends, but he never had to fear that the living ones would suddenly perish. His life was less controlled by fear, less controlled by death, than ever before. It had been a huge relief, a gift that he tried to not take for granted. Still, as much as he tried, he was only human.
The pressures of fame before Voldemort's demise had been immense. The pressures after were even greater. He was a living legend. For the first few months, he had to barricade himself in the Weasley's house, slipping out into the Wizarding World under his Invisibility Cloak.
He thought that by defeating Voldemort, he could not only save all of mankind, but finally lead a normal, sedentary life. He hadn't wanted any kind of recognition for what he did, much less a book deal about it. He had done what was necessary. He couldn't stand that room with all of those people, claiming him a hero, an idol, somebody children trusted and looked up to. Five years had passed, sure, but he had spent his entire life in the spotlight. Enough was enough.
And Malfoy. Malfoy there was just the icing on the cake, a subtle reminder of how Harry would never be able to separate himself from his past.
He felt the anger and the hurt swell inside him. He may never have to face Voldemort again, but he was never going to get his friends back. Sirius. Remus. Fred. Tonks.
He began to cry, despite his best efforts. The tears and the humid air caused his glasses to fog up, sending him tripping over a protruding cobblestone. He fell, like a rag doll, to the ground.
"Watch it," snarled an irritated female voice.
Harry looked up, scrambling to get to his feet, unable to make out who had just nearly stumbled into… but knowing that the voice was not friendly.
"Sorry," he muttered, moving out of the way.
The witch snarled at him and walked on.
He rubbed the lenses of his glasses and realized that he had somehow managed to make his way into Knockturn Alley. He hadn't been here in years.
"Running away, Potter?"
Rumor - Okay so now just a convo to go on the bottom and we can be one of those annoying people that write stories together!
Random Girl - yay!1!1!
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Random Girl – hmmm .. errrr … let me be … eh … whats your code name?
Rumor - Well I am Rumor and you can be hoe
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Rumor - ... Will you have one by next chapter?
Random Girl - yes!?? … I'm asking my sister lol, so indecisive
Rumor - Okay they can wait lol
Random Girl - must search ma soul
Rumor - Now make your spell about wanting reviews and stuff like that
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