The sky was grey and dripping, and the compartment windows of the Hogwarts Express were foggy and chill. Harry hugged his knees in closely, pulling them up to his chest. He removed his glasses and allowed his eyes to press into his legs, his breath hitching with every bump of the train. He could feel Ron and Hermione's eyes on him, trying to be patient out of politeness. Their curiosity was understandably palpable. Finally, Hermione tentatively broke the silence.
"Harry," she said cautiously, reaching out gently to take his arm. He could feel her body relax when he didn't jerk away. "Please, we're not mad at you. I just- I don't really understand." She broke off, searching for the right words.
"She's right, mate," Ron said, filling in her silence. "I mean, can you blame us, really?" He laughed humorlessly. "It'd be a lot easier for us to help you if you told us everything."
"I don't need your help," Harry muttered into his knees.
"Oh, knock it off, Harry," Ron said shortly. "You still need to find the Horcruxes and you're still just as clueless with Dumbledore dead now. That much hasn't changed."
"I don't think you understand," Harry said, jumping from his seat. "I don't want your help. I don't want to have to look at you and see your stupid looks every time I say something. Not after what I've done." He heard Hermione sniffle, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"Please, Harry, explain then," she whimpered, her eyes glassy with tears. "Sit down, Harry, please. Just talk to us."
The fact that his friends forgave him made his guilt even stronger, made him want to push them away even more. Yet he knew he owed them this. He owed them an explanation. Slowly he sat back down and looked into Ron and Hermione's questioning eyes.
"It started at the end of May, right before the House Cup. You were throwing up again, Ron, and I don't really remember where you were Hermione, but I was alone on the seventh-floor corridor trying to see what Malfoy was up to." He saw them look at each other uncomfortably at the mention of the name. Harry chose to ignore this. "His name wasn't showing up on the Map, so I assumed he had gone back to the Room of Requirement, but then I saw him alone in a boys' bathroom downstairs."
He paused for a moment, trying to remember all the tiny details he was sure
Hermione would drill him on later if he forgot to include them. He recalled looking at the Map more closely, and the shock that overcame him when he noticed that Malfoy was not with Crabbe or Goyle, but with Moaning Myrtle. Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armor. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.
Harry could see the white-blonde hair of Draco Malfoy standing over the sink, shaking with chills of anxiety as Myrtle tried to comfort him from one of the toilet stalls.
"No one can help me," Malfoy whispered, silencing Myrtle's failed attempts to calm him. "I can't do it...I can't...It wont work...and unless I do it soon...he says he'll kill me." Stunned, Harry realized the boy was sobbing, taking great shuddering gulps as tears slid down his pale face. Malfoy stood up straight, wiping the tears from his face in an attempt to regain his composure when he saw Harry standing behind him through the cracked mirror. Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways and threw a jinx at Malfoy, but he simply blocked the spell and raised his wand to attack again.
Myrtle screamed in anguish, her voice echoing loudly in the bathroom, yet the battle between the two boys continued in fury.
The spells were smashing into walls, sending the tiles smashing to the ground; one of Harry's hexes missed Malfoy narrowly, slamming a toilet instead and sending a fountain of water streaming into the air. Malfoy slipped backwards on the water sending a curse at Harry in panic, "Cruci-"
"SECTEMSEMPRA!" Harry roared, dodging the curse and falling heavily to the floor.
Dots of blood erupted on Malfoy's body, sending him tumbling backwards to the water soaked floor with a crash. Spells were no longer flying, but the room seemed louder then ever. The toilet was still gushing water in a fury and Malfoy was shaking and moaning in panic as the blood flowed from his chest and melted into flowery blooms in the water surrounding him.
"No - I didn't -" Harry gasped, staggering and sloshing through the water before he fell to his knees beside Malfoy. Myrtle then flew to the ceiling and let out a blood-curdling scream: "MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!"
Harry paused his story for a moment, glancing up at Ron and Hermione, who looked saddened at their friend, but still confused.
"Yes, Harry," Hermione said, taking pause before saying something that might set him off again. "But you've already told us all of this. Snape heard Myrtle's cries, came running to the bathroom to find you over Malfoy's bleeding body, and, well..." she hesitated as if to say "Please, Harry, get to the point." He simply shook his head.
"That's what Dumbledore wanted me to say," he said softly, letting this shock wash over Ron and Hermione.
"What?" Ron gaped.
Harry had known that some day, he would have to tell his friends the truth, yet that would mean their realization that he had lied to them. He had told them that Snape was the one who had stormed into the bathroom that day, but the reality was quite different.
"MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!" bellowed Myrtle. The doors burst open, and Dumbledore stepped in, the look of fury on his face beyond anything Harry had ever seen in his life. He took one look around at the bathroom and the blood and at Harry crouched over Malfoy's body as he pulled out his wand and traced it gently on Malfoy's chest. As Dumbledore muttered an incantation, the blood seemed to absorb back into his body and invisible sutures pulled his skin back in place. When he was finished, there was no evidence of the violence that had taken place, save the few blossoms of blood that still floated in the water on the bathroom floor.
"Sir -" Harry gasped, "I didn't mean to...I didn't know what the spell..."
"Come with me Harry," said Dumbledore, rising from the ground and lifting Harry up by his arm. He waved his wand, and the magic lifted Malfoy and carried him along behind Dumbledore, as though pulled by an invisible stretcher.
Dumbledore led them through the castle without saying a word. Whether or not magic was involved, Harry was glad that no one noticed the strange party.
"Sir, please," Harry said, walking quickly to keep up with Dumbledore's long strides.
"Not now, Harry," he said, and Harry noticed they were approaching the doors to the hospital wing. At the entrance, Dumbledore held out his hand to signal Harry to stop, and proceeded inside the large chamber with Malfoy in tow. Harry watched as he led him to the back of the wing where he laid him on an empty bed before exchanging a few words with Madam Pomfrey and drawing the curtains around the bed. Seeing Harry eyeing him eagerly, he beckoned him inside and sat down on a nearby bed. He patted the mattress next to him to motion Harry to sit too.
"Harry, I must say," Dumbledore began, "I would have thought you would have been wiser than to use a spell of which you had no idea of the consequences."
Harry breathed a sigh of relief, his anxiety alleviated by the knowledge that Dumbledore knew he had not intentionally injured Draco Malfoy.
"I know, sir, but Malfoy's up to something, and I found him in the bathroom crying. He was saying that he had to do something or he was going to die. Sir, I think Voldemort's given Malfoy a task, and he's going to kill him if he doesn't complete it soon." He knew this accusation was a risky one, but to his surprise, Dumbledore did not chastise him for this conclusion like the other professors had.
"Ah," Dumbledore said, pushing his spectacles further up his nose. "Well, Harry, I'm afraid you're not wrong. Having so many different ears in so many different places, I have the privilege of knowing that yes, Lord Voldemort has given Draco Malfoy a rather unfortunate job to carry out. You see, he was not happy when Lucius failed to steal the prophecy from you last spring. This is, I believe, his way of punishing the Malfoys. He knows that Draco will fail the task, and he knows they understand his threat is not an empty one."
"His threat?" Harry questioned. "You mean, he's really going to kill Malfoy?" He felt his stomach lurch. The two boys might have been on opposite sides of the battle, but Harry certainly did not want to see him dead. "How does he know Malfoy can't succeed?" A second question more disturbing question entered his mind. "Do we want him to succeed?"
"You've always had a knack for asking the right questions, Harry," said Dumbledore, glancing off into the wide expanse of the wing. "And to answer the first one: yes. Lord Voldemort will make sure to it that the boy is dead. I know you're no stranger to his lack of mercy and he would use this murder as a way to insure that none of the Death Eaters' loyalties falter. The answer to your second and third questions are a bit more complicated. You see Harry, you and Draco Malfoy are two sides of the same coin. Both abused, both forced to make decisions far beyond your years, both living in fear of what Lord Voldemort could do to the people you love. Voldemort knows Malfoy will fail because he sees him in you, and he knows you would never be up to the challenge."
"What exactly is the challenge, Professor?" Harry asked, feeling slightly itchy at the idea of being compared so similarly to Draco Malfoy.
"Well, Harry, Lord Voldemort has assigned Draco Malfoy the job of murdering me," said Dumbledore calmly.
Harry felt like he had been hit upside the head with a broomstick. "What?" he bellowed, rising to his feet.
"Quiet, dear boy, we are in an infirmary," Dumbledore whispered, as though completely unfazed by the bomb he had just dropped.
"You know Malfoy's been asked to kill you, but you're not doing anything about it?" gaped Harry in shock. Now he could feel the anger welling up inside him. "You've been allowing him to prance around the castle all year preparing for this! Why didn't you try to stop him, expel him?"
"Harry, Harry," Dumbledore said gently, laying his hand on his shoulder. "You do not seem to understand. I have said quite clearly that Draco Malfoy will fail." He paused for a moment. "But, it is quite nearly my time to go anyways."
Harry looked up puzzled. "I'm sorry sir, I don't really follow you."
"No, Harry, I apologize. I've been rather vague this afternoon I fear. You see, Draco Malfoy is not capable of killing me, for as menacing as he seem, his body does not carry an ounce evil. But, he must do it or he will die. I'm growing old Harry. There are things it is not yet time for you to know or understand, but my time here is nearly done. Draco Malfoy must kill me, and you must be the one to help him."