A/N: Chapter 3, ready to launch.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter yet, but maybe one day Jo will realise that she really ought to give the rights to me. Also, I unfortunately did not write any of the songs by which I was inspired, no matter how much I wish I did.
Reviews will save Draco from the fiendfyre.
-Tuskface.
3: Over and Over
Malfoy
Thankfully, that Friday dawned bright and warm. As Draco left the Common Room late that morning, then, most of the school was outside in the grounds, and he was given just enough freedom to sneak back towards the South Tower. The light cracking in through the thin archers' windows in the stairwell provided just enough brightness for him to search every crevice of the tower, but to no avail. The hawthorn wand was not to be found.
So, now the question was – did he actually hear a breath the night before? And if so, was it really who he had suspected?
Draco's side still stung from his freshly healed memories of Potter's spell.
Potter
Dumbledore's absences were frustrating. If there was one thing he had thought he could rely on, it had been the Headmaster's lessons. He'd thought maybe they'd be a little more often, now that he'd found the memory for the old wizard. But they were few and far between, not to mention irregular; this – coupled with Ron and Hermione's on-and-off friendship, and the fact that his mind was still trying to find a solution to the problem posed by the wand stuffed in a pair of socks and hidden under his pillow back in the dormitories – was leaving him drained and irritable.
As he stood, looking into the mirror in the deserted boys' bathroom, he caught his own gaze and held it. The emerald green, familiar at first glance, was still there, but upon closer inspection, it was different. The light and the love he'd felt for the first time in his life, the light that had finally glowed in his face a little, had faded. It barely even made a faint glow. He'd lost Sirius, the closest person to family he had left, and he had little hope of the same kind of friendly assurances his Godfather had once given him in any letters he might receive from Lupin. Now, he felt like the odd one out once again, left to sort out his own troubles, with Ron and Hermione more engaged in ignoring each other, or bickering than actually acknowledging his feverish anguish.
He rubbed over his face with tired hands, and when he looked up, her persuaded himself that the tracks on his cheeks were just residual water from his shower.
(later)
Harry was on the verge of giving the wand back.
Of just approaching Malfoy and handing it over.
But no matter how much he felt like it was the right thing, no matter how much guilt and exhaustion gnawed at him, the thing stopping him was that after six years of hatred, he just couldn't give in like that. He couldn't just hand it back as if it all meant nothing.
Harry was halfway down the fourth floor corridor, the wand in his left hand, his own in his pocket. It was late evening of Friday. His mind spun, thinking as quickly as possible. He turned to the marble staircase at the centre of the school once again, and descended to the third then the second floor. Just as he turned to the gallery which walked over the Entrance Hall, providing a view of the doors into the Great Hall, he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to cut off the distractions of the castle and focus on the task at hand.
To give the wand back would be to admit that once again, he had seen Malfoy at his most vulnerable point. He'd enrage the Slytherin, and risk the same situation as before – only this time, he knew that he would be expelled for certain. Yet he couldn't just keep it forever. Eventually Malfoy would report it, and Harry would end up being found out. He chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. Hermione was really his best (and maybe even only) option. She had that kind of logical, straightforward way of thinking that would allow her to see a solution that was still eluding the green-eyed boy. But he'd told himself that he wouldn't burden his two closest friends with this...
Yet he'd heard somewhere that all promises were made to be broken.
Malfoy
The school was one person less deserted than Draco had accounted for.
And unfortunately, it was one particular person he'd hoped would be part of the masses.
Just as the Slytherin turned the corner on the second floor towards the marble stairs, he made this discovery, and not too quietly, either.
He barely had time to notice the black-haired Gryffindor, walking with his eyes closed, seemingly deep in concentration, before he'd already run into him. The collision knocked Potter to the floor, and flipped Draco over him, where he skidded on his back a good metre before smacking into the wall.
Groaning, Draco's eyelids flickered and he pushed himself up, rubbing the back of his head. He winced sharply as he felt the beginnings of a snitch-sized lump forming there. Nearby, he noticed Potter, looking up at him from where he lay on his chest, an expression of bewilderment and panic on his face. Avoiding his eyes, Draco made to make a quick get away, but his eyes were drawn by something lying inches from the Gryffindor's left hand.
The green eyes followed the grey, and there was a brief moment where neither boy moved. Then, suddenly, Potter reached for the wand at the same time that Draco lunged for it. The latter just missed out.
Glaring at the other, Draco righted himself and straightened his shirt, reaching out a single, dignified hand.
'You'll want to be giving me that back, Potter,' he said poisonously.
Potter
Any feelings Harry had contained at that moment simply melted away. He recognised that hand, and the gesture, and he felt his face go slack, the threat in Malfoy's tone completely weightless in his ears.
(earlier)
'I can help you there.'
Young Malfoy's voice was so different from the harsh tenor it is now, that at first Harry's memory jolted. He was sitting back in the compartment on his first ever journey from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, with Ron's considerably shorter form opposite him, ears turning blotchy red as Malfoy insulted his family. But Harry's eyes were instead focused on that pale palm, open – it may have been offered maliciously, but it was a request, however dark, of friendship.
Harry finally saw the true pathways that had opened themselves to him that day. He saw a different present, in which he had not stuck by Ron, and in which Malfoy's name had not ever kindled thoughts of hatred and abhorrence, but rather...something altogether more companionable.
(now)
Without thinking, eyes glued to Malfoy's hand, but focused on another time entirely, Harry reached out and took it.
Malfoy
Potter took his hand. He took it. Held it.
Draco tore his fingers from the other boy's surprisingly firm grasp. There was a second where neither spoke to each other, Draco looking down the corridor, mainly under the pretence that he was checking for any peeping toms, but in reality he was avoiding the green-eyed gaze which had snapped to focus on his face.
Quickly and jerkily, Draco ducked down and tugged his wand from Potter's grip before pocketing it, snatching his bag off the floor and striding away awkwardly at a pace which was almost running.
Potter
Harry blinked several times, trying to dispel the look of fury in Malfoy's eyes which was imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
What had come over him?
The dormitory was noisy, Ron and the others seated around his bed, competing as to who could stuff the most Nosebleed Nougats into his mouth and produce the biggest flow of blood. But Harry sat, staring at the glinting pile of discarded sweet wrappers, lost in deep thought.
'Here, Harry, your turn,' Seamus slurred, thrusting the box of treats into his lap and taking another swig of butterbeer.
Harry shook his head.
'Actually guys, I'm kind of tired. I think I'll just sleep.'
There were universal groans from his other housemates as they returned sluggishly to their own beds. Ron hastily cleared up the mess they'd made with a wave of his wand and patted his friend's shoulder. He knew how shitty Harry felt, especially with the prospect of the Quidditch match he'd be missing for his detention with Snape, and that it was now almost inevitable that Gryffindor would lose.
'See you in the morning, mate,' he said hastily, leaving the black-haired teenager at last to drift fully into a strange waking stupor, rather than the peaceful sleep the other four Gryffindors seemed to enjoy that night.
