Secrets and Suprises. Chapter Seven: Talking
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! JK Rowling is a Goddess and I am nothing but a lowlife.
Warnings: Teenage angst to the max. Slash, eventually (Oh boy, oh boy!). I am a whore for hurt and comfort. Potentially triggering content. Not perfect match with the books (Draco is not a Death Eater in training).
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Harry stared. It wasn't the "Get out" that he had been expecting. "Wh—What?" When the only response from Draco was a small eyebrow raise and a glare that said, "Don't make me ask again because I won't," Harry closed his mouth. Tried again. "You don't want to hear it, it's all just me being stu—"
"For Christ's sake, Potter!" Draco snapped, "Stop acting like such a Goddamned Gryffindor!"
"Hey, what's your malfunction, Malfoy!" Harry fumed. Now came the killing part, right?
Malfoy huffed once, then regained composure. I have to explain everything to this kid, don't I? "Gryffindors, as I'm sure you know, are heroes. Heroes do not share their feelings, feelings that you are very clearly having," He gave Harry a pointed look, "With anyone. For fear of being less of a hero. You must Carry The World On Your Shoulders, and be damned if anyone helps you!" He said the cliché phrase with a fake enthusiasm. "And I'm here to tell you that that is stupid. Idiocy, even. No one can do that."
It was interesting to Harry that even when Malfoy was explaining himself he could make it sound like an insult. It was also interesting that what Malfoy had said had been eerily close to the truth. But there's more to it than that… "There's nothing wrong with saving your friends trouble."
"Potter, they wouldn't be your friends if they didn't want to know what you were thinking."
"But, it's all stuff they know already—"
"Obviously not."
The simple truth struck Harry to the core. He stared once more at the blonde man opposite him. A long silence. Then, "Why do you care..?" Harry turned his head to face Malfoy, looking for eye contact.
Oh, I wish I knew, Harry. "So that when you do something really stupid and land yourself in the hospital wing, or worse, six feet under, I won't have to feel bad about it, okay?" It was a harsh answer, he knew, but his heart wasn't in it. The statement was enough to keep his front but not enough to make him seem uncaring. Perfect. He looked in Harry's direction and was captivated by those green eyes, bright emerald full of sadness, pain, anger, and confusion. A lot of confusion. "So," he said, quietly, finding it almost hard to breathe, "Would you, just..?"
Harry pulled his eyes away, feeling suddenly very exposed. Staring at his hands, he drew a shaking breath, found the strength to begin.
"I don't have a future, Malfoy." Harry felt the confused look on the side of his face. "I don't. Think about it. All I have is a past. The Boy Who Lived, vanquisher of All That Is Evil. When have people ever talked to me otherwise? They expect me to kill Voldemort again, I know they do—but, what happens after that? The Boy Who Lives A Normal Life? No, never! I won't ever be left alone. I can't have a normal career, even." He paused, breathed.
"The thing that's worst is, I can't say no. I have this, this, responsibility to these people that I hate! I have to be the beacon of hope, because if I'm not, no one else is. If I'm unhappy, the entire wizarding world is unhappy! I can't turn my back on it." Harry closed his eyes. "And it's so two-faced. Love me one day, hate me the next, I can't take it! I'd rather that everyone hated me always, than do this. You know, people don't even have to know me to send me hate or love mail? Knowing my name is enough for people to think they have the right to tell me their mental prognosis about what the fuck is wrong with me. A quote that I said about, about, the state of jelly in Ireland is enough to set people off! I'm under a fucking microscope!" Harry paused, panting.
Malfoy took advantage of the silence. "Couldn't your mates, Weasley, Granger..?"
Harry almost laughed. The thought made the backs of his eyes start to sting. "I can't do that to them. I honestly can't—cannot—expect them to be part of this. Ron thinks it's all ruddy excellent, anyways. It took him until the first task of that Triwizard Tournament before he realized what I'd been trying to say all along—that this, this being me thing, it isn't what it's cracked up to be. And Hermione," He pinched the delicate skin between his thumb and forefinger now, fighting the urge to cry. "Think of what she'd say if she knew about this." He wagged his elbows once for emphasis. "She'd be heartbroken, because she'd blame herself for not noticing. For not being good enough. For not having the fucking answer." Exasperated, he added under his breath, "She's always got the fucking answer…" He shook his head quickly. "This, this thing I do, well, sometimes it's all I've got, and she wouldn't understand. It's not something you can write in books, not something you can just explain, like that." He snapped his fingers to stress the point. His voice got quiet then. "When I do it, it's like, all this," He gestured with a sweeping hand motion around the room, "It goes away. It's all that matters. It's easy."
Malfoy arched an eyebrow in concern. Harry had deflated substantially, looked like he was just about done. Wow. It was overwhelming, he had to admit, hero complex or not. He had to ask. "Are you…finished?" It wasn't a statement of impatience necessarily; it was more to be sure that he didn't cut Harry off if there was more to come. He tried to make himself believe that he was doing this just for backstabbing purposes, tried, and then failed miserably. He knew he'd never tell a soul.
"Maybe…" Harry said, weighing something very heavy in his head. The other piece to the puzzle. He knows practically everything else…Oh God, was he going to do this? "No, no I'm not done," he breathed the words out in one breath. Oh God, oh God, Malfoy's your archenemy, don't do this to yourself, because if you do you'll regret it, he'll make sure of that, and—"Malfoy, I think I'm gay."
