CHAPTER 8
"Malfoy, you sure know a lot about Dark Arts," inquired Harry as if by accident.
"Theoretically, yes."
"Don't start with the bullshit!" interrupted Harry.
"Listen, Potter, if I say theoretically, it means theoretically, my father is not that much of a monster as to teach a ten-year-old Unforgivables, and as you know well, underage wizards aren't supposed doing magic outside the school. And we don't have Dark Arts on our schedule, in case you might have missed it!"
Yet again Harry felt guilty of thinking about Malfoy worse than he was. The blond was seemingly offended.
"I'm sorry, I thought…"
"Well, as usual you thought wrong!" retorted Malfoy harshly.
"Well, thank you for the nice chat!" spat Harry angrily and turned to leave.
"Wait, Potter," the Slytherin stopped him. Harry halted, surprised.
"Let's try to talk like normal people for once", suggested Malfoy conciliatory.
Harry agreed. Talking "normal" wasn't their strong side. They might practice it as well.
"OK," he started tentatively. "I'm just doing a research on… you know… And I need to know as much as possible about what he has in stock."
"To be honest I don't really know what he has in stock, besides Unvorgivables. I heard stories of him developing a curse which caused people to commit suicide. Kind of Imperio, but very precisely aimed. Once applied on a person one might be sure that they do your dirty job themselves. But I don't know the incantation."
"I think it's better so," Harry was appalled. How very convenient, just tell someone go kill yourself, and he does so.
"Then, another one I've heard, but it was from my mother side, the Blacks' story – they thought of reviving people from dead. One needs a bone of a father, a blood…"
"Been there, seen it," interrupted Harry. He wasn't ready to go through the whole experience again. Though it was new to him that the ritual itself was the legacy of the ancient and most noble house of Black.
"What do you mean?" Malfoy didn't comprehend. "Wait. You mean that's how he got…"
"Yes, that's how it got it's new body. With the bones of his father, who died at his hand, and my blood," elaborated Harry bitterly.
"But still he couldn't kill you…" mused Malfoy. "What happened there?"
"Didn't your father tell you?"
"No, he didn't. We never talked about it. He only told me that his lord is back and that I have to serve him, too. I didn't really want to, I swear. I just didn't have the choice."
"There's always a choice," stated Harry grimly.
"You know Potter, I'm not a fucking hero like you, and death wasn't an option for me!"
"Sometimes when you choose death you earn life instead," uttered Harry, not really knowing where it came from.
"Spare me your holy morals," exploded Malfoy and stomped out of the room.
"Five minutes of 'normal' talk. Not bad, eh?" said Harry to himself as he turned back to his book.
They quarrelled a lot. Either Malfoy got confident enough that Harry wouldn't throw him out, or Harry got tired of his presence. Starting from "There's too much salt in the soup" –"Shut up and cook yourself" over "Turn the fucking lamp off I need my sleep" – "Go sleep under the stairs for all I care" to who was the first to go to the shower. Only in Aunt Petunia's presence they maintained some kind of truce.
So Harry learnt to appreciate the quiet moments with the Slytherin. Those rare moments were mostly in the morning, when the blond apparently wasn't awake enough to bicker, or maybe from time to time he remembered the life debt.
That particular morning, after another evening row on who will have the TV – till Harry's Aunt shooed them away - Harry was cleaning the kitchen after breakfast. Draco was sitting at the table, sipping his coffee and reading Financial Times Uncle Vernon was subscribed to. It looked so domestically, Harry felt sickening. Because no way one would feel cozy around a Malfoy. To disperse those strange thoughts, Harry turned on the radio. Some music was playing, and he relaxed into it.
…on this summer's day then you might as well take the sun away
The music reminded the clock-beat and rain-drops at the same time, the women's voice had so much sorrow in it, it sounded pained and a bit hoarse. She felt what she was singing.
Slowly, Harry proceeded to washing the dishes and cleaning the cooking table.
Can I tell you now as you turn to go
I'll be dying slowly till the next hello
Something clanked, and Malfoy jumped, muttering curses. Brown liquid was flowing quickly from the upturned cup.
"Let me," started Harry, but the blond grabbed a sponge and started rubbing vigorously, carefully avoiding Harry's gaze.
I'll sail on your smile, I'll ride on your touch
I'll talk to your eyes that I love so much
Lamented the woman on the radio. Malfoy stopped in the mid-motion.
Harry was at lost as to what affected the Slytherin so much.
If you go away as I know you must
There's nothing left in this world to trust
Just an empty room full of empty space
Like the empty look I see on your face
And I'd been the shadow of your shadow
if you might have kept me by your side
"Damn you Potter, I hate you! I absolutely hate you!" Malfoy hurled the sponge at Harry, and never looking up, stormed out of the kitchen and slammed the door shut.
"What did I do now?" yelled Harry at the closed door. The door didn't answer.
The phone rang, and Harry hurried to pick up. He was happy to hear Hermione again.
"Hi, Harry," she greeted. "What's the news? Everything's fine?"
"Never better," grumbled Harry not sounding convincing at all.
"Something happened?" inquired Hermione.
"No, nothing really. It's just I can't quite get him. At times he is all nice and sociable, and at times I don't get what bites him, he's so strange!"
"Oh Harry, I knew it wouldn't be easy!" she sighed. "I met Moony the other day, in the city. I told him everything, he's ready to help, he doesn't hold any grudges against him. Moony will check the possibilities, one of them would be that he'll end up at the Burrow. Naturally, when Ron leaves with us… Otherwise… Anyway, you will have to talk to him about it,"
"Hermione, he'll never accept it!"
"Well I think if the choice is that or death, every normal person would clearly choose the Burrow."
"It's Malfoy we are talking about, not every normal person!"
"Well, Lupin also suggested his own place, but considering his risky position right now, he'd better think of a hiding place for Tonks." Hermione sighed.
"Last option would be the Grimmauld Place," she continued.
"But! It's the Order's Head Quarter, Snape knows about it, and…"
"Well, exactly, there are too many "buts". So you'll have to incline him towards the Burrow, and leave Ron to me."
"Ha, it's easier said than done. Both of the tasks, I mean. Well, I'll give it a try. Anyway, we haven't had a row since this morning."
Hermione chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing, Harry, just nothing!" but Harry felt she was smiling into receiver.
"When will you call me?"
"As soon as Lupin manages it all. Bye then?"
"Bye, and take care!"
"Take care, both of you!"
A/N. The song I'm referring to is If you go away, cover by Emiliana Torrini. That was the first version of the song I've heard, and I thought it was really fitting.
