Fear can drive stick,
And it's taking me down this road.
A road down which,
I swore I'd never go.
And here I sit,
Thinking of God knows what.
Afraid to admit,
I might self-destruct.
So lock the windows,
And bolt the door.
'Cause I've got enough problems,
Without creating more.
I feel like I was born,
For devastation and reform.
Destroying everything I love,
And the worst part is;
I pull my heart out, reconstruct,
And in the end it's nothing but,
A shell of what I had when I first started.
Chapter 26
Having spent the night eating luxuriously and drinking richly, Harry had decided to go back to Draco's house with him. By dinner's end, the night was dark and Malfoy Manor loomed eerily beneath the moon. Harry was surprised by how comfortable he had grown; to anyone else, the mansion seemed an evil phantom in the night. To Harry, though, it was almost endearing and reminiscent of blonde hair and silver eyes.
"Alright, stand up," Draco ordered.
A relaxed buzz was flowing between them, making the evening painless and quite fun. Laughter came much more easily to Draco once he had some alcohol in him. Harry felt a mixture of endearment and pity for that. He stood up, in front of Draco while Icarus slept soundly beside the fire.
"Okay," Draco mumbled as he walked around to Harry's other side, "Chin up,"
Harry lifted his face in a comical, theatrical pride. Draco snorted in humor and then placed his hand, gently, on the center of Harry's back. The sensation made Harry's skin tickle and his neck felt abruptly naked.
"Straighten your back. You bend at your middle a bit and it makes you slouch,"
"What's wrong with slouching? I'm the savior of the Wizarding World, right? I get to slouch, don't I?"
"Not if you want to be a gentlemanly savior of the Wizarding World," Draco mentioned.
Harry smiled when Draco appeared in front of him again, "Good thing I don't care too much about being gentlemanly,"
Draco gave him a dry look and Harry noticed the shimmer of Draco's just-licked lips as he announced, "Well, you're going to care about it now, because I don't hang around hoodlums,"
Harry laughed out loudly, "Hoodlum? I'm a hoodlum now?"
Draco chuckled and shared, "My etiquette tutor always called me that. I guess it just stuck!"
Harry calmed a bit and asked, "You had an etiquette tutor? That's messed up,"
"What's messed up about it?"
"You're a kid, you know," Harry started, "You're a person. You shouldn't be trained like a show dog,"
He watched Draco's posture and expression dissolve into a sad resignation. With a shrug he replied,
"Well, I am a show dog,"
Harry's brows furrowed, "What do you mean?"
"I was raised having, by birth right, this heirloom. The heirloom isn't an object, though, it's this reputation. My family has been around for centuries upon centuries and we're supposed to be this descending arrangement of matryoshka dolls. We're all supposed to look the same, act the same – while time moves on and the world changes around us, the Malfoy family is meant to keep a reputation of frozen time. Our reputation is literally meant to be un-individualized. Between courting techniques, etiquette, education, magic abilities and physical appearance, I'm identical to my great-great-great-great grandfather, all of those who came after him and before him. Do you see? I am a show dog. That's what I was born for,"
"You seem pretty distanced from that idea, emotionally," Harry commented softly.
Draco's mouth slanted, "Eh, I suppose. It's just something I've always known. Anyway, lower your shoulders. You should align them with your ears,"
Harry obeyed while Draco stared him down, making him strangely self-conscious.
"Now walk towards me,"
Harry went to do so, but felt how uncomfortable his body was in such a strained position.
"No, no, no! You see? Your feet!" Draco complained.
Harry looked down to his bare feet on the hardwood floor and immediately heard, "Don't look down, idiot!"
Harry laughed, looking up again, "How am I supposed to see my feet if I'm not allowed to look down?"
He heard Draco laugh reluctantly, "Shut up, Potter,"
Harry let out a dramatic sigh and Draco added, "You've got to make it so that your kneecaps face forward,"
Harry tried to move his knees to do so but felt something almost like pain; mostly discomfort, though.
"This doesn't feel natural," He whined.
"Nothing elegant is natural," Draco easily replied.
Harry blushed when the back of his mind insisted that Draco's natural personality and habits, even physical attributes, were elegant. Even if he wanted to say so aloud, his throat closed up nervously.
"Malfoy, can I ask you a personal question?"
Silver eyes struck him with cautious intrigue before he answered calmly,
"Go ahead,"
"What is it that makes you feel that muggles shouldn't be in the magical world?"
Harry half-expected Draco to immediately punch him, but instead, he contemplated the question briefly before answering,
"It is not simple and you might think I'm very cold for this,"
Harry wondered for an instant if Draco Malfoy was concerned with how Harry thought of him.
"I just want to know," Harry encouraged gently.
"Being a pureblood, there's pressure from all over the magical world – even outside Europe – to procreate," He started, "The more muggles that make lives in the magical world, marry wizards and witches, the more watered down the magical genes become," He explained, "I'm speaking entirely on a scientific level with you. It is not beneficial for the wizarding community to engage with muggles. Not genetically. More magical children will be born unable to control their magic and unable to perform advanced magic, because their blood is mixed. Muggles have proven ignorant, judgmental and insane in the face of things that they do not understand. Especially when faced with power that they do not have. The more integrated the magical world becomes with the muggles' world, the more danger we put our future generations in,"
Harry nodded in understanding, "You said that you didn't believe they belonged in mass graves,"
"I stand by that," Draco breathed, "But I do think that they are a threat to the magical culture,"
"What of Hermione? She doesn't have any magic blood in her history and she's one of the strongest witches I've met,"
Draco shrugged, relaxed, "Granger is a muggle-born witch. Her existence is a question in and of itself. I'm sure her magic is strong and marrying herself into the Weasley family would be a wise choice for her children, if she should bear any. They've a long lineage of full, magical power,"
Harry laughed softly, sadly, "You're so…political about this. She doesn't want to marry Ron for his genes,"
"I know that," Draco responded coolly, "My family doesn't marry for love, though and so it's out of my nature to look at it in that light. It doesn't matter if they love each other or not; what parents would they make? Parents are partners. They are a team. Extreme emotions like love only get in the way of team goals. It is sometimes wiser to marry someone you don't love, because your judgment won't be clouded by it. In any case, their offspring will do well in the magical world,"
"So, you won't marry for love?" Harry inquired timidly.
Draco's face changed dramatically in the dim lighting and Harry felt as though the volume of the world was far too high.
"I probably won't get married at all,"
"Don't do that," Harry slipped ungraciously.
Draco quirked a brow at him and he loosened his stance, clearing his throat nervously,
"Youdeservetobehappyandalland Idon'twanttoseeyourui—"
"English, Potter. Your eloquence, or lack thereof, needs work,"
Harry sighed, inhaled deeply and then repeated, "You deserve to be happy. I really…want you to be happy,"
Draco's hand found Harry's and made the latter twitch with shock. Their eyes met and Harry only noticed then that he had ever moved his gaze away. Malfoy's eyes were welcoming, trusting and Harry hoped that his breath smelled nice, because Draco's pointed face was rather close.
"You should spend more time here,"
Harry felt thundering in his body, lightning striking his heart; left speechless, he nodded. He saw Draco's throat bob nervously with a barely audible gulp.
"Spend the weekend with me,"
Harry's eyes widened at the invitation, "F-for what?"
He cursed himself for stammering; just as he had stuttered, Draco felt more confident. His face painted a familiar smirk, but it died quite quickly.
"I need your help,"
"You…need my help?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.
He nodded once, "I haven't had the heart to go through my mother's things. I need support,"
He thought of Draco's history, or what he knew of it, and could never recall him asking anyone for anything.
"Is this the first time you've ever asked for help?"
The smirk came back, striking fear in Harry's heart and Draco's tone sounded much more flirtatious,
"Oh, Potter, is it that you want to be my first?"
"Why, Potter, you dirty bird,"
Harry shoved Draco's chest with an uncomfortable laugh, making Draco chuckle.
"You're so easy to upset,"
"You keep coming onto me!" Harry defended through a broad smile, heart pounding away.
"I never said I was coming onto you," Draco replied slyly, feigning insult.
"You-you –" Harry grasped for words while Draco laughed at him, "You know what you're doing!"
"I haven't said anything perverse. Your mind is obviously the one in the gutter,"
Harry went to defend himself again, but he decided to let the joke slide; Draco could hardly keep from laughing. Harry rolled his eyes and very suddenly missed Draco's hand on his.
"I need to know, Malfoy…" Harry began; Draco's laughter died out before he asked, "Did you really kill someone, Malfoy?"
Darkness wrapped the room and Harry heard the windows rattle against a sudden wind. He didn't consider himself very in tune with magic energies, but he could feel Malfoy's magic. He could feel it pulsing through the room, throwing itself against the walls in fright.
"Why?" Draco asked, calmly, though Harry knew it was a disguise.
"I just want you to know I forgive you,"
Draco sneered, "I don't need your forgiveness, Potter,"
"I know," Harry replied with a shy smile, "I know you don't. I'd like to give it to you anyway,"
"You don't even know what I did," Draco responded coldly; Harry could see the hope twinkling behind the silver of his eyes, though. Harry and he were both hoping he had the right response.
Everything with Malfoy is a test.
"It doesn't matter," Harry said at last, "I don't care about your past, Malfoy. I know who you are now and I …"
"You…?" Draco pressed.
Harry blushed, flattered by Draco's unabashed intrigue; which was likely a slip of his façade.
"I…trust you,"
Draco could feel his heart swelling. Never having been told such a thing, he was unsure of how to reply. He was not skilled in giving honest compliments. He brushed some hair from his forehead, making Harry glance at the show of skin.
"Good, uhm…" He started, "I, uhm…I trust you…also. As well,"
Harry began to smile, nervous to the brink of giggling, but feeling too exposed and vulnerable to laugh at Draco.
"It was a mistake, by the way,"
Harry hummed a questioning sound and Draco continued, while watching the fire, "I didn't kill someone on purpose. It was an accident,"
Harry felt his heart sigh; he hated admitting to himself that it was a relief. He had promised to forgive Draco no matter the sin, but he certainly found it easier to forgive him for an error.
"Oh," Harry tried to sound indifferent, "Well, you know I forgive you,"
Silver eyes rolled, unimpressed and it made Harry smile again.
"Right, thank you, Boy Wonder, for your saintly forgiveness,"
George.
George.
George.
"What?!" He finally begged the empty air.
He locked himself in his room, trying to clear his head and extinguish the burning nausea he had been feeling all that day. Noise was rattling around the insides of his mind and he felt trapped in his waking thoughts. His heart was racing, his vision was blurred, his palms and face were clammy, but he was somehow exhausted. He was not sure what to do. He would not consider going to his mother or brothers.
He looked into his mirror and saw the state of his disarray. His hair was mussed, his face pale and sickly and his body was weak; his very cuticles felt chilled and sickly. He could not stop moving. His hands were twitching and he paced his bedroom floor.
"What? What is it?"
George, you were there.
"What?"
You were there, George, and you didn't save your brother.
George twisted around violently, making his head spin. He was distraught and he whispered back,
"I couldn't!"
YOU DIDN'T.
He fell back on to his bed, which may as well have been floating atop a whirlpool. Tornadoes in his eyes and emptiness all around. He tried to close his eyes, but he felt as if they would pop out of their sockets and so he opened them again. He pressed his fingers onto his eyelids, his legs still shaking violently.
George.
George.
"Stop!" He shouted, "Stop! Stop! Enough! Stop!"
You are weak. You are nothing. When your mother looks at you, she will always see the son you let die. She counted on you to be there for him.
"Stop," He whimpered, turning onto his side and crying into his pillow, "Stop, please,"
You failed her, George. You failed everyone.
His hazy vision hooked onto Fred's bed, across the floor. He felt bile rising in his throat and he agreed,
"I'm a failure,"
Molly bustled through the kitchen door with grocery bags stacked unbelievably high. When she sat them on the kitchen table, she saw Percy at the sink, washing dishes. She smiled lovingly and asked,
"Percy! What are you doing, dear?"
"Just cleaning. Keeping busy," He answered.
She nodded and outstretched her arms, offering an embrace. He took it and held her tightly.
"Where is your sister?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her around home much these days,"
"Huh," Molly uttered with a shrug.
She smiled into his curly hair and announced,
"Well, I've got fantastic news, Percy,"
"Mm?" He hummed, pulling away to meet her eyes.
She was positively sparkling with excitement.
"Bill and Fleur are pregnant!"