Thank you all for your lovely reviews! This is a long chapter for you guys, not really sure how this happened, but here you go! :)
Warning: N/A
Chapter 8- To be Trapped
Blaise had cornered him in the common room-which Draco had been stupid enough to go into before heading to Slughorn's dinner-and asked where he was going.
He should have lied.
Blaise had then insisted on walking with him, babbling in his ear as they walked down the corridors. That was until they reached an abandoned section that almost no one traveled down. Blaise then stopped, turning to Draco with his face suddenly serious, and Draco was scowling before he could stop himself.
"What are you doing?" Blaise asked. "It's obvious you're up to something, disappearing all the time."
"I'm not up to anything, Blaise," Draco snapped. "And even if I was, it would be better if you left it alone."
"I doubt that," Blaise scowled. "I know that look on you, Draco. Something's wrong; maybe I can help you."
"No one can help me," he answered, and Blaise frowned at him.
"Is this about your mother?" he leaned forward, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Draco, there was nothing you could have done."
"That's not true," Draco shoved his hand away. "I could have stayed out of The Order. I could have just listened to my father and done what I was told."
"Like what? Worked for a madman?" Blaise's lip curled. "And your father was abusive and manipulative and-."
"My father never hit me-," Draco started and then clicked his mouth shut before he could say anything else. Blaise just raised an eyebrow at him, and Draco turned his face away, already feeling the humiliation burn on his cheeks. What was he doing defending the man who had tortured him, who had tried to control him his entire life?
"There are different kinds of abuse than physical, Draco," Blaise answered. And Draco hated how his voice had gone soft as if he was afraid Draco would suddenly break.
"I know that."
"Do you?" he asked. "Because you don't seem like you do."
"Stop trying to analyze me," Draco glared at him, and Blaise finally held up his hands as if he was surrendering.
"Fine, I get it, it's not my place, but I do think you should talk to someone," he said. "And you do happen to have a very nice boyfriend who seems to to be more than willing."
"I…" Draco answered. "I can barely even look at Harry without feeling guilty right now."
"Guilty?" Blaise frowned, and Draco knew he'd gone too far. There were certain things that Blaise didn't know about, didn't need to know about. "Why would you feel guilty? Because you didn't tell him about your mother being at my house?" Draco just turned his face away, and Blaise seemed to take this as an affirmation. "You'll tell him when you're ready, Draco."
"I know," he answered, shrugging Blaise off and continuing down the corridor. He could feel the frown against his back, but he knew there was no way Blaise could know about his mission. And Draco had to make sure it stayed that way. Blaise may have understood and supported him when he thought all that happened was The Dark Lord getting some kind of twisted revenge on Draco's family for what happened last years, but Blaise would turn his back in a second if he knew the truth.
They were some of the first to arrive, only McLaggen—a Gryffindor brute that Draco had heard Granger complain about often enough—was there before them. Blaise stood smoothly at his side as Slughorn bowed—not at all gracefully—to them and continued to chat with McLaggen. Longbottom was the next to arrive, and suddenly Blaise was all eyes, his head swiveling around and his eyes locking on Longbottom's face.
Draco snickered at him, and Blaise turned toward him just enough to glare. Longbottom came toward them, throwing McLaggen and Slughorn a nervous look before nodding to Blaise.
"I guess I'm early," Longbottom said.
"Nonsense," Blaise answered, his smile wide and charming. "You're right on time, everyone else if just late."
"Or maybe they just skipped," Draco said, wondering himself if he owed Granger a curse.
"Oh," Longbottom answered, his eyes flicking to Draco and then back to Blaise. "I almost didn't come."
"Why did you?" Blaise asked, his voice dropping at least an octave. The answer he wanted was clear enough, but poor Longbottom's face turned beat red, and Draco could practically see his brain short circuiting.
"I…uh, water," Longbottom said finally, which didn't make a whole lot of sense, but then the boy was a Gryffindor, and he hadn't been picked for his smarts. He turned away, moving rapidly toward the table of refreshments. To Draco's astonishment, he only tripped once too.
"You're going to break him, Blaise," Draco said once Longbottom was out of earshot. "Why don't you pick someone a little more durable to play with?"
"I like Neville," Blaise frowned at him before moving his gaze back over to Longbottom's form. "He's actually quite smart when he's not flustered."
"Is he even gay?"
"Please, Draco, what is gender when it comes to romance?" Blaise answered, and then left Draco frowning after him as he went to go assault Longbottom again.
Granger was there shortly after, followed closely by Malinda Bobbin, who Draco had seen but never spoken to. Hermione came directly to Draco's side and smiled up at him distractedly.
"Did I miss anything?" she asked.
"Blaise wooing Longbottom," he answered.
"What?" she blinked at him, before turning toward the two of them. Blaise was laughing now, Longbottom blushing and smiling while muttering some kind of apology. Draco was sure he was about to vomit somewhere. "Oh, yes, they've been like that every time."
"Really?" Draco answered. "And Blaise hasn't gotten bored yet?" Granger just shrugged. And then Slughorn was sighing, moving to the middle of the room. Most of the conversation petered out as he began talking, and Draco caught Blaise's dark look over Slughorn's shoulder.
"Well, there were supposed to be a couple more people coming, but I suppose engagements change," he let out a lofty breath. "Shall we eat?"
He gestured, and the everyone was starting toward the dinning table that was set up. Then the door opened again, and Draco found himself staring as Harry came in, his hair wild and his hands red and raw looking. His eyes found Draco and Granger immediately, and he started toward them only to be stopped by Slughorn.
"Harry, my boy! You made it!" Slughorn said, beaming rather obnoxiously. "I knew Severus could be talked around. You're just I time, we were just about to eat," he gestured wildly. "Sit, sit, everyone!"
They moved toward the table. Draco noticed McLaggen eyeing Granger and quickly steered her toward the opposite end of the table. Harry promptly sat in between them and Blaise on his other side. Longbottom was across from them. McLaggen and Bobbin were seated up near to Slughorn, who was still talking away about something or other. From the way Harry kept looking up, away, and nodding distractedly, Draco figured Slughorn was talking to him.
Their first course had just appeared on the table when the door opened again. Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if this bloody dinner was ever going to even start. Then the youngest Weasley, Ginny, stepped in, her eyes puffy and red. Harry stood abruptly, staring over at her with wide eyes, and Draco felt something flash low in his stomach at Harry's expression.
"Sorry, I'm late," Weasley said.
"Oh, it's no problem at all, my dear," Slughorn answered, eyeing her curiously. "Have a seat, have a seat, we've just started."
Weasley sat down next to Longbottom, right across from Harry, who was finally sitting down, but still hadn't looked away from her face. Draco kicked him under the table. Hard.
"Ouch," Harry jumped, turning his head to meet Draco's gaze. "Why did you do that?"
"Stop staring and eat your food, Potter," Draco hissed, and he hoped Potter had a nasty bruise on his shin. Harry looked over at Hermione, who—bless her—narrowed her eyes and frowned at him.
The dinner was as boring as Draco predicted it to be. The entire time he couldn't help but think his house elves could have made something so much better, but then he could hardly have blamed Slughorn for that. It was almost amusing the way Slughorn talked only to Harry, leaving the rest of them pretty much alone. Harry's annoyance and stuttering answers made it so much the better.
Draco would have been inclined to help Harry out if he would stop looking at Weasley's face, over and over even after the bint's eyes had returned to normal. She was talking to Neville like a normal person and still Harry stared. Draco told himself Harry was just concerned, the Weasleys were family to him. It made sense that when one showed up crying, he would be concerned, but that didn't stop the bitterness from creeping up his throat and choking him. He felt like kicking Harry again, but somehow managed to refrain. Barely.
When Slughorn finally noticed the time, he waved his hands and said he'd lost track as he always did when he invited people to have dinner with him. Draco wondered vaguely if he thought people didn't notice the he always did the same thing or if he just didn't care if he was considered predictable. Draco had stood as quickly as he could and almost ran from the room. Except that Malfoys didn't run away from things, even if they were annoying boys who stared at girls when they should be staring at him.
Still though, somehow Harry caught him just outside the door, his grip tight on Draco's elbow. Draco was surprised Harry had even noticed Draco had left when he'd been so busy checking out Weasley.
"Draco, can we talk?" Harry asked.
"No," he snapped, and Harry blinked as if he had no idea what he'd done wrong. Draco sighed, forcing himself to relax. Knowing the idiot, he probably didn't have any idea. Draco was almost sure Harry didn't have a deceitful bone in his body, but that didn't mean being subjected to an afternoon of his staring at someone else wasn't... painful.
"Draco?" Harry asked, his green eyes wide and his grip tight on Draco's arm. Draco knew he was being unfair. But then, he didn't want to be fair. He was so tired of keeping it together, and he just wanted to be jealous and petty and angry, even if it was for one minute. But then he would just feel guilty about it later. And he couldn't help thinking that maybe Harry should just be with Weasley rather than Draco.
And wasn't it Draco's fault that Harry was looking in her direction at all? Hadn't he been the one to pull away enough that Harry had time to look at someone else?
"Not tonight, Harry," he said. "I'm tired, and I'm angry, and I promise you whatever you want to say won't end well."
"But-."
"Please," Draco said, looking down to meet Harry gaze. Because he knew if Harry pushed him, either away or closer, his secrets would come spilling out before he could stop them. He was so tired of lying to Harry. He was so tired of pretending.
"I…" Harry hesitated, and then released him. "Ok, but we will talk."
"If you want to," Draco sighed, and then stepped away from him. It felt so final. He was always stepping away from Harry, never moving closer to him.
But then he couldn't. He just couldn't. He'd been the cause of his mother's lose of sanity; he couldn't be the reason Harry lost his life too.
Somehow, he managed to avoid Harry the rest of the week. It wasn't easy, but when Harry did catch him, Draco did his best to lead Harry toward as safe a topic as he could. It wasn't particularly difficult, Harry was having a normal—for him anyway—Hogwarts experience, including Quidditch, heaps of homework, his friends, and adoring girls. Of course he had things to talk about.
It wasn't his fault Draco had quit the Quidditch team, was neglecting his homework, had lost all his friends, and was ignored every adoring gaze but Harry's.
He got the feeling Harry knew he was avoiding talking to him, but he just didn't know how to approach Draco without starting a fight. Which Draco appreciated, Harry and him seemed to exist in a strange sort of balance since their last fight at Grimmauld Palace. He felt like he could breath on it wrong, and it would come tumbling down, never to return.
Granger talked to him often enough. Draco found when he was studying, it was because of her. She was smart, though he did wish she would stop quoting books and think a little more about what they could mean for herself. This was one of the reasons she had trouble with Slughorn's more complex potions, the textbooks didn't tell you everything—well, Harry's did, but he was cheating—you had to think beyond the book and piece together the theory. It was something even Draco needed to work on. When he'd mentioned it to her though, she'd just stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. He hadn't said anything since.
She was relaxing enough to be around most of the time. As long as they got their work done, she didn't nag him too much. And she didn't treat him as if he was evil like Weasley still did. He got the feeling Hermione knew something was going on with him, just like Harry did, but she never said anything, which was something Draco needed from her, and she gave it to him.
When the weekend of the Hogsmeade trip rolled around, Draco hadn't really been planning on going. He was busy; Merlin, he was always busy. But when Harry had mentioned it so casually and looked over at him with his green eyes smiling and warm, Draco had only been able to nod and smile thinly.
So, they were walking to Hogsmeade, Granger and Weasley just a little ahead of them, and Harry walking with more distance between their bodies than he would have put even just a month ago. And Draco had no one to blame but himself.
He couldn't help remembering Harry and Chang's date to Hogsmeade. He'd never heard exactly how that'd gone; apparently bad enough to decide Harry really didn't like her, or maybe that had just been the kiss under the mistletoe. Draco shook his head to get rid of those thoughts as they continued into Hogsmeade. He'd rather not think about Chang and Harry together, actually.
Zonko's joke shop was board up, which judging by Weasley and Harry's downturned faces wasn't good. For his part, Draco was relieved. At least now he wouldn't have to pretend to be interested in whatever thing Harry found there. Ever since this summer and his experience with The Dark Lord in his house, and his mother screaming, and- Draco shivered, and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. He had been less inclined toward joke shops and the items they sold.
Instead he found them heading toward Honeydukes, which was much more Draco's style. His love of chocolate hadn't been near as affected as his sense of humor over the summer.
"Thank Merlin," Weasley said as soon as they stepped into the warm air.
"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn said. He wasted one glance at Draco, who just scowled at him. He was never sure just how Slughorn seemed so determined to ignore Draco's contempt. Maybe he just knew if he was rude to Draco, he would never win Harry over. Or maybe Draco's temper really meant so little to him. Draco honestly didn't know which he preferred.
Harry forced a smile at Slughorn but said nothing as the man approached. It was obvious from his body language that he hated the attention, but this too Slughorn either chose to ignore or didn't see completely. Weasley just scowled as he was ignored, and Hermione gave a small uncomfortable smile.
"I was so glad you could make it to my last little party!" Slughorn said. "I'm determined to have you again! How does Monday night sound?"
"I can't," Harry answered immediately, and Draco almost wished he could sound that innocent when he was making excuses to avoid his Professors. "I have an appointed with Professor Dumbledore on Monday." Harry's eyes flicked toward him, and Draco felt… something pang deep through him.
"Goodness, Harry," Slughorn exclaimed. "Well, I'll just to have to catch you another time, then." He winked once, and then started waddling away, leaving the four of them to stare after him.
Draco wanted to ask if Harry really had another lesson with Dumbledore. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to be able to get angry. But he knew better than anyone, he had no right to be upset about being kept out of the loop of someone else's life. Harry shifted next to him as if he knew what was going through his head and was silently willing Draco not to ask. And no matter how much it hurt that Harry didn't seem to trust him anymore, it wasn't as if he didn't deserve it.
"I hate that man," he said instead. Harry blink once as if surprised by his statement.
"Why?" He asked.
"Why not?" Draco answered, and after a long minute of staring, Harry just shrugged.
They spent a long time in Honeydukes', Weasley and Harry looking at a bunch of different things while running around like children. Granger was calmer and more selective but seemed just as eager, stuffing things into her bag. It was intoxicating, the atmosphere of relaxation and fun. It was almost of if Draco could put down the weight he had been told to carry and act a child again. If only for a day.
He found himself put to distraction by Harry. More than once, he had to stop what he was doing to watch the way Harry laughed at something Weasley or Granger said. Or the way he snuck a piece of candy into his bag as if he really wasn't welcome to it. He found himself laughing when Harry sauntered over to him and made a joke.
Then Weasley was coming over and talking about Butterbeer, so they were finding Granger and buying their sweets before stepping out into the cold again. It was a shock after being in the warmth for so long, but when Harry reached down and laced their fingers together, Draco couldn't find it in himself to care.
They found a table at the Three Broomsticks easily, and Weasley and Hermione left the table to go order the Butterbeers.
"I've never seen you smile so much," Harry said, turning in his chair to face Draco. He just shrugged, his fingers playing idly over the rough wood of the table. There hadn't been much for him to smile about, last year or this year. Harry's fingers suddenly caught the side of his cheek, and Draco started, finding himself looking into deep green eyes that seemed to read him better than anyone ever had before. "I wish you would talk to me," he said quietly, and Draco found a bitter smile on his lips before he'd meant to put it there.
"I know."
And then Weasley and Granger were back, carrying their Butterbeers, and Harry was letting go of both his face and his hand, and Draco was feeling horribly cold again though he knew the temperature in the Three Broomsticks hadn't changed.
Draco was in the bathroom, taking longer than probably strictly necessary, but he didn't want to come out. He didn't want to go back to Weasley's jokes and Hermione's concerned looks, and—the absolute worst—Harry's looks of longing.
The looks of longing that weren't even directed at him.
Weasley, the girl one, had sat down with her boyfriend, Dean Thomas, not long after they had, and Harry had reacted almost the same as he had when they'd been at the party. He'd started and then stared, and it had send Draco's belly boiling and bursting, and then as if all that was bad enough, he had felt guilty for being jealous.
He should be allowed to be jealous of his boyfriend.
He felt his hands grip the sink in front of him harder. If Harry was even his boyfriend at this point. They had never talked about it. The words had never been said. He was sure, the opposite had actually be said at one point.
"Upset your boytoy is staring someone else down, Malfoy?" The voice drifted up from behind him, and Draco found his hands tightening even further on the sink.
"Sod off, Nott," he answered, but the footsteps were only approaching.
"Well, that's not very nice, Malfoy," he answered, and he was suddenly right there, leaning against the sink right next to Draco's and smirking down at him.
"What do you want?" Draco said, straightening himself, and looking down his nose at Nott.
"I want some proof of your progress," Nott answered. "Our Lord is getting impatient."
"Your Lord," Draco snapped. "He was never my anything." Suddenly, Nott's wand was out, pointing across the small distance between them and directly into Draco's face. Draco just stared at him; Nott couldn't kill him, he'd been ordered not to. But that didn't mean he couldn't hurt him.
"Be careful what you say, Draco," he sneered. "Your defiance already got your mother in trouble once."
"If your so much better than me, why doesn't Voldemort just use you to get into the school," Draco answered, and was rewarded with a minute flinch, and then a tightening of Nott's wand hand.
"You've got some balls, Malfoy, I'll give you that," he said, and Draco just sneered at him. "And you already know the reason. You're the one Dumbledore trusts."
"It won't work," Draco told him, his lips twisting in a cold sneer. "Dumbledore's not stupid." Nott smiled, his teeth gleaming against the low lights of the bathroom. He was just opening his mouth to say something else when the door clicked open. His wand came down fast, tucking itself into his sleeve, and Draco swiveled to look toward the door.
"What's going on in here?" Harry asked, his green eyes flicking between Nott and Draco, glasses reflecting the light back.
"Nothing, Potter," Nott snapped, stalking past him. He made sure to bump Harry's shoulder on the way past before slamming the door behind him.
"Draco?" Harry asked, turning back with one raised eyebrow after watching Nott's retreat.
"It was nothing," he said, pulling away from the sinks, and making as if to leave. "Forget about it, Harry." Of course, Harry didn't accept that. He caught Draco's wrist as he went past, stopping his motion. Draco closed his eyes, hopping he would just let go, because he really just couldn't look at Harry and stand there and lie as if it was nothing when…
"You don't trust me," Harry's voice rang out, echoing in the cramped bathroom. And Draco felt as if the ground had dropped from below him. It was as if Harry had sucked the air from his lungs and refused him the right to breathe.
"Trust you?" He asked, and he even he had to admit that his voice sounded pathetic. How could Harry think Draco didn't- It wasn't that. It had never been about that. If it had been up to him, he would be on his knees spilling his secrets and begging Harry to forgive him. Malfoy pride be damned. But there were more important things that what made Draco happy.
"Yes, Draco," Harry answered, and though Draco still had his eyes closed, he could picture those green eyes, hurt and betrayal and anger blazing inside them. "You don't trust me. Otherwise you would tell me what's going on instead of sneaking off to Knockturn Alley," Draco flinched, eyes flying wide; Harry knew. "Ditching me to go to the room of requirement over and over," Harry continued, his voice chilling with every word he spoke as if had no idea how hard they were already hitting Draco. "You would tell me what happened to your mother."
And Draco staggered, feeling as Harry had slapped him across the face.
"I…You've been following me?" Draco asked, his voice somewhere between an indignant squeak and a strangled yell, and he found himself wishing he had walked away when he'd had the chance.
"What else was I supposed to do?" Harry answered. "There's something going on that you're not telling me about! And frankly, it's making me-."
"Talk about trust," Draco answered, and he could feel it now. He could feel the numbness of shock dissipating and horrible realization of what Harry had been saying sinking in, in, in. He could feel the pain blossoming in his chest and the stinging behind his eyes, but he pushed it back as he continued to stare at Potter. He pushed it back and forced himself to consider the horrible possibility that maybe it was better this way.
"What?"
"You had no right to follow me," he said, grinding his teeth against the pain, against the acknowledgment that he might just be turning Harry away from him for good. He forced all his frustration to come out as anger instead, channeling it directly toward Harry in one dark wave. "You had no right to invade my privacy as if I'm some random deatheater and not your-," he cut himself off. "Whatever I am," and it was true, he had no idea what he was to Harry. And now, he might never know. "You have no idea what's going through my head, because you never bothered to ask," he swallowed and turned his face away. He had never bothered to tell Harry what he wanted. "You didn't ask, because you had already assumed the worst of me, perfect Potter so stuck in his own little world he can never consider other people's problems."
Harry was staring at him now, his eyes wide and green and full of something too close to remorse, but Draco couldn't stand to see it.
He turned his back on Harry, feeling raw and strangled and aching. He slammed the bathroom door on Potter's strangled shout; it sounded suspiciously like his name, but Draco wasn't listening anymore. He wasn't listening to anything but the howling of pain that was echoing inside him.
Because as much as it hurt to have the knowledge that Harry had never really seen him as anything more than a deatheater shoved in his face, it hurt more that he didn't deserve Harry's trust. It hurt more that it would be better for Harry if he just left Draco alone now. Because nothing good could come from the tangled mess Draco had gotten himself involved in.
He ignored Granger and Weasley's eyes on him, and dashed out the door, stopping only when he felt he was a safe enough distance away from the Three Broomsticks. He hated Voldemort for his demands. He hated himself for not being able to think of a way out. He hated Dumbledore for putting Draco in this position to begin with. And he hated himself for being weak enough to let it happen.
