This fiction was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, where I am the second Chaser for the Wimbourne Wasps.
Title/Link: With Every Battle We Lose A Little More
Team: Wimbourne Wasps
.Position: Chaser 2 - The Sage - Fear: deception
Reserve: No
Prompts: (Song) Go To War by Nothing More, (Dialogue) "You don't understand."/"No. But I want to.", (Settling) Room of Requirement.
Word Count: 2369
With Every Battle We Lose A Little More
By Drarrymadhatter
Draco leaned heavily against the corridor wall and gasped as the residual pain from Sectumsempra surged and ebbed within and across his chest. Where the hell had Potter learned that bloody curse anyway? Perhaps Madame Pomfrey was right and he should still be resting in the hospital wing, but recuperation was a luxury he couldn't afford. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tightly together, then tried to take steadying breaths through his nose. He would not allow himself to cry. He could only imagine what his father would say if he knew just how pathetic he had become. Understand me Draco, for I will only say this once. Crying is a weakness, and a Malfoy never shows weakness. The memory of the beating that had followed those words still made Draco want to whimper.
Luckily, Severus had been there to help him as usual. He healed Draco's wounds and stayed with Draco until the tears he was forbidden to cry had finally dried on his cheeks. Somehow, Severus always tried to help. Even now, even though there was no way for him to actually help. This was Draco's task. His own burden. And no one else could help him. The sheer impossibility of his situation clawed at his skin and, for a moment, Draco wished that Potter had actually managed to kill him the night before. Draco puffed out a breath in frustration at himself and shook his head. If he had died, then he would have as good as failed. Who knows what He would do to Draco's mother and father as punishment. Draco could almost feel his deadline looming, like a Dementor just slightly out of attack range. Time, quite literally, was being sucked away from him. Draco let the crushing truth of that thought settle over him for a moment. Then, taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the wall and forced himself to walk, albeit slowly, towards the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor.
Harry finished shoving his feet inside his trainers with an impatient grunt and fumbled inside his trunk for his map. Impatiently, he placed the tip of his wand on the parchment and mumbled 'I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," and held his breath expectantly. After a few seconds of frantic searching, Harry zeroed in on Malfoy's name. Harry was surprised that Malfoy was no longer in the hospital wing. Having had first-hand experience of how coddling Madame Pomfrey could be, he'd thought it would be a couple of days at least before she released Malfoy. The only possible explanation was Snape — he must have vouched for him somehow.
The thought of Snape sent Harry's thoughts in an unwanted direction, reminding him of the night before. What was I thinking? demanded Harry not for the first time that morning, as the memory of Malfoy lying pale on the bathroom floor covered in water and blood swam in front of his eyes. Never in his life had Harry felt as disgusted with anything as he felt about himself in that moment. He could feel the guilt poisoning his blood as it pumped around his body. He wasn't stupid; he knew Malfoy could have died. The only reason he did was because Snape had been nearby. He needed to set it right and quickly. With that thought, Harry gave himself a shake and carefully watched Malfoy's progress as he moved slowly from corridor to corridor. After a moment, it became clear where he was heading. Murmuring a quick "mischief managed" at the parchment, he shoved it into his pocket and took off after Draco.
Draco sank into the cushions of the armchair he'd conjured and closed his eyes in exhaustion. His body ached from the walk through the castle, and he was covered in a distasteful and sticky layer of perspiration. No doubt he was sweating out whatever was in the many potions Pomfrey had force-fed him the night before. Draco wished—for what felt the hundredth time—that there was a window he could open, but knew there was nothing like that. The Room didn't work that way — if the air was too hot then the Room would cool it, and vice versa. However, it was he that was too hot, regardless of the temperature of the Room. The slight fever currently plaguing him was nothing but an unpleasant lingering side effect of the events of the previous night.
Wearily, he lifted his wand and cast a cooling charm on himself, sighing with relief as he felt it settle over his heated skin. He allowed himself to sink further into the cushions and let his head fall back. Merlin, he was tired. If only he was able to get a decent sleep, then maybe he would have finished fixing the bloody cabinet by now. The temptation to slip into slumber was tantalising and becoming a very real possibility. What use would he be if he was too tired to think properly? I'll rest for a minute, just one minute, he told himself, as sleep started to creep over his body and into his mind.
Harry stood cautiously outside the Room, peering carefully round the partially opened door. Never, in all the times Harry had tracked Malfoy to the Room of Requirement had Malfoy forgotten to close the door. Usually it was shut fast, and no matter what Harry did he couldn't get it to open. However, this time, luck was on his side. Slowly, as careful as if he were hunting a dangerous wounded beast, he pushed the door open inch by inch, until he was able to slip sideways inside the Room. Glancing around, Harry quickly realised this was where he had hid his potions book the night before. Before he could put too much thought into why Malfoy would be in here of all places, he spotted him, unarmed and unaware, asleep in a plush looking armchair.
Wow, he looks like shite, thought Harry, as he edged closer to the sleeping figure. Harry realised he had never had an opportunity to really look at Draco before and allowed his eyes to rove over his body. He noted how pale Draco was, the dark circles ominous under his puffy and swollen eyes. He'd lost weight too, Harry realised, as he took in the hollow of Draco's cheekbones and the highly visible bones within his neck. Whatever Draco was up to, Harry knew he clearly needed help. If he could get Draco to accept his apology, perhaps he could convince him to let him help. The thought emboldened Harry and he stepped ever closer until his thighs were brushing the arm of the lavish chair.
Draco felt something tug at the edge of his consciousness as he drifted on the verge of deep sleep. His skin felt itchy, as though something was wrong, like someone was watching him. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and let out a sudden yelp of shock at the sight of Harry Potter not more than a foot away from him, staring avidly at him as if he were some rare creature in a cage. Potter looked as surprised as Draco felt, having actually jumped back several yards in surprise at Draco's sudden exclamation. Angrily, Draco hefted himself out of the chair and rounded upon his adversary, fury practically wafting out of his pores.
"What the fuck do you want, Potter? How the hell did you even get in here?"
Potter held up his hands placatingly and spoke very slowly and carefully, as though one wrong word would be his downfall.
"Easy Malfoy, I don't have my wand out. I'm alone. You must have left the door open and I came in to—"
"To what? To fucking what, Potter?" demanded Draco in disbelief.
"To apologise," replied Potter, sheepishly. "I had no idea what that spell did and I'm sorry. No matter what you've done, you didn't deserve that. No one does."
"Yeah, right, Potter. You followed me all the way up here to tell me you're sorry," scoffed Draco, his words drenched in sarcasm.
"I swear, I just want to apologise, and make sure you're ok. I'm disgusted with myself for using that spell. I would never do that to anyone, you have to believe me."
Draco couldn't stand the whining plea in Potter's voice. Clearly desperation didn't suit the Chosen One. Suddenly overcome with the situation, Draco decided to give Potter what he wanted in the hopes he would leave.
"Fine. You're sorry. I accept your apology. Now, will you do me a favour for once and just bugger off?"
Without waiting for an answer, Draco turned his back to Potter and made a show of examining an old painting leaning against a nearby bookcase. He prayed that Potter would take the hint.
Harry rather thought his intrusion into whatever Malfoy was up to had gone well considering what happened the last time he'd surprised him. Therefore, Harry decided that perhaps he should do as Malfoy asked and just leave. However, as he opened his mouth, he ended up saying something else entirely.
"Show me your left forearm, Malfoy."
Harry watched Malfoy's eyes widen in alarm and his right hand immediately came to rest over his left forearm.
"What the fuck, Potter? Just leave, will you?"
Malfoy's voice sounded desperate and pleading to Harry, and he decided that if he was going to help Malfoy, then this was the time to do it.
"Your arm; I want you to show me. You see, I have a theory that you're marked, that you have some kind of task from Voldemort, and that you're in way over your head." As Harry spoke, he watched Malfoy's face take on a sickly pallor and beads of sweat form on his forehead. He took a few steps closer before continuing.
"I know you're scared, Malfoy. I know you need help—"
"You know nothing, Potter!" rasped Malfoy. Harry, however, was undeterred and continued as if Malfoy hadn't interrupted him, purposely using a calm tone and slowly stepping closer with each word.
"And I can help you, or Dumbledore can. You don't need to do this alone. First, just show me your arm."
With that, Harry caught Malfoy off guard and lunged forwards, grabbing his left arm and wrenching his hand off of it, then forcing the sleeve of his jumper up to the elbow to reveal a very prominent, very dark mark.
Draco jerked his arm away from Harry and slumped back against the bookcase in shock and despair. He could feel something welling inside him and rapidly blinked to clear his stinging eyes of all the unshed tears he had locked within. He looked at Potter just standing in front of him, mouth open in horror at having his theory confirmed. Somehow, Potter's horror made the entire thing seem that much worse. If someone who had routinely faced and thwarted Him was scared, then what hope did anyone else have? Draco suddenly couldn't take it anymore, the entirety of the situation was threatening to choke him and, at a loss of what else to do, he slid down the bookcase to the floor, his mark still bared to the room. He gasped air into his lungs and tried to speak, only for the words to turn to ash on his tongue. He wanted to gag at the taste of his own despair. After several tense minutes, Draco finally managed to articulate his turmoil.
"You can't help me; no one can. You think good and evil are split into black and white. Well, it's not, Potter; it's all grey. And you'll never understand that. And that's why you can't help me." Draco took a ragged breath and ran his tongue over his dry lips before continuing. "You can't save me, Potter. Go Gryffindor somewhere else, will you?"
"Please, Malfoy, just tell me what Voldemort wants you to do," urged Potter.
Draco could hear the frustration in his voice and found he had no strength left to fight him. His eyes felt on fire with pressure, and he could feel tears begin to escape and trail wet paths down his pale cheeks. At length, Draco sighed bitterly and looked Potter in the eye.
"You don't understand."
"No. But I want to." Harry whispered.
He could feel the helplessness behind Malfoy's words, and his stomach ached for what he must have been going through. Slowly, he lowered himself down and knelt in front of Malfoy. Tentatively, he reached out a trembling hand towards Malfoy's face and, ignoring the wince his touch drew from the other boy, Harry titled his chin up to gently force eye contact.
"Let me help you," pleaded Harry, half expecting Malfoy to punch him for getting this close.
"I don't know what you had in mind, Potter," sighed Malfoy, "but we're on opposing sides. There's nothing you can do. Yes, I'm marked. No, I didn't want to be, but the Dark Lord doesn't usually care what other people want. Yes, I have an impossible task that I'm never going to pull off, and when I fail, He'll kill me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Harry felt himself sag at the hopelessness of Malfoy's words as he dissolved into silent tears. He sat down next to Malfoy and slid a comforting arm around the boy's shoulders.
"It's going to be ok, I swear it. You look like you need a good rest and a decent meal, but first I need you to tell me everything you can and then we'll go to Dumbledore. We should also tell Snape, I suppose. We can get your parents out and protect them if you think they'll come."
Harry continued to soothe Malfoy, rubbing his thumb over the bone of his shoulder. Gradually, he felt Malfoy lean into his side and felt him lift his hand to where Harry was stroking him, lacing their fingers together. Harry squeezed Malfoy's fingers in reassurance and pulled him closer still, letting the boy take all the comfort he needed. There was plenty of time to talk to Dumbledore later.