That night, Harry found Malfoy sitting in bed, reading. He sighed and took a seat on his own bed, clearing his throat.

Malfoy looked up.

"Erm, Malfoy?"

"Yes?"

"I feel like I owe you an apology."

"Oh," Malfoy said, straightening up and setting his book on the nightstand. "Whatever for?"

"You were hurt, badly, and I wasn't . . . I didn't . . . I was harsh with you, when it wasn't the right time to talk about what happened."

"I'm not made of glass, Potter."

"I'm just trying to tell you I know it was wrong of me, and I'm sorry."

"No, you're trying to assuage your guilt so you don't feel like an arse. That's different. And I'm not going to cater to the delusion that you're genuinely remorseful."

Harry bit his lip. Malfoy had a point. Even so, he was angry that he was right, and wanted to argue back.

"You really think I'm not sorry?"

"You don't sound it."

"I literally just-" Harry sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Never mind."

"You're going to call that pathetic excuse of an apology sincere?"

"You're impossible."

"And you're a dick."

"Are you feeling any better?" Harry asked, because he wanted to deflect, and because he genuinely wanted to know.

"I'm healed, but I can still feel where they stabbed me. I can still feel the knife jamming into my skin, over and over." Malfoy was fidgeting now, and Harry shifted on the bed.

"Does that make any sense? It's like, I'm not in pain, but I can feel the pain still. And it's . . . Rather discombobulating."

Now he looked positively distressed, frowning and wringing his thin hands together.

"It does make sense," Harry said gently.

Malfoy nodded, rubbing his arm. "I suppose I sort of had it coming, though."

He sounded so nonchalant, so indifferent, that Harry's blood began to boil.

"What?"

"I deserved it." Malfoy was avoiding eye contact now, and his voice had gotten quieter.

"Malfoy. You might not be the nicest person on earth, no one's denying that, but you didn't deserve that."

"His sister died in the war."

"So? That doesn't give him the right to take it out on you."

"It's not taking it out if I'm directly responsible."

"Have you killed anyone, Malfoy?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Then you're not responsible."

"I represent the organization who did. That's enough."

"Did you want to be a part of that organization?"

The question looked like it threw Malfoy off guard- He froze, eyes widening and jaw going slack. He didn't answer for several long moments. When he did finally speak, his lips had pinched back together in a wafer-thin crisp.

"Yes."

"Why?"

Another multi-layered question. Malfoy released a breath, placing his folded hands in his lap. "I owed it to my family."

"But did you want to join?"

"It's not about wanting to. It was my responsibility. You wouldn't understand the first thing about that, Potter. Everything was handed to you."

Anger flashed through Harry like lightning. But, he reminded himself, Malfoy didn't know him like that. He couldn't afford to lose his temper again.

"But did you want to?" he pressed.

Malfoy looked even more distressed than he had before. His brows were furrowed, and Harry could make out the worry lines in his forehead.

"It's not that simple."

"Maybe it can be. Did you want to?"

"Yes. I wanted to be a good son."

"Put that aside for a second. Excluding your father, did you want to?"

Malfoy didn't answer. He looked at Harry, forlorn, helpless.

"Malfoy . . ."

"It was never my choice."

To his dismay, Malfoy sounded close to tears.

"None of it. I never asked to be a Pureblood, with arranged marriages and other antiquated things I cannot seem to wrap my head around. I never asked to fill my father's shoes and torture people. I never wanted to be the one everybody hated."

Harry wanted to tell him that he earned that title completely by himself, but that would be mean. At the moment, the situation was too delicate and needed to be handled with care.

"So, to clarify, you didn't want to," Harry said, hoping the puzzle pieces would fall together for Malfoy.

Malfoy sighed, shaking his head. "You don't get it."

"I think I do, actually," said Harry. "You were afraid of failing, of fucking up in your father's eyes. So you do the one thing you know will make him prouder than anything."

Malfoy looked stricken.

"And it didn't work," Harry continued, as a wave of sadness washed over him, so sudden that it might have been an explosion. "It wasn't enough."

Malfoy's hands were shaking.

"Everything you did," Harry continued, unable to stop, as piece after piece clicked into place for him, "was for him. And none of it was ever enough."

Malfoy's silence served as affirmation.

"You bullied us because your father wanted you to believe Purebloods were socially and politically superior. Your racism is a direct byproduct of your upbringing."

"No shit," Malfoy spat.

"How do you feel about that?" Harry asked.

"Why do you care?"

"Why do you always ask me that?"

"Because nothing you've done this year to me has made any sense, Potter! You help me when someone knocks me over, then you're calling me names, one minute you're kissing me and the next you're telling me I'm a horrible monster who's worse than the . . . entity who killed your parents. I can't keep up. And it's exhausting."

"I think it's because my questions are hard, and you're avoiding them."

"Fuck you."

Harry sighed. "We're not getting anywhere."

"Shocker."

"Listen, I already told you I'm sorry about comparing you to Voldemort. That was mean. And even though you really fucked with my head, I guess I can understand on some level why you did it."

"How many times do you need me to tell you?" Malfoy exclaimed. "I didn't mean to fuck with your head. I was honestly just trying to talk to you in the only way I could."

"We're talking in circles," said Harry. "Because I already told you there are other ways to talk to me."

Malfoy scoffed. "You really think that would've worked? You or one of your other do-gooder Gryffindors would've decked me if I got anywhere near you, and you know it."

"How do you know what I would or wouldn't have done? You didn't give me the chance! You just assumed I would be an arse."

"It wouldn't have been like that," said Malfoy, quieter. "Because I would have deserved it."

The sadness thickened.

"No one deserves to be treated cruelly, Malfoy."

"I treated others cruelly for years. It's about time I got a dose of my own medicine."

"You seem regretful, at least. And that's the most you can do."

"I suppose." He sounded passive. Harry didn't like it at all.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"You . . . Do you really feel you deserved to be stabbed?"

Malfoy nodded very slowly.

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Why?"

"Yes, why. Why do you think anyone, regardless of what they've done, deserves that?"

"I already answered that. It's my own medicine."

"Here's the thing," said Harry. "As soon as we start believing that people deserve to be treated badly, to any capacity, for any reason, we're fucked. Because that mindset, no matter how mild, is inherently evil. We don't get to decide what other people deserve. We're not in charge of that. If it's wrong to fall back on revenge every time someone wrongs you, then wouldn't it also make sense that you can't point the finger at yourself?"

Malfoy's eyes were wide. He hadn't moved the whole time Harry talked.

"I . . . I never thought about it that way before."

"Listen. I'm still really upset with you, and it's going to be a while before I trust you again."

Malfoy's face fell.

"But," Harry continued, and a bit of hopefulness returned, "that doesn't mean I think you should hate yourself for things that were ultimately outside of your control."

Malfoy was silent for a long, long time.

Harry cleared his throat, unsure whether he should speak.

"Erm . . ." he said, scratching his head awkwardly. "So do you still think you deserved it?"

"No," said Malfoy quietly, "I suppose not."

Draco's conversation with Potter ran through his head all the next day. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He was supposed to meet with McGonagall, and he was currently on his way to her office. When he rapped on the door, his heart fluttered with nerves.

When he and McGonagall were sitting across from each other, Draco's leg bounced anxiously.

"I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Mr. Malfoy."

"Yeah," Draco agreed offhandedly.

"I need you to be completely honest with me about your attack. Do you remember anything at all about who hurt you?"

"No," said Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy, I implore you to understand that the safety of our entire student body has been compromised, and any information that you have, any at all, would be helpful."

"I understand," said Draco, "but it was dark, and I was scared. I was paying more attention to the knife than their faces."

"Well," said McGonagall, "in that case, since we have no evidence that anyone hurt you, the deed will have to go unpunished."

Draco was fine with that. He was more than fine with that. In fact, he was so fine with it that he could have leaped for joy right then and there, except McGonagall's piercing glare kept him trapped to the chair.

"Unless," McGonagall continued, and his stomach dropped, "we find the weapon and run the diagnostic spells on it to determine whose it is."

Draco unceremoniously leaned forward in his chair, planting his elbows on the wooden desk. "You can do that?"

"We're going to have to," said McGonagall. "The search will be extensive and thorough. Unfortunately though, Mr. Malfoy, your attackers have probably disposed of the weapon by now. But this is protocol."

Draco swallowed.

McGonagall peered closer at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Draco said. "Just . . . shaken up."

"I'd be concerned if you weren't."

Draco said nothing.

"And Mr. Malfoy," she continued, "if you need anything, someone to talk to, or help with anything, please don't hesitate to reach out."

What was he doing that galvanized her to say that? Why did everyone think he needed help with something? He was managing just fine on his own.

"Thank you," he said, somewhat curtly, for his irritation was infectious.

McGonagall nodded. "That is all, Mr. Malfoy. You may go."

Draco thanked her for her time and left.

Harry was walking down the hallway by himself when he heard the conversation of two other boys walking the opposite direction.

"You don't think they'll find it, do you?"

Curious, he swiveled around and began walking the other way, right behind the two boys.

"They aren't going to be looking in the Forbidden Forest. They're going to be looking in people's bags, because hiding it somewhere like the Forest is too obvious. They'll think that whoever did it wanted to trick them, pull a little reverse psychology. We did the right thing, hiding it in plain sight."

Harry's curiosity grew. Hide what? And why?

"Are you sure? Because if they don't find it anywhere in the dorms, they're going to start looking other places."

The first boy scoffed. "Do you really think they're going to search that entire forest? They'll never find it. It's buried."

"I'm starting to have doubts about this whole thing. I think we should've left him alone."

"You don't know what it felt like, plunging the knife into his skin. It was exhilarating."

Harry stifled a gasp.

He was walking directly behind Malfoy's attackers.

"I've never felt more alive," the boy continued, and Harry wanted to be sick. "Hurting the person who . . . Who represents the organization who killed my sister was absolutely incredible. I'd do it again, no questions asked."

"Yeah," said the second boy, but he sounded uncomfortable.

"But we have to keep our heads down and not fuck up for the next couple of weeks. Wait for this all to blow over. Because it will. We're fine."

Harry truthfully didn't think he could stomach another word. But he had a job to do. Tapping the first boy on the shoulder, he steeled himself for what was about to be an incredibly risky conversation.

The boy turned around, and when he saw who had gotten his attention his eyes brightened. "Harry Potter?"

"The one and only."

"Can I . . . Can I help you with something?"

"I just wanted to say I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation, and I was curious what was going on."

The boys exchanged glances. The second looked even more uncomfortable. The first looked smug.

"Well, Harry, if you're wondering who I stabbed, you're going to be pretty happy about it."

"Hit me."

"Malfoy."

Harry forced a smile on his face.

"See?" the boy said, nudging his friend. "He's on our side."

"You can't tell anyone," the second boy said.

"My lips are sealed," said Harry, flashing a smirk for good measure. "I think while that might not have been the smartest thing to do, you certainly have a lot of balls."

The first boy clapped him on the shoulder. "You should've seen it. He was so pathetic. Begging us to stop. Like he thought he deserved anything better than the same pain he inflicted onto others."

"Yeah," said Harry, "that's crazy."

"Little sucker would never tell," he said. "Doesn't have the guts."

"What's your name, by the way?" Harry asked.

"Eric, and this is Blaine."

"Well, Eric and Blaine, my new personal heroes-" Eric smiled broadly at this- "I want to thank you for putting that slimy git in his place. Merlin knows someone had to do it."

Eric chuckled. "I think it'll be a while before we hear another peep out of him."

Harry nodded. "Well, I have to go, but it was nice meeting you. By the way, what year are you guys?"

"Fifth."

"Okay. Bye!"

He hastily retreated, wanting to put as much physical distance between himself and that desperately awkward outro as he possibly could.

Later that day, he opened the door to his room. Malfoy was studying at his desk.

"Malfoy," Harry said, and Malfoy looked up from his task, cocking an eyebrow.

"I know who your attackers are."