Harry couldn't find his voice. Malfoy was sorry? After all this he was
just sorry.
"You're, sorry Malfoy? You're *sorry*? I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months because of the nightmares you've caused me, I can't even go anywhere by myself without feeling afraid, because of you, everyone's asking me every ten seconds if I'm ok, and I can't even give them an honest 'yes' because I'm not and it's because of you and you're just *sorry*?" Harry was seeing red again. "You should be on your knees begging my forgiveness. You should feel like complete and total shite because of what you did to me-"
"And you think I don't?!" Draco's angry voice ripped through Harry's tirade, shocking the raven-haired boy into silence. He was breathing heavily and Harry noticed for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, and just how wasted away he looked, almost rivaling Harry, himself. "I have to live everyday with what I did, and at least you know that you did nothing wrong! I don't have that!"
"Well you bloody well should have thought about that before you hurt me!"
It was Draco's turn to be shocked into silence. The two regarded each other silently for a moment, then the malice returned to Malfoy's face, and Harry felt himself becoming afraid once more.
"You think you got it so bad, Potter." Draco's voice was icy cold, matched only by the coldness of his steely eyes. "One bad night and you think your life is hell. Be thankful you only had to go through it once."
The comment hit Harry like a blow. "What do you mean by that?"
Malfoy was on his feet and in seconds had crossed the small room to where Harry sat. Harry looked up at the blonde boy who towered over him and felt the uneasiness creep into his gut. Malfoy crouched so that they were eye to eye and put his face right up to Harry's. Harry moved his head away but felt it contact the solid wall; Malfoy moved close again.
"You want to know what I mean, Potter?" He inquired, spitting Harry's name out like a bad taste. "I'll tell you. Try living your entire life in fear of the one person you're supposed to be able to trust. Try spending every night awake in your bed waiting for him to come in and hurt you again, just like he does every single night. Try wishing yourself dead because of the things your own *father* does to you. Your's is over, Potter, you have nothing more to fear from me. I'll never touch you again. But until the day Lucious Malfoy dies, I'll be living with it. He'll never stop, Potter, because that's the kind of monster he is. He doesn't care, he doesn't show any mercy. All he cares about is his own sick pleasure. It doesn't matter to him if he ruins his own son's life. *That's* what I mean, Potter." Malfoy regarded him for a moment more, then stood and left Harry, stunned, in his spot by the wall.
He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him at Malfoy's confession. No matter what happened for the rest of his life, he would never be able to look at his platinum haired enemy the same way again. Draco had been abused by his own father, and in turn had done the same to Harry. The situation reminded him distinctly of something he'd once read in a psychology monthly that he'd swiped from the table in the sitting room after Uncle Vernon had thrown it there, hoping to look intelligent for the guests he'd been expecting that night. Much to his surprise, he found that he understood. He couldn't forgive, but he understood.
"Did you ever tell anyone?"
Malfoy looked up at him, his eyes tired once more as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He took a long drag, inhaling the smoke deeply.
"Did *you* ever tell anyone, Harry?"
Harry looked away. "No…" He returned, his voice quiet. "Everyone knows what happened, but I refused to talk about it. I was too ashamed." He looked back at Draco, "In fact, if you hadn't left me there to be found like that they wouldn't have known it had happened at all…" He trailed off realising what Malfoy was getting at. "Oh…"
Malfoy nodded. "There's your answer, Harry." He held out the pack of cigarettes to Harry, "Smoke?"
"No, I don't smoke." Harry replied taking a cigarette from the pack and then the proffered matches. He lit the smoke, puffed on it a bit and erupted into a fit of coughing. Draco watched him, amused.
"Just breathe it in Harry, like normally."
Harry tried and found that it did go a little smoother, and the next smoother than that. Soon, he was smoking like he'd been doing it for years. He was, perhaps, so involved in learning this new art, that he didn't notice that the wall behind him felt oddly different, and Draco was so interested in watching him learn it, that he noticed nothing either.
Then suddenly, Draco's voice interrupted the slight dizzy spell Harry's cigarette was giving him. "The door's back, Harry."
Harry looked up, and sure enough, there was the door, as though it had never left in the first place. He stood, took the final pull on his cigarette, then threw his invisibility cloak on and left wordlessly. He made his way up to his dormitory unhindered and climbed into his bed without even removing his invisibility cloak. There he lay for most of the sleepless night, his conversation with Malfoy- no, he could never think of him that impersonally again- his conversation with *Draco* playing over and over in his mind.
TBC ^^
SWMNBN: Tada! The sequel is going to be fun to write I can tell…
Draco: ::lounging on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a malt drink, complete with little umbrella as an actor with an American accent covers the television screen:: You're a sick minded git if nothing else, Lacey… Hey, is there going to be any action in this story? I mean come on! We spent all that time alone in the closet and didn't even get it on once! My hopes for this story grow dismal, Lace.
SWMNBN: And I'm sick minded?
Harry: ::sitting next to Draco, takes his drink.:: I don't like it much. This bloke here has better plots in his movies.
SWMNBN: Fat lot you know…
"You're, sorry Malfoy? You're *sorry*? I haven't had a decent nights sleep in months because of the nightmares you've caused me, I can't even go anywhere by myself without feeling afraid, because of you, everyone's asking me every ten seconds if I'm ok, and I can't even give them an honest 'yes' because I'm not and it's because of you and you're just *sorry*?" Harry was seeing red again. "You should be on your knees begging my forgiveness. You should feel like complete and total shite because of what you did to me-"
"And you think I don't?!" Draco's angry voice ripped through Harry's tirade, shocking the raven-haired boy into silence. He was breathing heavily and Harry noticed for the first time the dark circles under his eyes, and just how wasted away he looked, almost rivaling Harry, himself. "I have to live everyday with what I did, and at least you know that you did nothing wrong! I don't have that!"
"Well you bloody well should have thought about that before you hurt me!"
It was Draco's turn to be shocked into silence. The two regarded each other silently for a moment, then the malice returned to Malfoy's face, and Harry felt himself becoming afraid once more.
"You think you got it so bad, Potter." Draco's voice was icy cold, matched only by the coldness of his steely eyes. "One bad night and you think your life is hell. Be thankful you only had to go through it once."
The comment hit Harry like a blow. "What do you mean by that?"
Malfoy was on his feet and in seconds had crossed the small room to where Harry sat. Harry looked up at the blonde boy who towered over him and felt the uneasiness creep into his gut. Malfoy crouched so that they were eye to eye and put his face right up to Harry's. Harry moved his head away but felt it contact the solid wall; Malfoy moved close again.
"You want to know what I mean, Potter?" He inquired, spitting Harry's name out like a bad taste. "I'll tell you. Try living your entire life in fear of the one person you're supposed to be able to trust. Try spending every night awake in your bed waiting for him to come in and hurt you again, just like he does every single night. Try wishing yourself dead because of the things your own *father* does to you. Your's is over, Potter, you have nothing more to fear from me. I'll never touch you again. But until the day Lucious Malfoy dies, I'll be living with it. He'll never stop, Potter, because that's the kind of monster he is. He doesn't care, he doesn't show any mercy. All he cares about is his own sick pleasure. It doesn't matter to him if he ruins his own son's life. *That's* what I mean, Potter." Malfoy regarded him for a moment more, then stood and left Harry, stunned, in his spot by the wall.
He felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him at Malfoy's confession. No matter what happened for the rest of his life, he would never be able to look at his platinum haired enemy the same way again. Draco had been abused by his own father, and in turn had done the same to Harry. The situation reminded him distinctly of something he'd once read in a psychology monthly that he'd swiped from the table in the sitting room after Uncle Vernon had thrown it there, hoping to look intelligent for the guests he'd been expecting that night. Much to his surprise, he found that he understood. He couldn't forgive, but he understood.
"Did you ever tell anyone?"
Malfoy looked up at him, his eyes tired once more as he pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit it. He took a long drag, inhaling the smoke deeply.
"Did *you* ever tell anyone, Harry?"
Harry looked away. "No…" He returned, his voice quiet. "Everyone knows what happened, but I refused to talk about it. I was too ashamed." He looked back at Draco, "In fact, if you hadn't left me there to be found like that they wouldn't have known it had happened at all…" He trailed off realising what Malfoy was getting at. "Oh…"
Malfoy nodded. "There's your answer, Harry." He held out the pack of cigarettes to Harry, "Smoke?"
"No, I don't smoke." Harry replied taking a cigarette from the pack and then the proffered matches. He lit the smoke, puffed on it a bit and erupted into a fit of coughing. Draco watched him, amused.
"Just breathe it in Harry, like normally."
Harry tried and found that it did go a little smoother, and the next smoother than that. Soon, he was smoking like he'd been doing it for years. He was, perhaps, so involved in learning this new art, that he didn't notice that the wall behind him felt oddly different, and Draco was so interested in watching him learn it, that he noticed nothing either.
Then suddenly, Draco's voice interrupted the slight dizzy spell Harry's cigarette was giving him. "The door's back, Harry."
Harry looked up, and sure enough, there was the door, as though it had never left in the first place. He stood, took the final pull on his cigarette, then threw his invisibility cloak on and left wordlessly. He made his way up to his dormitory unhindered and climbed into his bed without even removing his invisibility cloak. There he lay for most of the sleepless night, his conversation with Malfoy- no, he could never think of him that impersonally again- his conversation with *Draco* playing over and over in his mind.
TBC ^^
SWMNBN: Tada! The sequel is going to be fun to write I can tell…
Draco: ::lounging on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a malt drink, complete with little umbrella as an actor with an American accent covers the television screen:: You're a sick minded git if nothing else, Lacey… Hey, is there going to be any action in this story? I mean come on! We spent all that time alone in the closet and didn't even get it on once! My hopes for this story grow dismal, Lace.
SWMNBN: And I'm sick minded?
Harry: ::sitting next to Draco, takes his drink.:: I don't like it much. This bloke here has better plots in his movies.
SWMNBN: Fat lot you know…