Author's Notes: Wasn't Piers creepy though? Couldn't you just see him doing that? Rat bastard. I love that part… does that make me sick and twisted? Anyway, thank you very much Berry-Berry, RainSW6, and Sapphrine, I hope you like this next installment.
Disclaimers: The person that owns Harry Potter sure as hell wouldn't do this to it. (Though I'm beginning to think she should. I mean, come on, we all know that Cho wasn't worth the paper she was printed on! She was fan-service!) Anyway, I don't own it, I never will, don't get pissed at me for having a little fun. Oh, and Sapphrine, I take no responsibility for broken hearts. ^_~
Some Days
~
Harry emerged.
He was pale, and gasps greeted his arrival at lunch in the Great Hall. Hermione was there at his side, smiling at him and pulling him towards the Gryffindor table, but so too was Malfoy there, glaring heatedly at him with barely disguised hatred. "So Potter," he said snidely, "I was convinced you'd realized how ugly you really are – why come back now Scar-face?"
Harry's hand flew to his head, grasping at his forehead with mock surprise. "Why, Malfoy! I completely forgot that was there!" He gasped, his eyes wide, "What ever would I do without you here to remind me?" He felt better than he had in days, trading quips with Malfoy, the threat to his life returned, a meal in his stomach, energy in his blood. He started smiling, good naturedly, perhaps a tad manically, his eyes glowed with it.
Draco glared as the room around him chuckled; even Hermione was biting her lip in the attempt to stifle laughter, "Such a shame then, Potter, that I am around." His eyes flashed, "Lord knows that I'd happily kill myself to avoid another moment in your presence."
"Not a bad idea Malfoy, tell your father I said hello."
Draco snarled, "Potter, you and your mud-blood friends aren't fit to lick my father's boots!"
"Like he licked Voldemort's? Bowed down to your mighty dark lord," Harry's voice dropped as he stared Draco in the face. "Like father like son."
"I am not my father Potter! If you recall, and you should you were there, I was the one who sought him out! I was the one that took him down!" He roared, defending his family honor.
"Yes Malfoy, euphemisms aside, you were the one that killed him." Harry said calmly in the face of Draco's fury, "So why do you keep blaming me."
"Because it's your fucking fault!" He jumped, launched himself at Harry, forgetting his patience, forgetting his plan in lieu of the anger he felt.
Harry laughed softly, he didn't mean to mock, but the situation was so ludicrous he couldn't help but be amused. Draco was attacking him in such a muggle way, trying to overpower him with his fists and pure physical strength. It didn't take much work; Harry was still a small kid, thin and wiry with no muscle to speak of. All Draco really had to do to bowl him over was shove him, crashing into him via flying tackle was overkill, if effective. "Malfoy," he said as Draco was drawing back to pummel him. "It was your choice."
Malfoy stopped.
"You could have killed me. You didn't, and I'm grateful for that, but it was your choice to kill your father, not mine." Draco's eyes flared angrily, and his fist made contact with Harry's nose, instantly bloodying it.
"No you bastard." He spat, hair flying as he heaved with exertion. "You did. You, everything about you, you always do this, you always do this." He gasped as one of Harry's bony knuckles managed to land a spot on his cheek bone, "you ruin everything!"
They were wrenched apart very abruptly, Harry was dragged to his feet by Hermione and Seamus, Ron wasn't even looking his way. McGonagall was between them, holding Draco at bay with the tip of her wand, Harry was still chuckling weakly.
The defacto headmistress sighed heavily, looking for all the world like two students beating the stuffing out of each other was a common occurrence. "Is this fighting absolutely necessary? Is it too much to ask for you two to get along?" McGonagall demanded softly, her eyes held Harry's but the typical biting tone in her voice was gone. Minerva McGonagall had seen more than her share of responsibility; she was tired, she was ready to drop, and she wasn't ready to settle more fighting. She was sympathetic towards Harry, she didn't want anymore trouble for him either.
The eyes of the great Hall were on him, and as uncomfortably warm as he felt here, Harry kept his cool and stood his ground. "Absolutely."
McGonagall looked alarmed at his sudden change. What happened to the boy that wilted under her gaze, fierce though he was?
"Would God and Lucifer stop fighting at the request of the universe?" Harry asked rhetorically, "Would Good and Evil simply stop arguing with each other? Have you and Snape stopped your private barbs for Dumbledore?" Harry stared at her solemnly, "Tell me professor, would white and black become grey because red demanded it?" The message was there, the meaning, crystal clear. Their differences shaped them, shaped their arguments. The rivalry was utterly, unquestionably necessary. It was really all either one had left.
"Mister Potter," McGonagall began stiffly, recovering from her shock, "Do you really think –."
Harry cut her off, a first in Gryffindor history. "The short answer, Professor, is yes. Yes it is absolutely imperative that our fighting continue." He walked away.
McGonagall didn't know what to say, so she did what she did best. "Get to class everyone! Malfoy, detention!"
~
Arms wrapped around him, crushing his elbows into his sides and Harry jerked violently. There again, a knife in a familiar hand, pressed against his throat in the silence of the dungeons. It was dark of course; his attacker blew out the torches mere moments before Harry was trapped by this knife, by the arms that surrounded him. They were familiar now, so was the voice, "Don't scream."
Harry sighed and relaxed again, he felt content hear, literally balancing on the knife's edge. "I never scream." He murmured.
The arms tightened, Harry felt his shoulders crack and the knife was suddenly replaced by a human hand, slender, cold, and powerful, but human. The hand wrenched Harry's head back violently exposing his throat, "Why is that Harry Potter?"
Harry let it happen, his eyes fluttered closed and his muscles lost power, he slumped, boneless against the solidity behind him and sighed. "What is there to cry about?"
The knife was back, Harry's arms were free but he didn't use them for anything more than grasping at his attackers robes, they were expensive. "Plenty Potter."
Harry smiled, "Your father?"
Draco pressed the knife in tighter, marking Harry's neck with a tiny laceration, "He lied to me Potter. He was never under the Imperius, he betrayed me Potter. You made me kill him, you forced me to kill him."
"No. It happens to everyone Malfoy. Betrayal I mean. I didn't make you kill him, I just showed you what you needed to see."
"I'll kill you."
"I don't doubt that."
"Why did you say those things?" Malfoy was leaning in closer now, straining to hear every word Harry was whispering.
"Because it's true. You can't have one without the other." Harry said sleepily, "Maybe when you kill me, you'll figure it out."
"Calling yourself god. That's conceited."
Harry smiled faintly, wryly; he could hear the smirk in Draco's voice. This experience, it was familiar, contenting – the stuff of dreams. Literally. "I didn't mean me." He said softly, exerting his muscles for the first time and looking away. "I didn't mean I was god. I don't even know if I meant us. But I'm not god, I'm not nice, I'm not honest. That's it, we lie, we deceive because, we're not honest, not even with ourselves. We kill too, I'm no saint, I'm not Saint Potter. You're the real one, he was the real one, up front. I'm the Lucifer."
Draco suddenly realized what he was doing. The knife had become lax in his grip, he was holding Potter against him gently, his nose buried in the crook of Potter's neck, listening to him, comforting him. His father would never stand for this, the Malfoy name would forever be tarnished. He had come here for one purpose only, revenge! He thrust Harry away from him, throwing the too-light boy on the dusty floor. "Sod off Potter."
Harry hit the ground with a sharp thud, his bony elbows making a sharp pop when they hit the unfinished floor. He curled into himself then stretched along the dusty ground searching for Malfoy, but he had disappeared behind a corner, and Harry knew he would never catch him.
Harry groaned, rolling onto his back and crossing his hands behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and thought about what just happened, he didn't know why he said what he said, but sometimes the most truthful moments happen when you're not watching. So he told Malfoy what was on his mind, and he wasn't uncomfortable. That was the trick, the crux, speaking honestly with someone that didn't like him, someone that he didn't like, it made all the difference. There was no warmth, but there was no cold. It was contenting. Peaceful.
Draco leaned against the wall, not more than five feet away from Harry, he was barely suppressing the urge to beat against it. What had gotten into him? Did he want to know?
From the shadows, Harry sighed heavily, alone amongst his dead again, "For what it's worth Malfoy," he whispered to the cold stone ceiling, "I'm sorry."
~
He couldn't remember a time when he had been more hungry, putting food in his stomach last night had reminded him of exactly how good it felt to be full. He crept to the kitchen, skulking around albeit unnecessarily. The head let him have free reign of the castle, but old habits died hard and Harry couldn't help by creep towards his destination. He tickled the pear portrait and slipped into the kitchen, grabbing a pie and a bottle of pumpkin juice he was out again in mere moments.
Harry skirted the statues, staying pressed against the walls as he snuck out of the castle, then moved with the shadows, flitting across the grounds into the Forbidden Forest. It felt incredible to be outside again, in the cool November air with the refreshing scent of wood smoke drifting up from the fireplaces of Hogsmeade Harry felt like he could breathe again. His lungs felt open and clear now, before they felt crushed, the result of sitting down too long, laying flat on his stomach where his hip bones ground into the dusty floor and he couldn't breathe properly. Harry stretched his arms reveling in the feel of the crisp air, and made his way to the Forrest, his attempts at stealth forgotten.
Harry's jog slowed to a leisurely stroll as he sipped at his pumpkin juice and munched on his mushroom pasty. He didn't fear the Forest anymore; there was nothing of true danger to him in it, and he felt that the midnight stroll would do him some good. Shadows crept across the forest floor and he was glad for their company, somehow the shadow was soothing these days, a reminder of things to come. He didn't walk to think anymore – what was there to think about? – but there was something about it, walking alone, it made him feel free.
He finished the pasty with relish, licking it off of his fingers and disposing of the napkin he'd brought along. Harry came to a clearing and suddenly realized that he was barefoot, the open space was colder than the air trapped between the trees, he laughed at his oversight for a moment then took another gulp of pumpkin juice. It didn't really matter, he'd done stupider things, and perhaps the act of coming to the forest was stupid, barefoot or not, but that didn't matter either.
A twig snapped behind him, Harry spun around solely on instinct and saw much to his displeasure not an evil creature, but a nasty one. "Heh heh, hullo Bane." He muttered, suppressing a grimace and raising a hand in greeting.
The centaur glared balefully at him and approached menacingly. Harry suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, not only had he left his shoes, but he'd left his wand behind in the castle. "You are no longer a boy Harry Potter." Bane growled. Harry gulped and wondered about the fact that a horse was growling, but then Bane had him by the shoulders and the pumpkin juice clattered to the ground. The air suddenly seemed frigid as the centaurs brown eyes glared at him with pure malice. "I have warned you many times Harry Potter, of the consequences of intruding upon our forest!"
Harry gaped in indignation, "I wasn't –." But he was cut off before he could say more. The whole clearing was full of the centaurs, and they were each glaring at him with something less than exuberance. He was bodily lifted by his shoulders, the grip bruised them and Harry grimaced, it wasn't the first time he'd been frightened of Bane. It was truly a miracle that Firenze had survived amongst them for so long. "Harry Potter, I have warned you and you have flouted my decree – you have become a man Harry Potter, and you will die as one."
Harry froze, none of his other death threats felt like this, this was real, Bane had wanted to kill him when they'd met in his first year, the volatile centaur had been looking for a decent excuse ever since. Now he had one and there was nothing to stop him.
Someone gasped in the background, a chestnut centaur with cloudy green eyes, he pointed at the sky, an awed look reflected on his open face. "Bane," he gasped, "look."
Bane glanced at the sky and his black eyes widened in shock. With a desperate lunge he threw Harry on the ground and backed away into his comrades. Harry grunted upon impact and lay still, exposed tree roots grinding into his back. Once again, though he now had no intention of touching the Gryffindor, Bane advanced on Harry. The centaur pointed an accusatory finger, his eyes wide and frantic. In a low, emotionless voice, quite unlike his own he said, "You were brought into this world by blood Harry Potter, so too shall you leave it by blood."
Harry scrambled away as fast as he could, his feet scraping across the tree roots as he ran through the forest, tripping over fallen branches and propelling off trees as fast as he could away from the centaurs. He didn't know what Bane meant by that comment, quite frankly he didn't want to know, and he certainly didn't want to hear it. Harry knew that the centaurs would kill him if they had another encounter, but… their reaction to a simple glance at the sky made no sense. Surely he wasn't that important, was it something to do with Voldemort?
His feet felt slick and bloody as he tripped, but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop. How could he have been so stupid to have left his wand behind? A soft clicking announced the presence of something far more dangerous than centaurs, though Hagrid might disagree. Why had he left his wand in the castle?
The first fat drop of a fall storm spiraled from the sky to hit its target with a precision only kamikaze raindrops possess. Harry awoke with a start as the frigid water hit him right between the eyes, his heart was pounding, was that Aragog approaching? Forcing himself to calm down, Harry took stock of his surroundings – he was propped against a tree not five feet from the forest edge. The flagon of spilled pumpkin juice was clicking against a root, moved gently by the breeze. Harry vaguely recalled sitting down to finish his meal, but falling asleep outside in mid-November… he'd done smarter things.
What on earth had he been thinking? Dreaming about centaurs usually implied a prophecy in the making, but what had it been about? His life was in danger, he knew that much, but their reaction to the stars was so violent, was Voldemort back? Harry took a quick glance at the sky, it was difficult to see through the clouds, but Harry saw nothing unusual, was Aragog on a hunt? Or was he seeing the past, remembering something, or maybe his dreams were so backed up by nightmares that the prophecy came late. Harry snorted, a dream queue, that was likely
The rain was coming in thick and fast, pelting him through the canopy. Something in that dream had been terrifying, but he couldn't stop to think about it as he chased the rain to dry ground. If spending a night in the fresh air gave him dreams like that, he would rather be locked in the dungeon with the rats and the mold.
Harry had suffered enough nightmares.