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Author's Note On Muses- I'm not sure if this is how anyone else works or not, but I know that my muses have a tendency to speak to me on occasion. For instance, a while ago, my Sirius saw fit to announce that Remus doesn't like garlic bread. God knows where this came from, but he says so. Thus, one of Harry's lines in this chapter comes from one of those occasions. (It's what he says about Lucius and evil, if you're interested.) This was one of the observations that cemented him in my head as a muse in the first place.
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Author's Note On Titles- The chapter titles are all musical terms, by the way. In case you're confused.
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The chill that ran along his spine coalesced quickly into ice, ice that burned hard at his insides, and Harry froze where he remained on top of Malfoy. Those cool eyes he knew well, that thin face, that long platinum hair. He knew Lucius Malfoy, and that was why he couldn't force himself to look sheepish or embarrassed.
The frozen eyes considered him, and he wanted to go for his wand. He wanted to vault off Draco and tackle him. He wanted to punch him so hard that his perfect teeth would fall out. Lucius Malfoy. Death Eater. Patron of all the right charities.
A man who thought nothing of someday killing his only child.
He'd seen that smugness all too often over the past two years. In face-to-face meetings. In his dreams. Malfoy knew that Harry had seen him in that graveyard... he knew he was a Death Eater, he knew the things he had done. He knew the things he would do. But Malfoy knew that he had tried to tell the Ministry, and the Ministry hadn't believed him.
The Ministry would never believe him. And Lucius knew that too.
"Well, Mr. Potter?"
"Get off me!" Draco Malfoy demanded, and his ear registered the sound of ripping cloth as the blond tore his clasp from Harry's. Now loosened from the uncomfortable tangle, Harry stood up quickly from where he had been straddling him, staring down as Malfoy as he flipped easily to his feet like...
Like...
Well, like a ferret. A ferret making a panicky escape from a much larger predator.
Harry stared after him in bewilderment. Draco turned about in the street, torn robes curling about his frame with the ferocity of the movement.
"There's nothing to concern yourself with, Father," he announced in the familiar gleeful condescension. "The clumsy brute just fell over me in the street." With a smirk, he placed white hands on his hips and leaned forward ever so slightly, effecting an air of mock concern. "What's the matter, Potter, the rot in your brain finally affecting your eyesight? What a shame."
"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry retorted, eyes still focused unerringly on Lucius. Lucius, who had fallen silent when Draco had stood again, but whose eyes held more snide knowing than he could bear.
Everyone is expendable, Potter. And they will be expended, make no mistake of that. When the proper time comes.
The words haunted him, and had since that day. That day last year when he had been faced with a Death Eater in the Forbidden Forest, when that Death Eater had been Lucius Malfoy...
They hadn't even fought. Only spoken, in cold and clipped tones.
He should have killed him then.
He forced himself to look away from the Death Eater to his son, to the grey eyes that taunted him so mercilessly. "Maybe you should watch where you're going, Malfoy," he retorted. "Unless you're counting on your aura of slime to keep people away."
"Harry, just ignore him," came Hermione's familiar placation. "Don't let him get to you."
Harry fell silent.
"Yes, Potter, listen to your mum," Malfoy smirked. "God forbid you get riled up and raise your blood pressure."
He could tell that Malfoy hadn't expected him to react. Every time before, when Hermione had stepped in, he had just walked away. Swallowed his ire and walked away. Malfoy wasn't worth it, wasn't worth his time, his consideration.
That was why he didn't have enough time to get away when Harry grabbed his collar, twisting it roughly, dragging him up so far he was nearly lifted off his feet. He glared into widened grey eyes, leaning directly into Malfoy's pale face.
"I thought I told you to shut it," he growled.
Draco stared at him blankly for a moment, then struggled violently, pushing at him. "Unhand me this instant, Potter!" he snapped, the fronts of his shoes scrabbling frantically over the ground where they still held dubious purchase. "How dare you lay your filthy hands on me!" One thin hand latched onto his wrist, nails digging into his arm, a foot slamming repeatedly into his shin. "How dare you- you will pay dearly for this, Potter-!"
Harry dragged the slim figure closer, intent on beating some sense into him, when a hand clamped onto his shoulder, fingers digging painfully into the bone and shoving him backwards, his fingers ripped from Draco's collar with a wrenching force that jolted through his entire being. Harry stumbled backwards, cradling his hand, heart pumping wildly, and watched Draco tumble into the road.
The blond struggled to his feet again, dusting off his robes, face flushed with rage and humiliation. Lucius stood between them, lips twisted with something unreadable.
"And to think I raised you," he said icily, softly. "I'm ashamed. To be left defenseless by an assault that childlish."
Draco's grey eyes were cast down to the road, thin shoulders raised up sharply. His father dwarfed him... He had seemed huge when they were children, Lucius... but even now, Draco was small next to him.
He seemed so agonizingly flimsy. So thin, so slight. Even compared to Harry himself, Draco was... small...
"Come along, then," Lucius said crisply, and swirled off in a flash of black robes and platinum hair. Draco looked after him, then focused his steely eyes on Harry, hands clenched at his sides.
"Don't think this is over, Potter!" he snapped, voice quivering with rage and emotion, and then followed his father like a moth to the flame.
Harry stared after them silently, idly massaging his wounded wrist. What a way to start off the year...
Yes, Draco Malfoy was his archrival. The Slytherin drove him mad and enjoyed doing it, there was no question of that. But that didn't mean he wanted to see him dead. Never had he wanted to see him dead.
Or helpless.
Malfoy was defenseless when it came to his father.
And that would be the end of him.
"That was amazing, Harry!" Ron sounded more enthusiastic than it was possible for a human being to be, clapping a hand on his shoulder and shaking him proudly. "I'd say y'took them BOTH down a notch!"
Hermione's voice was subdued, soft, as she made her way to Harry's other side. "That man is evil," she said quietly, "evil if there ever was any..."
"There's no such thing," Harry said abruptly, throat closing sharply, chest hurting.
"What...?" Hermione lifted her head, sharp eyes seeking out his face in atypical confusion. Harry lowered his gaze to the ground, hands slack by his sides.
"There's no such thing as good or evil," he said numbly. "There's only power... and what you do with it..."
"Harry...?" Ron stopped walking, grabbing his shoulder. Harry looked up, a cool smile freezing his lips.
"And I don't like what he's doing with his power," he said quietly. "So I'm gonna do something with mine."
His friends were silent, long silent, the passerby ignoring them as they went about their business. What did it matter, to them? They were only three Hogwarts students there to go about their shopping, standing together, maybe contemplating their shopping lists. And if they knew the truth, what would they care? What would anyone care?
Harry closed his eyes, tired. Drained. It was more than he cared to take, more than he wanted to deal with. Now or ever. He curled his hands into fists beneath his robes, quivering in the cold that lurked beneath his skin. His fingers rubbed compulsively against the ones next to them, on the legs of his jeans...
Always trying to wipe away the bloodstains that haunted his nightmares.