Chapter 8: Enemies' Words

Disclaimer: As of last Saturday, I own a bow, complete with arrows, bow stringer, bracer, tab, chest guard (or tit-protector, when I'm in a blunt mood) spare arrow rests, bow stand, and similar necessary paraphernalia of archery, which I've been rather obsessed with all week. I do not, however, own Harry Potter.

Thanks for 188 reviews goes to: storm079, Go10, heavengurl899, mesmer, ToMLuVa06, Lyra Silvertongue2, Paganicewand, halosangel, Simpson-Girl, Simrun, Plaidly Lush, jules37, Haystack8190, SiN, Orchid6297, Pheonix, Beauty Full, Bambi, KrystyWroth, Saotoshi, Flexi Lexi, willowfairy, taragoddess, awkward.

A/N: Another week, another chapter.

Bambi brought the slow pace of the story up in her review, which is something I felt I should perhaps comment on. One of the things I've disliked in my other stories is that everything's been a little… fast, especially for such a difficult pairing as Draco and Hermione. I'm also intending Fallen to be my last major fanfiction, after which I'm moving on to originals, though I'm sure I'll still produce some smaller Harry Potter things for all my wonderful fans to enjoy – but don't worry about it yet, because Fallen's book-length. So the product of the length of Fallen, the fact that its my last big one, and the speed I dislike in my other stories, means that I've decided to take this one slowly. There are also a lot of themes and ideas to get into the story, so I realise that some aspects of story might get neglected: I know that, and they'll feature very soon (and you'll notice that Harry and Ginny do spend some quality time together in this one. See, I do listen to my reviewers!).

Real life inspires stories, and that's exceptionally true for this chapter. The incident that Harry relates regarding a Geography lesson did actually happen; the smiling presenter being my very own Sigma, one of my wonderful betas. Smile and wave, Sigma, and look out – the audience has cameras!

Things are hectic at the moment, especially with this accursed challenge to finish. It's going to be very difficult to write Fallen as well as the challenge, and it's slightly possible that I may have to take a week's hiatus. If I do, I'll put an alert in my profile, so keep an eye on that. But I'm going to do everything in my power to avoid it!

I think I've rambled enough for one week, and you all know what you really want is the new chapter. It's a good one. Enjoy!

~*~

We can learn even from our enemies.

Ovid (43 BCE – 17 CE), Metamorphoses.

~*~

In the time that he'd spent as a human so far, Draco had begun to feel a large number of negative emotions associated with mealtimes at the Order.

The only good thing about them was the food. In spite of everything, Mrs Weasley was actually an excellent cook, and she'd calmed down enough to ask him what he wanted and serve it as though he were any other person, even if her tone was a little cold.

The food was fine. Everything else, he loathed.

The Order members only tried to speak to him occasionally, and then it was nothing more than idle small-talk, trying to make him feel more 'welcome', he assumed. The ones who didn't speak to him gave him curious, puzzled looks when they thought he wasn't looking, as though he were some interesting article in a museum. Exhibit Twelve: Draco Malfoy.

And then, to make matters even worse, there was the little group of Gryffindors that had been the bane of his life for the past five years. The two Weasleys, who kept glaring at him unashamedly, and Granger, whose looks of mixed curiosity and concern were even worse. Then there was Potter, who Tonks had dragged off about ten minutes ago, who just sat there and moped because someone had died. And he thought he had things bad…

Draco's teeth ground together as Granger shot him one more of her glances, followed by a dark glare from Ginny. And he'd have to spend the whole day cleaning with these people besides. He didn't want to be near them, especially not Granger, in light of what she'd discovered about him.

He pushed the remnants of a sausage around his plate, thought for a minute or two, and then made his decision. Quickly, he rose from the table, and feeling strangely liberated, walked out of the door.

He wouldn't go to the bathroom. He wouldn't help them clean. He'd just… avoid everyone, find a room somewhere and try to sort these emotions out. Try to make sense of things. He didn't care, at that point, what the others thought about that; he just wanted to get away from it all, away from the glares and the glances and Granger's irritatingly sympathetic looks.

Draco turned down an unused corridor, keeping his eyes open for any doors that stood ajar. Most rooms down here were locked – he even tried a doorknob, to make sure – but hopefully he could find an empty one…

Ah. There, on the left of the corridor; a door stood slightly open, light spilling into the dim, dusty corridor from inside. Draco, feeling quite glad to be facing a day free from the Gryffindors, reached over and opened the door…

And inside, by some cruel twist of fate, was Harry Potter.

He was sitting on a sofa facing away from the door, but after five years of enmity, Draco could recognise that irritatingly messy black hair, and Draco's cold grey eyes narrowed. Potter seemed to be hissing angrily under his breath, so softly that for a moment Draco thought he was speaking Parseltongue, before he realised that it was English after all.

'…Lupin's wrong… it was my fault… why did Tonks have to make me talk to him…'

Draco felt one of the hotter emotions, one that made him think of small, pointed needles. Potter, wallowing in self-pity again for such a stupid, small reason as someone dying. Draco had known people who died, and he didn't understand what the fuss was about. The person just ended. Stopped living. He could understand how it would be an annoyance, or an inconvenience, but getting so worked up about it he didn't understand. But then, humans felt all those complex feelings for each other, didn't they? And attachments. Maybe having an attachment broken actually hurt, like breaking a bone did. Only it was mental pain rather than physical.

Potter still hadn't noticed him.

And that annoying, needle-like emotion was still there. It was easier to define emotions by what they made him want to do, and this one made him want to lash out at Harry for acting so stupidly, when all that had happened to him was a death, and everything that had happened to Draco himself was so much worse…

He did think for a moment about whether he'd feel guilty later, but decided it didn't matter.

'Talking to yourself now, Potter?' he sneered.

Harry's head whipped round, his eyes darkening in a glare. 'What are you doing here?' he spat.

'I live here now,' Draco pointed out, deliberately misinterpreting the question. 'Or hadn't you noticed that? Too busy moping over your precious Sirius to pay attention to anything else?'

'It's a bit hard not to notice you when you're prancing around the place being an obnoxious prat,' Harry retorted. 'And I wasn't moping.'

Draco leaned against the doorframe. Feelings were firing off like volcanoes; mostly ones that made him want to keep on with this, so he did. 'Oh please, Potter. I have seen you at mealtimes. Always gazing off into space like someone just killed your pet dog… well, I suppose in a manner of speaking…'

'Shut up Malfoy!'

'No better retorts than that? Shameful.' Draco smirked. Harry was almost shaking with anger.

'Don't you… don't you dare say anything about Sirius' death!' Harry ordered, hands tightening on the sofa as though he was trying to strangle it. 'You don't know anything…'

'Oh, I know all about your stupid little escapade to the Ministry.' Draco said casually. 'All about how Sirius Black followed you there and got killed in the fight, and how that gives you full licence to moan about how it was all your fault and you're such a bad person…'

'It was my fault,' Harry cut in, 'It was me who…'

'Oh, so one person died because you did something stupid,' Draco scoffed. 'What do you want, the whole world to stop and give you sympathy?'

'I don't want sympathy!'

'Really? Because you're acting like it. Sitting around all day playing the wounded hero, the poor pitiable little boy who's lost someone close… do everyone a favour, Potter, and stop whining about it.'

Potter was shaking now, eyes darkened with rage, and Draco found the atmosphere strangely energising, like being outside in a lightening storm.

'You have no idea what its like…' he began, 'no idea at all what it's like… My godfather's dead because of something I did! And I have to live with that. You have no idea Malfoy…'

'Well, you don't exactly have any idea of my life either, do you Potter?' Draco said with a sarcastic, harsh smile. 'And so what if he's dead? Everyone dies. You mourn for a while and then you move on. You don't sit around pathetically and wallow in self-pity, like you appear to be doing.'

'I'm not wallowing!' Harry protested angrily. 'I'm… my godfather's dead!'

There was a carefully calculated silence, and then Draco raised an eyebrow at a precise angle. 'So I've heard,' he replied dryly, then, 'I think I'll leave you alone to wallow now.'

And he left without another word.

~*~

Three hours later, and Harry still couldn't get Malfoy's words out of his mind.

He hadn't gone back to the bathroom to help with the cleaning, being at first too angry over what Malfoy had said. But then, as anger had died away, a cold, hard voice of reason somewhere inside him had said, yes, but he does have a point, you know…

Which he'd spent the next couple of hours trying to squash, even returning to his own room in case by getting out of the place where the argument had happened, the words would magically vanish from his memory. Malfoy had just been trying to insult him, to hurt him; it wasn't like he'd ever got his godfather killed, or had a Prophecy hanging over his head, so who was he to talk about it?

Harry turned over – he was lying on his bed – and pummelled his flattened pillow. So what if Malfoy thought he was moping. He didn't have a clue. Although, that annoying inner voice pointed out, he had been right when he said Harry had been inattentive. Well, after lying on his bed at the Dursleys for the whole holiday doing nothing but thinking, it wasn't surprising that it was taking him a little while to get used to being around people again…

But it was his own fault that he'd not done anything. He could have gone out, if he'd wanted to, found something to do. The neighbours might not have talked to him, true, but he could still have got outside. There were plenty of buses, and though he'd had no Muggle money, he could have asked Hermione if she could change a few Galleons, more than enough for a few journeys into town. There was even a library nearby; he could have gone there, borrowed some books. Why hadn't he?

Because he'd been thinking about Sirius's death. Moping.

He turned over again, irritable, slamming his head into the pillows, and closed his eyes. So alright. Perhaps he had been moping. A little bit. That didn't mean anything, he'd caused his godfather's death, it was perfectly fine to mope a bit.

And avoid everyone. And be distant with his friends. And argue with people who only wanted to help, like Lupin. And act like a complete, pathetic, wallowing-in-self-pity idiot…

Angrily – though what he was angry at, he was unsure – Harry pushed himself upright, rubbed his eyes, and from instinct rather than thought, picked up his glasses and slipped them on.

He should stop moping over Sirius. After all, he reminded himself, Sirius wouldn't want him to be miserable. And all his friends were worried about him, and it was cruel to carry on like this and make them even more anxious. He remembered Hermione, Ron and Ginny sending him letters, every day, even when he wrote barely anything in reply.

As if thinking about his friends could conjure them into being, he heard footsteps on the stairs, the cheery voice of Tonks, and Ginny's giggle echoing up the passage. Well, if he'd decided he was really going to try and put all that behind him, there was no time like the present.

He walked up to the door, put his head round it, and mustered the best grin he could – not hard, when he saw Tonks and Ginny in front of him. 'Hey,' he said, 'how did you escape from cleaning?'

Tonks looked rather embarrassed. 'We were trying to find Remus… Look, I'm really sorry about what happened, I thought that maybe talking about it…'

'It's okay. Really,' Harry replied with mixed feelings. 'When you find Lupin, could you tell him I'm sorry for getting angry?'

Tonks grinned. 'Of course I will,' she promised. 'I'm going to carry on looking…  You don't need to keep me company, Gin. I know you only volunteered in the first place to get out of cleaning.'

'I didn't!' Ginny protested. 'Partly to get out of cleaning, but I also wanted to help find Lupin. And, of course, that little discussion…'

She and Tonks shared a conspirational grin, and then Tonks said, 'Well, you can stay here with Harry. Keep him company. Okay?'

'Great.' Ginny smiled. 'Good luck finding Lupin, then.'

'Good luck.' Harry echoed. Tonks thanked them and walked off down the corridor, pausing to check in random rooms.

Leaving Harry and Ginny alone, in what was suddenly a rather uncomfortable silence. Harry decided to speak first. 'So…' He cast around for a topic of conversation. 'How was the cleaning going?'

'Well, they're nearly done.' Ginny replied. 'They should be finished by lunchtime, though now I'm not there there's only three of them working… Malfoy just walked out at breakfast. We haven't seen him since, and good riddance.'

'I… ran into him.' Harry said, choosing his words carefully. 'Had a bit of an argument, like you'd expect… nothing serious though.'

'Bloody Malfoy.' Ginny grimaced. 'What did you argue about?'

He didn't tell the truth. 'Just general name-calling.' A thought struck him. 'Oh, and what was it you were talking about with Tonks? '

Ginny looked secretive. 'Nothing…' she answered, attempting to sound innocent. 'Nothing at all…'

'Which means you were talking about something interesting, and just don't want to tell me,' he pointed out. 'Come on, tell me. Please?'

'Girl things,' Ginny said. 'Top secret. Male minds cannot cope.'

Harry considered this carefully, from all angles. 'I think I could cope. Tell me,' he asked, and actually smiled. With Ginny's talkative nature holding his attention, he realised, there was less of his mind free to dwell on Sirius.

'Are you sure? I don't want to damage your mind…' Ginny put on an expression of mock doubt, her lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

'I'm feeling adventurous. Try it.'

Ginny shrugged. 'I wanted to know if she likes Lupin, and she said she does.'

Harry spluttered. 'Likes as in…?'

'Yes, that kind of likes.' Ginny grinned. 'And I knew you couldn't take it!'

'Of course I can,' Harry replied, pulling himself together. Tonks and Lupin… well it wasn't exactly the most obvious of pairs, but it made sense, when you looked at how close they had been recently. 'That's… very interesting.'

'Oh, and if you tell anyone I told you, you're dead. You do know that, right?' Ginny asked.

Harry nodded. 'My lips are sealed.'

'Good.' Ginny smiled at him. 'Why are we standing around in the corridor exactly?'

'Because we got talking about Tonks' love life?' Harry asked. 'We can go inside, if you want… there's about half an hour till lunchtime.'

'Sounds fine to me,' Ginny said, and followed him in. 'I was going to write a letter, but I'd rather chat, I guess.

'A letter?' Harry asked, as he opened the door. 'Who to?'

'Dean,' she replied, with a slightly dreamy grin. 'My boyfriend, remember?'

Harry nodded. 'I sat next to Ron on the train, I couldn't easily forget.'

Ginny snorted, taking a seat on a rather rickety old chair, while Harry perched on the bed. 'He was furious about it at first, wasn't he? I mean, he couldn't have looked more horrified if I was going out with… with Voldemort himself!'

Harry laughed a little at the idea. 'Now that would be an interesting romance.'

Ginny clasped her hands to her chest, and gazed adoringly upwards, as though looking into a lover's eyes. 'O, Voldemort,' she began, and Harry tried desperately not to laugh without much success, 'Your eyes are as red as rubies, your skin as white as fresh-fallen snow… And you know I love the way you cackle maniacally…' She couldn't carry on after that; she spluttered, then joined Harry in outright laughter.

When they'd recovered sufficiently to speak, she moaned, 'Oh no, I just had the most horrible thought… Imagine if it were Ron and Voldemort!' Which set both of them off again.

After half a minute, Harry gulped down a deep breath and attempted to control himself. Ginny snickered herself to a standstill, looked up, caught Harry's eye and they both grinned, fighting down another wave of laughter. It felt great, Harry reflected, to laugh again.

Trying to forget the disturbingly hilarious mental image of Voldemort presenting Ron with a heart-shaped box of chocolates on Valentine's Day, Harry returned to the previous topic. 'Well, I'm happy for you, Dean's a nice guy. How is he?'

'He's fine.' Ginny said, 'He's on holiday in Spain at the moment, so his poor owl has to fly a really long way to get here. That's why I should really leave the letter till later, she only got here this morning, and she'll want a good rest… I'm really jealous of Dean, getting to swan around in Spain. I always wanted to go abroad on holiday, but we can't afford it, so apart from that one holiday in Egypt I've never been anywhere…'

Her frank openness about the Weasley's lack of money caught Harry by surprise – Ron was always very touchy about it. 'I've never been abroad. The Dursleys went a few times but they always left me with relatives.'

Ginny made a face. 'If I was living with the Dursleys, I'd have hexed them years ago, underage magic be damned.'

Harry nodded. 'It's difficult to stop myself, sometimes.' He agreed. 'They left me alone most of this summer though…' He didn't really want to talk about the Dursleys, and changed the subject. 'So, where would you like to go? As in foreign holidays, that is.'

'Well, somewhere not too expensive…'

'If money didn't come into it. Say you won a free holiday to anywhere you wanted.'

She considered this. 'Somewhere they didn't speak English, so I could learn bits of another language when I went there. Somewhere exotic, somewhere really really different. India would be good, or Thailand. Oh! And I've always wanted to see the rainforest, all the pictures of it are so beautiful…'

Harry thought back to Geography lessons, back at his Muggle primary school. 'We learnt loads about the rainforest in school,' he said, 'The teacher was quite obsessed with it. We did this one thing, when we'd been learning about how people survived in rainforests – have you ever heard of a video camera?'

'I know what a camera is,' Ginny said, 'but what's a video?'

'It's a bit like a wizarding picture, because it moves… What happens is, it takes lots and lots of pictures one after the other, and when you string them all together really fast, it looks like it's moving.'

'Like those little children's flip-books?' Ginny asked, trying to understand the idea. 'The ones with lots of pages with little pictures on, and every picture is slightly different, and you flip the pages and it moves?'

Harry nodded. 'Yeah, like them but with more technology,' he said. 'Well, we were using a video camera to film a piece on how people survived in rainforests, and we had groups of about five. One person was the interviewer, and the others were people whose plane had crashed in the rainforest and they'd managed to survive. Only our interviewer was kinda scared, so she said all her lines with this huge grin on her face. Which would have been okay, except that she was saying things like, 'So, how did it feel to see everyone else on the plane mangled beyond belief?'

Ginny burst out laughing. 'Like this?' she asked when she'd managed to control herself, then put a huge cheesy smile on her face. 'So, Harry, you saw the victims of the plane crash, I believe. How did it feel to see their twisted, bloodied bodies mangled beyond belief?'

Harry dissolved into fresh laughter, in which Ginny joined him. 'We couldn't stop laughing on the film,' he said when he could breathe again. 'But of course, we were supposed to be mourning for all the dead people, so we had to make it look like we were crying…'

Ginny spluttered off. 'Oh, fake crying! That reminds me of this thing that happened in the Transfiguration lesson last year, you see, we were learning how to turn a cupcake into a feather…'

Harry listened intently to her story, already feeling much, much better.

~*~

It was almost time for lunch. Draco was lying in bed, staring into nothingness, when his door slid open an inch or two, and Hermione's bushy-haired head peered round it.

'Malfoy?' she asked, uncertainly. 'I just wondered…'

'Get out,' he said, flatly and without trace of emotion.

She said, 'Okay,' and shut the door again.

~*~

A/N: Everyone who hated Moping!Harry, rejoice; he's pulled himself together a bit. Everyone who's saying, 'Whoa, he got better kinda… fast, didn't he?' don't worry, it's only a temporary improvement – people tend to flux - and there shall be much more struggle and misery, but without moping.

Now, you're all used to my review-begging by now, I'm sure, but it's extremely difficult to come up with new pleas every week. Thus, this time, I'm going for bribery. Upon sharing Harry's mental image of Ron and Voldemort with my Delta, I was inspired to write a short yet hilarious spin-off based on that. Would you like to read? I'll post it up in my profile – when the review count tops 200.

Yes, I am evil. And reviews seriously make my day. They are my drug of choice, so go on, review!