"Look, Harry, we know Malfoy's got a bad record and all, but don't you think that you've gotten a bit, well... obsessed?"
"I am not obsessed with Malfoy," said Harry hotly. "I just have this gut feeling that he's planning something bad. It's my responsibility to make sure he doesn't get away with whatever he's plotting."
"Harry," said Hermione hesitantly, "You haven't even got proof that he's a Death Eater. And I'm sure Dumbledore's keeping an eye on things. If he really thought that Malfoy was a threat, don't you think he'd tell you?"
"I don't know," Harry said bitterly. "It seems like there's a lot he's kept from me before. Besides, he's focusing on the Horcruxes. Malfoy could be flying under his radar."
"Flying under his what?" Ron asked with a bemused expression.
"Nevermind. It's a Muggle expression. What I mean is that Malfoy could be slipping past Dumbledore's gaze because he's concentrating on other things."
"Well, I guess... Still, it might do you some good to forget about Malfoy for a bit," said Ron.
"How can I forget about him when this very minute he could be plotting against Dumbledore, or me, or Hogwarts? I know he's a Death Eater. I know it. I just need the proof." Harry was starting to get flushed from the his vehement arguing.
"Harry... please, Harry. Leave Malfoy alone for a while. C'mon. D'you want to play Wizard's Chess or something?" pleaded Ron.
"Ron's right," said Hermione. "Let's just relax tonight. I'll watch if you two want to play chess." She sat forward from her position next to Ron on the couch and gave Harry a beseeching look.
"Don't you see?" exclaimed Harry. "I can't just relax! I can't! I just–I feel like screaming! Sitting here and pretending everything's okay when it isn't. I can't stand it!"
Rising, Harry strode swiftly towards the Common Room door, ignoring Hermione and Ron's calls. As he stormed out past the Fat Lady, Harry didn't bother to think about where he was going. He was just walking. Getting away from the illusions of normality that everyone tried to maintain. Can't they see there's a war going on? And they expect me to ignore Malfoy, just like that. Worse, no one seemed to sympathize with Harry. They were all content with the illusion of peace. It would have been nice to have just one person who agreed with him.
Harry looked up and saw that he had ended up on the second floor, near the girl's bathroom. Maybe he'd go and visit Moaning Myrtle. He had promised to visit her several times, after all... Glancing around to make sure no one saw him, Harry pushed open the door. He opened his mouth to call out to Myrtle when he heard someone breathing heavily.
Peering around the corner, he saw someone standing hunched over at a sink. The person appeared to be talking to himself between sobs as Myrtle encouraged him to let it out. But—there was something striking about the figure. It had bleach-blond hair. Harry looked into the mirror above the sink.
"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, drawing his wand.
Malfoy looked up into the mirror, shocked; with one fluid motion, he drew his wand and spun around to train it on Harry. "Potter!" he spat. Hastily, he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"
"This isn't your castle, Potter," said Malfoy with a grimace. "I'm a Prefect, in case you've forgotten since our last meeting. I have every right to be in here. What are you doing in here?"
Myrtle interjected. "I'm sure Harry's come to see me—haven't you, Harry? I was just talking to Draco here about–"
"Shut up, Myrtle!" shouted Malfoy.
"What, afraid she's going to reveal all your plots, Malfoy? Have you been sharing your twisted ideas with her? Dumbledore may not suspect you, Malfoy, but I know what you are: a Death Eater."
"Potter," snarled Malfoy, "if you were any dumber, they'd give you an award for Most Massive Stupidity Ever."
"Come off it, Malfoy. You're not fooling anyone."
"You are such—such a child, Potter! You are in way over your head, so why don't you sit down while the adults take care of things?"
Suddenly, Harry's rage, built up over days and days of pretense and tension, flashed white-hot.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Stupefy!"
Harry and Malfoy both dove away from each others' spells. Rolling to his feet first, Malfoy shot off another spell before saying, "You may want to grow up fast, though, Potter, because Dumbledore isn't going to be around to take care of things for you forever."
"Impedimenta!"
"Admitting to trying to kill Dumbledore at last, Malfoy?"
"Petrificus totalus! Yes, that's what I was getting at, Potter."
Momentarily distracted by Malfoy's forthrightness, Harry's reducto sped off at completely the wrong angle. It hit the sink with an explosion of flying porcelain, and Harry's world went black.
"Wakey, wakey, Potter."
Harry slowly opened his eyes. He gazed with blurred vision at the ceiling for a few moments before looking around for his glasses. Putting them on, he sat up and looked for the source of the voice. He saw Malfoy sitting against the opposite wall with an amused smirk on his face, holding his wand in a way that suggested that, although he wasn't pointing it at Harry at the moment, he was very prepared to.
"What... nnng..." Harry mumbled, rubbing his head.
"Although some of us learned to control our spells years ago, it seems you are still working on that, Potter. That Reductor Curse of yours hit a sink," Malfoy gestured at the sink, "and a fairly large chunk of it smacked you in the head. I wanted to shake its hand."
Harry looked around, spying the guilty piece of white porcelain. "Where's my wand?"
Malfoy merely smirked.
"All right, then. What do you want, Malfoy? Why are you still here?"
Malfoy's grin turned into a defensive snarl. "A good deed never goes unpunished, right, Potter?" he said acidly. "But why were you here in the first place? We both know you weren't visiting that wretched girl. I'd have killed her by now if she weren't already dead."
"I'm not going to sit here and answer your questions, Malfoy. You're the last person I want to be talking to."
"Oh, trouble in paradise? Get into a little disagreement with the lovebirds? The only reason you wouldn't be talking to them is if you were fighting."
"Shut up. It's none of your fucking business."
"Language, Potter. But I can see I've hit a nerve. So what were you fighting about?"
Harry just glared at Malfoy for a moment before mumbling, "You, actually..."
"What's that? I could've sworn I heard you say you were fighting about me."
"Um, yeah." Harry's cheeks began to flush. "Ron and Hermione think that... well, anyways, they don't agree with me. That you're working for Voldemort."
Malfoy flinched at the name. "I never thought I'd see the day when I agreed with Granger and the Weasel, but perhaps you should listen to them more often."
"Are you saying you're not working for him?" Harry asked.
"None of your concern."
Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Look at me. So fucking desperate that I'm talking to Malfoy of all people. I'd be better off trying to hold a conversation with the third floor staircase. At least it wouldn't constantly insult me."
Malfoy laughed bitterly. "You think you've got it bad; look at me! I'm talking to Harry bloody Potter, the Boy Who Lived to Be Doted On. Talking to a House Elf would be an improvement. At least the elf would be closer to my social ranking."
"Poor baby Malfoy. What, Crabbe and Goyle get a little too boring to talk to? I suppose I'd get bored too, always hanging around two people with the collective intelligence of a brick wall."
"Actually, Potter, for your information, they don't seem to have much sympathy... That is... Nevermind. Why am I even trying to explain myself to you? You wouldn't understand."
"Wouldn't understand what?" said Harry cautiously. Something seemed to be shifting between them, but he wasn't sure what it was.
"D'you—Do you realize what he's going to do? What he's threatening to do? The Dark Lord, that is. He's going to... to kill my father." Malfoy slumped back against the wall.
"Right, I definitely wouldn't understand anything like that," Harry replied caustically. "I've never had to save people from Voldemort or watch them be killed in front of me. You sit there complaining about what he's threatening to do to your father. My dad's been dead for fifteen years. Because of him."
"You don't understand. He—the Dark Lord—says he will spare–" Malfoy cut off sharply. "This conversation is not happening. You just don't understand."
"I'm so sick of people telling me that! Like hell I wouldn't understand. Nearly everyone I know, or used to know, is dead because of Voldemort, or has a father, or a sister, or a child, dead because of him. I know about death, and I'm tired of it. This war is only going to bring more."
Standing, Malfoy glanced at Harry before walking towards the door. "You know, Harry, in one thing, we're alike." He paused at the door and glanced back once more. "We're alone, despite our friends. Or minions, as the case may be." The bathroom door swung shut with a soft thud behind him.
Harry just sat for a moment, thinking about what Malfoy had said, before he realized he never got his wand back. He stood up to run after him, but something caught his eye. There, on the ground underneath his robes, lay his wand. It must have been simply covered up before. Harry stared at the door for a long while before starting back for the Gryffindor tower.