A/n: I am so sorry for being so late. My sole excuse: student life is haaarrrrd :( I can barely find the time and courage to write anything down. But I will persevere, as you can see, I have a new chapter. I think they will be a little shorter from now on.
Chapter 7: A Literary Discussion
They say jealousy is a form of love. But it's wrong to assume it is only that. Jealousy can also be a form of ego-centrism. And in the raven's opinion, Draco Malfoy's jealousy had more to do with the second kind than with the first. It was clear he did not appreciate having his mother's attention taken away from him for the second night already. And on Christmas!
But in the vicinity of Mrs. Malfoy Senior and Mrs. Malfoy Junior, Draco had been forced to keep the noble composure that was expected of him. When the lights were out however…
"You bloody brat! Why don't you go crying to your own mama already!" Grey-eyes hissed as quietly as he could, but with as much venom as he could.
Harry was lying on the ground next to his bed. At first, Mrs. Malfoy had wanted to put her son there and Harry on the bed, for his shoulder was still very fragile; but seeing Draco's silently fuming expression behind his mother's back, the youngest one had insisted he would be perfectly fine where he was. It was a comfortable mattress, and he had two fluffy pillows. What's more, it was actually nice and warm in this room. At the Dursley's he was only allowed minimum heating. He felt no difference between the ground and an actual bed.
Still, there was no way he could ever go to sleep here, despite his exhaustion. First, an angry and vicious Malfoy was lying just a few centimetres from him. And second, he obviously needed an outlet for his bottled up irritation, and he was letting it all out, not allowing his guest to close his eyes for a second as he prattled on.
The raven allowed himself to feel a tiny amount of resentment toward the unfriendly old woman who had taken away the safe haven that was the guest room, which he had had the chance to know once… Though he could only dream about it now.
After grey-eyes spent an hour or so belittling green-eyes, he incautiously touched on the subject of the parents of the boy, repeating what his own grandmother had let slip during the evening, that they were extremely incompetent if they could not even keep their child away from troubling the neighbours on a holiday.
"Your parents don't even know their place. They've raised you to just barge into other's families, and to take classes in which you don't belong." Malfoy's sneer was clear even through a whisper.
Harry's reaction was immediate when Lily and James were mentioned. The spark in his belly was back, slowly building up to a greater fire as Malfoy continued.
The raven's parents were constantly criticized by everyone. Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Malfoy sometimes let slip some unfriendly comments, Mrs. Malfoy Senior had been less prone to holding back, though her Daughter-in-Law had shushed her before Harry could come anywhere near losing control. He'd also heard a few teachers at school saying they didn't quite understand his situation, and why no one ever came to pick him up, or came to the parent-teacher meetings. The raven had taken it too, as criticism towards his parents and had had to bite down on his lips.
And worst of all, he couldn't really defend them. He would have to admit why they couldn't take care of him: that they were dead. But he was sure it would make them an even greater target for mean gossip. His uncle and aunt had made it clear that his parents had been criminals, and that they'd gotten themselves killed because of all the bad things they'd done.
"What a sad lot your family must be." Grey-eyes rambled on in the background. "At least they've had the sense to breed only once. It would be an outrage to flood the streets with the likes of them. One stupid brat is too much already. You just coming in here and eating our food and…"
The raven knew now that his parents had been bad people, and he'd sworn to himself he would take their secret with him to the grave, even if it meant begging the Dursleys not to say anything.
"And not even able to pay their own medical bills. I had to wait here with that old hag because your bloody parents can't even take care of their own nest…"
Because of his decision, he could not do anything but endure all the talk that flooded his ears. But whenever Malfoy started to insult them in his haughty and disrespectful way, it became much harder to stick by that decision, to keep quiet. At school he had Ron and Hermione to distract him, but here…alone…in the dark…
"…not even a fitting pair of clothes…"
And still, the raven clenched his teeth, for he felt very grateful towards Mrs. Malfoy, and he did not want to disrespect her by insulting her son in her own house. Besides, he was lying on the older boy's bedroom floor. When one does not fit in anywhere anymore, when one looses his claim on a home and a loving environment, one must feel the need to have to prove himself, to please others, to win one's own place in society. And so Harry tried too, to be good, to be polite, to get good grades, and to respect even his enemies.
"…you take my pyjamas…"
However, not being a saint, it didn't take too long for his all consuming anger to stomp on his noble principles and to finally retort to Draco's mean words.
"So what!" Harry hissed back fervently, almost forgetting to keep his voice down.
A sudden silence fell in the room. It sounded even more penetrating after more than an hour of hearing the blonde's uninterrupted talking.
"What did you say?" Draco spoke slowly, threateningly. He had not really expected the small boy to defend himself for he had seemed so docile tonight. Probably the shoulder thing. He'd assumed. He'd even thought the boy was half asleep already, and had started deliberating whether to shake him awake to make him listen until he'd spit out everything he needed to say.
Secretly, he was also pleased that the younger one had responded. Talking to himself was but a boring matter.
"So what?" Harry repeated, not intending to back down now. "You don't even fit in your pyjamas anymore. What is it to you if I use them?"
"As long as they're in my house, they are mine." Draco stated clearly.
Harry could not help but feel slightly intimidated by his older schoolmate. He'd never heard anyone that age speak in such manner. It was a tone fit for a grand king, with authority over an entire kingdom. But Draco's attitude was that of a young prince, as if he too, had the world at his feet and didn't even deem Harry worthy of kissing them.
If the boy on the bed were to be a king, the raven mused, he would be a scary one. Not to mention a very evil one, for he would enslave everybody and make them do whatever he pleased.
Yes, that was exactly the role Malfoy would get if Harry made up a story.
"You don't have anything to say to that?" Malfoy challenged as he propped himself up on his elbow to look down on the raven.
"Nothing but that I'm wearing your pyjamas and that there's nothing you can do about it." The dark-haired boy shrugged nonchalantly, and immediately regretted it when his sore shoulder protested.
It was the perfect response to turn Malfoy into a boiling kettle. Telling someone so authoritative that he didn't even have power over his own property, Harry had hit where it hurt. He thought that if Malfoy was allowed to attack his weak spots, so was he.
Draco had not expected that kind of retort. He furiously racked his brain to find something smarter to reply, but his wit had been swept away momentarily by his fury.
"Take them off!" He ordered, hoping fiercely that the little brat could see the daggers he was shooting at him.
"Wh…what?" Harry stammered. It was his turn to be taken aback.
"They are my pyjamas, I do whatever I want with them and I say I want you to take them off, and give them back." He spat the last word.
Is he serious? Harry panicked. But… he would be cold without them, not to mention naked, except for his underwear. And he still had some old bruises from uncle Vernon's previous outbursts, and the new bruises from his fall from the stairs. Harry didn't like the idea of people seeing the traces of those humiliating moments. It humiliated him further. And Malfoy was the very last one he wanted to show his vulnerability to.
No, he simply could not do what he was asked.
"Are you going to throw me out of your room too?" He challenged, but the edge had left his voice. His confidence had left him when his anger was shut up.
Draco had to think before he replied. He knew it was his mother calling the shots, even if he pretended he could do it too. And Narcissa would not be pleased to see her guest sleeping out in the hallway in his underwear.
"It's too late now anyway." He huffed, feeling vexed. "I'm not in the mood to throw you out now. But I don't want to see you here ever again." Grey-eyes thought a bit longer about it, feeling that he'd somehow lost, he wanted to at least have the last word. "I will be expecting some kind of payment though, for the use of my things."
"I don't have money." The raven admitted grudgingly, knowing that his enemy must get more than enough. He always took nice toys to school, and quality candy.
"I don't need more money." Draco showed off. And the younger boy rolled his eyes. "But I'm really not in the mood to read that boring book for Miss Snape, so you write my essay. And make sure it's better than yours."
Seriously? The way Draco said it, it sounded to Harry like he made a habit of demanding the most outrageous things, and he felt a surge of pity for Malfoy's friends at school.
"I don't think I can do that, Malfoy." Harry's voice turned into an alien sound when he spoke the name. Was it the first time he'd addressed him by his surname? It felt strange.
"I don't really care, Potter." Draco responded, making sure to emphasize Harry's surname too.
The truth was that the raven was less than sure he would be able to write his own essay. Well, sure he could write it, but Miss Snape would certainly shred it to pieces and make him eat it if he handed it in, like she'd done with the last drop-out just before the holidays.
Harry had spent long hours (mostly during the night for he was busy with cleaning the house for aunt Petunia) reading a translation of Heinrich von Ofterdingen by Novalis, which was the book he was to write about. But since everyone had had to choose a different work from the romantic period, in order to write Malfoy's essay on top of his own, he'd have to read two books. It was an entirely impossible feat. He already had to look up many words before understanding even a few pages. You're only seven for goodness sake! How can they ask this of you! Hermione had raged, surprising both Ron and Harry by her anti-institutional comment. (Though Harry suspected her anger had its roots in the fact that she too, had been unable to decipher a particular paragraph when Harry had asked her help.)
"Which book are you reading?" The raven inquired. He was suddenly curious whether his arrogant classmate was as good as he would like everyone to think, whether he was encountering the same troubles Harry was.
"Dumas, Le Compte de Monte-Cristo." Harry was surprised, not by the title of the book, but by Malfoy's accent, which was far from perfect, but which was passable. It sounded like he actually practiced French. "Here." Draco added as he threw the young boy a book.
For the second time in two days, the raven got knocked on the head by a heavy object. Luckily this time, it wasn't thrown too hard, and it hit a less vulnerable spot. It still hurt though, and he massaged his head as he put on his glasses and flipped open the book, inhaling the wonderful scent he'd come to associate with home, love and safety.
He squinted for a moment…could it be…
"This is in French!" He exclaimed when he'd made sure.
Grey-eyes sniggered, pleased to have made an impression. "Of course, I can read French perfectly. Miss Snape is my mother's cousin." He added, though Harry had not asked. "She's been drilling both French and Russian into me since before you were born." He spoke as if Harry were a mere laughable toddler. It seemed to be kind of a hobby to make him feel that way.
"I doubt it." The raven challenged, his irritation sparked by the obvious boasting. "You weren't even three when I was born." He wasn't very good at math, but he could figure that out at least.
"So?" Malfoy sounded happy, as if he'd anticipated that response.
"Really?" Harry wondered aloud, his irritation pushed aside by his reluctant amazement. He had trouble hiding his interest as his fingertips felt the pages and skimmed over the unfamiliar words.
D'Avrigny prit l'Abbé par la main, et sans rencontrer Villefort, enfermé dans son cabinet, il le conduisit jusqu'à la chambre de Valentine, dont les ensevelisseurs devaient s'emparer seulement la nuit suivante.
The words in capital letters had to be names, the raven assumed. Valentine, he mused, were such names used in 19th century France?
"How else do you think I can read this?" Draco was irritated that his words weren't immediately believed. He was obviously much smarter than the tiny brat lying on his bedroom floor!
The raven's heart contracted. Malfoy had actually been able to make him feel stupid and incompetent. Who would have thought that? He looked at the words and he wished to be able to understand them. He wished to know how they sounded, for he could not even hear the words in his head.
"Prove it then." He said simply. He was sure Malfoy could not refuse him. He'd want to show off, as usual.
And he was right. Grey-eyes snatched the book away and started reading from the top of the page. "J'allais aller m'offrir, monsieur, dit le prêtre; c'est notre mission d'aller au devant de nos devoirs…"
Harry had heard French before, and it did not sound exactly the same, but close enough to absorb all his attention. It was exciting to hear an exotic language. It made the incomprehensible story feel like it came from unreachable land, far, far away, over the seas, or in the sky.
After he finished the page, Draco slammed the book shut harder than Harry liked to see. Books had always been treated with the utmost respect and care at his home, and he'd carried on that tradition.
It's not fair. Harry thought. Malfoy had someone like Miss Snape in his family, so he had had a lot of personal tutoring before taking the course. He had an advantage over them all. And he had the chance to learn other languages. If Harry had been so lucky, which language would he have wanted to learn, he wondered.
Something very weird, something with different symbols so that it would look like a secret code, he concluded. Yes, that would be the greatest.
As usual, thank you for all the support, and I look forward (very much) to your reviews. :)
