Chapter 20
When Harry returned to Hogwarts after the holidays he was feeling better than he had in months. They could see the end now, which meant that Hermione was already stressing over exams, but to Harry they still felt far away. Classes only picked up slowly after the break and there wasn't a lot of homework. He spent his free time playing quidditch on the grounds, drinking tea in the common room, and he, Ron and Hermione went to visit Hagrid, something they hadn't done a lot that year.
At first he did not look for Malfoy. He had been thinking about him while they were away, about what had happened between them the last half year, and wondered whether or not that strange half-friendship would still be there when they returned, but the thought remained at the back of his mind and did not fully surface until one day he overheard someone saying that Malfoy hadn't returned to the school at all. He did not ask around about it – it would have seemed strange if he had. But for the next week he noticed that Malfoy was missing from every class Slytherins and Gryffindors had together, and Harry was worried.
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Draco did not return to Hogwarts when school started. His mother wrote the headmistress, telling her that Draco was sick and would stay at home until he felt better. He had packed and unpacked several times. He would be seized by a strong need to leave the house as soon as possible – would throw all of his stuff into a suitcase, ready to apparate by himself immediately, but then he reached the door of his room and he changed his mind. Unpacked everything again.
By that time he had started leaving his room again for meals. He would eat with his mother in the dining hall. Sometimes she would talk, and he wouldn't say anything. Sometimes they just ate in silence. When it had been four days she started asking him when he was planning on going back to school. She was gentle at first, but then she got tired of his indifferent shrugs and started reminding him that he was all this family had left and if he didn't make an effort he wouldn't amount to anything, and he had survived the first half year, so he would survive the last one too.
If he had said then that he wanted to go abroad, maybe she would have agreed to try again. She was more like herself now, more like she had been before the war. She didn't cry when she looked at him anymore. But he did not ask her. And when a whole week had gone by she told him to go pack his things: they were leaving in half an hour.
They apparated as close to the school as they could, then walked up the path the rest of the way to the gate. Between the columns, two people were waiting for them. One was holding a lantern that illuminated his mountainous size. The man looked wild and uncultured, like he was only partly human and not far from reverting back to some wild animal state. Draco wasn't a child anymore, but the groundskeeper still made him uncomfortable. He looked down at them when they approached, the light catching in the black eyes hidden in the wild thicket of hair. Next to him was Draco's head of house, Professor Slughorn, who looked very cultured and very tiny next to the half-giant.
"Good evening, Mrs Malfoy," he greeted Draco's mother.
She shook his hand.
"And it's good to have you back, Mr Malfoy, I'm glad you're feeling better."
Slughorn put a hand on Draco's shoulder and it was probably supposed to demonstrate to his mother how welcome Draco was at Hogwarts and how fatherly and responsible his head of house was, but the gesture reminded him of being taken into custody.
"Well, thank you for bringing your son back, I hope he enjoyed the holidays. It's past curfew now, so if you don't mind, I think Hagrid and I should just escort him inside."
His mother smiled politely.
"Of course. I am sorry I couldn't bring him earlier, but thank you for accepting him back so late. It was very unfortunate that he fell ill just when school was starting."
Slughorn nodded.
"Yes, very unfortunate indeed. But he's a bright boy, I'm sure he will catch up in no time."
"I'm sure he will. Thank you, professor. Draco?"
His mother reached for him, and he freed himself from Slughorn's grip and walked into her arms. She held him a long time before she let go.
"Goodbye," she said. "I'll see you this summer."
He managed a smile. Then she turned back down the path and Slughorn's hand was on his shoulder again. They led him back up to the castle.
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Draco had returned to Hogwarts, but he was a ghost. He went mechanically through the motions of the day, but he felt as if he had not woken up in the morning and was living in a sleepwalking state. As if he had never fully recovered and could still feel the dementor's clammy grasp on his mind. But he was not sure he wanted to wake up. He thought there was something waiting for him when he did.
Pansy cornered him first thing in the morning after he had come back.
"Where were you?" she demanded.
He blinked at her.
"When?"
"New years! You were supposed to be there. I sent you letters. I contacted your mother over the floo, and she said you wouldn't talk to me."
He shrugged.
"Why didn't you come? Why didn't you write me back? I mean, it's not like my life revolves around you coming to my parties, but I don't like to be stood up and I don't like to be ignored, so you better have a pretty good excuse for being such a prick."
He shrugged again.
"Sorry," he said.
She might have hit him, if Pansy had been the type of person who hurt people with anything but words, but she wasn't. She turned around on her heel and marched away. She did not speak to him again.
Blaise Zabini was the sort of person who was mean with a purpose. It was obvious that this Draco posed no threat and had no intention of challenging him, which meant there was no longer a need for demonstrations of power. Blaise left him alone, everyone else left him alone, and they would probably still have left him alone even if he had started sitting with them again at meals and in the common room, but he didn't.
There were fewer insults thrown at him and no hexes at all – he knew they had not stopped out of pity but because they were satisfied. No one cared much exactly what had happened to him. The important part was that he had been pacified. And Draco didn't mind being left alone. It allowed him to sleepwalk.
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Of course of all the students at Hogwarts, Potter was the one who seemed to have missed the note that Draco was to be ignored. Draco noticed he was looking at him in potions, trying to get eye contact. It was a theoretical lesson, so they did not get out of their seats, and Draco did not look up from his notes at all until they were dismissed. He was the first one out of the classroom.
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The next time Slytherin and Gryffindor had classes together was in transfiguration. Draco did not look in Potter's direction at all during this lesson, so he did not know if he had been watching him this time, but he still wanted to leave as quickly as possible when it was over. He had already stood up and had his bag over his shoulder when McGonagall called on him.
"Mr Malfoy," she said and he stopped. "Would you mind coming up here for a second?"
The rest of the students filed out of the classroom as Draco walked to McGonagall's desk. There were only a few curious glances.
"Don't look so worried," she said when he stood in front of her. "You're not in trouble. I want to talk to you, but this is not an ideal time. Do you think you could come by my office after dinner this evening? Eight thirty should be a good time."
He nodded.
"Good. I will see you then, Mr Malfoy."
He nodded again and she returned to her paperwork. He turned to leave and as he did, he had to fight back an overwhelming urge to scratch at the mark. When he reached the door, he briefly touched the edge of his left sleeve before pushing down the handle and slipping out into the corridor. He wondered what his mother would do to him if-
"Malfoy!"
The voice startled him. He looked up and saw Potter coming towards him. Draco turned around, walking away as if he hadn't heard him.
"Malfoy, wait!"
Potter caught up with him and grabbed his arm and Draco had to stop.
"I wanted to talk to you. I haven't had the chance since you came back, so I told the others I had left my book here and came back. I'm glad I caught you."
Draco stared at Potter's smiling face, felt his hand on his arm.
He's happy to see me, he realized.
Maybe Potter noticed the look on his face – he let go of Draco's arm and the smile faded a bit but did not go away.
"What happened? Why did you only come back now?"
No, Draco thought. We're not doing this.
"My mother is doing very well now, so I wanted to spend some more time with her before I came back."
"Really?"
Potter looked unconvinced. Draco didn't care.
"What about your father? Are you okay?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Potter cast a look around.
"Here – there's an empty room next to the transfiguration one, we can talk in there."
"Didn't you hear me?" said Draco, a strain in his voice. "I don't want to talk, Potter."
But Potter ignored him and took his arm again so Draco had to follow into the small empty room, probably meant as an extra space for group work. There was a circular table with chairs around it in there, some shelves with a couple of spellbooks, and a window facing the grounds outside. Draco folded his arms and looked impatiently at Potter as he closed the door behind him. He ran a hand through the hopeless mop of hair on his head.
"So you're sure you're okay?"
I hate you, Draco thought.
"Yes," he said.
"What about Azkaban?"
"Nothing. There is nothing about Azkaban."
Potter frowned.
"What, you're not going to tell me what happened?"
"No, I'm not. What exactly do you think you're doing?" he said. "You won't talk to me out in the corridor where someone might see you, but you still expect me to tell you all about what it was like to visit the wreck of my father in his prison cell?"
"What? No, that wasn't what-"
Over time, Draco had become very good at compartmentalizing his feelings. It was a useful skill. It had made it easy for him to learn occlumency.
"That wasn't what you meant?" he said, interrupting Potter.
There were parts of himself that he could simply put away when he needed to. He had had to watch his aunt torture Granger back at the manor, and so he had switched off, and he had watched, and he hadn't cared.
"Yeah. We're friends, right? I never thought we would be, okay, but I guess we are, so that's why I'm asking."
When the Dark lord's snake ate the muggle studies professor it had been almost like self-hypnotism. He had not been present at all. He remembered seeing it and sometimes he dreamt about it, but he could not remember being scared or feeling anything at all while it happened. Even if he had thrown up in the bathroom afterwards. So that was what he did now. He didn't want to talk about what had happened during the holidays, he didn't want to care, and here was Potter caring way too much and wanting him to care as well, so he switched off the part of himself that could. It was the dignified alternative to storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
"We were pretending to be friends," he said. "We were pretending to be friends to improve my social status and to satisfy your savior-complex. But we're not pretending anymore."
He spoke in a bored, careless tone. There was no trace of a smile on Potter's face anymore.
"It wasn't working for me. Of course it wasn't a very good plan to begin with, since you're not really a hero, just some random pawn that happened to be necessary because of a prophecy and some pointless coincidences. And now that you've served your purpose you're really worthless, can't even be used to pull my shitty reputation out of the gutter."
"Why are you saying this?"
Draco continued as if he hadn't heard him.
"The mudblood, the penniless bloodtraitors, the lunatic, the half-squib, those are your friends, remember? Such an impressive flock, really. It's no wonder they all adore you, but it does say some quite unflattering things about you that those are the kinds of people you choose to surround yourself with."
He saw Potter's face fall, crumbling like burnt paper while he spoke. He saw disbelief turn to anger. He saw him move and he felt pain exploding through his face as Potter's knuckles made contact with his jaw. His teeth clamped down hard on his tongue, he staggered backwards, lifted a hand carefully to his chin and felt the warm, rusty taste of blood in his mouth.
"What the hell, Potter-"
A second fist caught him in the stomach and he doubled over. He inhaled sharply. He couldn't reach his wand and Potter was stronger than him. He gasped and grabbed and managed to yank at his knee and push him backwards with his shoulder. Potter lost his balance and fell hard on his back, dragging Draco down with him. He landed on top of Potter, and they were rolling on the floor, trying to keep the other down, to land a punch, while their legs got tangled in their robes.
"Bastard," panted Harry, "you absolute prick!"
Draco didn't have enough air for insults. He kneed Potter in the stomach and tried to roll away, but he was caught instantly and there were punches and twisting and flying spit, and then fewer punches, and Harry was on top, his hands closed around Draco's wrists, his leg's were on either side of Draco's and he was holding him down with his whole weight, panting. Draco lay still. Harry's face was just above his own, angry, hateful, triumphant. He could feel his breath on his skin. He felt far away. He licked his lips, allowed a smile to creep over his face.
"What now, Potter?" he said quietly.
For a second Potter looked like he had been punched in the face and Draco thought he might try to beat him to death, the loathing in his eyes was so pure. But then his face closed up. He let go of Draco's wrists and stood up.
"You're disgusting," he said, turning away.
Draco laughed. It hurt terribly and sounded shallow and broken. He heard the door slam. His laughter dried out. He took a deep breath and sat up slowly, his body aching, then carefully stood up. He touched his chin again where Potter had struck him. It was sore. There would probably be a bruise, but it was nothing he couldn't fix himself. At least his teeth were intact. He straightened his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair to put it back in place and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of this mouth.