Hermione won't step lecturing me about this charms essay. Apparently, I'm an "imbecile." Send help.
A tortured stick figure etched itself into the cream-colored surface in Harry's familiar quill marks-splotches of ink splatted haphazardly where he'd been interrupted. Harry's notes tended to be slightly random-it often seemed like he wrote down whatever thought popped into his head when he was unfortunate enough to have a quill in hand- but Draco adored them regardless.
Can't help. She's right. He wrote back before sliding the parchment under his History of Magic textbook, a smile on his lips.
With the return of the student body, Draco had expected more to change between himself and Harry. Their relationship was so new and tenuous that surely there would be difficulties in making a secret romance work. He hadn't, however, accounted for Harry to approach it with the same brute-force determination that he applied to everything in his life. He lacked subtlety-as most Gryffindors did- but Draco had yet to spend a lunch without the companionship of his crooked smiles and thoughtful questions, and each night, they wrote to each other-silly things that Draco would never repeat aloud. Harry was constant and dependable and the only thing holding Draco together.
The library murmured with quiet studying, the scratches of quills on parchment blending together in a chaotic hum. The tables around him were full, students desperately cramming for the looming exams and struggling over foot long essays. It came with an odd sense of solidarity, fingers stained with ink and stress building behind the eyes of every person in the room. Draco was in no way exempt, desperately trying to make up for how behind he had fallen in his classes. But it was easy for him to be worried about exams-instead of everything else. Exams were survivable, so he counted it to his benefit.
Draco reread the paragraph detailing the Great Goblin Revolution of 1634, scribbling down a note on the essay he sincerely hoped Binns wouldn't have time to read. He'd fallen asleep in class again and remembered very little of the lecture on the topic, trying to parcel it together from the complicated diagrams and wordy passages. It definitely wouldn't be his best work, but lately, so little was, and he was tired. His eyes glazed over as he skimmed the next few paragraphs, conscious of his focus shifting but unable to stop it.
I miss you. He wrote to Harry, the familiar beginnings of a headache starting to form in his temple.
Harry responded almost immediately. Wanna come over here?
Draco looked up and found Harry already staring at him from his place among the trio, sitting neatly towards the front of the library to allow Granger easy access to the catalogues. Their table was easy enough to spot, half buried in textbooks with the bright red hair of a Weasley sweating over an enlarged essay of his own. Draco gave Harry a sad smile and shook his head. They were trying to be inconspicuous; studying together was hardly that.
Fine. Be that way. Harry wrote a second later. Prat.
Draco snorted, glancing back to Harry in time to watch the dumb grin spread over his face. He was wearing the sweater again, the color of pine trees in spring, the silver thread of the dragon sparkling in the dimly lit library. Subtle, Draco thought, but couldn't keep his face from matching Harry's smile.
Theo dropped a heavy textbook on his fingers. His yelp echoed, Madame Pince shooting a scathing glare in their direction, and Draco shrank into his seat.
"What the fuck, Theo." He hissed, rubbing his crushed appendages.
Theo grinned, sliding into the seat across from him and shoving Draco's things aside to make room for his own. "Sorry, I couldn't watch you drool for much longer."
Draco scowled, not dignifying the comment with a response and adjusting his textbook to cover the incriminating parchment.
"Sorry, did I interrupt something?" He glanced back at Harry, who was resolutely not watching them.
"No. You didn't." Draco flicked him with an impatient finger.
Theo shrugged, not bothering to hide his knowing smirk. Draco hadn't told him yet, but Theo was clever, and in the two months since Christmas, Draco supposed it was only natural he'd have noticed the sneaking off and odd expressions cast across the Great Hall.
"Have you written your essay for Binns?" Draco asked, flipping the page back to the Goblin Revolution and refocusing on the task at hand.
The morning passed quickly after that, with hushed conversations about school intermingled with tedious stretches of writing. At some point, Pansy joined them, and Draco hardly even noticed when the golden trio packed their things and left. He definitely didn't stare as the git returned his books to the shelf, catching his eye and smiling at the twinkle he found there. No, he definitely did not.
It was Saturday, so Draco obliged himself to attend lunch with his friends in the Great Hall. He did it so rarely these days- his noonday rendezvous with Harry being precious time that he wouldn't give up for anything-bar a life or death situation. But his friends had been patient with his chaotic behavior, helping where they could, so he made an effort to spend time with them on occasion.
Pansy chatted somberly about her newest experiment into the expansive world of color-changing charms, lamenting the tragedy of turning her vermillion dress a persistent vomit green instead of olive. Draco smiled and sympathized where appropriate, trying his best to involve himself in the conversation. It was harder than it should have been, the painful ache in his arm steadily worsening as lunch passed.
He picked at his green beans, his left hand clenched under the table in a painful fist.
"You alright?" Blaise asked after Draco had let slip a wince from a brutal spike of pain.
He schooled his features, "Yeah, just not feeling well." He made excuses and said his goodbyes, ignoring the worried looks he'd grown accustomed to his friends sharing when they thought he wasn't looking. He couldn't be bothered to say much else anyway. He needed to go-find somewhere private to ride out the wave of pain- somewhere where no one would ask any questions.
He stumbled into the boy's restroom, checking that he was alone before casting a locking charm on the door-a measure he'd taken up after Harry's accidental interruption of his most embarrassing breakdown. He was happy with the result of the incident, of course, but he still didn't like the idea of someone finding him like that. He liked to imagine that he still had some dignity.
Slumped against the wall, Draco shuddered, drawing in shaky breaths to balance himself. His arm throbbed, sharp pain lancing its way through his veins with each beat of his heart. He braced himself on the cool tile, and with more care than was probably necessary, Draco rolled his sleeve to expose the tattoo.
It hadn't gotten better. The skin was purple and blotchy, the area directly touching the black mark swollen with streaks of dark color seeping into the infected tissue. At first glance, it looked like he had been bitten by a dog and then left the wound to rot. But the tattoo stared at him through the mess, brutal lines of ink shifting across his forearm, the eyes of the snake accusing. He winced, trying to calm his breathing. The pain was slow and torturous, as if each flick of the tail dragged jagged nails through exposed nerve.
The only relief was that it tended to come in waves. Most days, he could get away with ignoring the dull throb completely until a violent spasm shook through his body, leaving him crippled for minutes at a time. But then he could walk away and pretend everything was fine as if he weren't being eaten alive by the magic festering under his skin. The intensity had been growing, but he could usually tell when a fit was oncoming, giving him enough time to escape. It had been manageable, but something was different today. The pain lingered, not spiking to the intensity that it usually did but pulsing, ripping apart his mental defenses minute by minute. He could move but couldn't stop his face from contorting with the effort.
He waited, holding himself as still as he could, willing the pain to subside like it always did.
The faucet dripped against the porcelain, and he counted the sounds, his eyes locked on the stained glass window in front of him - it was a thestral, flying and swooping in shimmering colors of blue and green, the sun shining through it at just the right angle to cast it's image onto the stone floor. Draco took a measured breath, his eyes watering as they traced the outline of a gilded wing.
Time blurred as he waited for the pain to dull. The brilliantly reflected thestral slowly crawled towards him as the sun shifted. When it finally disappeared, leaving the room dark and gray in its absence, Draco's arm had yet to show any signs of easing. At least it wasn't getting worse, he supposed.
Draco grit his teeth. He couldn't stay like this all day.
Wand in hand, he summoned a long, clean bandage, clenching his jaw as he bound it tightly over the offending tattoo. The pressure burned, each ribbon of cloth cutting into the swollen flesh. He finished by tying it off just below the elbow and shuddered. He waited, his pale hands gripping the floor until the pain eased into a constant ache. It hadn't gone completely, but at least he could deal with this.
He stood, resolute to ignore the tremor in his knees.
By the time he reached the seventh floor and familiar corridor, he was growing accustomed to the numb feeling in his left arm—though he wasn't sure if it was the pain getting easier to manage or the tourniquet cutting off his blood flow. He found he didn't care enough to check.
Harry was waiting outside the room when he finished, the weight of the day dragging him into the boy's arms, curling into warm touches and soft kisses. He didn't care that they were in the middle of the hallway; He didn't care that he likely smelled of mildew and dust; He didn't care about anything but clutching to the soft green fabric and breathing in the scent that had started to smell like home.
Harry squeezed him, kissing his neck in an affectionate greeting. "Hey there." He whispered gently, the familiar scent of vanilla calming every nerve in Draco's addled mind. Harry was more effective than any calming drought Draco ever hoped to brew.
"Bad day?" He asked, stroking his fingers across Draco's scalp. Draco nodded, the pain in his arm throbbing as if to make a point. "What do you need?"
Harry was good like that. He'd learned not to ask Draco why he had his moods or what was wrong on any particular day. He just showed up, arms open and gentle, and was there-willing to give Draco whatever support he could, whatever help Draco would let him give.
"I'll be alright. Can we sit?" Draco didn't release his grip on Harry's hand as they made their way to the alcove. Harry pulled him into a tight hug when they had settled on the floor, without the need for Draco to ask for just that. It was disgustingly sappy, and Draco loved it.
"You didn't reply to my note," Harry said after a while.
Having not checked his parchment in hours, Draco blinked. "What did it say?"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I asked if you wanted to meet up at Hogsmeade with me next weekend, Valentine's Day and all."
"Oh."
Harry interrupted before Draco could shoot the idea down. "I don't mean the entire time. Just like…" He paused, thinking, "A little bit? We'll be sneaky, I swear."
Draco chuckled, pressing closer to Harry. "Why do you want to go with me all of a sudden?"
"It's not all of a sudden, you git."
"Yes, it is, you wanker."
Harry chuffed, "I'd just like to take you on a proper date. Even if we have to walk around under my cloak."
Draco turned his face, hiding a pleased smile from Harry—a date. Draco had never been on a proper date before. "Okay."
Harry started. "Really?"
"Yeah. As long as we're careful, I don't see why not." His arm throbbed painfully as Harry squeezed him.
"Alright!" Harry grinned. "It's a date."
The next week followed an eerily repetitive pattern: Each morning, the pain in Draco's arm grew steadily worse, only tolerable after being wrapped in a constricting bandage. By the end of each day, he noticed with a frown that his fingers had turned a worrying shade of purple. But he could function, and that was all he needed.
The cabinet was close to being finished. Each test he devised for it showed better and better results. There were minor threads of magic that he still had to weave together, but the gaping holes he had started with were mended, and the cabinet could send living things through. It would be ready any day now, and the thought filled him with enough dread to avoid working on it altogether.
He had never expected to get this far, and the reality of what he was doing sunk into him with each connected thread and positive result. When he finished, he would have to get Harry to safety, and everything would be over. Hogwarts would fall, and Harry would leave, and he'd be left to finish his mission alone or die trying.
His plan to kill Dumbledore from afar had failed. Christmas had long since passed, and he had heard no news of the poisoned wine-not even a brief hospital visit. Draco supposed Dumbledore had taken one look at it and known something was wrong. It would have been in character, the all-knowing bastard.
Draco had been relieved for a few weeks that it hadn't worked, but now the oncoming threat of having to devise a different way to off the old man was starting to creep back into his mind, ruining quiet moments with panic and dread. Each time he saw Dumbledore at the head table with the other teachers, the lingering feeling that he knew what Draco was after clouded any thoughts or conversations he had been having. Dumbledore would kill him because Draco was too weak to do the same.
Draco really should have been focused on solutions for his predicament, but he found himself quite looking forward to their date at any moment he was relatively pain-free and away from the work. It was such a trivial thing to be happy about- most 16-year-olds would go on dates, it was nothing special -But Draco had so little normalcy left in his life that the idea of walking around Hogsmeade with Harry Potter made his toes curl with excitement.
Do you know Romilda Vane? Harry's writing curved over the edge of their already cluttered page of notes. Draco had only noticed it because he was rereading their earlier conversations in anticipation of the next morning's Hogsmeade trip. The name didn't ring any bells.
I don't think so. He replied.
I've only talked to her once, but Ron is losing his mind about her. I really don't know what to do. Harry's words appeared quickly, his handwriting devolving into the worst kind of chicken scratch as he tried to fit everything in the limited space.
Has he even spoken to her?
Not that I've seen? Something's off.
Draco frowned. Wouldn't be the first time with Weasley.
Harry didn't respond for a few minutes, and Draco busied himself with reviewing his outfit choices for the next day. He wasn't sure how many dates he would be allowed before everything went to shit, and he was determined to make this one count.
Harry's next words were even less legible. Shit. I think she drugged him with love potion. SHIT. Taking him to the infirmary. Talk to you later.
Draco's frown deepened, and he put the parchment away. At least love potions were easy enough to cure; Especially any love potion a student was able to get their hands on. Weasley likely would be put to sorts in a matter of hours. Draco ignored the twist in his gut and decided it would be best to sleep early.
Only the unease hadn't left him when he woke the next morning. No new messages had appeared from Harry, and Draco tied his arm and dressed in a pale green sweater, all while trying to ignore the pit in his stomach. He shouldn't care what might have happened to Weasley, but it mattered to Harry, so Draco supposed it was okay to care by proxy.
He ate breakfast and followed his friends to Hogsmeade, eyes wearily scanning the crowd for the familiar head of messy black hair. They weren't planning to meet up until after lunch when they could both sneak away from their respective friend groups and have some time alone, but Draco couldn't find him or the Weasel or even Granger. Casting a broad glance around the shuffling crowds, the younger Weaslette wasn't there either; None of Harry's friends were. What the fuck was going on?
Draco accompanied Pansy to the small boutique at the edge of the village, providing input on her choices and letting her pick out a cable knit jumper for himself in the process. He liked shopping with Pansy; She was so passionate about fashion that it was easy to distract himself from the frenzy of thoughts swirling in his mind.
"Oh, that's definitely the one." Draco beamed at the maroon miniskirt as she gave it a happy twirl. It was pleated with barely noticeable patterns embroidered in a slightly shifted color of red and showed just a bit more skin than her mother would ever be pleased about. Which is why she had to buy it here- the thing would not last more than ten minutes in the Parkinson's home.
"Excellent." Pansy grinned back at him, disappearing once again into the dressing room to add the skirt to an evergrowing pile of clothes to purchase. Draco checked his watch. It was almost noon.
Harry and Draco had planned to eat lunch with their friends at the Leaky Cauldron, making some excuse to separate for a benign errand before meeting up behind the building. Draco still hadn't glimpsed any of the usual Potter crowd and wished he had brought along the charmed parchment. Maybe there had been news.
He shook the worry off, adjusting his sleeves and standing up to help Pansy organize her things to take to the register. There was nothing he could do now except to trust Harry would show when he said he would.
Harry wasn't in the Leaky; Draco wasn't entirely sure what to do about that.
"Who do you keep looking for?" Pansy asked, snatching a chip from Draco's mostly untouched plate of pub food.
"No one." Draco sighed, pulling his focus back to the group. Harry probably had a very good reason for standing him up; He was most likely off saving the world like he always did. But Draco still felt embarrassed and a bit foolish for having gotten his hopes up. No one else even knew that he'd been jilted, but his cheeks were red and his arm ached, and he had no desire to stick around any longer than he needed to. "I think I'm going to head back after this." He muttered noncommittly, "I'm a bit tired."
Pansy gave him a long stare, her mouth twitching downward. She obviously had something to say, but was thinking better of it, and Draco was grateful. All the energy he had built up for coming out today was suddenly gone, replaced by a vague emptiness in his chest and he didn't know how to explain that to her.
He dived for his forgotten parchment the second he entered the deserted Slytherin dorms. The messy page of notes left little room for lengthy apologies and explanations as Draco so rightly deserved, but he scoured the cramped page for anything that hadn't been there the night before.
Nothing.
Draco's face was blank as he checked again.
There really was nothing, Not a single word from Harry. Draco scrubbed his face, ignoring the sharp pain the movement caused in his arm. Fuck.
He layed in bed for the rest of the afternoon, staring blankly at the parchment and doing his very best impression of a flobberworm. At least they didn't have constant pain in their limbs -they didn't even have limbs- and they didn't get stood up by their boyfriend on Valentine's Day, and Draco was sure the Dark Lord would never have thought to take over the ancestral home of a flobberworm. Their lives must be so easy.
Draco was moping; it was pathetic. He knew that, and yet it felt like the only justifiable course of action.
The sun was barely setting by the time Theo came back, the Slytherin dorm cast in an eerie atmosphere as golden light reflected through the green water of the lake. Draco hadn't moved; His body felt too heavy, thoughts clogged with worst-case scenarios and doomed ideas of his nonexistent future. He grunted in response as they acknowledged him but made no effort to join their conversation.
That is until a few words caught his interest. Weasley and Infirmary.
"Wait, what?" Draco shot from his place in bed, "What about Weasley?"
Theo blinked in surprise, "Um, yeah. People are saying their was a big commotion with him in the infirmary last night. He's been there all day. No one knows why, though."
Draco suddenly felt incredibly stupid that he hadn't just gone to the infirmary immediately. Of course, that would be where Harry was; he's not the type to abandon friends in the hospital. He was kind like that, even if Draco had the mild urge to throttle him at the moment.
"Oh, okay," Draco said vaguely, slipping out of his bed and lacing up his shoes. Theo gave him an odd look but returned to his conversation with Blaise without further questioning.
Draco barely resisted the urge to sprint as he walked through the halls toward the medical wing. His mind was blank; the only thought that did not immediately dissolve was the urge to see Harry. He needed to confirm that everything was okay; Surely, it would be. Nothing bad ever happened to Harry. Well, that wasn't true. Bad things happened to him all the time, or rather, bad things happened to the people around him all the time, but Harry was usually fine. Wasn't he? Draco walked faster.
As he neared the wing, he wondered how exactly he was supposed to barge in, asking for Harry while still keeping a low profile about their relationship. Surely, all of Harry's friends would be there; He couldn't exactly throw himself at the boy.
Luckily, he never had to figure that out. He turned the corner and let the breath he was holding go. Harry sat on the benches just outside the hospital wing doors, hands clasped together, leaning on his knees. His head hung limply from his hunched shoulders, the ragged posture communicating everything it needed about how his day had gone.
"Harry-" Draco breathed, trotting the last few steps towards him.
His head shot up at the sound, shoulders relaxing only slightly as he recognized who had called him. "Oh, hey,"
Draco glanced around, ensuring that they were alone in the corridor, before wrapping Harry in a tight hug. "What happened? I was worried when you didn't show."
"Oh, God-" His eyes widened, "Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry- I didn't even think-"
"It's okay. Obviously, there were more important things going on." Draco feigned nonchalance and decided right then that he would never tell Harry how dismally miserable he had been for the last few hours; his pathetic secret would die with him. "Really though, what happened?"
Harry swallowed, glancing at the door with a strange look on his face. "Here, let's go somewhere more private." He took Draco's hand and started walking them down the hallway. "I don't know when Hermione'll come out."
Draco nodded, following wordlessly.
The first classroom they came to was empty, and Harry cast a quick locking charm. He paused before following up with an impediment jinx to keep out eavesdroppers. Draco could appreciate good security, but the idea that this conversation might warrant that level of care didn't help with the ongoing nerves.
"Was it not a love potion?" Draco hazarded a guess, walking over to the windowsill to the admire the veiw. Harry didn't join him, instead pacing in slow circles by the door.
"No, it was- Romilda drugged some chocolate meant for me, and he ate it-" Harry ran his hands through his already messy hair, his words struggling to make their way out of his throat. "I don't know what happened, honestly."
"Just-" Draco tried to keep his voice calm in the hopes it might help with Harry's nerves. "Maybe start from the beginning?" He suggested quietly.
Harry gave him a grateful smile and took a breath. "Well, I've been getting all these weird gifts from girls lately, and she drugged one with a weak love potion, but Ron ate all of them, so it hit him pretty badly." Draco covered a laugh with a cough. Harry shot him a look and continued. "So, I took him to Slughorn to see if he could make an antidote because- well- long story there-not important- " he waved his hand as if banishing the tangent. "So I took him to Slughorn's office, and he offered us a drink while we waited for him to fix up a cure, and-I don't know- He just started-" Harry motioned wildly towards his mouth. "And he stopped breathing, and I thought he was gonna die- but there was a bezoar, and we got it down his throat in time, so he's fine, I think, but I don't know what happened, and I kept thinking 'Oh God, I'm going to lose Ron too.'" He stared at the floor, eyes wide as he breathed heavily, reliving the moment.
"So he…?" Draco paused, his brow furrowed. "Had a bad reaction? I don't think I understand."
Harry looked around, searching as if the shelves of textbooks would provide a better way to explain it. "Slughorn thinks it was the wine. He thought someone must have poisoned it. He's testing it now, but- It worked so fast- I don't know what else it could have been." Harry continued, describing the way Ron had convulsed on the floor, foaming from the mouth.
Draco was no longer listening. The pounding in his ears overshadowed any words Harry was still saying to him. Ron had almost died, and it sounded very likely that Draco would have been his murderer.
The world seemed to slow around him, his face going pale as dread and guilt consumed every fiber of his body. The magic pulsing angrily on his arm was nothing when compared to this. He was scum. He was the worst kind of traitor, unskilled and reckless, allowing anyone to get hurt in his way. It would have been kinder to drink the poison himself for how much good it had done.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Harry was by his side in an instant.
Draco couldn't speak, his blood cold despite the pleasant Spring evening.
"Is it another episode?" Harry's hand brushed his, and Draco jerked back, his thigh knocking over a chair in the rush. The clatter of metal on stone reverberated between them, the distance gaping like the hole forming in Draco's chest. Harry would never forgive him.
"Draco, talk to me."
Draco cast his eyes around the room for something to say, but there was nothing to help him. Only textbooks and empty cauldrons, the seats tucked neatly into their desks jutting up like tombstones into the dusty air.
"Did-" Harry's voice quieted, "Do you know something?"
"I didn't mean to," Draco said, more breath than words. He finally looked at Harry, the slight crease to his brow pulling at the pale scar. His eyes were tired, and his hair greasy and unkempt. He had a grayness to his skin that didn't suit him, but even in his frown, his face was open and unguarded. A trust in his eyes that made Draco want to scream.
He'd been a fool to think that Draco would be the only one hurt when the charade fell apart. His deluded image of Harry walking away unscathed suddenly was all too naive, the imagination of a desperate boy. Harry trusted him completely, and Draco had let him.
"Harry, it was me," Draco whispered, unable to tear away from Harry's face as it wrinkled in confusion. He deserved to know-to make his own judgments-because Draco had stolen every moment of happiness they'd had together. And it was only now, surrounded by the guilt and empty space, that he realized how wrong that had been.
"What?" Harry asked.
"I poisoned the wine."
The classroom was silent, and Draco braced himself for a hex-for anger. When Harry spoke, his voice was as soft and gentle as it had ever been. "Why would you say that?"
"I didn't want to." He choked, excuses bubbling up from somewhere deep inside him- the part that wanted to keep Harry-the part that thought maybe he would stay even after this. Draco shoved it down and yanked his sleeve up, tearing away the stale bandages that covered his last remaining lie. A sharp intake of breath was the only sign that Harry had seen.
The Dark Mark was ugly, made even worse by the distorted skin turned purple and black, bruises crawling up his arm in infected tendrils. It looked like it had been branded with a hot iron and hadn't healed correctly, and Draco supposed that was almost the truth.
"Draco, I'm going to need you to keep talking now." Harry's voice was low and cold, and Draco flinched, replacing his sleeve over the tattoo.
"I didn't want it." Draco stared out the window, wishing the sun would set faster so he could make out the constellations through the purple haze. "I didn't want any of it, but-" His voice cracked, "They have my mother."
"Voldemort?"
Draco flinched, but nodded. "Ron wasn't meant to get hurt."
"Who then?"
"Dumbledore."
Harry took several baffled steps back, "What?"
"He wants me to kill Dumbledore. Slughorn was meant to give the wine as a gift." Draco's voice was numb, eyes refusing to meet Harry's for fear of what he might find. "They have my mother." He repeated because it felt like the most important thing for Harry to know.
"This is fucking insane," Harry whispered, the edge in his voice tipping past the point Draco had ever heard it.
"I know."
"So, you've been a Death Eater this whole time?" There it was. The trust he'd been so freely given slipped through Draco's fingers like sand.
"I'm sorry." It wasn't enough; Draco knew that, but it was all he could think to say, meaningless as the words were.
"Why didn't you tell me?" The crack in Harry's voice could have shattered glass. Draco didn't speak. "I'm assuming whatever you're doing in the Room of Requirement is bullshit too?"
"Fixing a vanishing cabinet to let Death Eaters into the school," Draco whispered, willing the floor to swallow him whole. The purple sunset had morphed into crimson, the light catching against the top of the forest canopy.
"Okay." Harry rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands.
"Okay?"
"It's okay." He repeated, and Draco was very lost. "I knew it was bad. Fuck. I knew it was bad, but this-"
Draco didn't know what to say.
"We'll figure it out," Harry stated, clenching and unclenching his fists. "I'm pissed as Hell-especially about Ron. But we'll figure it out."
"Harry, I don't think-"
"No. Dumbledore will know what to do." Harry wasn't looking at him anymore, resuming his pacing.
Draco's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "I can't do that." Harry's gaze snapped to his, green eyes blazing. Draco spoke quietly. "I can't go to Dumbledore."
"You realize you have to stop, right? This-" Harry gestured vaguely to his arm. "Has to end."
Draco should not have done this. He should have kept his mouth shut. What had he expected? Nothing, because he hadn't thought it through. "I can't."
Harry threw his hands up in exasperation. "Of course you can!"
"I can't let them hurt her."
"They won't find out. Draco, I'm serious."
"You don't know that. He'll find out-he always knows." Draco's voice rose, the shock and panic of the situation slipping away to frustration. Harry wasn't listening to him. If he were, he would understand. "I can't take that risk."
"We can help you. There are other options besides fucking murder!" Harry shouted the last word, green eyes blazing.
Draco, not one to be outdone, yelled back the words he had been telling himself for so long. "I don't have a choice, Harry!"
"You always have a choice!"
Draco glared, refusing to respond to something that was so blatantly untrue.
Harry seethed, running his tongue over his teeth as he watched Draco. "So what?" He eventually spat, "You're just gonna keep poisoning people until you eventually get it right?"
"If that's what I have to do," Draco growled back. He didn't mean it, and he wasn't entirely sure why he said it, but Harry's tone was getting under his skin. It had always been so easy for Harry to provoke him.
Harry considered him, the cold rage simmering just behind his eyes. "Then kill me." Draco wasn't sure he heard him correctly. "Do it. Right now." Harry held out his arms in open challenge. "Fuck Dumbledore. If you're so set on being a Death Eater, kill me and be done with it."
"Harry, stop it."
"DO IT!" Harry bellowed, shoving a desk to the side with a loud crash.
Draco didn't register pulling his wand, but instinct kicked in, the wild look in Harry's eyes reminding him far too much of the men he'd spent the last weeks of Summer avoiding.
"The head of Harry Potter is probably enough to save your whole fucking family if that's what matters to you." He spat, taking several steps closer, the tip of Draco's wand pressing into his sternum. "Do it."
Draco stared, unable to stop himself from shaking. When he spoke, it was barely audible; it was nothing more than a whisper because he couldn't hurt him. He never would. "I can't."
Harry softened his voice, eyes imploring. "Then let us help you."
"I can't." Harry looked away like he'd been slapped. "I don't have a choice."
"So rather than ask for help, you'll just lay down and do whatever he tells you to?"
Draco barked a bitter laugh, "You think I'm doing this because it's easier?"
"No, it's just because you're a fucking coward."
Draco's lips pulled back in a sneer, nostrils flaring."You don't know anything about me."
"Yeah, I'm realizing that." Harry spat, the vein in his neck bulging. "I thought you'd dropped all that Malfoy family bullshit. But apparently, I was wrong."
"SHUT UP!" Draco shoved him, chest heaving with exposed nerves. "Maybe you couldn't save your family, but I am sure as hell going to save mine!"
The classroom went silent, the charged air buzzing between them. The purple light of the sunset cast long shadows over the floor like chasms that Draco could fall into with a single breeze. The green in Harry's eyes had never been so similar to the killing curse as they bore into him.
"Fuck you." Harry crossed the room, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "And congratulations. Your father would be proud." Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him like he had never been.
Draco sank to the floor and began to sob.