Twenty-Two
Draco sighs. Hermione had said Potter was probably going to put two and two together because Ginevra couldn't bring herself to make a little white lie. Wonderful. Being cornered in the kitchen alone isn't exactly ideal. Not with the way the two of them are looking at him. And not with the way he wants to haul off and clock Potter for telling Hermione what he'd forced out of Draco with veritaserum. What the hell did the fucking prat think he was trying to achieve with that? It had been cruel. Stupid and cruel.
"Potter. Weasley." He decides the best course of action is to ignore them for now, although it's very tempting not to. But Hermione would hardly appreciate him kicking things off with Potter. He's making tea while Hermione's in the shower, the contraceptive charm cast thanks to Ginevra. Draco could kick himself for not thinking about a charm. He's supposed to be better than that – to think about these things before they happen, to think ahead. He's slipping, now that he doesn't have to play the role of spy. He's getting sloppy. Jaw clenched to stop himself from speaking, he shoves off the bench and turns to grab a packet of biscuits. Don't say anything, he tells himself. Don't say anything; it won't help. It'll just upset Hermione.
"Where's Hermione?" Weasley asks shortly. Draco spares him a glance. Weasley's moved, standing in the doorway into the hallway – they've boxed him in. Well, that doesn't bode well. The redhead is sullen-looking, arms crossed over his chest, expression half obscured by his ridiculous beard as he blocks the doorway.
"None of your business." Draco feels anger fizzing in his chest as he slams the biscuits down on the bench. Merlin, he wishes he had his wand. He'd hex the pair of them, Potter in particular.
"Is she okay?" Potter demands, as though it wasn't his own words that had set Hermione off. It was he who had sent her spiralling from happy and coping to a hysterical mess. But he looks as if he's concerned Draco has done something to Hermione. And Salazar's sake, that burns. He hates that the two men know what he did to Hermione at the mansion. He hates that they forced him to tell them, ripping the words out of his head thanks to the veritaserum. Taking their turn at violating someone, not that they'd see it that way.
"Didn't Ginevra tell you, Potter?" Draco snaps as he looks over at the other man, who stands there glowering and self-righteous, completely oblivious to his own cruelty. Judging Draco as if he has any right to. He doesn't – whatever Draco did in Voldemort's service, he did for the Order. He did it to keep his cover intact so he could pass along information for Potter and his precious Order to act on. Including what he'd done to Hermione. He'd done what he had to do to save her life and to keep his cover, and Potter is fucking complicit. Not that the golden boy will ever admit to that. He won't take responsibility. He's happy to keep his hands clean and let Shacklebolt do all the dirty work via his web of informants – even now, the man is off at another safe house, using someone else the way he used Draco, who's useless to him now.
And now Potter and Weasley are forcing a confrontation, by boxing Draco in. Blocking his exits. Fuck. And they think they're the good guys. They're hypocrites. Draco's control breaks. He whirls on Potter and stalks toward him, stopping close enough that Potter has to look up to meet his gaze, and he notices the other man discreetly drawing his wand. He doesn't care. Potter's not going to kill him, and Draco isn't afraid of anything less than death. Shit, he's not even afraid of death. Pain? Pain is nothing. He welcomes pain at the moment, with anger searing through him, mixing sickly with guilt and that constant self-loathing. "You're the one who fucking dug the knife into her today, Potter, you fucking twat. Bringing up that shit? Did you think it was going to help her? Make her feel good?"
"It was the truth," the other man says uncertainly in the face of Draco's vehement rage, though his expression is still set in a determined self-righteousness, his green eyes narrowed and angry behind his spectacles.
"No shit, Potter," Draco snarls, his rage beating through him like a pulse, rushing in his veins. It feels like he's not getting a proper breath, the small kitchen feeling hot and suffocating. "Of course it was the truth. And she already knew it. She didn't need you rubbing it in."
"I –"
"We were both there. We know what happened. We're the only ones who know exactly what happened," he says, repeating Hermione's words to Potter. "So you didn't tell her anything new. Anything of value. You just brought up horrible fucking memories and shoved them in her face. You hurt her when she was happy. And why? To make yourself feel better? To get at me? Because you disapprove? You blithering fucking idiot." He's scathing in his fury, voice low and cold, tea and biscuits forgotten. "Get the fuck out of my way."
"No. No. You tell us what you did to Hermione today, first," Weasley demands, and Draco growls under his breath. They have it in their heads that he's gone and taken advantage of her, or worse, and he's not about to stand here and listen to that. Rage blooms bright and red in his mind, and his mouth runs away with him.
"Do you really want the details, Weasley?" He smirks at the redhead, watching as his fists clench and he takes a half step forward as though he'd like to hit Draco.
"Ron – don't," Potter says sharply, and Weasley halts. "You're not making yourself look good, Malfoy." He says, and Draco scoffs. He feels the sudden urge to play the Death Eater with the pair of them – to crucio them until they're screaming, and they have some idea of what it's like. They have no idea. They can hear him say it, and they can read it, but they have no idea who he is and what he's capable of. Not really. He wishes he could show them – up close and personal.
"I'm not trying. Now get out of my way, Potter." He shoves the shorter man back, and he rocks on his heels and takes a stumbling step back, but otherwise keeps blocking the narrow doorway.
"Last I saw Hermione, you were pinning her against the wall while she tried to get away, absolutely hysterical and screaming. A wreck – "
"Because of you." Draco shoves him again and Potter swears and whips his wand up, pointing it at Draco. He sets his jaw and eyes Potter with dull, impotent anger. "What are you hoping to do? Hex me? You think that'll make Granger happy?"
"Shut up, Malfoy. All I know is that she was a mess, and you had her trapped –"
"Which you were fine with," he points out. Potter dismisses that with a harsh sound.
"Yeah, but I didn't expect you to take her upstairs, and then, when she comes back down, she needs a contraceptive charm. D'you know what that sounds like? Ron? What does that sound like?"
"Sounds like coercion, Harry. Like the bastard raped her. Again," Weasley says, right on cue, as though the two idiots have rehearsed it. "Taking advantage of her when she isn't capable of consent."
"Oh, fuck you." It comes out in a snarl, rage washing through Draco in a torrent. How dare he. How fucking dare they both. Ignorant, selfish little fucks. It's not even so much the accusation against himself that pisses Draco off, it's what that accusation will do to Hermione when they share it with her, which he knows they inevitably will. Draco turns toward Weasley, fists balling up as he takes a step closer, adrenaline flooding him and making everything seem warped and slow, a sense of preternatural calm falling over him. Wand or no wand, he will beat the shit out of the prick for that. But Potter grabs him by the neck of his shirt and yanks him back.
"Petrific –" Potter begins. Without thinking, Draco pivots and sucker-punches Potter in one fluid motion; right fist meeting Potter's cheekbone and fuck, that hurts. His knuckles flare in pain even as Potter's head whips to the side and he stumbles back, colliding with the dining chairs, left hand clutching his cheek. His wand has gone skittering to one side across the wood floors, and they both stare at it. Potter lunges for it and Draco grabs him this time, pulling him up short, shirt twisting up in his left hand as he drives his right fist into Potter's side.
Potter lets out a whoof and his face turns red even as he grabs at the chair back to steady himself with one hand, and smashes the heel of his other hand wildly up into Draco's face, catching him square in the nose. Whether by accident or design, Draco doesn't know, but either way, it does just as much damage. There's a crunch and pain explodes through his sinuses; hot, awful pain spider webbing from his nose right through to his ears and behind his eyes. Almost immediately, he can feel blood running hot and metallic down the back of his throat, pouring from his nose and dripping off his chin.
He bares his teeth in a snarl and punches Potter again, two hard blows, and the abdomen is much more pleasant to strike than the other man's hard head. Potter grunts with the blows, gasping for air as Draco lands a right hook in his diaphragm. The hits shove the shorter man back against the dining chair, and he's flailing, and an animal sense of triumph burns up bright in Draco before suddenly pain erupts in the small of his back, in his right kidney, and oh fuck, that hurts. He staggers. "You want to do it the Muggle way, fine," Weasley pants over Draco's shoulder as he hits him again, a flurry of blows as Potter clutches at him and holds him trapped. Agony radiates through the small of his back and his abdomen by the time he manages to collect himself enough to elbow Weasley in the gut and stamp the heel of his foot down on the arch of Weasley's as hard as possible.
He's not wearing boots but Weasley still lets out a choked yelp, gurgling thanks to the elbow to the gut, and Draco thinks he feels something give way in the other man's foot. And then it's just straight up two against one, and shit, it's suddenly not easy. He's choking and gagging on his own blood as he dodges one of Potter's punches, just to catch one of Weasley's to the face; a hard smack to his jaw that – from the slew of furious curse words Weasley follows up with – hopefully broke the other man's knuckles. He gets Weasley in the eye with a wild right cross, before Potter gets him in the gut, hard enough that he's gagging for air too.
It's chaos; glorious fucking chaos. His adrenaline is churning, and the pain feels vibrant. Magnificent. Deserved. He doesn't care how much they hurt him, so long as he gets them back. All three of them are choking and panting, gasping and wrecked – Draco less than the other two he thinks, as they break apart for a moment, and he straightens and rolls his shoulders. He grins at them and then spits blood on the floor before they wade in again.
He grabs Potter's shoulder, kneeing him in the balls and then spinning the man around so his back is pressed to Draco's front, holding Potter close with an arm around his chest, trying to use him as a shield even as he hits him with his free, left hand. Little rabbit jabs to the side, and Potter writhes and smashes his head back, clipping Draco's chin and dazing him even as he drives his elbows back too. It's enough that Draco's grip slips, and then Weasley catches Draco full in the left eye, and he staggers into the table, shoving off it with a growl and ducking Weasley's following punch, getting him in the belly twice. But then Potter catches Draco in the back of the knee – a kick? – and his leg goes out from under him, and he staggers sideways against the wall, nearly falling, one arm slamming out, hand slapping against the wall and shoving himself back up.
His eye is already swelling shut and every move sends pain stabbing through his abdomen, but he's on his feet. Facing Potter, who has his fists up, bruises already darkening on his face. Where's Weasley? Oh shit, Draco thinks and starts to back up to the wall, but it's too late. There's a blow to the small of his already bruising back that makes him grunt, another brutal kick to his knee that feels like something snaps, and then Potter punches him in the gut hard enough to wind him. He folds. The world spins, and then his back hits the edge of the table, and then he's fighting wildly, kicking and flailing, trying to twist free from Weasley's grip on one arm as Potter drives his fists into his stomach. He wrenches his arm free finally after several hard blows and catches Potter in the face, but falls to his knees in the process, his leg refusing to hold him when he tries to stand.
A hand grabs Draco's hair and tightens as he sways on his knees, and then Potter staggers forward and hits him in the face. Once, twice... And then suddenly a force pushes Draco forward face down, smacking to the floor – Weasley's grip on his hair breaks even as Potter goes sliding back to hit the opposite wall firmly. He can only assume the same happened to Weasley.
"Stop!" roars through the air, a booming shout that reverberates through Draco's bones. And then the force lifts, and Potter staggers forward a step as Draco claws his way to his feet using the chair near him for leverage. "What in Godric's name is wrong with you three?" a voice demands, loud and furious, and Draco blinks and focuses to see Lupin, standing in the doorway to the hall. Behind him, with his one good eye, Draco can see a handful of shocked Order members, and – oh fuck – Hermione. Standing on the stairs, white-faced and horrified.
"How dare you behave like this! Acting like animals! Fighting like –" Lupin looks around at his wife, Ginevra, Molly, and the others who stand there. "I'll handle this." It's a clear dismissal, and they all disperse, save for Hermione. Lupin doesn't tell her to leave. He turns and glares at the three young men, and Draco lifts his chin, glaring back, unrepentant. "Line up, you three." Draco refuses to move, but from the corner of his left eye he sees Weasley sidle up near him. They form a ragged line, Draco surreptitiously grabbing the chair back to stay upright and not fall clean over. Everything hurts, and his nose is still steadily trickling blood. He swallows it and grimaces, shakily tipping his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"What on earth is all this about?" Lupin demands. They all try to answer at once, and Lupin growls and silences them with a short sound. "Harry," he says, and of course it's Potter he wants to hear from first. Draco tries to make a sound of disgust in the back of his throat and ends up choking on blood. Everyone looks at him. There's a small, distressed sound and he looks up through the doorway at the stairs. Hermione clutches the bannister railing as she stares at him, face ashen, hair hanging wet and straggling from her shower, a towel still in her hand. He stares up at her, still pinching his nose, and finds he regrets fighting. Deeply. The hurt and worry on her face are killing him.
"We...had a misunderstanding," Potter says and Draco arches a brow, surprised. Ouch. He thinks he may have split his brow, and just reopened a clotting cut. Blood trickles down into his good eye and he knuckles at it. Shit. It doesn't hurt but it does blur what vision he has left.
"A misunderstanding?" Lupin queries disbelievingly. Draco feels disbelieving himself. Why is Potter not just saying it? Is it to protect himself and Weasley, or Hermione? Because it can't be to do Draco a favour. "What kind of misunderstanding results in this?"
"I don't want to say," Potter says shortly.
"It's because Draco and I had sex, isn't it?" Hermione asks, voice ringing out clearly from the stairs, and everyone winces in unison. She's forgotten to call him Malfoy in public, like she usually does. Or she's chosen not to.
"You can't blame us for being worried," Harry calls out, but Hermione is unmoved.
"So instead of asking me, you decide to get in a fistfight with Draco?" she asks scathingly.
"He started it!" Weasley protests, and Draco suppresses a smile; yeah, okay. He guesses he did. Kind of.
Lupin sighs wearily and shakes his head, as though deeply disappointed. "It doesn't matter who started it."
"Well, he did," Weasley interjects, while Potter wisely stays silent. Draco finds himself speaking up, although he knows better.
"Only after you bailed me up in the kitchen and wouldn't let me leave, Weasley."
"Because you were being a prick, after you'd taken Hermione upstairs and –"
"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione snaps sharply and she sounds like she's crying, although to Draco's blurry sight she just looks furious.
"You should all know better. I'm disappointed in all three of you," Lupin says heavily. "Fighting each other? Harry, Ron, you're supposed to be setting a good example. Merlin's sake! And not just fighting an unarmed wizard, but ganging up on him, two against one? You should be ashamed of yourselves. Honestly," Lupin says sternly, disgust in his voice, and Draco sees Weasley drop his head and scuff his feet on the floor like a scolded child. Both of them murmur apologies, and promise not to do it again, as though they're back at Hogwarts having been caught fighting by a teacher. Admittedly, it's how Lupin is acting too. Lupin turns his gaze on Draco, who risks dropping his hand from pinching his nose. The bleeding doesn't start again.
"And I know you're not used to this, Draco, but we're all on the same side, here. If you want to fit in and be part of the Order, you need to act like it. You managed to keep your mask intact while undercover for years without a single slip, and yet you can't stay in control of yourself when these two idiots goad you? I can't help but think you wanted to fight."
"Maybe I did," Draco snaps, honesty spilling out of him unbidden, pain making him careless. "Maybe I do want to fight."
"For Merlin's – you shouldn't be fighting your own allies," Lupin says, exasperated.
"So then send me out there! Let me fight the other side, then. Just give me something to fight, for fuck's sake, so I'm not sitting here all day hating myself. I'm useless. I could be useful. I could do something to help! Let me fucking fight, Lupin!" His nose starts bleeding again and he swears and pinches the bridge, nasal as he goes on, on a roll. "When do I get a chance to atone for what you made me do? When do I get to fight on the right side? You used me, and now that I'm ruined, you've just thrown me aside instead of letting me try to do something good." It's raw, too raw, and Draco wishes he hadn't said it as he snaps his mouth shut and looks up at Hermione. Her hand is pressed over her mouth, and she's ashen and silent, eyes wounded. He knows she hates the idea of him fighting, and he's just gone and begged to do it. Damnit. She turns and stomps up the stairs without a word. Shit. Well, there's no point stopping now.
His expression is pleading as he stares down the lycanthrope. "I'm a good fighter. And I know many of the people you're fighting. I know how they duel. How they operate. I could be valuable on missions."
"Well, I can see that you're a good fighter," Lupin says dryly. He sighs, running a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping. "Look. If this happens again, you'll all be stuck doing the most unpleasant job I can think of. Yes? Understood?" They all nod mutely. "Go clean yourself up, Draco. We'll talk about you joining missions when I don't want to shout at you." Draco nods, limping achingly out of the dining room. "As for you two," he hears Lupin say as he stops in front of the stairs, "clean this mess up, and then yourselves. For Merlin's sake, you two are bloody impossible."
Draco contemplates the stairs as his right knee throbs like a knotted, tearing ball of pain, matching his nose. His back and abdomen ache and hurt, feeling horribly hot and swollen, and he suspects he might be pissing blood tonight. He feels as though a herd of mooncalves has just trampled him. Three flights stretch up above him – two if he just makes for the uppermost bathroom, which might be wise with his knee feeling the way it is. And then when he gets to the top he'll either be stuck ineffectively doctoring himself in the bathroom, or get the dubious pleasure of having an angry, upset Hermione tend to him. He sighs, clutching the railing with one hand and the bridge of his nose with another.
Well, fuck. This is going to be fun.