Water

Title: Water
Chapter Eighteen
Genres: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual references, Strong language
Feedback: Please tell me exactly what you think in the review section! I'm hard- I can take it!
Summary: "...You’re the one who needs help! You’re the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You’re fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn’t even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you-” Her wand went flying.


Apologies for the wait! This is for all the readers who were very understanding about the time it took to update. Thank you and you don’t need me to tell you how much I appreciate it.

WARNING: This version has yet to be beta-read since I’m trying to get it out to you as soon as possible. The corrected version will be posted again soon. Sorry for any mistakes.


Chapter 18.


Harry was aware that he had a tendency to obsess over things. Snape, Voldemort, Draco Malfoy of course. But he had always believed these obsessions were justified, down to the very last attempt he would make at proving his suspicions correct. It wasn’t that he had such an undying faith in his own beliefs and instincts that it almost bordered on arrogant, it was something more than that. A compulsion that almost wasn’t a part of his own mind, but something else in itself. Something separate. And powerful.

It led him places.

He believed he had been selfish. Caught up in how it all made him feel. What it was doing to the three of them.

Now he was trying to put it right. He was trying to put Hermione first. Even if it meant keeping the one piece of information to himself that, a few weeks ago, would have acted as ample ammunition against Malfoy and whatever else was going on.

He didn’t know how he felt about Hermione. He hadn’t sat down and thought about it properly in a long time. He hadn’t been able to comb through everything else just to think about it without other things changing and distorting and manipulating the outcome. And it wasn’t important right now, that was another thing. How Harry felt wasn’t important. Not at the moment.

Sometimes he felt the urge to hold her and never let go, but he didn’t know what that meant anymore. He couldn’t find the answer.

Harry had only been in bed for ten minutes, but he could barely close his eyes for longer than ten seconds. His eyelids kept fluttering frustratingly, and his mouth was dry. His throat felt sore and his head ached. He needed to be outside. Under the sky. Really needed it.

Harry heard Ron join the rest of the dorm in it’s symphony of snoring.

He swung his legs off the bed.

He only wanted half an hour to himself.

*


“…I need to show you.”

“Show me what?”

Harry grabbed her wrist.

“Harry!” she laughed, nervously, “What are you-”

He tugged her body forward, crashing it into his as he pressed his lips firmly against hers. Hermione could barely contain her struggling scream.

“Get- off!” she shouted, attempting to twist out of his grip as he dropped her wand and grabbed her other arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His voice shook. “Hermione-”

“Get off me!”

He stumbled forward, their bodies thudding against the wall behind. Her head smashed back, the contact splitting through her brain.

“Ow! Stop!” she yelped. “What are you doing?!”

“Showing you.”

“Showing… What…?”

“I’m showing you.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold.


*

Harry’s hand pressed against Hermione’s mouth.

She heard ringing in her ears as the terror sliced it’s way through her heart, the beat halting as her mind frantically screamed it’s way past a hundred hopeless means of escape.

Her struggling was violent, but Harry had always been strong. Stronger and stronger the older he got. Because heroes have to be.

His head was buried awkwardly into her neck, his other hand gripping her wrists together painfully, the pulses in her wrist thudding, terrified, racing against each other. She shouted, desperately rasped his name again through his palm.

I’m almost ready to give up on this world.

In those moments he held her there, she could almost taste the seconds slicing through her. Slowly. Drowning in the heated rush of adrenaline. Her mind was racing.

Screaming past clichés of not-me. Things like this don’t ever happen to people like me.

Not me.

And not Harry.

Something wasn’t right.

Harry…

Hermione’s heart was breaking.

His hand pressed painfully against her breast.

She tried to say something again, but it was lost against the heat of his hand. So she screamed, the sound caught in the back of her throat to make a strangled choke that barely vibrated the air around them. His hand only pressed her head harder into the wall, a resounding echo of distress shooting through it. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness around, and she could just about make out Harry’s features. His glasses through the darkness. His scar. The hair that she loved so much to see him push irritably out of his eyes every other minute. She heard gruff sounds coming from inside his throat as he struggled to restrain her.

His knee pushed roughly between her legs, separating them.

God. Help her.

And then Hermione realised something as Harry’s head ducked further down to bite her collar bone. Someone was standing at the edge of the corridor.

Just standing there. Staring.


*

A thousand things were racing through Draco’s head. A thousand burning brutally through his skull as he barely made out the scene of Harry’s mouth all over her.

He see much in the darkness.

It was dark. It was so dark.

Of course. He couldn’t deny it. For an instant Draco believed he had interrupted something. He believed that the scream he heard was just a fright Harry had given her. And now. Now. This was them. This was what Potter and Hermione looked like.

This was betrayal. Spat right back at him.

Hermione and Harry. This was what he thought. Just for a split second. Because Draco’s head was so fucked up he had left rationality behind a long time ago. Somewhere amidst shattered glass and flooded cheeks.

But then as his eyes struggled to focus, the gaping bloody hole in his heart felt so suddenly singed with something else. Because the moment his eyes locked with hers, a sound so heartbreakingly devastating struggled to escape her throat, Potter’s hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

And suddenly that thing that Draco felt. Fury.

He couldn’t remember taking another breath before he felt it, something snapping inside his ribcage, the ground shaking beneath his feet as he grabbed Harry from behind with such a strength he had flung him backwards, off Hermione, onto the ground in a second, the pure rage raining in Draco’s eyes so hard he was finding it difficult to focus. He heard Hermione gasp for breath behind him. He turned back to her instinctively, rushed to her body and put his hands either side of her face, couldn’t stop himself.

“Hermione…”

She shook her head. She had a hand against her chest, hunched over, breathing deep as if she’d been winded.

He wanted to say things to her. He really wanted to. Get her away from him. But he could barely breath through the rage as he spun back around.

Harry was still on the floor. It surprised him for a brief second until the sound of his foot cracking into Potter’s ribs distracted him. And then again. Harry was curling in on himself, shuffling back against the wall. Draco lunged down and grabbed him, hurling him up roughly and slamming him hard against the wall.

“D-don’t-” stuttered Harry.

There were no words. No words that Draco could possibly come out with that would justify the feeling inside and underneath his skin. He was shaking violently with it. And every time he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

What the fuck.

And why the fuck.

And just.

Rage.

He heard Hermione say things behind him, but before she could continue, Draco had stepped back from Harry to launch an all powerful punch into the centre of his face. Immediately, the blood began gushing from Harry’s nose, his glasses falling to the floor and cracking underneath Draco’s foot as he thrust the same fist back into his stomach. Harry made a choked sound and keeled over, body back on the floor, trembling and bloody.

Draco was full of something. Something that he recognised from somewhere else. A different time in his life. Images of his father and his mother and the sound of bones cracking. The helplessness that he felt whenever his father would hold her there for whatever angry reason he had brought home with him, and Draco could do nothing. Most of that time. Nothing to save her. Nothing but be just as afraid of his father as she was.

That kind of thing was wrong. Whatever Draco had done to Pansy. Potter had just committed an offence that would have challenged his Father in technique. And he would pay for it. Draco would make so sure that he paid for it.

He pounded another foot into Harry’s chest, brought it back and then, again, full power into his stomach, revelling in the glorious gagging sounds that followed. Hurl your fucking guts up you bastard son of a bitch. He was wheezing. Draco had it in him, this power to hurt another, and right now, at this moment, it was something that came so easily as he fell to his knees and swung a fist into Potter’s jaw. The cracking sound was spectacular. He wished he could have taken it clean off.

Then she stopped him.

No.

Draco was ready- so almost ready to scream at Hermione the moment he felt her wrap her hands around his shoulders and tug him away. Because didn’t she understand? Don’t. Don’t tell him she was going to stop this. After what had just happened. After the disgusting way she was held there.

He wasn’t her Potter anymore. He didn’t deserve her compassion. And Draco was as shocked as ever to think that he could do something like that to her, but it was too late to care about that now. All that mattered was the punishment. The punishment was so very important.

“Draco- please-”

“But he…” Draco’s breathing was ragged. “He…” She had dragged him to his feet, pulled him away from the bleeding body on the floor.

“Something isn’t right.” She had tears in her eyes. Her tone was frantic.

“Hermione…” He couldn’t catch his breath. He was trying, desperately, but it was so hard.

“I don’t want anymore fighting-”

“Look what he was doing to you!”

“No, Malfoy!” she replied, “No more violence!”

He wished he could have listened to her, just to stop that expression on her face. But he couldn’t.

“You’re fucking defending him?!” he shouted, “After what he’s done?!”

“I don’t- I don’t know, Draco! Just please!”

“What the hell?! It’s disgusting! He’s fucking disgusting, Granger! And what if I hadn’t have got here? What do you think-”

“Draco, stop!”

“You still hold a bloody torch for him even now! The shitting bastard just tried to-”

“Malfoy!”

“Don’t! Don’t shut me up! He deserves this, you idiot! I have every right to do this!”

“He’s hurt!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He was too angry to see she was shaking. “You can’t be that fucking loyal!”

“Stop shouting at me!” she replied, almost sobbed it. But not even that was enough to stop the burning.

“He started this, Granger!” That was the truth. “He fucking called it!” And as Draco turned back around to collapse any bit of consciousness that Potter still had left, he was thrown slightly by the sight of him on his feet, back straightened and wand pointed directly at his chest, words ready to roll off the tip of his tongue.

There was momentary shock.

And then Draco’s brow furrowed further. “What do you think you’re going to do, Potter?”

“Draco, please…”

Ignore her.

“You going kill me?” His voice grated. It was raw. Fresh and bloody. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that, Potter?” Draco took a step towards Harry’s outstretched wand. “Maybe no one else got it. Maybe I’m the only half-sane fucker sodding about in this horrific excuse for existence. But I always knew something wasn’t right with you. I knew it.” Draco slowly reached towards his own wand. “So say it, Potter. It will give me the chance. And why?” Draco licked his lips. “ Because you’ll be dead before the words leave your-”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

And suddenly Draco couldn’t move.

*


NO.

She ran to him, air rushing into her lungs and choking her with fear.

Hermione was so sure for a second that Harry was going to kill him. Instead, as the bolt of light left the wand, Draco’s body merely froze. Petrificus Totalus. Harry had limped off and away as hastily as possible around the corner, dropping Hermione’s wand before disappearing completely.

She went for it. Gripping it firmly in her hand, she muttered “Lumos”, her mind desperately ploughing through her memory for any reversing charms she could work on Draco. But there were none. She couldn’t find anything. She knew only time would wear off the effects of the spell- and how long that would take she couldn’t be certain.

She didn’t know if that was important either. Maybe it was almost a good thing. Because Draco was about ready to kill him. They were both about ready to damage their lives forever.

Leaning near to his face, tears running down her own cheeks, she struggled to take a deep breath before opening her mouth to speak.

“Draco…”

His eyes were wide, staring at her.

“…Draco, I’m so sorry. I don’t- You’ll be alright soon. It will wear off. I’m so sorry…”

Hermione took a small step backwards, something half crunching underneath her foot. She looked beneath it, and saw the crooked glasses that had flown off Harry’s face moments earlier.

She felt the vomit churning at the bottom of her throat.

She couldn’t look at them. It was too much.

It was too much to believe.


*


Pansy Parkinson knew that there were certain things you did to keep up appearances. When she was the infamous girl who dated Draco Malfoy, her life was so very full of acting the part.

Pansy would regain the utmost composure upon seeing him flirt with other girls. She would even brush off the rumours that he was screwing them. To other people, it looked as if she couldn’t care less. It looked as if she herself indulged in similar activities. And no one questioned it. People almost envied it. Because she was Pansy Parkinson. And he was Draco Malfoy.

Even so. There were cracks. Because there are always bloody cracks.

Like she had to try hard to be beautiful. She dreaded the tormenting thought that one day she might be seen without all those layers caked on her face. And it sounded so stupid, but it was true. One day her generous cleavage and thick mascara might let her down.

She’d instinctively wake up an hour before Draco, rush to the bathroom to touch up her face. Remove the old to paint it on all over again. He must have wondered how it was so perfect all the time.

Although Pansy was starting to realise that he probably didn’t give a fuck.

And it wasn’t just vanity. It was an obsessive need to assure herself she didn’t have to show what was underneath. Because she was terrified it might put him off.

The truth was, Pansy didn’t need make up. She didn’t need the countless wizarding beauty products that her mother had delivered from Milan. All she needed was the confidence to go without. But it never came. And she didn’t notice that it never came, because she didn’t realise that she needed it. She didn’t realise she could be anyone without the make up.

And she didn’t cry about it. It wasn’t an issue. She was so used to living up to the character that she almost revelled in it. It was hard, living with the insecurities, but it became natural. It became Pansy. The one that was going out with Draco Malfoy.

The stupid tart that fell for the biggest traitor of them all.

It was third year that she started to notice the attention paid to Hermione Granger. It wasn’t troubling, it was barely a thought, but it was there all the same. So the mudblood had filled out. So her hair had calmed down. So her skirt had hitched up because maybe she was finally gaining a dress-sense of someone older than the age of eleven. Pansy didn’t care. She didn’t care as long as Draco didn’t. And he didn’t. Why would he? Above being a mudblood, she was friends with Weasley. She was friends with Potter. And Draco hated Harry Potter. Draco would give almost anything to see him dead. That was why Pansy didn’t worry. She had her man. And the stupid Granger bitch could have Blaise for all she cared. It didn’t matter that it would be an extreme insult to their kind, the Slytherin types, it just mattered that she had who she needed. And that was Draco.

Pansy knew him. She did. She even knew about his father, and the trouble he got at home. She met him in the Summer once, he was battered and bruised and half sucking on a swollen lip. She had taken him home and bathed him, borrowed some of her parents potions and tried her hardest to sort him out. They spent the night asleep on top of the covers. No sex. Just sleep. And he had his arm around her. For the first time.

That meant something. That meant that it was more than just a status thing. She felt it and she didn’t want to let go of that feeling. She thought he needed her back.

There was a moment in fifth year where Granger bumped into Pansy as she was fumbling around with some books in the library. Pansy remembered how furiously the words “clumsy bitch” and “stupid mudblood” poured from her mouth. There wouldn’t have been anything wrong with that moment were it not for Draco, who got up from the table behind them and, in some sheer surreal moment, stepped between them to tell Pansy to “leave it”. It didn’t make sense.

But Pansy shrugged it off.

And it was odd that she remembered that moment over the others. Like the times she started to catch him staring across at the Gryffindor table. The times she realised that no matter how hard she convinced herself, it wasn’t Potter he was looking at, it was her. The mudblood. Almost as painful as the time in sixth year when the bitch tripped on the stairs in front of him and he leant in to steady her.

Heartbreaking. Just like the time he held up a Gryffindor tie in front of Pansy and asked her to wear it before they made love.

Fucked.

Whatever it was they did.

She didn’t ask questions throughout any of it. Not once. She just slowly crumbled inside with the harrowing realisation that things were going so very wrong. That he begun to sleep around more. That the number of Gryffindor girls he bedded clocked up. And she couldn’t help but notice how it was always a brunette he winked at the next morning.

Paranoid, Pansy. She would tell herself. You’re fucking paranoid. But she can’t have been. Especially now that she knows she most certainly wasn’t.

Pansy leant against the dark stone wall in the narrow corridor and mentally shook herself to stop the thoughts from flooding her head. She didn’t want to relive the hows and whys and where-did-it-all-go-wrongs. Instead she decided to ponder over the events which she had just put into motion.

It was risky. But the main thing was that it fucked things up. And that part couldn’t possibly go wrong.

It was so terribly simple when she thought about it. And delightful to think that the mudblood bitch was yet again getting what she deserved.

Polyjuice potion. The oldest trick in the book.

Although Pansy had found it more difficult than she realised to inconspicuously find someone in the Gryffindor common room who would retrieve any part of Harry Potter that was humanly possible, she’d managed it. Just like she always managed things. The original plan was to find a way to do it when she spoke to him before. The same time she blurted out the twisted story about Draco and Hermione to him outside the castle. But she couldn’t get close. And it had been difficult. There were unexpected tears, and that had shaken her. She had been in too much of a state to concentrate.

But she met the fourth year, paid him, and took the strand of hair shortly before she went into the library earlier that day. And of course the information she then heard about Hermione’s solitary patrolling and planned meeting with Draco gave her times, places, details. It was almost too perfect. Almost as if it were meant to be.

Of course she needed someone to take the polyjuice potion. Because no, she wasn’t prepared to do it herself. Not because she wouldn’t enjoy hurting her, just because she wouldn’t enjoy getting hurt in return.

It had to be someone else. A nobody.

Pansy asked herself whether or not she felt guilty for involving an innocent sixth-year Slytherin. But he was desperate after all. Perhaps not so innocent since he was clearly gagging to shag Pansy. And some boys would do anything for the painted face of Pansy Parkinson. Of course the several hundred galleons can’t have hurt.

She would have asked Blaise, but then it was too dangerous to risk anyone she cared about getting hurt. And they would- get hurt, that is.

Because Malfoy would be the one to stop it.

Yes, it was unfortunate she had to involve someone else, but really, this was all Draco’s fault anyway. Really he was to blame.

She couldn’t be held responsible for the things she was doing. He’d put her there. This horrible place in her mind.

She told the Slytherin boy- the one naïve enough to be bribed into taking the potion- to talk to the mudblood about feelings he supposedly had for her- because Draco always bitched about that to Pansy. Draco was always so convinced that Potter was in love with Granger. The reality that it was complete and utter jealousy made her sick to her stomach. But it gave her a starting point.

He was to talk to her, and then force himself upon her.

“You won’t have to go very far. If you reach her near the Astrology Tower at the time agreed Malfoy won’t be very faraway. And he’ll come. If you manage it in time you can Petrify him before he has a chance to hurt you. Then run. Get it done before the potion wears off. The main thing is that he thinks you’re Potter.”

And then she had handed him a pair of glasses that apparently blurred his vision.

Pansy didn’t care.

The main thing was that once Draco regained movement in his body, he would come after Potter. The real Potter. And maybe destroy him so completely that, once he and his precious mudblood finally realised the sordid truth, he’d already have taken it too far for her ever to forgive him for it. For anyone ever to recover from it.

And who knows. Maybe Draco will kill him. She knew the kind of things Lucius did to Narcissa. She knew the way it tormented Draco in his head. The sheer urge he had to take revenge on a dead man he struggled to accept he still needed.

This was his metaphorical chance. She knew he was simply desperate for a reason to finish Potter off after all. And her Draco could get angry sometimes. Really, very angry.

And that was all there was.

Perhaps to a rational person, it all seemed utterly pointless.

But to Pansy, it was art.

What’s more, to make the one girl she hated more than anyone on this earth believe that her best friend was about to rape her almost warmed her heart.

That was how far she’d fallen.

And she knew that the consequences of her plan would shake whatever relationships had formed between those people who had clearly underestimated her ability to punish.

Yes. Pansy Parkinson had turned mad. But she didn’t care. Whatever was going to happen would involve pain, and tears, and broken relationships.

Because think, Harry Potter. Why would Draco be so angry that you did that to mudblood Granger? What thoughts could that possibly confirm in your head? Thoughts that you already know are so disgustingly accurate you won’t admit it?

In that instant, Pansy saw a figure approaching from the other end of the corridor. The lights were dim, but she could just about make out the body of her favourite Gryffindor boy.

“You’re relatively unscathed,” she squinted, pushing away from the wall and walking towards him, “Can’t say I’m happy about that. Draco did see you didn’t he?”

“Excuse me?”

Perhaps Draco had punched him in the head after all.

“Did he find you, you idiot? Did he stop it?”

“Stop what?”

“Stop what?”

“Wow, Parkinson. Sort your fucking head out.”

Potter.

For a brief moment, Pansy felt all the colour drain from her face with realisation. But then she cleared her throat, smoothed down her uniform and immediately attempted to regain some sort of composure.

“What are you doing out this late, Potter?”

This one was the real deal.

“I could ask you the same question.”

“It’s a shame I got there first in that case.”

Although she barely had time to think, Pansy realised that perhaps this worked in her favour.
Perhaps Draco’s so-called ‘catching up’ with Harry would happen a lot sooner than anticipated. With him out of the Gryffinfor common room, it gave Malfoy much better access to make the mistake. And much quicker access at that. It was of course essential, however, that another Harry Potter didn’t come stumbling into view anytime soon.

That would no doubt raise a few questions.

“I don’t answer to you, Parkinson.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re so full of it, you know that, Potter? The whole teenage angst thing is really starting to wear a bit thin.”

“Like I give a toss about what you think.”

“Which is, in itself, deeply offensive.”

Harry glared at her.

“And what is it you’re wondering around thinking about?” she asked, “Your pretty little mudblood? Or should I say Draco’s pretty little-”

“Call Hermione a mudblood again and I will take immense pleasure in making you regret it, Parkinson.”

She smiled. “Where are you headed?”

“Away from you.”

Pansy’s mind was jarring slightly. She didn’t know whether it was necessary for her to hold conversation with him. She needed him out of the way in case the polyjuice potion hadn’t worn off the boy yet, but she didn’t want to lose him in case he decided to go back to his common room after all. Because then Draco couldn’t get to him.

There was a mess in her head that told her none of it really mattered. None of it really made sense. All of what she was thinking was insane anyway.

“Before you go,” she began.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Why is it,” she asked, “That you have yet to disclose the information I provided you with to Granger?”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“Let’s just say I can tell.”

“Hoping it would have caused yet more misery and pain, were we?”

“Consequences of the truth aren’t my problem, Potter.”

“Of course not. You have much bigger problems than that.”

“Well-” Pansy stopped mid-sentence. At the very end of the long corridor, she could just about make out a figure hobbling slowly towards them. Her heart began to pound harder. “-you better get going then.”

“I was planning on it.”

“I’m sure you were,” she nodded sarcastically, attempting to glance over his shoulder again in a subtle manner.

She shouldn’t have risked it.

Harry turned back and gazed towards the end of the corridor.

The boy stopped dead, hunched slightly. He was clutching his stomach.

Harry spun back towards Pansy.

“What’s going on?” he glared.

But Pansy was too busy embracing the wave of relief that hit her as soon as she realised the polyjuice potion had clearly worn off. Then followed a sharp stab of anxiety as she wondered if it managed to last his entire encounter with Draco and Granger.

“Answer me, Parkinson.”

Potter distracted her from the thought.

“Answer what?”

“Who’s that?”

“Why don’t you go and ask him yourself?”

He’d know to keep his mouth shut. He’d just know to. Boys that are willing to do what he did have a natural gift for that kind of thing.

“He’s hurt.”

“It’s no use telling me that, is it?”

“And you’re standing here waiting for him. I can only presume you have something to do with it.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Who the hell do you think you are, Potter? The last time I checked, you have no authority to interfere with anything. You didn’t make Head Boy, remember? It was a sad day for us all.”

She couldn’t help but notice his fists tighten by his sides.

And then before she could take a breath to say something else, Harry had spun on his heel and marched off towards the Slytherin boy, whose hoarse breathing she was almost certain she could hear from where she was standing.

She didn’t know whether to go after him or not.

She didn’t really know what was happening.

In fact, for a short second, Pansy Parkinson questioned what the hell she had just done.

For a short second.

“Fuck,” she heard Harry mutter. She took this as a cue to follow him. “He’s hurt. He’s really hurt.”

“I’m fine,” replied the boy. This nameless boy that was so insignificant in all of this.

There was blood all over his face.

“What happened?” asked Harry. But then without waiting for a reply, he turned to Pansy. “We need to get him to the hospital wing.”

Pansy opened her mouth silently, and then closed it again.

“What happened to him?”

“How should I know?” She shot the boy a look. “Okay, sweetheart,” she began, her voice drenched in fake concern, “Do you want to go to the hospital wing?”

She knew he knew the right answer.

“No.”

“There we go, Potter,” shrugged Pansy, “I think he just wants to-”

“Don’t think I don’t know you’re well aware of why he’s like this,” growled Harry.

“Oh stop acting like you’re above it all,” snapped Pansy, “Last time I checked fighting was all you did nowadays.”

“Don’t bring up things you don’t understand, Parkinson,” frowned Harry, “It doesn’t help dodge the subject.”

Harry went to take the boy’s arm, but he recoiled and backed into the wall behind.

“Whatever she’s made you do,” said Harry, “It doesn’t matter right now, because you need to get the to hospital wing. You’re nose looks broken.”

“And I’m sure he’ll go,” spat Pansy, “When he’s ready. When there won’t be so many questions. Poor bloke isn’t supposed to be out now, is he?”

“You need to-”

“Just leave me alone!” the boy exclaimed.

Harry stared at him.

Pansy could almost hear his thoughts as they spread across his face. Three or four years ago it would have been so simple for the Golden Gryffindor. Just finding the nearest Professor, or the nearest Head Boy or Girl. Pansy would have to answer to them in ways Potter couldn’t make her.

Thing is, sweetheart, things have got so complicated since then.

Haven’t they?



*

All Draco could do was stare at her. Stare at Hermione and see how devastated she was. How hard she was biting her lip. How much she was trembling, tears running freshly down her reddened cheeks as the minutes went by.

And now, as Draco began to feel the gradual return of feeling back into his fingers, back into his jaw, he was just about ready to take her into his arms and make it better. Make it all better.

Starting with finishing exactly what needed to be finished.

Because Potter wasn’t her hero anymore.

“The spell,” she said, “It’s wearing off, isn’t it?” Hermione must have seen his fingers moving.
And then a concerned look seemed to cross her face. “You’ve got to listen to me. I just- I just don’t think it was-”

“Granger-” The words were slightly dry in his mouth, but the feeling was gushing into his muscles now. He felt the movements returning rapidly.

“No wait, Malfoy,” she continued, her tone frantic, “I don’t want you to-”

She gasped slightly as he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her and holding her head into the curve of his neck.

He breathed her in. All the fear. All the fear that that bastard had made her feel.

“Draco…”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “For shouting before. I didn’t mean to.” He breathed her in. “I wanted to tell you something tonight,” he mumbled, blood fierce in his veins, head caught between thoughts.

She looked up at him, body still against his, still shaking.

Draco opened his mouth, pausing for a second. Raw words just waiting.

“Don’t hurt him again, Draco,” she whispered.

Draco’s mouth clamped shut.

“Just don’t do it again. Not to yourself. There’s been too much of it.”

“Hermione-”

“Something isn’t right, Draco. Please…”

He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t explain to her that the moment she left his arms he wouldn’t have a choice. That it was already made. That things like this didn’t just happen without consequences.

That he would go and run as fast as he can and try to find the bastard. Just as soon as she left his arms.

So he apologised to her instead. Because he knew she would be angry, but she didn’t understand. This was the way things worked. This was how it went.



*



“I’m sorry, Hermione.”

She frowned up at him.

He was sorry?

“Don’t be-”

But before she could finish the sentence, Draco’s arms had slipped from around her, and he was bounding for the end of the corridor.

“No!” she shouted after him, “Draco, please!”

She went to follow him, her foot twisting awkwardly, turning on it’s side ever-so-slightly, just enough to bring her down to the ground.

“Draco!” He disappeared around the corner.

As she looked down to frantically grab her wand glowing on the floor beside her, Hermione couldn’t help but look again at the glasses lying there beside her throbbing ankle.

Couldn’t help but stare at them this time.

Because Hermione didn’t recognise them. In fact, they were so entirely different to anything she had ever seen Harry wear, that her mind suddenly jarred with the realisation that there was hope.

Hope that it wasn’t him.

And she knew, in that split second of heat, that it wasn’t certain. But it was enough at that moment. It was enough to begin to confirm what she already knew. That magic could achieve things, awful things that shouldn’t be done. It could break trust. Create lies.

Harry would never do that to her.

Now all she could think of was Draco. Going after Harry.

Completely blinded by rage.


*


Harry didn’t quite understand what was going on. And it was the look on Pansy’s face that most concerned him. The way she kept glancing behind them every other second, the way she intermittently stared at the boy before them, the warning in her eyes so familiarly Slytherin that it made Harry’s head whirl with a burning frustration. But he knew. The rule was almost ancient. The houses stick together. And that was exactly why this boy would keep his mouth firmly shut.

That was exactly why this boy was hurrying off around the nearest corner to avoid more interrogation. And he could of sworn that was only because Pansy signalled him to.

And so Harry began to give up. He began to shake off the sudden care he had for the situation. Because Slytherins will be Slytherins, and if they want to fuck about, then let them. As long as no one he cares about gets hurt.

He thought about that premise for a moment. Because it wasn’t just those he cared about that mattered. It was the innocent too. That was what the fight was about. The fight that was running his life for him.

Harry shook his head at the situation. Whatever. He very much doubted the Slytherin boy was innocent anyway. He was done here. And perhaps he didn’t feel much like his walk after all. Perhaps the lull of unconsciousness would better ease the mental entanglement that endlessly occupied his head.

Harry turned to leave.

“You didn’t get very far, Potter.”

The last thing Harry saw was Pansy’s faint smile before the ground swung up and slammed him in the face.

*

Draco had barely looked at him twice before his body was on top of his, legs either side of his torso as his knuckles crunched into his face.

“-hell, Malfoy?!”

“Don’t ever- fucking- hurt her again!” The punching was so easy, so fierce before his eyes. And he could even hear himself speaking. Distant, but loud. Terrifically loud. Words that seemed so irrelevant amidst all the rage.

Harry’s fist swung up and crashed into Draco’s jaw in retaliation, a searing pain shooting through the bottom of his mouth, singeing the nerves underneath his skin. It was a momentary lapse that had him shoved off Harry, and then a second blow in the stomach that brought him to the ground, winded.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he heard him shout above him.

But that wasn’t how this was going to end. And barely looking up at him, just registering his silhouette in the hazy light, Draco brought his legs round to bring him down, Harry falling back to the ground with a loud grunt that Draco intended him to repeat as he struggled to his feet. Harry struggled up again at the same time, Draco shoving the palms of his hands into Harry’s chest, watching him stumble back into the wall, cracking his head against it loudly. It hung forward for a brief second, before he looked up from under his dark hair, face scrunched and full of fury before he went for him.

Draco saw spots with the next punch. And as the other one came he could hear words.

“-what the hell your fucking problem is you bastard! I should have settled this a long-”

“You’re the sick bastard, Potter! You’re deranged for doing that to her! You think we should settle this? Well it’s your lucky fucking day!”

Draco was almost gone in his head. Just replaced by the hatred. Such absolute hatred he could barely swallow it down with the faint taste of blood that stung his tongue. Harry dodged his next punch, instead catching him somewhere close to his ear, the pain reverberating triumphantly through Draco’s head, the kind of pain that screams out for revenge.

And so his head shot forward, forehead straight into Harry’s nose, splatters of blood bursting out and onto Draco’s shirt. It was fucking glorious. Draco almost grinned at Harry as he watched him wipe the back of his hand across his face and smear the crimson all over his cheek.

See this is how it’s supposed to be Potter. I’m supposed to make you bleed. That’s what happens to people that do things wrong. It’s what they deserve. It’s what they call balance. And I’m going to fucking balance things out until there’s no blood left in you.

Draco brought back his fist for another blow to Harry’s face. One that would double up that pain in his nose so excruciatingly. No less than he deserved.

“Draco, no!”

He only heard it after his knuckles collided with Harry’s face. After he watched his head lash back and hit the wall behind.

Draco only saw Hermione after Harry had collapsed face down onto the ground. Unmoving.

“Oh god, Draco, please, no…” She rushed over to Harry, lay her hands on his back. “Help me turn him over!”

Draco couldn’t speak. Just stared at her. At both of them.

“Oh god,” she shook her head, tears running down her face in a painfully familiar way, “Can’t you see, Draco?” She was brushing the hair away from Harry’s bloody face, “Don’t you get it?

Get what?

She wouldn’t stop shaking her head. Why wouldn’t she stop shaking her fucking head?

“He’s wearing glasses,” she mumbled, through sharp, hoarse intakes of breath, “His own.”

There was still so much rage. Why wouldn’t she get the hell away from the bastard.

“It wasn’t him, Malfoy… I knew it wasn’t him...”

“What?” Draco’s entire world was throbbing.

“You knocked his glasses off before.”

“I…what?”

“Was his nose bleeding?”

“I don’t…”

“When you got here, Draco? You hit it before, remember? So it should have been bleeding already.”

Draco couldn’t remember.

“Malfoy?!”

No. It wasn’t bleeding when he got here.

“No.”

“Oh god...”

Why does she keep saying that. He had been right. He had been so right to do this.

Draco felt his stomach twist.

“Hermione-”

“What on earth...”

Draco was cut off by a sound that choked his words like a knife lodged in his throat. A voice that just shouldn’t be there. Not now. Not if he was ever going to come out of this.

Slowly, he turned around to meet the gaze of the man Hermione was already staring at in heated despair.

“We need to get him to the hospital wing straight away, Miss Granger.”

She nodded at him.

Draco opened his mouth.

“Do not say a word,” growled Snape.

He had nothing to say. The look in Snape’s eyes so accusing it made him want to gag.

Because that was it. That had to be it.



*

Harry had drifted back into consciousness shortly after they began moving him to the hospital wing.

Hermione didn’t know what to say to him. She had no idea. The incredibly fierce sensation of guilt was burning fast through her veins with the knowledge that she had doubted him- even just a for a second- she had doubted her very best friend.

She had doubted Harry.

Draco had trailed behind them. She hadn’t looked at him once.

Because. Because what was she to think? How much was she to blame him for it?

And god. Those weren’t the only thoughts going through her head. Because he must have known as well as she did- it was so obvious. What had happened.

Who had just seen.

And that meant consequences that were unavoidable at any cost. No excuses anymore. No covering up with that sickly soothing magic as if nothing was ever there.

Reality had just stabbed them in the back.

Draco was taken away by Snape shortly after Madam Pomfrey began attending to Harry. They exchanged a distantly screaming glance before he disappeared.

That cut her up inside. Knowing where he was taking him.

When Pomfrey hurried off to fetch a potion, Hermione’s gaze finally met with Harry’s.

“Are you…?”

“What was that about, Hermione?”

“I don’t know.”

Oh god. How could she lie. How could she lie like that after she had got him into such a horrible mess. After she had spent what felt like an eternity lying to his face about things that were so important, so utterly betraying of their friendship.

“He said- he said that I was deranged to do that to her. To you.” Harry swallowed. “Deranged to do what?”

Tell him you don’t know. Tell him that Draco can’t have meant anything to do with her. That he must have been under a spell. Or something. Anything.

The truth was so destroying. And that was why she so hated that she was about to tell it.

Hermione didn’t have a choice. Finally. There was nothing left.

“You- someone…” Hermione looked down, a tear rolling slowly down her cheek as she gripped the sheets of the bed beneath her tightly in her fists. “Someone tried to- they tried to hurt me- tried to-” What does she say? “-force themselves…”

“What?” Harry’s reply was instant, fiery. His brow furrowed so deeply a dark shadow was cast across his face.

Because it was very dark in there. The dim lighting in the hospital wing wasn’t helping her to stop shaking.

“Hermione?” Who the fuck…?”

“It was-” You. For a moment I thought it was you. “-someone that looked like you.”

Harry’s mouth was open.

“I don’t… Someone was me? What-”

“Polyjuice potion.”

“Why? Why the- I don’t-” Harry was sat upright in bed, knuckles white and blood rushing back into his cheeks with fury. “Who the-”

Suddenly his expression cracked.

“Where the fuck is she?!” he exclaimed, bolting to his feet, swaying slightly where he stood.

“Harry- sit down-”

“Where did she go?!”

Hermione stood up quickly. “Who? You need to sit-”

“Parkinson!”

Her heart jolted.

Well.

Of course.

Pansy.

“She was there. There was some Slytherin boy and- I can’t believe... She must have got him- Fuck, Hermione.”

And then Harry’s face seemed to fall further.

“And Malfoy? He stopped it?”

“He- he found me before- Yes. He stopped it.”

Harry’s jaw grinded under his skin.

But surely that’s a good thing. Surely then you can see. Don’t let it ruin you even further. Don’t let it mean more revenge on him, Harry-

“Did you think it was me, Hermione?”

All her thoughts seemed to vanish at once, leaving only that burning sensation of guilt. That pungent, brutal, disgusting guilt.

He was staring at her.

His voice got louder. “Hermione… You thought it was me?”

“Harry-”

“You believed it was me?”

“No!” Hermione’s skin felt hot. “No I didn’t believe it! I didn’t know what to think! It wasn’t like I had much time to-”

“And Malfoy? He clearly believed it was me. I bet he loved it. An excuse to finally-”

“Don’t do this, Harry,” scowled Hermione, her tone suddenly firm, “That isn’t what this is about right now.”

His expression softened somewhat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that. But it matters, Hermione. It matters whether or not you thought it was me.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being in that situation. You have no idea.”

“I realise-”

“No. Don’t tell me that it matters. Because in that moment I didn’t have time to process any kind of explanation for what was going on, I just had what I saw! That was all I had, Harry. And you were who I saw, but that didn’t mean I believed it. It just meant- that was how it was. And as soon as I realised it wasn’t you I tried to stop him. Draco. I came as fast as I could.”

“I hate the way you call him that.”

“Harry…”

“I hate the way it’s so obvious.”

She closed her mouth.

Harry had sat back down on the bed, his head clearly too light to stand, his fingers fiddling ferociously with the sheets.

Hermione’s mouth was dry.

“Harry, I don’t…”

“Why else would he react that way?” He shook his head. “He shouldn’t give a fuck about you, Hermione. But he does.” Harry laughed. “He really does, doesn’t he?”

She looked down.

“And I’m glad he was there, Hermione. I’m glad he stopped it. But I hate him. I’m sorry, but I hate him so much. I can’t stop. I just- I’ll never trust him. No matter what changes. Because he’s only ever destroyed things. He’s only ever fucked things up. Look at what he’s done to us ever since you became Head prefects.”

“Can we not do this-”

“Oh don’t!”

His tone shocked her. It was deep. It meant something. It had cracked slightly with the threat of tears.

Oh god, please, Harry. Please don’t cry.

He swallowed. “We’re doing this. We’re- we’re talking about this.”

“Harry-”

At that moment Madam Pomfrey re-entered the wing. Hermione held her breath, held the words inside her mouth. And thank Merlin. Because where the hell was she supposed to go with them?

“You need to drink this immediately, dear,” frowned Madam Pomfrey, measuring out a potion into a cup.

Harry was still looking at Hermione. “What does it do?” he asked, without breaking his stare.

Hermione didn’t like the way he was looking at her. As if she couldn’t get away. He was telling her that she couldn’t get away. She couldn’t run anymore.

They were about to talk.

“Your nose,” said Madam Pomfrey, glancing intrigued between the two students.

“Thank you.”

“Drink it all at once, Mr Potter. You must-”

“I will.”

“And I suggest-”

“I’ll drink it all at once,” Harry interrupted, his expression stern.

Madam Pomfrey tutted softly, spun on her heel, and shuffled away, mumbling something about ungracious adolescents under her breath as she left the hospital wing and headed for her office.

Harry looked into the cup, brought it to his lips and downed the entire contents. His face scrunched slightly, before returning to a grave expression and setting the cup down on the bedside table. He turned back to Hermione.

“So tell me,” he rasped, “When did it start? I want to know everything.”

“When did what start?”

“Oh fuck off, Hermione.”

“Harry!”

“Don’t treat me like an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me to fuck off!”

Harry laughed. Loudly. Short and sharp and so completely in her face it hurt.

“Why are you being like this?” she mumbled, voice quiet as she looked down at her hands, folded and twisting around each other.

“I’m tired,” he replied. He sounded so worn. It hit Hermione just how old his voice had become. What had done it? Was it the war? Or was it her? Had she made things even more unbearable than they already were?

Yes. Yes of course she had. Can you fucking blame him for the attitude?

“You should get some rest.”

“No. I’m tired of the unanswered questions. I’m tired of the lies. I’m tired of you trying to protect yourself and I’m tired of you trying to protect me. I’ve had enough. Of the bruises you can’t explain, the way your eyes always look like you’ve been crying…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching. He took a deep breath. “I know the answers.” He shook his head. “I could tell you all of them.”

Hermione hesitated. “Answers to what?”

“My questions.”

“What are you questions?”

He shrugged, looked down at his lap. “The usual,” he mumbled, “Do you like the boy? When did it start? Have you fucked him yet?”

“Harry!”

“It’s a question.”

“It’s a ridiculous question!”

“Is it?” asked Harry, looking back up at her, “Is it, Hermione? I don’t know you anymore. I know nothing about you.”

“This is all… This is all a lot to discuss, Harry. And it’s not the right time.”

Harry smirked.

“What?” frowned Hermione.

What does he find so funny about all of this?

“Well,” he replied, shrugging one shoulder and turning away, “You didn’t deny anything. That’s all.”

“What am I supposed to deny?”

“It’s the first time you haven’t objected to the idea of you and him. It’s the first time I’ve brought it up and you haven’t told me I’m mad. So that means… that means it’s really happening.” He shook his head. “You’re fucking Draco Malfoy.”

“Stop saying that, Harry!”

“Why?” he snapped, “It’s true, after all!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Well I know enough!” Harry’s voice was getting louder. “I’ve walked in on you both enough times to know I’m interrupting something every sodding time! You have no idea what that feels like! My best friend and the boy I hate more than… Anything. More than anything. And you’re together having your cosy chats about fuck knows what, and I know- I know as soon as I see you that you’re thinking of you’re latest excuse to throw me off the scent. Thinking I’ll believe it. Thinking I’m a fucking idiot!”

“No, Harry-”

“That time Pansy hurt you, it was because she knew. She knew about you both. And you know she told me something the other day. Something stupid. She told me that Malfoy was the one who told her to do that to you. That he’d had a momentary lapse of caring for you and regretted everything he’d ever felt. And that he wanted it put right. So he sent Pansy to-”

“I don’t believe it.”

Not for a second.

It surprised her.

Harry smiled. It seemed an ironic smile. Something not quite right. “Of course you don’t,” he shook his head. “And neither do I.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I didn’t believe it. That’s why I didn’t tell you. And do you know why I didn’t believe her?”

Hermione shook her head.

“I guess…” Harry looked down. “That was when I realised that I knew. I really knew that something was going on.”

Hermione frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I knew Malfoy wouldn’t do that to you. I could just…tell. The way he’s been these past few weeks. He’s changed. He’s completely changed. Because something about this all seems so much more than just fucking with other side. More than just getting to your enemy and destroying his friends.” His fists tightened. “I hate it. I absolutely hate it. Because that doesn’t make it any the less dangerous, Hermione. It only makes it more real.”

“I didn’t…want any of it, Harry,” she mumbled, voice so cautious and quiet he must have barely heard her.

He shook his head gently. “How can you say that?”

“Because I didn’t.”

“But you still did it.”

“It wasn’t as simple as that.”

“These days are hard for all of us. But did you really feel that insecure that you’d share a bed with Malfoy? Did he really offer you comfort? Escapism? Because I don’t get it. I don’t get what he had that… that I didn’t.”

“It wasn’t like that, Harry.”

“Then what was it like, Hermione?” he asked, “Do tell me. Because I’m still very much in the dark here.”

“I just… We just… It wasn’t planned.”

“So?”

“Draco’s messed up, Harry. He needs help. He needs-”

“Counselling. He needs a few years in Azkaban. He needs a good beating around the head. He doesn’t fucking need you, Hermione. He doesn’t deserve you. You’re the last thing he deserves.”

“No, Harry. I think- I really think he can be rescued.”

“Oh my god,” he laughed, “Rescued? Where the hell have you been, Hermione? There’s thousands of people who need to be rescued. Thousands that still stand a chance. Malfoy? He’s too far gone. He’s already a part of it, you idiot. A part of what we’re fighting.”

“How do you know that?” she asked, voice strained, “His father’s dead, remember?”

“And? Malfoy worshipped him. He worshipped everything he did. He lived it, Hermione. There’s nothing inside that boy but the need to follow the fucking bloodline. Be a bastard. Kill. Whether or not Lucius is dead.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Well you would.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“Like what?”

“So…cruel.”

It was as if Harry erupted with the rage.

“How the fuck can you say that to me?!” he spat, “Malfoy is the cruellest boy I’ve ever met! You know that! Look! Just look what happened to you tonight! None of it would have happened without him being in your life! Not tonight and not before at the Ball! ! All he did was torture you at the beginning of school Hermione! I bet he tortured you into whatever thing you’ve got now! You think you made the choice on your own but we both know you were bullied into it. He does that. He has the power to do that, Hermione, don’t you see? He manipulates. It’s what he’s good at. He fucking breathes it! You of all people should know this. You’re not stupid!”

“What are you suggesting? That I can’t make my own decisions?!”

“No. If anything I’m offering you an easy way out. Because if you made a clear and rational decision to be with him? Well. Then yeah. That’s something else entirely. And I really don’t know you anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s Malfoy.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Of course.”

“You say that as if the name Malfoy doesn’t remind you of what absolute scum he is.”

Hermione opened her mouth. She paused for a second. “I know you won’t accept it. I know you won’t believe me. But he’s changed. He’s falling apart without the direction of his father. And it’s a chance of him- a chance for us to put things right.”

“Us? What? You and him?”

“No, Harry. All of us.”

“You’re so naïve sometimes, Hermione,” he replied, “You think you can help everyone. But you can’t. Some people are past it.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s already decided.”

Hermione was silent for a few seconds. “Fine.”

“Good.”

“No. I mean fine. I’m on my own then.”

“On your own with what?”

“Saving him.”



*


“I will of course be talking to Harry as soon as he’s out of the hospital wing.”

“Right.”

“Anything you have to say will be taken into account, Draco. But it’s very important you tell the truth.”

Draco stared back as Dumbledore watched him over the rims of his glasses. His stupid half-moon glasses. Draco wanted to crush them.

Draco wanted to go back to her.

“You do realise the severity of what you’ve done, don’t you, Draco?”

He nodded.

“Hogwarts does not permit any kind of violence. And certainly not of such a brutal nature.”

Draco had to stop himself from scoffing. If only you knew, old man. If only you had the slightest idea.

“What was it about, Draco?” asked Dumbledore, his figure hunched slightly, leaning forward in his chair.

What does it matter?

The professor exhaled. “It would be best if you answered my questions, Mr Malfoy.”

“We had a fight.”

“I can see that. And I am more than aware of the animosity between you and Mr Potter. I’m sure the whole faculty is aware. But I cannot for the life of me think of any excuse you have to offer for such behaviour. Your rivalry was taken too far tonight.”

“If there’s nothing I can say, Professor,” replied Draco, a hint of irritation in his voice, “What’s the point in me saying anything at all?”

“I still need to hear the reasons.”

What can I say? The truth? Would it even count for anything?

I thought he was about to rape the girl I love.

But he wasn’t. It wasn’t him.

Strangely, I still don’t care.

I don’t regret it.

Because I still fucking hate him.

“Draco?”

Because he’s stopping her from being with me. He’s stopping the one thing I’ve never had.

I’d kill for her.

“If you don’t talk this evening, then you’ll be called in again first thing tomorrow. And then again, and again, until you offer some kind of explanation for what was done.”

“I don’t know what I can say.”

“Do you know why you did it?”

“Yes.”

“And was it you or Harry that instigated the fight?”

“It was me.”

Dumbledore looked down. The expression on his face was sad. Sad and disappointed. It was sickly.

Oh please. I’m sure you’re delighted your precious little Potter didn’t start it. One less thing to pretend to punish him for, no doubt.

He sighed. “Draco,” he began, “Whatever your reasons for fighting with Harry, however real and important they may be to you, I cannot condone such behaviour. I cannot and will not. And it most certainly should not go by without punishment.”

Draco remained silent.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Draco?”

Draco looked down.

“I know this past year has been difficult for you. It’s still only been just over a year since your Father-”

“This is nothing to do with him.”

“It’s been hard for you, Draco. And though you may never admit it, your Father’s death has had a bigger impact on you than you realise.”

Of course it’s had a big impact on me you absolute faggot. It’s had a devastating impact on me. I’m in love with a fucking mudblood. I’ve screwed her and everything, it’s fantastic.

What’s more, I’ve realised I never even loved my own father.

And you have no idea what that feels like.

“Grief is a powerful thing,” continued Dumbledore, “It manifests itself in many different ways.” He took a breath. “I’ve been concerned about you, Draco. As I’m sure you know. I handed you the responsibility of Head Boy as a distraction, not to mention the fact that I was certain you were no doubt more than capable of the role. You’re an extremely intelligent young man, Mr Malfoy. That I do not question. What I may be starting to question however, is my initial judgement of how well you can cope with the pressure of Head Prefect.” Dumbledore settled his hands on the desk. “It’s something you are forcing me to reconsider, Draco.”

No. Fuck you.

“I warned you before about the consequences of this sort of behaviour. I gave you a chance, Draco. That I’m sure we can both agree on.”

Fine. Just do it.

Keeping the tears back was difficult. But he would. He wouldn’t cry for this bastard. He wouldn’t show him he cared.

“You must have know the consequences of such brutality would threaten your place at Hogwarts, Draco. Pupils have been expelled in the past.”

The words hit him so unmistakably he felt sick.

“Following on from this…” Dumbledore paused. He cleared his throat and looked down. He was having difficulty.

Why? You don’t give a shit, you idiot.

Say what you have to say. Dish our the desert.

“Following on from this, Draco,” he repeated, “I have no choice but to force you to withdraw from the role of Head Boy with immediate effect.” He took a breath. “As for your place at Hogwarts, it is something I will have to consider carefully over the next few days.”

Draco was silent for a very long moment. Silent whilst the words echoed and split through his head. Repeatedly.

Force you to withdraw.

With immediate effect.

No more.

It’s over.

Draco felt numb. Incredibly numb. But not the kind of numb that doesn’t allow you to feel, just the kind of numb that means you’ve felt too much. Just the kind that means any more will end up killing you.

For a few short moments.

“And what about Potter?” growled Draco, “What happens to him?”

“There will be consequences for Harry as well, Draco. There will be many consequences for tonight. But Harry held no prefect position. You did. That, I’m afraid, has only given me something more to take from you.” Dumbledore stared at him. “You were handed the responsibility, Mr Malfoy. And you abused it.”

But Draco was no longer listening. Suddenly the only thing consuming his thoughts was how she’d react. How Hermione would react. And whether or not he’d still get the chance to tell her the words he’s needed to say for too long. The words he’s denied himself for a lifetime.

Love.

This was the beginning of the end.

This was the final test.



*