Remember

Chapter 2: It was the kind of kiss…

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“Oi! Harry!” I hear someone calling me. When I turn around, Ron and Hermione are running towards me. I didn’t see them all summer. Ron asked me to come stay at the Burrow but I told him Dumbledore said I had to stay at the Dursley’s all summer. This wasn’t true, but for some reason I couldn’t muster up enough excitement to go. I knew that if I was there, I would be miserable. Too many people. And I seem to be liking the quiet lately; yearning it, almost, just as yearn to be alone most of the time. Because these people -- image vague hand gesture -- everyone, is all old news. And I’m looking for a headline.

Where did that even come from? I swear, I don’t know where my thoughts are these days.

“Hey, guys.”

“Oh Harry! We missed you so much! I can’t believe you couldn’t come stay; we had so much fun. But we would have had much more if you’d been there! I can’t believe Dumbledore wouldn’t let you come. Well, I suppose with everyone finally knowing about Voldemort that it was the safest bet; but still! It was so unfair!” And with that Hermione flung her arms around me, practically choking me. I’d forgotten how much Hermione can talk, and how fast. It was quiet disquieting.

Ron was staring at this in disgust. I think Hermione might have a crush on…me!? And not Ron. Which is quite a surprise, but sometimes these things just happen. And it looks like Ron knows it. Uh-oh. Now Hermione’s put me in trouble.

Bitch.

Again with the weird thoughts. I need to get my head examined, I really do.

“Come on, let’s get a compartment,” Ron grumbles and starts heading off. Hermione looks panicked, as though she knows she did something so stupid, and runs off right after him. I hang back, giving them “privacy to talk,” but really just so they can “lose me” by accident and I can get a compartment by myself when theirs is full. Not exactly the nicest way to greet my friends, but I don’t blame myself for this. Not that I blame them. I don’t blame anyone. These things just…happen.

I walk slowly until I get to the train, and then even slower as I head in the direction we normally sit in. I get there and -- luck! Every seat is full, Neville is even sitting on the floor. Hermione looks distressed, and Ron looks torn between feeling bad about not saving me a seat, and happiness that he’ll have the whole ride, including trips they have to take for prefect duties, to spend time with Hermione without me around to distract her.

I just pop my head in and say, “oh, guys, don’t worry about it. I’m gonna go find another compartment.” I try to sound sort of miffed, so they don’t catch on that I’m happy to be sitting alone. I walk back where I saw an empty compartment on my way there, but now it’s not empty.

There is Draco Malfoy, invading my supposed to be empty space.

But I figure that if he doesn’t say anything, then I won’t have to say anything. And we can deal with each other for a few hours, I suppose. If we tried.

I sit down and he looks startled; how did he not realize that I’m here? Usually he is very alert. I guess the strain of his father finally getting caught in the act made Malfoy finally lose his touch. Oh well.

Remind me to schedule crying over that one.

“Potter.” He pauses, probably contemplating the best insult. “What are you doing here?”

Not exactly what I was expecting, but it’s Malfoy. He can’t be acting civil for no reason; he’s definitely planning something.

When did I become paranoid?

When did I become Ron?

“I need a place to sit. We just have to deal, or you can leave, because I’m not.”

Malfoy just -- woah! -- nods, and turns back to look at the window.

Now I’m not only paranoid, but I’m worried. About Draco fucking Malfoy, of all people.

Must see Poppy before day is out. Something is definitely wrong.

I just can’t help it. It just slips out.

“Everything all right, Draco?”

The horror! The second I say it, I regret it. But I can’t take it back, not now. I can’t even obliviate him; stupid conscious.

How would I feel if he did that to me?

Well I don’t care!

Yes I do.

Goddamn it.

I should have gone into Slytherin. They wouldn’t gotten ridden of this pesky conscious for me.

“What?”

Gulp. “I asked if everything was all right.”

“Draco.”

“Yes. I said ‘everything all right, Draco.’ So avada me.”

“Not today, Potter. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

I nod. I feel like I have to say something. “Sorry.”

He eyes me for a moment and then shrugs, “s’okay, I suppose. Just didn’t expect it that’s all.”

“So…is everything?”

“What?”

“All right? Is everything all right?”

“Oh. Right.”

“Never mind. You don’t need to answer I was just…making conversation. I guess.”

“No it’s okay. I told you, it’s okay. It’s just…no, everything isn’t all right.”

I almost feel bad for him. Almost. If he wasn’t a Malfoy.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, come on.” Then I realize I’m practically begging. I don’t even know why I’m interested. But I am. “I mean, maybe I can help.”

He almost scoffs, I can see it. But then…thinks better of it? I don’t know.

“Maybe you can. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you. I don’t want a weasel or a muggle born knowing my business.”

The first thing I notice that’s weird is that he merely said ‘muggle born’ instead of ‘mud blood.’ Then, I notice that I wasn’t included in that list. He doesn’t mind if I know. He just doesn’t want me to tell Ron and Hermione.

“I’m not going to tell them anything you tell me.”

“Yeah, right. I can just see it now. You scurry to the Gryffindor tower, running through the portrait, saying, ‘Ron! Hermione! You’ll never guess what that git Malfoy just told me!’ No thank you, Potter.”

I almost laughed, because last year that’s exactly what I would have done. Down to even the git part. But I thought a lot over the summer. This is not the time, nor the place, to fight. With anybody but Voldemort. If I have to fight Malfoy after school, during battle, because we’re on opposing sides, so be it. But I refuse to let the war ruin Hogwarts. It’s still my home.

“I won’t, Draco.” I know using his first name will make him more inclined to trust me, especially because of his previous comment.

“What’s with the first name thing all of a sudden?”

I shrug. “I’ve known you 5 years. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

He shrugs back but doesn’t say anything. “We’re not children anymore, Draco. You know that. We’ve both seen enough; we’ve grown up, faster than the rest. Now is not the time for petty rivalries.”

He thinks for a moment and then nods. An agreement? A handshake, five years too late. Just with words.

“Alright, Harry,” he smiles. He thinks it’s funny. He looks much better when he smiles than when he smirks. “Well, what’s wrong is more than one thing.”

“We have about 6 more hours on the train, Draco. I think you can fit it all in there.”

“Well, when I went home at the end of last term, my father was still in Azkaban. And while he’s my father, I have no love and little respect for the man. So I thought that I was free. But I was wrong. He escaped. Did you hear?” I nod. “Good ol’ Voldemort got my father out. So he was back to yelling and beating me, telling me that I had to make him proud, do the family name justice. Like it was my job to join Voldemort. Like I owed him anything! Merlin, I was just a kid when my father told me about ‘the great Dark Lord;’ about how he’s going to rid the world of the muggle borns and make everything good. He’s a fool, my father. Following a lunatic like that. I am not stupid; I know that without muggle born, and even muggles, we would become extinct. We need them, even if I don’t like them I have to admit that. When I was little I tried to tell my father this, but he never listened. He would beat me, telling me never to say words like that again. But I didn’t understand. Now I understand.” And he took a breath.

“Now you understand what, Draco?”

He looked straight into my eyes. “Now I understand, that he cares more about Voldemort than he ever will about me. So I stopped trying to reason with him. He still beat me, but it was far less frequent. Only when he got really upset. You should have seen the beating after you beat me at my first quidditch game 2nd year. I could stand up for longer than 5 minutes. For a long time I blamed you for it, and I think that’s why I kept fighting with you for so long. But eventually I knew that it was my father’s fault. My father, and Voldemort. This summer when he started talking about how I was going to get the dark mark this summer, about how Voldemort had some special assignment for me, I knew I had to leave. I knew I had to tell him that I was never going to follow him or Voldemort, that I would rather die than join them. That I was going to join Dumbledore and Harry Potter, and fight on the winning side. Obviously, this didn’t go over well with my father. He went after me, trying to drag me down to the dungeons, where he used to beat me. But I kicked him -- hard -- in the balls, and ran down to my room. I put about 15 locking charms on my door, but knew I had to be quick about getting my stuff because my father could break them in a second, once he regained his composure. I got my trunk and started throwing everything in it. I got anything of important, all of my school and books and my broom. I took my money and my Gringotts key, and I flooed to The Leaky Cauldron. My father found me after about a week and a half, but I’d been expecting him the whole time. I was ready.” He looks like he was about to cry.

“Draco…did you--”

“I had to, Harry! He was going to kill me. He was going to take me to Voldemort, who was going to rape me, and then he was going to kill me! And I grabbed my wand, and I said ‘avada kadra’ before I even thought about what I was doing. And it killed him. I knew it would; I thought about it later. I meant it. I wanted him dead. Gone. So I knew it would work. Now all I have to worry about is Voldemort, who apparently wants me alive so he can torture me. He said that after you, I’m most important.” Then he smiled this twisted smile and said, “as always, I’m second best.”

I’m shocked. I had heard that Lucius Malfoy had gone missing, but no one knew he was dead. Everyone thought he was hiding with Voldemort; apparently not.

I get up and sit next to Draco. He looks at me, tears filling his eyes, and I know that look. I know it so well. That one you get when you’re trying to hold it all in, when you’re a second away from a break down and there’s no one at all to hold you, to help you.

But Draco didn’t need that face. Because I wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me, his face in the crook of my neck. And he cries, and I let him, because he has to and I have to.

When he’s finished he stays where he is but mumbles an apology, to which I respond ‘anytime.’ He looks up at me, and then moves out of my arms somewhat, to turn so he’ facing me.

And he moves forward, his lips pressing lightly on mine, and then with a little more pressure, but nothing urgent. It’s gentle and sweet, as our lips just move against the other’s languidly.

It’s amazing.

It’s the kind of kiss that makes me know that I was never so happy in my whole life.

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“It was the kind of kiss that made me know that I was never so happy in my whole life.” is from Perks of Being a Wallflower. Great book.

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