Especially Our Enemies

I slept very soundly that night, and in the morning I awoke with the dawn. I stretched, yawning, and paused.

Malfoy looked so vulnerable as he lay there, and I once again thought briefly about killing him. I realized that I would probably be dead before I even realized he was awake. He opened one eye and looked at me, then groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.

I realized I couldn’t remember how we’d gotten back to my room. I remembered several very enjoyable acts, but was unsure which had occurred there and which in the Room of Requirement.

“You close your eyes when you kiss, you know,” he murmured.

“Do I?” I asked, getting up. I felt remarkably good; my side wasn’t even stiff.

“I wasn’t sure if you were savoring, or trying to forget who you were with.”

He looked up at me.

“I hate you,” I said matter-of-factly.

“And I you.”

“As long as we understand each other.” I went into the bathroom, shaved, and brushed my teeth while the water was getting hot. I climbed in and hissed slightly at the heat, but after a moment I adjusted. The water rinsed the stickiness off me, and I leaned against the tile with a sigh.

“Do I get to have a shower?” he called.

“Since when do you ever ask permission for anything?” I asked, picking up the soap.

Malfoy sauntered into the bathroom in a pair of my trousers; they hung off his hips and pooled at his feet. He didn’t even have to unbutton them to take them off.

“Out of the way, Weasley,” he said, pushing me away from the showerhead. He closed his eyes and made exaggerated happy noises.

“Drama queen,” I muttered under my breath.

“I heard that,” he said.

“You can hear me breathing from two corridors over. Of course you heard that.”

He fell silent, and I looked at him. His eyes were focused far away.

“I’m hardly human anymore,” he breathed.

“Seemed pretty human to me,” I said, patting his ass. But I couldn’t help think of the sound he made in the hall the previous morning, rising from a crouch. He was so fast, and he took such maniacal glee in the fight. What had Voldemort done to him?

“I won’t bother you ever again, Weasley,” he said, resting his cheek against the tile.

“Promises, promises,” I joked, leaning against the wall beside him. He looked up at me.

“I killed Remus Lupin with a wire coat hanger, you know,” he said, blinking as the spray hit him in the face.

“That was a gruesome scene,” I agreed, trying to hide my horror.

“And I was the one who tried to cut the Mark out of Snape’s arm.”

“You saw him as a traitor.”

His eyes hardened.

“Doesn’t anything bother you?” he asked.

“We were at war, like you said.” That didn’t excuse anything, I knew, but I shrugged.

He straightened. Like a fox who has finally cornered his rabbit, he smiled slyly.

“I helped hold Ginny down,” he said.

I hit him so hard my knuckles hurt. He laughed when I punched him again. I thought I heard a rib crack, but I hit him a third time. Malfoy fell back against the corner of the shower, wheezing and laughing.

“You’ve got some power there,” he gasped, wincing.

“Bloody hurt,” I muttered, shaking my hand.

“Me too.”

“Good.” I felt his side carefully. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Thanks for not hitting me in the face,” he said, leaning on me. “It’s harder to cover the bruises.” He spit toward the drain, and I saw it was bloody.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He straightened carefully. “I hit the soap dish.” He put his fingers in his mouth and pulled out a molar.

“Oh my God,” I said.

“It’s nothing. Half of them have been grown back anyway.” He smiled toothily, and then pulled his lip back to show me the fresh, bleeding gap. “I deserved it.”

“And worse,” I said, inspecting his face.

“You can beat me up more later,” he said. He rinsed his mouth out and then lathered his hair quickly and efficiently, like I hadn’t just gut-punched him a few times. He regarded me coolly and I turned so I couldn’t see him. He’s a nutter, I thought to myself.

I rinsed the last suds from my body and stepped out onto the bath mat.

“Your son,” he said, his voice muted by the water. “He’s yours and Hermione’s, isn’t he?”

“Our first,” I answered, drying myself. I inspected my hand and saw that it was purpling. The skin on one knuckle had torn slightly, and I peeled the loose flap off. Sucking the blood from the small wound, I opened a cabinet and took out my toothbrush.

“Others?”

“Two daughters,” I said.

“I almost had a child, once,” he said, turning off the shower. I handed him a towel and he dried himself carefully, touching his chest with exaggerated tenderness.

“Really?”

“I didn’t always know I was a homosexual,” he said, drying his hair.

“Hunh.” I spat and rinsed.

“I’d gotten a girl pregnant. She was only a month along when she died.” He looked at me in the mirror.

“Did we kill her?”

“No, my father did,” he said softly. “I lied to you about the locket.”

“What?”

“I kept it.”

“You what?”

I turned and took him by the shoulders. He looked up at me and I saw there were tears in his eyes. Amazing, I thought. A few days ago I wondered if he could even feel emotion anymore.

He wiped his eyes furiously and tore himself away.

“Dear Lord, Malfoy.”

“Don’t look at me,” he muttered, leaving the room. I followed.

“You wanted me because you missed her,” I accused.

“Is that wrong?” he asked. “I have certainly done worse.”

I thought of Douglas. He was quiet in bed, and I liked that because his voice didn’t sound like Harry’s and it distracted me. One day when he was trimming his hair in the bathroom I stole a handful of the clippings and sifted them through my hands for an hour, remembering when I helped Harry shave his head during the war. I had never loved Douglas, or really liked him much as a mate. He offered me a stopgap.

“I’m going back to my quarters,” Malfoy said.

“Wait.”

I stood in front of the door, clad only in a damp towel. He could have thrust me out of the way and I would not have fought.

“I have tried to fill a void,” I said. “And it was a mistake. One of those things I regret.”

He swallowed and clenched his jaw.

“But this doesn’t have to be like that.” I hated how plaintive my voice sounded to me. Was I so desperate to be wanted that I would take this?

“Are you finished?” he asked.

“You’re such an asshole, Malfoy,” I muttered.

“It’s genetic,” he said. I got out of the way for him to open the door.

“Bye,” I said.

“Same time tonight?” he asked, looking up at me. I was surprised to see my own desperation mirrored in his face. It was gone in a flicker, but I knew I had seen it.

“We have rounds to make,” I reminded him.

“Right.” He squared his shoulders and turned away.

“Maybe some other time.”

He nodded. I closed the door and leaned against it. What the hell was I thinking? I dropped my towel on a chair and started to get dressed.