Pity

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. Not me. Or so says my shrink.
Warnings: Suicide themes and rape.

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Draco Malfoy walked slowly up the staircase towards the Astronomy Tower. He was in another one of his \'moods\', as his housemates liked to say. He scoffed at the thought. This wasn\'t as simple as a \'mood\'. Things hadn\'t been as simple as a \'mood\' in a very long time.


Six months ago during the Christmas holiday, Draco\'s father had escaped from Azkaban. He\'d returned to Malfoy Manor to find Draco laughing. Draco couldn\'t even remember why he\'d been laughing. He just remembered that Lucius hadn\'t liked it. He\'d stalked up to Draco, that god-forsaken cane in his right hand. He didn\'t look that much different from when he\'d been arrested. Except for his eyes. Draco remembered his eyes. Full of hate, of loathing, and a scary, crazy glint Draco hadn\'t wanted to acknowledge.

Lucius had grabbed him, yelled something Draco couldn\'t remember, spit flying off of his lips. His face had turned a horrible dark red. Draco remembered it had clashed with his hair. Lucius dragged him down the hall and had thrown him into a room. Draco couldn\'t even remember the room anymore. Lucius had yelled something about obedience, and what it meant to be a Malfoy. He\'d shouted that Draco didn\'t know the meaning of pride, of honor, and Lucius was going to teach him. There had been blows then, Lucius hitting Draco with that awful cane, the teeth from the snake\'s jaw scratching his arms as he\'d tried to protect his face. He still had the scars.

Apparently that hadn\'t been enough for Lucius.

Then the unthinkable had happened. Lucius had dragged Draco over to a desk in the room, thrown him over it.

Draco remembered the pain. It had been the worst pain he\'d ever felt. Worse than all the beatings, all the curses. He\'d felt split in two, torn apart, ripped in half. There\'d been blood. He remembered curling up in a little ball on the floor when it was over. He\'d passed out eventually.

Back at Hogwarts, it had just gotten to be too much. He couldn\'t pretend anymore, couldn\'t be the Slytherin Ice Prince. Couldn\'t live. So Draco had gone up to a room in the Astronomy Tower. It was a room open on one side for star-watching, and the snow had drifted in. He\'d sat down in the corner and pulled out his knife. The knife his father had given him on his fifteenth birthday. Fitting, really, that it would be that knife. Engraved Draco, make me proud. He\'d drawn it up the underside of his arm, going as deep as he could. The blood had poured out of the gash, quickly staining his robes and pooling on the floor. Draco remembered it had been darker than he\'d thought it would, looking almost black in the starlight.

Goyle, of all people, had found him and healed him. He hadn\'t asked any questions; he hadn\'t needed to. He\'d understood.

Not long after that, Harry Potter had killed Voldemort. Whatever spell he\'d used had taken all of the Death Eaters with him. Something to do with the link they all shared, through the Dark Mark. They\'d found a way to remove Snape\'s beforehand. Things were going to change then, people said.

They hadn\'t, not really.

Now, Draco went up to that same place whenever he felt like this. Whenever it got to be too much. He\'d go up and remember that his father was dead. That Voldemort was gone. That even though people still didn\'t trust him, still hated him for his name, his House, his father, life was better than it had been six months ago.

He opened the door to the room, still lost in his thoughts. He glanced over at his corner. There was a figure there. Sometimes Draco thought he saw himself sitting there, knife in hand, blood black on the floor. But this figure didn\'t have his blond hair, his pale skin, his gleaming, silver, Malfoy blade.

The figure looked up as Draco closed the door behind him. Dull green eyes, unfocused due to blood loss, stared back at him. An arm dropped, and a small, dull knife clanked to the stone floor, blade soaked in blood.

Draco walked slowly over to Harry Potter and dropped to his knees next to him. He gently took one of the arms covered in blood. He took out his wand and whisp a h a healing spell. The long gash slowly closed, and he did the same with the other arm.

It was so familiar, this scene. The same spot, the knife, the blood, the look in the eyes. The wounds quietly healed, no questions needed.

No.

This time, questions were nee


“Why?” Draco whispered, looking up to meet the dull green eyes.

Harry was silent for a minute.

“I can\'t tell you.”

“Why?” Draco whisd agd again.

Harry just shook his head, eyes filling with tears. He turned his head away, staring out at the night sky.

Draco drew in a shaky breath. He opened his mouth, not quite knowing what would come out.

“Did you know I came up here six months ago and did this?”

Harry looked at him, eyes still filled with tears refusing to fall.

“It was right before you killed Voldemort. Right after my father came home.”

Draco kept talking, telling Harry the whole horrible tale. It was the first time he\'d spoken it out loud.

There was a long period of silence after he finished, and he\'d thought about getting up and leaving, when a raspy voice began.

“I was captured. Before I killed Him. They kept me for two weeks, chained to a dungeon floor. They took turns on me, every night. For two weeks.”

“Who?”

“His Death Eaters, The Inner Circle. It was a \'reward for services rendered\'.”

Draco felt a crushing pain in his chest.

“My father…”

“Yes.”

Draco closed his eyes. He couldn\'t bear to look at Harry any longer. Harry with his big green eyes, filled with unshed tears. Harry, who his father had used, the same as him. Harry who\'d saved them all in the end.

“I\'m sorry,” Draco whispered, his eyes still closed.

“Don\'t be. You couldn\'t have done anything.”

“But he was my father.”

“It wouldn\'t have mattered anyway, if you had managed to stop your father. You couldn\'t have stopped the rest of them. You couldn\'t have stopped Him.”

Draco looked at Harry then, sorrow running through his veins like fire.

“Don\'t,” Harry whispered, looking away.

“It\'s not pity. Not between us. Never between us.”

They sat there until the sun came up, with Draco holding Harry\'s arm. They didn\'t speTheyThey didn\'t need to. They both understood.

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