Hurting Words

Title: Hurting Words
Author: Deviant
Fandom: Harry Potter, Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17, always.
Disclaimer: I do not own a single thing in this story, other than the assembly of the words. The characters belong to JK Rowling and I, in no way, shape, or form, am making a profit from this.
Warnings: This contains implied homosexuality, character death, and foul language.
Summary: Draco says some really nasty things in Harry’s earshot. The words hurt.


“I heard she was good at charms, though,” Blaise Zabini said nonchalantly as the group of Slytherins flipped through books in the library. Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson and Blaise were playing host to Pansy’s new boyfriend, a transfer student of an old pureblood family.

“Yeah, sure,” Draco snorted. “A muggle born good at magic. Lily Evans was nothing more than a misguided mudblood whore who married a total wanker and got her dues. The Dark Lord was right to kill her.”

Draco could sense Harry’s anger; the golden trio was sitting no more than seven feet away. He watched as Hermione tried to soothe Harry’s anger, but nothing worked. Pansy’s boyfriend was nodding at Draco’s words, agreeing with every one of them.

“And that cheap red hair,” Draco began again, watching Harry from the corner of his eye, hoping for some acknowledgment from the dark haired hero. “She was probably just as much of an oaf and a poor bastard as any of the Weasley clan is. She was related to them, wasn’t she? I don’t know, but it just seems that all the whores of the wizarding world are cheap, red haired mudbloods. I’m glad Voldemort killed her. She was destroying the purity of the magic bloodlines, breeding like a little trollop. And that mangy husband of hers, what was his name? James Potter? I bet he was a flea-ridden dog, just like Black was.”

“Aren’t you related to Black?” Blaise asked, still skimming pages of his Defense book. “Your mother or something?”

“Black’s not my mother!” Draco said with slight surprise. “He was related to mother. Still, though, at least he was a pureblood and not some ratty, watered down sewage line of blood. I bet all three of them probably had to get remedial magic casting classes. And you know what they say: If there’s a problem with the bitch, there’ll be a problem with the pup.”

He heard Harry choke, not knowing Harry’s “aunt” had uttered those same words to his face before. He heard something rattling and looked around himself in surprise. The bookshelves and windows were shaking, like they had too much energy and were about to explode.

“I’ll show you my worth, Malfoy,” Harry whispered before he disapparated.

Draco gasped at the small showing of power and wondered what he had just done.



“What the hell did you do that for, Draco?!” Pansy shouted at him from across the small table.

“Shhh!” Madam Pince hissed toward her, but Pansy pointedly ignored her, while berating Draco.

“You stupid little shite!” she cursed him. “Do you have any idea what you were doing to him? Could you see his face? Did you even fucking LOOK, Draco?! After all you’ve confided in me, after all I’ve read in your journals, after all that I KNOW has happened between you two, you come off the cuff saying things like that with him right there in earshot?! You stupid bastard! Your mother must have been the unworthy one because the gods gave her a hopeless idiot for a son!”

Draco only stared at Pansy for a moment. His eyes watered, at first at her words, but then at the cold realization at what he’d really been saying.



Harry appeared in the center of a campsite. It was dark out, with most of the supplied magical tents zipped and sealed. He could hear a few faint snores from the loyal ones.

“Oh, Tommy,” he whispered with a sing-song voice into the night. He crept through the camp, silently killing everyone he came across – seven Death Eaters, and four wives or girlfriends. There was a baby cradled in one of the tents but he only silenced it and let it wait for the Ministry or the Order to find it.

When he approached the final tent, he drew the flap back slowly, just as with all the others, and saw Voldemort himself, lying comfortably on a king sized bed with thin green blankets. Harry looked around and smiled evilly.

There was a black, curved blade lying on top of a box near the door of the tent. He picked it up slowly, and just as Voldemort’s blood red eyes snapped open, he drove the blade into the slender white throat of the snake lord.

“Potter!” Voldemort gargled as blood spurted out of his pierced jugular. “Potter, I’ll kill you once and for all! Avada Ke. . .” he started before Harry wrenched the knife, twisting it in Voldemort’s throat.

The reincarnated devil fell into a permanent and silent death. Harry slid two fingers into the blood pooling around Voldemort’s head and smeared a streak across each cheek. There was a feral look in his eyes as he backed out of the tent.



“Stop. Right. There, Mr. Potter,” a cold voice said.

“Good evening, sir,” Harry said coolly. “Come to watch me gut your master? He’s still warm, if you’d like me to do it.”

Lucius Malfoy spun Harry around and spat on him. “You will die, Harry Potter,” he promised solemnly. “You will die tonight.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

Harry’s acquiescence baffled Lucius just long enough for Harry to drive the same black knife into Lucius’s shoulder. He had his wand raised to kill the blond lord, but paused, thinking of Draco back at Hogwarts.

‘It’s just a Tuesday. . . Dra-Malfoy would never. . . he’d break if his father died. Even though I might die tonight, I don’t want Draco to suffer. Malfoy! Yes I do want Malfoy to suffer! All those things he said about my parents. . . where does he get off doing that?! That was right shit of him! About Lily and J-James. . . but I can’t kill. . . I can’t . . .’

Harry pressed a palm against one of his eyes, trying to stop the stream of tears.

He had just realized what he’d done to the camp – killed people who were parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, and children – and he wept for a moment as Lucius continued to dance in pain.

With a jab of his wand, he bound Lucius and stunned him, making sure he’d get to Azkaban, as was his due. He held his wand into the air to send a sign to all those around and closed his eyes.




“What do you mean, professor?” Draco asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“I’m sorry, Draco, but Lucius has been imprisoned,” Dumbledore said kindly.

“It would seem Potter entered the camp while everyone was sleeping, killing almost everyone, stabbing the Dark Lord in the throat, and then only stunning your father,” Snape explained. “There were eleven people dead, I believe, not including Him, though a baby was found in one of the tents, silenced, but very much alive.”

“Where’s Harry?” Draco asked, knowing something had happened they weren’t sharing with anyone, not even Hogwarts, yet.

“He’s. . . he died tonight,” Snape said slowly.

“H-How?” Draco asked. He placed a hand against his mouth and wondered who had killed him.

“He. . . he hanged himself from the tree outside Voldemort’s tent, Draco,” Dumbledore said with a tear behind his spectacles. “He left a note in the sky and also had two letters on his person, one for me, and one for you.”

“For-for me?” Draco asked, choking on a sob.

Dumbledore handed him the letter and advised, “Open it when you are by yourself. I think that is how Harry meant it to be read.”

“Have you read it?” Draco asked.

“Of course not, my boy,” Dumbledore assured. “I would not invade Harry’s privacy, or yours.”

“What did your letter say?” the blond questioned.

“Mine? Mine told me the war was over. He would join his parents and his godfather and we wouldn’t be plagued by fear any longer.”

Draco’s tears increased as he thought of the giving nature of Harry Potter and the afternoon before the boy’s death. He had only been barely 17.

“Where is his body?” Draco whispered.

“In a private room in the back of my chambers,” Dumbledore said softly. “We are going to give him a tomb here in honor of his sacrifice.”

“Good, good,” Draco said absently. “What of this sign in the air? What was it?”

Snape cut in and answered, “It was a small lion’s head, roaring, with words pouring out of its mouth.”

“What did it say?”

“I hope you’re all happy. Two more half-bloods are dead. Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort.”



Draco unfolded the note and recognized Harry’s untidy scrawl. He read his name, his first name, and struggled against the threatening tears. He pulled his blankets higher around him and read.


Draco,

If you’re getting this, I am dead. I always meant to tell you of my feelings for you.

Since that first meeting, you had so much passion. I feared it for a while. Then I realized my own passion and I could understand you.


Draco choked in a happy sound. “He loves me,” he whispered to himself. “He’s loved me all along.”


All that I can really say about how I feel about you is this:

You hated me because of my popularity, but I never wanted it. Today, I realized my true feelings of you.

You were trying to impress Parkinson’s hulking pureblood boyfriend, weren’t you? By bragging about your duties in Voldemort’s inner circle, by mocking my mother, by tearing my heart out and stomping on it? Or perhaps it was a way of punishing me for not running after you after you broke up with me? Is that it? Are you really that childish that you cannot deal with your feelings in a more reasonable way?

I might not have killed myself tonight, if it hadn’t been for you.


Draco tried desperately to stop reading, but his eyes were compelled onwards to the bottom of the page.


I hope you’re happy, you stinking ferret faced brat.

I loved you once, Draco Malfoy. I loved you with everything I had in me.

But things change.

Today I realized how much I truly hate you. While you poured insults onto my mother, you never once thought of how it affected me. You wanted a better image for yourself. You’ve never seen me, not truly seen me. I’ve only been Potty and Scarhead, haven’t I?

I loved you, Draco, and because of that, I spared your father. I raided his mind, too, and your mother is located in the dungeons of the Crabbe Manor. I’ve already notified Dumbledore in his letter.

But today, I hate you, and I kill myself in anguish for you. You will never know what it means to truly love, nor what it means to sacrifice, nor to believe in something not brainwashed into your head.

I pity you, Draco Malfoy.

Why? Why pity the big, bad, daddy’s boy pureblood who gets everything he wants?

Because you will never get me.

Good-bye, Draco Malfoy.

You will never hurt me again.


Yours, once,
Harry


Draco stared at the letter for a second before he wailed in pain. He had lost Harry for good this time. No second chances, no staring at him unnoticed in Potions, no wishing Gryffindor table was a little nearer Slytherin in the Great Hall.

He looked over at his night table to see the framed photo perched near the edge.

In it, two boys, so clearly in love, were laughing and smiling as they grinned at the camera and kissed each other, the taller one giving the shorter one a tight hug.

Never again.

With a quick swallow, Draco downed his mortality, clenching the photo to his heart as, even in death, tears streamed from his eyes.



A/N: Let me know if it was shit or not. Review!