Fear is Our Worst Enemy

Ron laid on Hermione’s lap, peacefully dozing off. She held the book in one hand and softly stroked his hair. They looked like the epitome of a perfect relationship. A sickly feeling curled in Harry’s gut and he had to look away. 

He had no right to feel upset. He was happy for his friends but he missed that intimacy dearly. It was his fault he didn’t have it. He broke up with Ginny, not the other way around. Harry was the one with too many nightmares and no clue how to handle Ginny’s tears when she told him about hers. He knew she needed someone who could love her like she needed to be loved.

After that, Harry visited a Mind Healer, much to everyone’s surprise, and found out how bad his trauma really had been.  

“PTSD or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Hermione sighed, after they burrowed themselves in the library after his appointment. Hermione insisted that research was necessary. “After all you’ve been through, it’s no wonder.”

He didn’t want to push it onto Ron, especially with grief the Weasleys were going through. You can’t keep it all in , he thought to himself. Despite his best efforts, he still managed to frighten not only Ginny but also just about everybody else. Multiple times. The nightmares kept growing more violent and his Mind Healer kept telling him the journey was not going to be linear.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Hermione whispered, stroking Ron’s hair delicately as she looked up from her book. Harry smiled at her, all fake. Hermione just stared at him and sighed before going back to her book. He returned to his unfinished DADA homework.

A four foot essay on boggarts was pretty easy especially with the past experience they all had but, Professor Hannigan wanted to touch all theory introductory bases before moving onto the complex stuff. He stared at the pages of the monstrous textbook. The words, “worst fear,” stood out to him.

He knew boggarts were meant to make you relieve your worst fears. But, he never imagined he would see himself in someone else’s boggart.

No matter how much Harry wanted to hate the posh git, this year made it impossible. Malfoy’s trembling hands during the trials were etched into his mind forever but somehow he was even worse these days. Malfoy was a walking dead man. Expressionless on most days, Malfoy never even winced anymore when someone tried to trip him.

And it worried Harry. It was stupid, yes, as Ron pointed out oh so many times. But, something felt distinctly wrong about Malfoy. There was definitely more to what he faced than what was said in the trials. One of the boggarts’ transformations completely covered Malfoy and no one could see what was happening. But, before anyone could try to figure it out, there he was. Harry Potter as Malfoy’s boggart.

He hated that seeing himself as one of Malfoy’s boggarts, but it made him more curious about Malfoy. The emotion felt clinical but Harry didn’t want to think about it too much. You’ll spiral if you try to understand it all without asking him, a voice that sounded exactly like Hermione’s said in his head.

Everything about Malfoy was perplexing to Harry. But, nothing frustrated him more than Malfoy’s apology letters to everybody but Harry.

“Look, I was suspicious, too,” Ron had said when Harry gave him the cold shoulder for responding to Malfoy’s letter. “But, Hermione made me read it and, mate, it was really sincere and mushy. Way too mushy for my tastes but I had to write back. Hermione made me!”

Harry might have been a little green-eyed by the way everyone had gotten the letters except him but, after today’s incident, he could hardly judge. Evidently, Malfoy saw him as an angry terrible person and neither of them needed to be reminded of their duel in the bathroom back in 6th year. Don’t think about it. Don’t dwell.

By the time all of the eighth years left the common room and the fire dwindled down, Harry had gotten through only half of his homework. Instead of walking back to his dorm to get some sleep, Harry drifted out of the common room in a bit of daze. No one would stop him from breaking curfew. Why would they? He was the Saviour after all, reaping the benefits of killing some snake man. Snape would have freaked if he saw the special treatment I got. Too bad he’s already dead , Harry thought blankly. He didn’t even try to scold himself for that particular thought.

Harry wandered through the dimly lit halls of the cold castle. The walls hung solemn portraits that did nothing these days but sob in grief. The ghosts, both old and new, moved as though they carried weight. Not even Peeves attempted to bring a lighter mood. The horrors from the Hogwarts Battle seemed to hover over the entire castle in a heavy silence. Voldemort ruined his life but, the worst thing he did was taint Harry’s home with blood and grief. He would never forgive himself for letting that happen. It’s not your fault, it’s definitely your fault.

He found himself at the astronomy tower, legs dangling over the edge. One slip and he would be as dead as Dumbledore. Lots of dead people to relate to. The stars in the sky sparkled and the moon glowed above him. 

The sound of quiet footsteps coming up the stairs made Harry freeze for a moment.

Quickly, he scooted off the edge back to the ground and scurried to hide behind the nearest pillar he could find, his heart racing. Who would come up here now? After a few moments, Harry dared to look past the pillar. 

Platinum blond hair shined back.

Draco Malfoy moved to sit exactly as and where Harry was seconds ago, staring up at the moon blankly. 

For lack of any better description, Harry would say he looked ethereal. His blond hair fell over his grey eyes which sparkled in the moonlight. His pajamas were a soft blue but, his skin was sallow. There was something rather distant about Malfoy’s elegance that made you want to stay away like a cursed diamond. He carried himself like the burdens of the universe fell onto his shoulders. 

Harry remembered his first few experiences with church. The Dursleys must’ve thought Catholicisim would cure him of magic, because they made him pray daily and attend church every Sunday. He remembered staring up at a beautiful faded glass mosaic, dissociating entirely from Sunday Mass. It was of a fallen angel, wings cut off but with the most peaceful expression.

Malfoy looked exactly like that fallen angel.

Harry knew he was intruding so, he slowly backed away towards the stairs. 

Until he heard it.

“I should've known

I'd leave alone.”

Harry couldn’t believe he was here right now. 

“Just goes to show

That the blood you bleed

Is just the blood you owe,” Malfoy sang quietly.

Harry figured there wasn’t much else to do, but listen. He closed his eyes.

“We were a pair

But I saw you there

Too much to bear

You were my life

But life is far away from fair.”

“Was I stupid to love you?

Was I reckless to help?

Was it obvious to everybody else

That I'd fallen for a lie?”

“You were never on my side

Fool me once, fool me twice

Are you death or paradise?

Now you'll never see me cry.”

Harry didn’t notice when he sat down on the ground behind the pillar and started staring up at Malfoy. All he knew was a voice that sung like that should never go unheard.

“There's just no time to die,” Malfoy finished, singing the last words to himself. A clear sheen seemed to cover his eyes. 

Harry didn’t notice his mistake until it was done: he applauded.

Malfoy, completely startled, jumped up and slid off the edge. In a split second, he went from sitting to dangling off the edge. 

He screamed.

Shit! Harry ran to the edge and saw Malfoy trying to grasp onto the edges of the sill. He looked horrified.

Harry grabbed Malfoy’s forearms and pulled. Luckily, Malfoy had enough sense to pull himself up halfway, landing on his feet. Harry fell back onto his butt. 

He closed his eyes. Fuck. Harry took a deep breath in. He focused on his breath and, after a few moments, opened his eyes.

Malfoy, breathing erratically, was staring down at him in suspicion. Harry gave him a weak smile before standing up. When he looked back at him, Malfoy was glaring.

“What the hell Potter! What are you doing up here?” he asked, an involuntary tremble coming into the end of the question. Harry stared back at him, his eyes wide open. 

A few moments passed as Harry blinked at him. He couldn’t figure out if Malfoy was joking.

“What? Am I not good enough to know, Golden Boy?” Malfoy pressed on, this time more haughtily. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “What?” 

“Well, if all you are going to do is stare, could we please sit down?” asked Malfoy.

Malfoy huffed and sat down petulantly.

A moment later, Harry followed and they sat together quietly. This was strange for sure but Harry couldn’t find himself caring. 

He patted Malfoy on the shoulder.

“What?” Malfoy replied softly, still staring up at the moon. Harry patted him again. This time he turned albeit a bit irritated.

Harry tried to mime his singing and gestured to ask why. Malfoy stared at him, blankly. Then, he turned back to the moon.

Harry huffed.

Malfoy sighed.

“You know, most people try not to bother others who clearly want to be left alone.”

He glared at Malfoy. Malfoy grumbled under his breath.

“Fine. What do you need?”

Harry attempted to mime again. Malfoy raised his brow. Harry pouted.

“You are a nuisance. Why can’t you just shut up and watch the sky?”

Thorough chastised, Harry did as told and stared up at the sky. Soon, his gaze turned to the boy next to him. Malfoy clearly was somewhere else, his eyes dilated and gaze blank. Harry thought back to the class earlier today and remembered how stricken Malfoy looked. His boggarts were horrifying, though the class only saw a bit of each of them. All of them except for the rather demented image of himself, successfully trapping Malfoy in a specialized nightmare.

At least you didn’t have to go up there. Harry immediately scolded himself for the thought. Malfoy hadn’t even been seen since the class ended. No one deserved to be put in a situation like that especially when he was already tormented enough as is.

Malfoy turned to him this time and Harry belatedly looked away, his cheeks indubitably and embarrassingly painted with a faint flush. 

“Want to go someplace else?”