bachata

monaco

Dime,
(Tell me)
Dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería?
(Tell me, is this what you wanted?)
Yo soy fino, esto es trap de galería
(I’m classy, you’re a gallery trap)
Tú eres un charro, Rocky “The Kid,” una porquería
(You’re a dork, Rocky “The Kid,” a piece of shit)
-Monaco, Bad Bunny

———

DRACO MALFOY IS A COMPLETE AND TOTAL ARSE.

But Harry supposed that was already common knowledge. He knew Ron and Hermione were also aware of that glaring fact, but Harry couldn’t stop himself from repeating it. It was an obsession, and no matter how much he wanted to be productive and help his friends find the next Horcrux, he couldn’t find it in him to focus on the task at hand.

Harry leaned back against the peeling bark of an aspen tree. “Malfoy’s head is shoved so far up his arse that he’s — ”

“ — Shaped like a sodding human doughnut?” Ron finished, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. “We know, mate. Give it a rest, will you? You’ve gotten your point across.”

Hermione, who was barely listening, snapped her fingers in Harry’s direction and said, “Pay attention. We’ll be searching for years at this rate.”

Harry scoffed. “Hermione, I don’t think I’ll be of any use anyways. We’re looking for something that could look like anything, and could be hidden pretty much anywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if it took us a hundred years to find them all.”

Hermione looked up at Harry and scowled. “Well, maybe if you moved your lazy bum and actually helped, it would only take us ninety-nine.”

“Touché,” Harry shrugged. He sat down in front of Ron and Hermione and stared at the notes gathered before them.

“So, we’ve got seven Horcruxes — ”

Ron and Hermione groaned simultaneously.

“Bloody hell, Harry, can you say something new for once?” Ron grumbled, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

“ — So, we’ve got seven Horcruxes,” Harry repeated, glaring at his friends while enunciating dramatically. “And two have already been destroyed. One is Vol — ” Harry paused and bit his lip. He wasn’t going to make the same stupid mistake, “ — one is him, but we’re going to save that for last. We’ve got the locket and the Cup, but nothing to destroy them with. Oh, and both of those are slowly driving us mad, so that’s just fantastic. That means the last two could be pretty much anything. Did I mention that we’re slowly going insane?”

“You’re in a mood,” Hermione stated, raising an eyebrow.

Harry sighed and shoved his hands in his hair exasperatedly. He whinged even more as he spent half a minute trying to detangle his fingers from his coarse and messy mop. It was astounding how his hair behaved like Hermione's tight curls, but barely looked more than wavy, occasionally loose loopy curls (loopy curls were used liberally for lack of a better word).

“I just don’t get it. Why did he help us? Why did he save our lives back there? He could’ve handed us all over in the blink of an eye, he could’ve claimed all the glory of being the one to capture Harry Potter, but he didn’t. He risked his life. If his lie had been spotted, he would’ve been killed.”

“Blimey, I told you we should’ve just dropped the prat off somewhere, ‘Mione. Harry’s too obsessed to function properly anytime he’s within a ten kilometer radius of Malfoy. I don’t even hate the bloke that much.”

“I am not obsessed!” Harry shouted indignantly.

Hermione’s thick, pulled-back hair bounced as she looked up. “Oh, Harry,” she said, narrowing her dark eyes at him. “You’re obsessed.”

Harry scowled and flipped the finger at her. “We’re no closer to finding anything, but we’re still sitting here and having a tea party all the same. Oh, yeah, and we’re also holding a Death Eater hostage in our tent over there, but you lot are too busy discussing my strange ‘obsession’ with him. My fault, I didn’t know that it was wrong to wonder why the arse who seemed to only care about making our lives hell for the past six years had a sudden change of heart.”

“It’s not that we are condemning you for being curious,” Hermione said softly, “it’s just that we’ve got a bigger problem to worry about.”

Harry sighed. She was right. He knew she was.

“I just…” Harry started. “I just want to know why he saved us. I want to know what changed. Does he want to help us? Has he switched sides?”

“Well if he hasn’t told us so in the past two weeks that we’ve been dragging him along, I doubt he’ll ever tell us,” Ron answered.

“Yeah, but it’s kind of hard for him to plead his case when he’s gagged,” Harry snapped. “And I don’t think being chained to a metal support beam in a tent in the middle of nowhere is the most inviting thing.”

“Blimey mate, what’s got your knickers in a twist? We’ve gagged him so he won’t say You-Know-Who’s name and damn us all, and we’re holding him captive so he can’t escape and give us away. You know that,” Ron threw his hands up. “Hell, you went along with it!”

Harry scoffed indignantly. “Hah, what’s got my knickers in a twist? It’s the both of you! You’re both driving me insane! I don’t even know why I decided to drag you both along. It’s clear neither of you can handle this. I wish I had just done this alone.”

“Give it here,” Hermione said sharply, holding a hand out expectantly.

“What?” Harry frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Give me the locket, Harry.” She glared at him, and Harry knew she meant business. He pulled the necklace off over his head and dropped it in her open palm, feeling a rush of exhaustion, relief, and guilt flood him once it was no longer touching him. She then hung it around her own neck, and it beat against her chest like a pendulum slowing to a stop. Harry scanned her face, but the only difference he noticed was that she looked slightly more hopeless and doubtful. She paused for a moment, adjusting, then covered it up and went back to studying like how she was before.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said apologetically. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean a word of it, I swear.”

“It’s alright,” Ron said, but he looked a little hurt. “We understand.” A silence fell, and Harry found himself shuffling awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Hermione bit her lip studiously as she focused on the notes she had gathered for a couple seconds, but then gave up on it and looked at Harry with undisguised concern. “I hate seeing you like that,” she whispered, breaking the silence. “I really do. It’s not like you, and it just - I dunno… it’s revolting. The Harry I know, my best friend that I love to the point of going alongside him on this suicide mission, is one of the most sweet, brave, humble, caring, selfless, and considerate people I know. He puts everyone above himself, and no matter how many times we tell him that he is loved and he is an amazing person and that he is more than just a hero, he’s our best friend, he’ll never let it get to his ego. The person you turn into when you wear this necklace isn’t you, Harry. It’s him, and it both enrages and terrifies me that he can reach us like that with a necklace. Just remember that we forgive you, and we’ll always be your friends, no matter what he makes you say or act like.”

Harry smiled softly. “Thank you, ‘Mione. Really, you don’t know how much it means to me.”

“It’s nothing,” Hermione said, smiling sweetly. For a second, she seemed to break through the necklace, but then she went quiet and the depressed shadow fell over her face again. She went back to reading in silence, and Harry felt a pang of guilt for not being able to handle the locket for just a little while longer. Hermione didn’t deserve it, and even if she masked it well, Harry had a feeling that it got to her much more than she liked to let on. The Horcrux looked so odd when Hermione wore it. Everything about Hermione was vivacious and inviting; her warm, mocha skin, her understanding gaze, and her brilliantly white teeth that she’d show in one of those smiles she gets when she figures something out. The cruel, cold silver of the chain and the pale green of the gem on the locket looked out of place as it swung to and fro everytime she bent down or shifted to look at another paper or book.

“Where’s my speech?” Ron said jokingly.

Hermione looked up at him and rolled her eyes, laughing at his mock-pout. “I’m sorry, Ron, I can’t believe I forgot you. You’re pretty wonderful and amazing too, but I needed to get Harry’s mind off a certain blond that we’re holding captive in our tent over there.”

“So if I start obsessing over the ferret, you’ll make me write an essay of why I’m so amazing too?”

“Perchance,” Hermione mused jokingly.

The mentioning of Malfoy reminded Harry that he still wanted answers, and he knew that there was only one person that could actually give them.

“I’m really tired,” Harry announced. “The locket wore me out.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. “I think I might go to bed. Do either of you mind?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Get your rest. You need it. Ron said he’ll take the first watch, and I’ll be out here reading notes if you need me for anything. Good night.”

“Thank you, I’ve been wanting to sleep for a bit.” Alright, so that might’ve been a lie, but Harry was sure that his friends would be fine with it later if Harry got answers out of it.

“Don’t mention it, mate,” Ron said. “G’night.”

“G’night,” Harry said back, then turned on his heel and walked to the tent. He feigned a yawn and waited for Hermione’s focus to shift back to the papers and for Ron to start fiddling with the radio before entering the tent. Harry knew there was a Muffliato on the inside and outside, but he cast another just to be safe.

Then, once he was absolutely sure that neither Hermione nor Ron would hear anything, he took a sharp right into the area they had all dubbed as the sitting room and directed his attention to the large wooden beam in the middle.

Unwashed white-blond hair caught and reflected the light from the lanterns, and a dry leaf fell out of it when Malfoy looked up at Harry. He didn’t sneer, like how Harry expected him to, but instead observed him carefully as if he were dissecting him. Harry wasn’t sure which he preferred; both made him feel uncomfortable. His pale gray eyes narrowed in a calculating way, but it was hard to take him seriously when his hair looked like a shrub and his face was covered in dirt and soot.

He eventually lost interest in Harry and went back to staring at a spot on the ground.

Harry dropped down to Malfoy’s level. “I’m going to take your gag off for a bit just to ask a couple of questions. Don’t try anything.”

Malfoy looked up at Harry in surprise, and Harry fumbled as he untied the gag. It fell to the floor, and Malfoy moved his jaw around and swallowed, since he was only ever able to take it when eating or drinking (and he did that with a wand at his throat, so it probably wasn’t pleasant).

“Alright,” Harry said, backing away slowly and putting his wand down as if he were dealing with a wild animal. “I’m unarmed. I just want to talk. Civilly.”

Malfoy looked up to meet Harry’s gaze, and a small, smug smirk played at the corner of his lips.