bachata

atrévete-te-te

Atrévete-te-te, salte del closet

(I dare you-you-you, jump out of the closet)

Destápate, quítate el esmalte

(Uncover, take off the polish)

Deja de taparte

(Stop covering yourself)

Que nadie va a retratarte

(Because no one is going to photograph you)

Levántate, ponte hyper

(Get up, get hyper)

Préndete, sácale chispas al starter

(Get on, get sparks from the starter)

Préndete en fuego como un lighter

(Catch yourself on fire like a lighter)

-Atrévete-Te-Te, Calle 13

———

“WELL THAT WAS STUPID,” DRACO SAID BLUNTLY. 

He was never really one to beat around the bush if he didn’t have to. Frankly, he had no clue what Potter was thinking (or perhaps not thinking) would happen. Binding and gagging someone for two weeks isn’t exactly the best way to make friends.

“I’ve decided to give you a little trust, just for now,” Potter replied.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Are you really the one that’s destined to save us all? I remember why I chose my father’s side again. Oh, I weep for the future. Just kill me now and get it over with, will you?”

“Stop being melodramatic. I just want to talk.”

“I could say it right now,” Draco mused, smirking at how Potter flinched at the threat. “One word, and I could say it right now, and then you’d all be dead for good. You barely escaped last time. It would be a shame if you went back so soon after getting to safety.”

Draco would sooner bathe his best Italian leather shoes in mud and cheap glitter than say the name, but it wasn’t like Potter knew that. Draco wasn’t going back. Ever. End of story. 

Yeah, sure, camping with his childhood enemies in the middle of nowhere wasn’t exactly Draco’s idea of a fun time, but he would take that any day over having a noseless, homicidal psychopath bringing his evil cult to the Manor, then proceeding to order and threaten Draco and his parents in their own house . Draco wasn’t his parents. He sure as hell wasn’t brave, but he was done with apologetically surrendering himself to the Dark Lord like a kicked dog. If his parents wanted to continue pretending like they owed something to the Dark Lord, it was fine by Draco. While he loved both dearly and wholeheartedly respected them, (they were his parents, after all) he drew the line at being forced to torture and murder at the hands of a madman. 

Draco shuddered, trying to block out the memories. His whole life, his parents had raised him to believe he was superior, that he meant more than blood traitors like the Weasleys, half-bloods like Potter, half-breeds like Hagrid, creatures like Dobby, Mudbloods like Granger, and all Muggles alike. Draco had been taught this well; as it was repeated to him far too many times throughout his childhood to keep track. And yes, he did believe this, because he was also taught to never defy or question his parents and their morals, because they were always right in the way that everything they did, they did it for Draco. 

But murder, torture… while he agreed that he was superior to the victims, (mainly Mudbloods and their sympathizers) he knew from the very core of his being that they didn’t deserve to die. It was so painful; both Mother and Father always protested against his involvement, but it did nothing, no matter how much they bargained. It was clear they didn’t want that for their son, but they were already too far deep to do anything. With his parents rendered powerless, the only escape was if he went alone and covered his tracks. 

Draco remembered how he had thrown himself onto Dobby, pretending as if he was trying to retrieve his wand. He remembered how he pretended to not recognise Potter, how he snuck down to the cellar to untie the ropes binding them, how he discreetly flicked his wand at the chandelier, and how he purposely edged closer to Potter with all of the wands and allowed them to be wrestled out of his hands. 

He remembered the look on Mother’s face, the last thing he saw before he left the Manor, when she had the brief, bittersweet moment of realization that it was all part of Draco’s plan to escape.

Draco blinked. He’d forgotten about Potter entirely for a moment.

“You haven’t yet,” Potter said.

“What?” Draco frowned.

“Said it. His name. If you were going to say it, you would’ve done it already. If you were actually planning on doing anything against us, we’d have Death Eaters all over our arses right about now. But we don’t.”

“Don’t act so sure,” Draco sneered. “Maybe I was just waiting for you to get in the right spot.”

“Do it, then,” Potter said smugly, folding his arms across his chest. “If you’re going to say his name and call him here, go ahead and do it right now. I won’t stop you.”

Draco scowled. The stupid git always found a way to thwart Draco, regardless of how large or small of a victory it was. It was a talent that only Potter possessed, and it truly drove Draco insane, since Draco was nothing if not competitive. To add insult to injury, he was outsmarted by the thick, dense, dull as dishwater, blockheaded, stupid, brainless, idiotic, moronic, imbecilic, insipid, doltish, vapid—banal—obtuse—lethargic—pabulum— platitudinous cow that Potter is. How did the twit call his bluff like that?

“What do you want from me?” Draco sighed, giving in. 

Stupid Potter. There was no way Potter wasn’t a trained Legilimens — and Draco was sure he’d pick up the skill just to find out the best ways to piss him off.

“I just want to know why you helped us. Yeah, they still recognised me eventually and called Vol — ” Draco winced and Potter grumbled, cutting himself off. “ You-Know-Who , but if you had given me away even seconds earlier, there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be here.”

“How was I supposed to recognise you?” Draco scoffed. “You looked like a troll.”

“You did, and I know you did,” Potter stated firmly. “The chandelier; it didn’t just fall on Bellatrix by pure coincidence. You saved Hermione too. Then you grabbed on when we were Apparating away. You helped us. You switched sides.”

Draco laughed sarcastically. “It sounds a lot more like you’re trying to convince yourself rather than me. And no, I did not have a change of heart. I still hate you and think you’re an idiot, I still think that the Weasel is a blood traitor and can’t afford the dirt he walks on, and I still think that Granger is a filthy Mudblood, and she and all her kind don’t belong in Hogwarts. So I’m still the exact same person I was, which according to you, is an evil bastard.”

“Why do you always do this?” Potter scowled.

“Do what?”

“This,” Potter waved a hand, gesturing at Draco. “Why do you always make it so hard for me to like you? Why is it so hard for you to not be a total prick?”

Draco glared, and he’d had just about enough of it. “Oh, forgive me Saint Potter for not believing in what you believe in. Circe, all of you unoriginal, archetypal ‘saviors’ are the same person. You think you never do anything wrong, everything about you is perfect, your shite smells like roses, your opinions are facts, and anyone that disagrees with your morals is collateral damage, because hell, if they don’t believe in what you believe in, they must be soulless, evil creatures. It’s not like any of them have a reason for being that way, no , just assume that they’re all terrible, because it’s not like there’s terrible people on your side. And if they get a little too pushy, ah, just kill them. Kill them like they had no life or story and they meant nothing . Because you’re the good guy. That’s what good guys do.”

“I guess you haven’t changed then.” Potter said, standing up.

“People don’t change,” Draco spat. “Get it through your thick skull. All the things that someone is have always been and always will be. From gestation to death. Whether it’s seen or not doesn’t mean anything, it’s always there.”

Potter bobbed his head. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. People don’t change.” Then he turned his head and pinned Draco with a gaze so piercing that he was sure Potter knew exactly what he was thinking, even the thoughts he wasn’t aware of. “But I won’t stop holding out on you. I think you might even surprise yourself. You’re braver than you think.”

Scarhead gagged Draco before he could come up with a witty quip, so Draco imagined punching his idiotic face and maybe breaking his nose. Why did Potter pretend like he knew him? Why was it so infuriating? He liked it far better when no one tried to understand him rather than Potter acting like he knows more about Draco than Draco himself.

The words ‘you’re braver than you think’ played over and over in his head. 

No, actually, I’m not, Draco thought to himself. Draco wasn’t saving Potter and his cronies to be some hero. He saved Potter because that was the most plausible and easy opportunity to escape. It was right there — all of the circumstances were right, and he accomplished what he wanted to accomplish. He got the fuck out of his house and doesn’t have to worry about stepping over a new dead body thrown haphazardly in his hallway. So what if he was being held hostage by Harry Potter? It was nothing on where he was before that.

Draco huffed. He didn’t save Potter just to save Potter, he saved Potter to save himself. If it was between letting Potter die a horrible death or going to a vacation home in Cancún for a weekend getaway, then he’d have his piña colada on the rocks, thank you.

You could’ve Apparated away before then , said a little voice in the back of his head. You could’ve Apparated far, far away and forgotten all about the Dark Lord and your parents and Harry-bloody-Potter. You could’ve gone to a nice, sunny place on the other side of the planet and forgotten all of your problems to live a new life. But you didn’t. You stuck around until Potter came along, then finally woke up and realized that you could be better. You changed.

He shifted against the beam, trying to find a more comfortable and less splint-ery spot. Eventually he found one, and he adjusted his arms (which were tied up behind his back around the pole) so that they didn’t feel like they were pulling out of their sockets once he relaxed.

Draco closed his eyes and mumbled “shut the fuck up” to himself against the gag before drifting into unconsciousness.