bachata

Yo nunca tuve una mala intención

(I never had bad intentions)

Yo nunca quise burlarme de ti

(I never wanted to make fun of you)

Conmigo ves, nunca se sabe

(You see, with me, you never know)

Un día digo que no y otro que sí

(One day I’ll say no and the other I’ll say yes)

Yo soy masoquista

(I am a masochist)

Con mi cuerpo un egoísta

(With my egoist body)

Tú eres puro, puro chantaje

(You are pure, pure blackmail)

-Chantaje, Shakira y Maluma

———

HARRY WAITED UNTIL RON AND HERMIONE LEFT BEFORE PULLING THE SMALL BOOK OUT FROM UNDER HIS BED.

It was just another one of those dime-a-dozen Muggle “learn conversational Spanish in seven days” that was hardly a realistic goal for the average person, but Harry still found it interesting. With the war and all the stress piled upon him, learning how to ask for the bathroom or call someone old in Spanish was a relaxing distraction when he was alone. 

He wasn’t why Spanish stood out to him so much; there were many different languages in Europe that were in much closer proximity to the UK. Perhaps it was how romantic and smooth the language sounded, maybe it was because it was a pretty common language, or maybe it was because Harry just found that it came easier to him.

‘Translate this sentence into Spanish out loud: He asks to dance a bachata with her.’

Harry paused for a moment, straining his mind. The sentence was definitely not within the “uno dos tres, el gato blanco”  range. 

“El… pregunta ella… baila una bachata con ella.” Harry stuttered. He hated when they pulled random sentences like that, which the book had never discussed. 

He looked at the answer on the back. ‘El le pide bailar una bachata con ella.”

Harry groaned. He was close enough, though.

“Harry,” Ron called out, stepping inside the tent. “You mind giving the ferret breakfast this morning? Hermione’s out hunting, but I suspect she also needs a break from us with the locket and all, and I’m knackered from taking watch last night.”

“You didn’t sleep any last night?” Harry asked. When he looked closely at his friend, he could see the dark circles under his eyes.

“No,” he said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Hermione had fallen asleep by accident… she just seemed so tired and stressed from everything, so I didn’t bother waking her up to take the second watch. I carried her back to her bed and waited the night out. I just need a one or two hour nap and I’ll be alright again, I promise.”

Harry frowned. “You could have woken me up, y’know.”

“Yeah… but you were just so tired and stressed, and so was Hermione. I didn’t want to bother you guys.” Ron said, then he looked down at his shoes as he continued, “I just feel like I’m not doing enough, you know? I mean, you’re the Chosen One, you’re the one who’s finishing this war. You’ve done so much for us and you’d sacrifice your life without a second thought. And Hermione — well, she’s a couple thousand kilos of pure brilliance stuffed into a five foot flat girl with lovely frizzy hair and a brilliant smile…” Ron had a faraway smile on his face as he thought of Hermione.

Harry cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow, smirking at his besotten friend.

“Sorry, sorry, lost in thought. It’s just — well she’s saved our sorry arses so many times and has thrown herself into finding out as much as she can. And I — ” Ron threw his hands up “ — What have I done? I’m bloody useless! I haven’t done anything other than screw things up and lay around. I need to do better. I mean, I got my arm splinched ‘cause I can’t do anything right, and now I’ve been more of a burden than a help, and — ”

Harry placed his hand on Ron’s arm comfortingly. “Hey. Look at me,” Harry said, “You are many things, Ronald Weasley. A burden is not one of them. There is no one else I’d rather call my best mate than you. You’ve been a great help this whole trip, and I know right well that we wouldn’t have gotten nearly this far without you. Now, go get some sleep, you pushover. You look like a zombie.”

Ron smiled and patted Harry on the back in gratitude, then flopped on the mattress. He was snoring away before his head had even hit the pillow.

Harry walked into the sitting room with a bowl of flavourless, lukewarm, and mushy oats. He set his wand down and undid Malfoy’s gag. 

“Hullo,” Harry said, taking a spoonful of oatmeal and holding it up.

“You won’t be holding a wand at my throat, ready to hex me into oblivion if I say anything? How boring.”

“Oh, if that’s what you would prefer, I could do that too,” Harry replied snappishly.

“This’ll do,” Malfoy shrugged. 

He swallowed a spoonful of oatmeal, then said, “Hmm. Terrible as always.”

“Well this isn’t exactly a gourmet restaurant, if you couldn’t tell,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Though I’m sure that’s all you’re used to eating.”

“What, judging me for having a decent taste in food? Sorry I don’t like leftover mystery mush. How am I supposed to know if I’m being poisoned or not? I don’t even know what it is that I’m eating.”

“I think if we haven’t poisoned you yet, you’ll be alright,” Harry huffed.

“Hmph. A house elf would do you a lot of good,” Malfoy said snootily.

Harry rolled his shoulders as he fed Malfoy another spoonful. “You’re probably right,” Harry hummed, “but I don’t particularly fancy slavery. I can cook my own meals, thank you.”

“First of all, no, if this is your cooking, then you couldn’t cook if the world depended on it. And secondly, it isn’t slavery, it’s forced unpaid labor.”

“Which is slavery,” Harry replied smartly.

“No, it’s more of a sharecropping thing.”

“Which is pretty much the definition of slavery, except they were given a false idea of freedom that pretty much was never achieved.”

“Indentured servitude then.”

“Which is yet another form of slavery.”

Malfoy scowled. “You’re no fun. They aren’t even human. I don’t know why you care so bloody much. It’s in the name: ‘house’ elf. They were made by nature to fill out that role.”

Harry paused his feeding Malfoy for a moment and placed his hands on his hips exasperatedly. “I may not be a swot like Hermione,” Harry said, “but I know sure as hell that while Mother Nature and natural selection can be incredibly specific with the roles they give animals in the food chain, they did not create elves just to be enslaved by rich poncy wizard families and forced to wash knickers their whole lives. Slavery is a man-made concept. Nature had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, someone’s a little smarter than he likes to let on,” Malfoy mused. “But your Spanish a lot of work. No, it needs a miracle. I think you might’ve perforated one of my eardrums.”

“My Spanish isn’t that…” Harry paused, “Hey, wait! How do you know I — ”

“Speak terrible Spanish to yourself when the Weasel and the Mudblood leave? You lose focus in your Muffliato and it drops. Or sometimes you’ll forget to cast it altogether. One could wonder why the famous Harry Potter talks to himself in a different language about the most random things when he thinks he’s alone.”

“It’s none of your goddamn business, Malfoy,” Harry scowled. “Besides, it’s not as if you know any — ”

“¿Crees que si? Piensa otra vez, cabrón.”

Harry stared, open-mouthed. “You speak… you know — ”

“Spanish? It was my first language. I don’t really talk much about it, but yes, I do speak it. It’s what I speak at home with my mother.”

“Did you — did you learn Spanish? You don’t really look Hispanic.”

Malfoy scowled. “Typical. So utterly small-minded of you to assume that all Hispanics look the same. There is such a thing as a white Hispanic, you know. It’s not a race, it’s an ethnicity. I don’t go around assuming where people are from, so neither should you. I’m half Spaniard. Mother’s side of the family.”

“Sorry,” Harry blushed, then realized he was apologizing to Draco bloody Malfoy of all people, the biggest, ponciest prat in the universe (and quite possibly the multiverse). “That seems to contradict what you think about those with Muggle lineage.”

“Oh, Potter, with them, I know. You can sort of just tell. I know where everyone with a proper wizarding history and family is from and how pure they are, so it’s quite easy to weed out the little lost Mudbloods. I had never heard of a Granger bloodline before, and you could tell she was new to the wizarding world because of how she tried too hard to fit in, so that was an easy one to pick out. As for you, well, the Potter bloodline is famous, and you only made it even more so. They were one of the filthier of the inbreeders; the Potter bloodline went from England to Panama many centuries back because of the powerful wizarding family, Membache. They both kept their blood pure by exchanging their sons and daughters only with each other, which resulted in the continuance of the two names and the purity of their blood. Actually, your father was the first to break the tradition when he ran away to England with his older brother when he was ten years old. Then he married your Muggleborn mother, which I’m sure his parents wouldn’t have been too happy if they ever did find out. That’s why you’ve got a perfect tan and thick black hair; years of mixing with a powerful Panamanian Emberá native family has truly done wonders for your complexion.”

“I’m… from Panama?” Harry frowned.

Malfoy looked up at Harry in surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“No one ever told me,” Harry said, rubbing his arm. “I had no clue.”

“Where did you think you were from?” Malfoy snorted. “Did you think you were just British as far as it went back with a perfect tan and hair like that?”

“Well, I just thought maybe I was just dark — I never thought…” Harry trailed off. “Wait — did you compliment me?”

Malfoy scoffed and blew his hair out of his eyes. “I could insult you, but then it would probably be considered racist.”

“I never thought I came from anywhere… Maybe that’s why I want to learn Spanish.”

“Perhaps,” Malfoy shrugged. “It would make sense. Wizards have a bit of a magical connection to the language their ancestors spoke before them for years, it sort of just ingrains itself in the bloodline as time goes on. Though you’ve certainly still got a long, long, ways away to go.”

Harry scowled, then paused. “Wait,” he said, realizing something, “I can’t really speak Spanish, can I?”

“I think that’s hardly a surprise.”

“But you…” Harry grinned, flicking his finger at the blond excitedly. “You can.”

“Yeah, what’s it to y — oh, you must be joking,” Malfoy laughed. “You want me to teach you?”

“The little Muggle handbook isn’t really a load of help.”

“Again, that’s hardly a surprise, but you’re hilarious if you think I’m just going to teach you Spanish like I’ve nothing better to do with my time.”

“I dunno if you could tell, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands,” Harry said pointedly. “And besides, you don’t have anything better to do with your time. You might as well.”

Malfoy turned his nose up snootily. “Like hell I will.”

Harry was a little disappointed, but he didn’t let it show. “Fine, then,” he said. “Suit yourself.”

Harry grabbed the gag to put it back on, since the bowl of oatmeal was finished and Malfoy seemed to be done with the conversation. 

Malfoy groaned, then caved. “Fine!” he said exasperatedly. “I’ll teach you.”

“You will?” Harry said excitedly, accidentally dropping the bowl and shattering it. “Oops — sorry.”

“My, my, control yourself, Potter,” Malfoy drawled. Harry picked up the pieces, cast a quick Repairing Charm on it, set it down on a table, then sat down in front of Malfoy eagerly. 

“So, what’ll we start with? I want to learn how to hold a conversation, but I also want to learn how to order things and — ”

Malfoy made a sharp shushing sound, and Harry fell silent. “If you want to learn Spanish,” Malfoy said slowly, “then we’ll have to start from the beginning.”

p