Chapter Three (The World Should Have Protected You)
The world should have protected you;
instead, you have been asked to protect it.
What an honor. What an injustice.
-unknown
Harry
“What’s going on?”
Harry startled at the unexpected voice. He had finally made it back to the common room after his latest bought of spying. It had taken a full hour after Malfoy collapsed for Snape to leave the room, apparently deciding to retire for the night. It looked like he was letting Malfoy sleep off whatever ailment he had on the couch, and it still bugged Harry that the two people he despised were so caught up in the same war as him.
It had to have been past midnight, so seeing Ron bundled up by the fire playing a game of wizard’s chess was surprising, especially since he knew how much the boy loved sleep. It was even more surprising that it was just him, so he couldn’t blame the curiosity on Hermione.
Harry made his way over, collapsing onto the nearest armchair.
“Is it Malfoy? Is he with You Know Who?”
Harry just sighed, lolling his head so his eyes could meet Ron’s.
“It is. And he is, but… I don’t know. It’s all seeming so complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it? We’ve known Malfoy was a proper posh bully. And you’ve suspected as much all this time.”
The fire crackled lightly and Harry wondered how it was always lit when he never saw anyone tending to it.
“Ron,” he straitened his posture, deciding that he really did need someone to bounce ideas off of. “What if Malfoy doesn’t want to be a Deatheater?”
“Huh?” Ron pushed away from his game. “Nah, that’s rubbish. No doubt he’s dark.”
Images of pale skin littered with intricate scars flooded his mind and he couldn’t help thinking that the his darkness might be more from the shadows of other, bigger evils.
He decided to tell him everything, even if it felt dirty to do so, like spilling secrets he never should have heard when the information was more personal. Even Ron looked to have a little compassion when he mentioned the scars, though Harry didn’t have the stomach to go into detail.
“Blimey, I’m confused. Is he going to try and kill Dumbledore? Or is he good now? If he was good wouldn’t he go straight to him with all this? Ah, but his family… I could never do something I thought would put my mum in danger. Merlin, where is Hermione when you need her?”
Harry was racking his own brain as Ron verbally worked through the information. It was clear that Malfoy was in trouble, but if he was going to do Voldemort’s bidding despite that didn’t that make him just as bad? The school was in more trouble, Dumbledore in more trouble. Even Harry was in more trouble, because now he knew Malfoy needed to be top priority when every ounce of him wanted to focus on Slughorn. He was tired of always missing pieces of the puzzle. He just wanted to get the information that he needed and be done with it, but there was a feeling in his gut that told him it would be a long time before he had the opportunity to be done with this war. He felt inexplicably like the Boy who Lived lately, and he was fearful for what that meant. Big things were happening, and he was sure that before things could go back to normal this time Voldemort would have to be dead.
“I can’t think about this anymore,” Harry said as he stood. “Let’s sleep and fill Hermione in tomorrow.”
As they made their way upstairs, Harry just felt grateful to have a friend like Ron by his side through everything.
…
“What?” Hermione guffawed at breakfast over their whispered conversation.
Harry glanced at Malfoy, scared he might somehow know they were talking about him, but he was quietly absorbed in breakfast, an almost mechanical way about him, like he wasn’t really there.
“Should I confront him about it? Is that stupid?”
“Harry,” Hermione thought. “You should go to The Order with this, ask them what to do. It seems like a really serious situation and I wouldn’t want you getting caught up in something you can’t handle.”
Harry felt a little flare of anger in his stomach, he hoped it didn’t show on his face.
“I can handle Malfoy.”
“Mate,” Ron cut in, half-chewed food in his mouth. “Can you? From what you’ve told us it sounds like he’s in deep shit.”
“And talking to The Order won’t change that! I don’t want Dumbledore’s input on this yet, he’d probably do something drastic and ruin whatever chances we might have at turning this into something that could help us fight against Voldemort.”
Hermione’s face scrunched up in something like pity and almost disappointment as she scraped her fork around her plate.
“Is that really what’s most important? I mean, if you’re right and he’s being tortured, how could he help us without getting into more trouble?”
Harry felt a twinge of embarrassment at Hermione calling out his morals, but this was a war and it was Malfoy. There wasn’t time to care about his well-being, even if Harry felt a strange sense that he didn’t really believe that.
“You know what I heard him say,” Harry concluded. “He’s certain he’s going to die one way or another. That type of resolve has probably numbed him to his experience. I bet he’d like redemption in his final moments.”
Hermione just looked away, clearly off-put.
“What’s with that face, ‘Mione?” Ron asked, following her gaze to their topic of interest who seemed now uninterested in eating as he pushed his plate away and left the room, clutching oddly at his stomach. “He’s been a total bigot to all of us for years. Maybe he deserves this.”
“Ronald!” Hermione gasped, tears playing at her eyes. “I cannot believe you! How could you say such a rotten thing!?”
She stood up, gathering up her things, and turned to Harry before rushing away.
“And you,” her brows furrowed in that disappointed look again. “He is a terrible person, and I don’t know if I could ever forgive him for the things he’s said and done to us, but he is surrounded by hate. If he’s really changed, he deserves a chance. I just wish you wouldn’t say he deserves the pain he’s been inflicted, because no one deserves that. Harry, how grateful are you each time you wake up in the hospital wing after a bad quidditch mishap or a heroic stunt?”
Harry thought he knew what she was getting at and his throat closed up, burying any response he could have. He just started at her in recognition and she took it as her answer.
“He doesn’t have that. You said he sounded relieved that they even healed his broken bones magically, but it doesn’t sound like he gets something for the pain. Having to stitch himself up is barbaric. Would his own mother not even tend to his wounds? She had to have been in the house.”
Ron was silent now too, not touching his food.
“Think about all that before you do anything. It’s clear he’s not in a good place, and I worry that he does talk about death too much. Even if he thinks it’s necessary for whatever reason, maybe he also sees it as the only way out. If you talk to him, don’t push him closer to that idea, please. I know that’s not who you are.”
She left then, leaving two utterly ashamed boys in her wake. Ron and Harry didn’t say anything for the rest of breakfast, the redhead barely finished his plate.
“I’m going to the field. Quidditch.” Ron stuttered out.
“Good idea,” Harry sighed, happy to have something to do to other than think. “Let’s go.”
They spent the rest of the morning exercising off their discomfort at Hermione’s lecture and Harry was finally able to regain some normalcy in his life. Quidditch always did that for him.
He stopped suddenly on his broom, Ron almost colliding with him midair.
“Woah! You good, mate?”
Dread pooled in his stomach. Quidditch always allowed him to regain his feeling of normalcy. Malfoy was off the team now, either too sick or too occupied to play. He didn’t even have the one thing that could probably take his mind off of things.
“It’s nothing,” Harry replied, despondent.
He and Ron finished up their practice game and Harry left with a newfound appreciation for the sport.
Draco
It hit him like a flash, the sudden pain overwhelming his body. It had become more and more frequent recently and he was lucky to go a full week without falling into one of his fits.
It was different when he passed out, better. Times like these made him wish his eyes would just go dark.
Draco pushed his suddenly appalling food away as he got up from the table and haphazardly navigated his way to the second-floor girl’s lavatory. Once inside he was able to let down his guard, to show the increasingly vibrant pain that was coursing through his body.
He tried pacing back and forth, tried breathing deep and controlled breaths, but nothing ever worked. No spells could quell it either. His pain was inevitable and he wondered why he tried so hard to act like it wasn’t.
He quickly gave up on his antics, confining himself to a small corner behind the sinks where he would have support as he lashed in pain. He tried not to scream but he couldn’t stop the tears that forces their way out of his eyes.
“Draco, oh dear!” Moaning Myrtle hiccuped from behind a stall door.
“Myrt-” he paused to make place for a fit of coughs. Blood splattered the floor.
“Ohh, this is no good!” she cried, her ghostly figure just barely poking out from its hiding place. “A curse, it must be!”
Draco thought that a curse would be easier to detain. No, this had to be a side effect of being a horcrux. Maybe his body just wasn’t strong enough for it. He wasn’t sure humans were ever meant to be conduits of the sort anyway.
“Myrtle,” he managed through his writhing. The ghost and him had met each other once or twice, Draco realizing her bathroom actually made a pretty good hiding spot. He had never come this sick though.
“Don’t watch me. You’ve seen enough pain.”
She made a few contemplative squeals before Draco heard a splash and knew she had gone. He was thankful at least someone would leave him alone.
It was a good ten minutes of shallow breathing before the pain finally began to subside, before the door swung violently open and Draco knew he was in real trouble.
He groaned as a black bob came into view, carrying with it an air of concerned annoyance.
“Draco!” Pansy yelled, storming towards his curled up position on the floor. “You look awful!”
He winced at her blatancy but he knew she meant well enough.
“Well, shit, Pansy. I had no idea.”
She rolled her eyes, squatting down so as to be eye-level. Draco willed himself to stay still as her hand settled on his knee, the other reaching to wipe the tears from his face.
“You were crying? Did something happen?”
He sighed.
“Something’s always happening. I can’t talk about this, just leave.”
Pansy’s face screwed up and Draco felt a pang of guilt.
“Your attitude lately is pissing me the fuck off. Why are you avoiding me? Wasn’t half a year of barely any contact enough? You said we could go back to normal once you returned.”
“I know what I said,” Draco smoothed out his robe. “But that was a childish wish. I’m still in the same position I was before.”
She faltered, anger teetering on concern.
“This is about the Dark Lord then?”
“Yes, him,” Draco managed.
Pansy let a small smile find its way to her face as she sat against the wall next to Draco, knees pulled under her chin in a way that reminded him of when they were younger and would curl up in the Slytherin common room after dinner. He wished he were 11 again.
“Tell me. You know I’ll listen.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, Pansy. It’s truly not. I just can’t have you getting involved, okay? You have to stop pushing so hard at this, my brain already feels like it’s fit to explode, I don’t need to have to worry about you too.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry if you would just tell me what’s going on! You trust me! You—”
“No,” Draco spit out through closed eyes. He couldn’t look at her for this, not wanting to see the betrayal reflected back at him. It was the only way to get her to back off. When people would not listen to soft reason, sometimes hard lies were the only way to push them away. He needed her safe and focused on being the person he knew she wanted to be, and that wouldn’t be the case if she was worried about him and in turn one step closer to the Dark Lord.
“I don’t trust you. Not anymore.”
Even through his closed eyes he could feel the shift, could hear the way her breath almost seemed to stop entirely.
“I don’t wish to be involved anymore, tell Zabini that too. You two deserve each other.”
She heard it as an insult, he knew it was a prayer. His two best and only friends did deserve each other and they also deserved to be kept away from this mess. From what he knew, none of them had family that were Death Eaters, and he was determined to keep them as far away as they already were. They were and would always be something he cherished, but the only way he knew to protect them was to do what he always did and act a bully.
“You’re vile!” she yelled, childhood memories crumbling in front of Draco’s now open eyes as she stood. “You should be lucky to find one other person who’ll care about your moody ass as much as we do! What made you think you’re better than us, huh? That mark on your arm gotten to your head? At least we know how to properly act in this fucked up world. You’re no better than anyone, Draco. Death Eater scum.”
He held back any emotion until she left, but his head was reeling. He’d never known her to fault the dark mark before and was even more surprised to hear her talk down on the Death Eater’s, but he supposed it was a good thing. Yes, it was definitely a good thing.
He keeled over and puked, the last of the pain finally subsiding, though he didn’t feel any better. Now Pansy was out of his life for good, and he would be alone. Utterly alone, with not even someone to whisper passing words to. It was what he was aiming for, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
It was a many good minute before he managed to drag himself up off the ground, stepping over his pile of sick to make it to the door. His hand shook as he grabbed the handle and he knew it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.