Chapter 8
Harry had forgotten how good it felt to tear through the skies.
Feeling the harsh wind against his cheeks, the weightless feeling as he dropped, the strain to stay on the broom when everything else was fighting to keep him off of it.
His plan to fly until lunch had long passed by, though he didn’t realize it till he looked up at the sky and found the sun nearly set. Dinner was going to be served soon.
He sighed, simply sitting on the broom and looking over the lake towards the setting sun for several minutes. A soft glint in the corner of his eye caught his attention after a short while, and he glanced over towards the seats.
Malfoy.
He was barely visible, especially from so high up, on top of him being so far from his body. He was reclined on the same ring of stones where Hermione had broken his nose, looking up at Harry around the castle grounds as if he had nothing better to do. Maybe he didn’t.
Gripping the handle of his broom, Harry steered himself down towards Malfoy, approaching slowly so as to savor the last few minutes of flying before landing.
He did land, just in front of Malfoy, dismounting his broom and subconsciously running his fingers through his hair.
“What are you doing out here?”
Malfoy, barely visible, gestured vaguely and didn’t speak. Harry sighed. “It’s almost dinner, right? I’m headed to the hall. You coming?”
Malfoy gave him a look that somehow conveyed ‘and do what, Potter? I don’t exactly eat’, yet he still stood and motioned for Harry to start walking, brushing his hands down his front as if to smooth out his jumper. Harry rolled his eyes and started walking, every so often checking behind him to make sure Malfoy was still following. He was, and growing more opaque every time Harry glanced back.
“Hermione thinks when we’re feeling the same emotions, strong emotions, it ties the pieces of your soul together enough- puts them on the same sort of plane- that their physical counterparts can touch. Thoughts?”
Malfoy scrunched his nose up, frowning in thought for several moments. “I can’t be sure. It’s only happened once, that’s not enough to create a good guess.”
“Well, what are you feeling right now?”
Malfoy shot him a look. “Trapped. Helpless. Irritated, now that I’m talking to you. Take your bloody pick.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Melodramatic arse. You know it’s okay to be happy once in a while?”
Malfoy’s sneer told him he found that idea positively disgusting. “No wonder you’re the bloody poster boy. Does disgusting positivity always leak from your ears?”
“You know better than anyone, Malfoy, that I can be just as grouchy and mean as you.”
Malfoy seemed to study him for several moments before turning away in some sort of conceding gesture. “I suppose you’re right. You called the ministry some rather vile things.”
“Which time?” Harry asked irritably, and Malfoy let out a surprised laugh.
Harry grinned somewhat and, just to see if it would work, reached out and brushed his fingertips against Malfoy’s elbow. He hit the cold, damp feeling of Malfoy’s jumper almost immediately, and Malfoy froze.
“See?” Harry coaxed, keeping his voice light and teasing, “it’s not that hard to be happy, even for a moment.”
Malfoy swallowed, gaze flicking across Harry’s face for several moments- and then his arm fell through Harry’s hand, and he looked away, expression shuttered.
“Never lasts more than a moment, Potter.”
Frowning, Harry took a second to embrace the sense of sadness that washed over his senses before reaching out, infinitely glad that he was able to lock his hand around Malfoy’s cold wrist.
“It’s okay to be melancholy, as long as that only lasts for a moment as well.”
Swallowing again, Malfoy shifted his weight and began walking. Harry followed, still squeezing Malfoy’s wrist in his grasp.
“This is more than a moment,” Harry pointed out several seconds later, tugging at Malfoy’s wrist lightly. “C’mon.”
“You’re the one who can still touch me,” Malfoy snapped defensively, eyes narrowing.
“I can be melancholy for as long as I want. I’m happy most of the time.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
Harry shrugged. “C’mon, Malfoy. What would cheer you up a bit?”
“Not being a ghost, not having my soul split into three parts, not having made the wizarding world’s biggest celebrity into a host for dark magic-”
“Be realistic,” Harry countered, shoulder checking Malfoy, who sneered and shouldered him back. “Our lives are fucked. We were in a war; pawns for things bigger than we could understand. You gotta let the little things make you happy, or we’d never be happy.”
“I can’t even enjoy the little things because I can’t do them, Potter. I can’t savor fine cuisine, I can’t read without being reminded that I can’t touch anything, I can’t play piano, I can’t play a game of chess, I can’t go out and drink at a pub, I can’t go flying- I can’t do anything. What little thing is there left for me to enjoy?”
Harry looked down at the broom in his hand. “We can do a few of those things. Ron has a voice activated chess board and Hermione has something similar for books. It’s meant for taking notes and for when you’re reading multiple books at a time, but we could make it work- and we can go flying.”
Malfoy frowned. “I’m not going to use your mates things, Potter- and how could we possibly go flying?”
“I hold the broom, you hold onto my hands and control it.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“You wanna fly or not? You’re literally choosing to be miserable at this point, Malfoy. Will we look stupid? Probably. But who cares? Everyone else will be at dinner. Or you can just float around and pretend you’re flying a broom and I’ll go eat dinner.”
“Go eat then,” Malfoy sneered, turning on his heel, and Harry’s hand fell through his wrist once more. “I don’t need your bloody pity company, Potter.”
“You injected your soul into my body, Malfoy,” Harry snapped back, turning to face Malfoy’s back. “If anyone should be pitying anyone, you should be pitying me- I’m already feeling your posh, stuck-up melodramatics infecting me. Before long I’ll be pushing students in the hall and saying ‘the ministry will hear about this!’ just to feel better about myself.”
“You think you’re bloody funny, do you?” Malfoy snapped, whirling around on Harry, silver eyes flashing with anger.
Harry tilted his chin up, scowling. “And what if I do?”
Harry should’ve expected the pain in his nose, shortly followed by the stream of blood. He didn’t get much time to dwell on it before he was being tackled to the ground, a pale, cold, damp body settling above his own and driving blow after blow to his face.
“Malfoy! Harry! What in the bloody hell are you two doing?”
“He started it!” Malfoy snapped, glancing up at their company and distracting him long enough for Harry to push Malfoy off and clamber back on top, kneeling on pale, dainty wrists. “Fucking arsehole, get off of me!”
“No,” Harry spat, feeling his face flushed with heat from his frustration. “I do nothing but be good to you and you’re still just a moping git all the fucking time. I use my sway to keep you out of Azkaban, I don’t instantly just have you fucking killed when I find out you turned me into another fucking horcrux, I try to help you in every fucking way I can, despite knowing that everyone who has ever tried to help you has ended up burned because of you! Dumbledore tried to help. Slughorn tried to help. Your mother tried to help. And where the fuck are they, Malfoy? Where are they?!”
“Get off of me!”
“No! I’m not going to end up fucked up because some aristocratic git who can’t look past his own issues won’t accept help!”
“I don’t want your bloody help, Potter!”
“Just like how you didn’t want Dumbledore’s help? You aren’t fucking trapped, Malfoy, and if for once you weren’t so stubborn and selfish you might be able to turn around and find the fucking door out!”
“You don’t know anything about me! Get off!”
“Accept my help, then!
“Never!”
Harry didn’t feel bad about the sudden crookedness to Malfoy’s nose, shaking out his fist as Malfoy gasped out in pain, face twisting into a disgusted sneer.
“Harry-”
“Shut up,” Harry snapped, not caring who was trying to talk to him. “Malfoy, are you going to accept my help?”
In response, Malfoy spat in his face. Harry grit his teeth, wiping it off of his skin before punching Malfoy again, hearing something snap this time.
“Harry!” The voice insisted, and there were hands suddenly on his arms, but he shrugged them off. He was entirely focused on Malfoy.
“Work with me, Malfoy, not against me.”
“Go fuck yourself, Potter.”
“You fucking-”
“Aristocratic, racist, supremacist, death eater, bully, coward- And yet you’re still trying to fucking help me. I don’t want your bloody help, Potter, so get the fuck off of me!”
Black blood leaked from Malfoy’s nose, and he looked somewhat crazed, all semi-transparent with fury written across every feature, face and knuckles covered in black blood. And, for a moment, Harry hesitated. Sat back on Malfoy’s stomach and looked down at him. Forced himself to remember how Malfoy had gotten like this. Forced himself to try to think about why Malfoy might turn down help outside of pride. About what Malfoy had just said.
And then, despite his own still simmering anger, he climbed off of Malfoy, standing above him at his hip, and offered out his hand, bloodied at the knuckles and red at the fingertips.
“C’mon, Malfoy. Don’t let your mistakes own you. Get up.”
“As if I’d ever-”
“Take my hand, Malfoy. That’s not too much of an ask, is it?” Harry insisted, waving his hand about just a bit, indicating his impatience. “Just take my hand.”
Malfoy reluctantly reached his own arm up, clasping his own bloodied knuckles next to Harry’s and letting himself be pulled to his feet, taking a hasty step away from Harry and tugging at his hand, trying to get Harry to let go. He didn’t.
“You aren’t lost, Malfoy. Don’t let yourself get turned around in the idea that you are.”
“Of course I’m not bloody lost, what are you on about?” Malfoy snapped, tugging his hand away. “You bloody brute, let me go!”
“You’re an arsehole,” Harry continued, tugging Malfoy closer, despite the blond’s ever-growing panic and desperate attempts to get away. “You’re a git. You make stupid mistakes, and you were a cruel child.” Harry leaned in closer then, so his face was just inches from Malfoy’s, lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper. “But that doesn’t make you irredeemable. And it certainly doesn’t make you unworthy of receiving help.”
Malfoy, after several seconds of silence, still looking crazed, quite literally vanished into thin air. Harry’s grip suddenly closed around nothing, the breath against his face disappeared, and any visual Harry had of the mostly transparent man in front of him flickered away.
Finally, Harry glanced over at the two people he’d been avoiding looking at in favor of focusing on Malfoy. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, looking stunned and confused.
“You two could touch,” Seamus said, sounding spacy and confused, “but I shoved my arm through his chest this morning.”
“It’s complicated,” Harry grimaced, pushing his glasses up his nose and wincing when he brushed along the break. “Do either of you know any healing spells? Hermione’s gonna kill me if she finds out I got in another fistfight with a ghost.”
“I’m not interfering with anything both Hermione and Malfoy are involved in,” Seamus said, holding up his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I don’t fancy dying just yet.”
Dean grimaced and nodded in agreement with his boyfriend. “Yeah, no, sorry mate. Malfoy has too much power as a ghost, especially if he can turn invisible like that whenever he wants. I’m not risking getting on his bad side.”
Harry sighed. “Guess I’m going to the infirmary. What are you two doing out here anyway? Isn’t it dinner?”
The two glanced at each other, going slightly red, and Harry immediately regretted asking. “Right. Nevermind then. See you back in the dorms.”
“Bye, Harry.”
“See-ya. Good luck with Mione. And Malfoy.”
Harry just sighed. “Yeah. I’ll need it.”