Chapter 6
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Harry gritted his teeth. Dental damage aside, he needed to be distracted enough that he wouldn’t carry out any overblown acts of violence. Try taking deep breaths and using your senses to ground yourself, Hermione’s pragmatic voice reminded him.
Focusing on the thin arm (Gods, what was Malfoy even eating?) securely restrained within his grip did help. Trying to be conscious of accidentally hurting the other, he moved to loosen his hold, only for his hand to rebel and amp the pressure back to bruising within moments. Well, I tried, Harry reasoned. And anyway, Malfoy wasn’t complaining.
In fact, Malfoy, for his part, was remaining blissfully quiet. Good. Harry needed to think. Time to reign himself in.
Cloak and map in tow, he had chased after Malfoy only a few minutes after he left their room. Harry hoped to head him off, ideally before he reached any too-public spot, like the Great Hall or an oft-frequented spot in the library under the sharp eyes of Madame Pince. If only he could get Malfoy to listen, Harry knew that he would be able to win his forgiveness.
He had been completely unprepared for Malfoy to disappear. One moment Malfoy’s dot had been clear as day, heading in a direction that generally paralleled the way to the Black Lake. The steps quick enough for Harry to guess that Malfoy had probably been running.
Simple enough, Harry had thought. Fairly convenient and distanced from crowds of prying eyes. Nothing too messy, then. Communal enough that Malfoy would still feel pressured to adhere to social norms, giving Harry an automatic leg-up. Just because he didn’t like utilizing his status, didn’t mean it couldn’t have its uses. This was all the more perfect because Malfoy wouldn’t be able to accuse Harry of intentionally setting up the situation.
And then the absolute wanker had the gall to completely wink out of existence. Two younger students had scurried away after hearing Harry’s outburst of frustration. This was not how anything was supposed to go today. Harry was feeling the panic set in.
He’d had more than his fair share of improvising. One could even make an argument that it was where he excelled, but that man was a different person. Someone forced into a corner and forged as a weapon to fight in a war for others.
Harry wanted one thing that was his, a previously unfathomable luxury. Most days he didn’t think about the Dursleys. Not consciously.
But some things couldn’t be changed. He might slow his eating, but he could never erase the compulsion to consume his food with an animalistic vigor. Couldn’t purge himself of the anticipatory tingle that pricked the back of his neck when he stood facing away from authority figures, waiting to be slapped by the meaty hand of a walrus-faced man who looked to be one pudding away from cardiac arrest.
He had decided to accept the inevitable rather than fighting it. Harry could not escape what his childhood has given him- the good and the bad. He figured that the love he must have known when he was a baby, too young for any memories to imprint and offer conscious comfort, likely served as some sort of protective measure.
And he was tired of acquiescing his possessions, his loved ones, his life to a world that refused to give anything in return. It wasn’t that he resented the people in his life- not Hermione, or Ron, or the Weasleys who had become his near-surrogate family. But he still longed for something more. He'd thought he would wish for their happiness more than anything. But he the craving for his own was becoming harder and harder to ignore. It didn’t matter that he didn’t yet know what his happiness would be, he would hunt it to the ends of the world.
Harry brought his hand to rub at his temple, catching Malfoy’s sideways glance at their sudden stop. He had really wanted to return to the privacy of their room to keep talking, but… looking at Malfoy now he wondered if that wouldn’t be an exercise in self-sabotage.
Malfoy wasn’t wearing the bloodless look of terror from when Harry had stumbled upon the clearing in the woods. But his hair was disheveled, and tracks of dirt ran across his face. His cheeks and forehead were patterned with small cuts oozing irregular beads of blood. Harry had decided to leave those to bleed, hoping it would provide an opportunity to endear himself through first-aid services. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, and Harry realized his knuckles were white around his upper arm.
“Er– sorry. Uhm…” Harry trailed off, removing his hand from the other with significant effort. He didn’t want to scare Malfoy off and luckily Harry was naturally inarticulate.
Malfoy creased his brow and brought a hand to rub around the sore area. Harry waited. Malfoy didn’t say anything, but he didn’t take off running either. Harry felt a bit lighter at that.
“Here- you have some wounds. Let’s find somewhere to deal with those-” Malfoy’s raised eyebrows indicated he was going to cut off Harry’s suggestion “-I just figure that’d be preferable than giving an explanation to our dormmates or Madame Pomfrey….?”
Malfoy paused, clearly torn. Harry tried to look as guileless as possible, even though the pits of his shirt were uncomfortably damp from his stress. The other’s Glamoured blue-grey eyes studied Harry with undisguised suspicion. He was clearly hesitant, no doubt remembering the last time they’d been alone in an isolated location together.
Harry shuffled his feet, an awkward movement that was half-contrived, half-genuine. He didn’t think Malfoy would be easy to fool, but he still brought his arms behind and hunched his shoulders trying to look as non-threatening as possible.
After a few more moments, Malfoy nodded stiffly, arms still crossed protectively in front of him. Harry kept his face carefully neutral, allowing only a small, approving grin to escape. Malfoy’s gaze fell to his mouth, tracking the expression in a way that Harry wasn’t sure how to interpret.
Well… that didn’t matter right now. He needed to figure out a good place for them to talk. Reading Malfoy’s tense posture as hesitance to be touched, Harry settled for walking a few steps behind, herding him in the direction of a nearby alcove. It was a gamble. The location wasn’t exactly hidden, but he needed Malfoy to feel a little bit trapped by the threat of potential onlookers.
With Malfoy stepping into the small corner first, Harry positioned himself as a barrier between Malfoy and the exit. It was obvious that the other noticed, because his eyes flicked from the stone walls to the empty hallway behind Harry. It’s okay, Harry wanted to soothe him. It’s just until we work this out. He could see the gears turning in Malfoy’s head, whirring and grinding, assessing the situational threat. Harry needed to stop him from doing that.
“Hey…” he started softly, “you’ve got a few cuts on your face– just there. Can I–?” Harry gestured to his cloak, asking for permission to approach. Another gamble. He knew that Malfoy would likely be put off by the idea of Harry’s wand pointed at him, but he also didn’t have any real medical supplies. This improvisation was the best compromise available.
Malfoy looked up at him with wide eyes, the beginnings of desperation creeping onto his face. Fuck. Harry wasn’t convincing him. Okay, deep breath. Think, think, think. What would make him relax?
Harry still wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing all this, using tactics he would never condone in other circumstances. Malfoy’s different, he reassured himself. He’s like this too. It’s only natural.
Affecting concern, he checked behind himself, searching for a non-existent threat. When he turned around, Malfoy looked, predictably, somewhat confused and cautiously open. That’s right, I’m just looking out for you. No need to be so scared…
He swiveled out of the way, ever so slightly. It felt wrong and left too large an opening for Malfoy to escape through should he run. Harry suppressed the instinct to correct his position. It was a necessary sacrifice to allow Malfoy to feel more in-control of the situation. Patience, he chided himself.
He held his arms up, a gesture of surrender that had appeared to ease Malfoy in previous interactions. He tried for a half-chuckle. “Relax, Malfoy. Seriously, I just don’t want to get in trouble with you looking like that.”
It was like coaxing a wild animal–the skittish way that Malfoy tensed and shifted, eyes restless and wild. Harry was familiar with the look. He needed slow movements, calming speech. Keeping one forearm suspended in the same position, he grasped his cloak in the other hand. Malfoy’s unblinking stare followed the movement.
“I’m just going to use this to dab at the blood, okay? They’re mostly on your face and neck so you’ll feel me on those places, yes?”
Malfoy didn’t say anything, but Harry thought he might have seen the defensive stance relax a bit. He continued to move forward, murmuring all the while. Harry couldn’t actually tell if Malfoy was more scared or not. His pupils were blown, apparent even under the Glamour. That was… also irritating, that Malfoy would keep up an obviously fake disguise in front of him. I mean he'd already told Harry about his identity, so what would the facade do? But, today wasn’t the right time to press it.
The former Slytherin wasn’t quite shaking, but it was a near thing. Mini vibrations appeared to ripple through his body, despite the outward appearance of stillness. Harry was transfixed. There was something so… ruined about how Malfoy looked right now. Disheveled and dirty and completely vulnerable– he pushed that thought away, too. He needed to focus. Malfoy’s attention was entirely trained on Harry, lips slightly parted, the bottom one split and beginning to bruise red-purple. This moment had to count.
Harry brought down the arm that he’d been holding up and extended it slowly to brush against Malfoy’s jaw. Malfoy only flinched a bit, but allowed Harry to gently maneuver his head into a better angle to dab at the cuts. In all honesty, with how much time had passed, most of the blood was sticky and congealed. Harry was surprised that Malfoy didn’t seem to realize, but decided that he could make this work for him.
“Mmmm….” Harry hummed. “I think it’s dried now.” He chuckled wryly. “I don’t suppose you’d be okay if I Aguamenti’d my cloak? That might help…”
“Wha-” Malfoy spluttered, trance-like state broken. “It’s- it’s blood, Potter. That’s just… urgh,” He screwed up his face in distaste. Harry found it kind of cute.
His smile was genuine when he answered. “This cloak has seen way worse, believe me…” finishing with a wink to lighten the meaning. Malfoy flushed.
“T-that is- Why would I ever want to know that? Honestly, this is disgusting…” Malfoy was looking to the side now, the indecent red color unfurling up his neck and ears, but he didn’t voice any objections.
Harry wandlessly cast an Aguamenti, watching Malfoy’s reaction the whole while. He kind of hoped it would impress Malfoy…but, no such luck, apparently. Malfoy’s expression, though still clearly flustered, was unchanged at the show of magic.
Eager to recreate the charged tension from before, Harry resumed slowly wiping at Malfoy’s cheek, who winced at the cold sensation.
“I thought it would feel good?” Harry murmured close to his ear, and was rewarded with a positively scandalized expression from the other.
“I-wh-!”
Harry continued, pretending not to notice. “I mean… when I get a cut, the cold always feels good, y’know?” He gave a crooked grin, the one that Ron had told him to stop using if he disliked receiving attention that much.
Malfoy seemed lost for words. “....Right. Yes, it does feel rather… palliative. Thank you…. Potter.” Harry offered another non-committal sound, preoccupied by the swoop of thrill humming through his veins. Malfoy was giving in. Harry was flirting, and Malfoy was thanking him. He was dangerously close to giddy, premature as the celebration was.
“It’s okay, if you don’t want to…” Harry started, feeling Malfoy tense under his fingers, “but I was worried when I saw you… you can tell me what happened, if you want?” As soon as it came out of his mouth, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Malfoy yanked away, demeanor stony and accusatory.
“And if I don’t?” Malfoy challenged. “Want to, that is? What then?”
Harry resisted the urge to curse. And it had been going so well.
He settled for shrugging, uncomfortably tucking his wet hands into his pockets. “Then, you don’t want to…. I’m just… here if you ever need…” he trailed off uncertainly.
Malfoy slitted his eyes. “Such touching concern from our Savior. Really, you truly are the Wizarding World’s treasure.”
Harry groaned, loudly, and pressed his palms into his eyes. He knew the action would probably piss Malfoy off more, but he couldn’t repress his exasperation. I’m trying to be nice, you wanker.
The swell of exasperation darkened to frustration and anger started to thread and weave itself through. Right. Well, this had been a stupid fucking idea.
“Whatever, Malfoy,” he needed to cool off somewhere, before he did something he would regret. “You’re welcome, by the way.” Harry stalked out of the alcove, irritated and needing to blow off steam.
“Yes thank you ever so much, Chosen One!” Malfoy called sarcastically when Harry was most of the way down the hall, still determined to get the last word. Harry stopped walking and, for one frightening second, wondered if he would snap.
Breathing heavily, back still turned towards Malfoy, he clenched and unclenched his fists a few times before continuing on.