cacoethes
'cacoethes (noun)
an urge to do something inadvisable'
July 1995
Voldemort was back.
That was undeniable.
And Cedric was dead.
Just the thought made his stomach twist and turn inside him like a snake.
It was as if his own thoughts were poisonous.
Draco had been numb since the end of the third task.
It had been almost a week, and he knew he had tried to see Harry, to confirm if the rumours were true, but he didn’t remember it, not really.
Cedric was dead.
A part of him still held hope that when he entered the common room, he’d be there.
He would be explaining something to a gaggle of second years and Draco would finally know this was a terrible, waking nightmare.
Yet, every time he entered, all he received was an eerie silence; his hope shot down swiftly, leaving a feeling resembling that of a punch to the stomach.
No one had taken the news well, especially the Hufflepuffs, especially Cho and especially Draco. Everyone knew that Cedric had taken the role of a protective older brother to Draco, not too soon after his arrival into Hufflepuff. Draco had found it odd at first that Cedric would always ask how he was finding his lessons, how he was finding Hufflepuff, but it wasn’t until he received his first letter from his father after his sorting that he realised that Cedric would be his family outside of blood.
He was dead.
Draco wasn’t sure he could cope with that.
He was eternally thankful for Blaise and Pansy, who spent the first few days refusing to leave his side. They would collect him from the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room and walk him everywhere. He wasn’t sure why, until one day when they couldn’t.
He had been intercepted by people he didn’t know, asking if his father could verify Harry’s claims, as he was ‘an ex-Death Eater after-all’.
Draco couldn't, but that wasn’t the point.
The point was, Draco hadn’t received any news from his family over the past week, despite writing letters to them.
It told him to expect the worst.
Rubbing his eyes, as if that would clarify his thoughts, he tried to figure out how it was best to phrase his question as he was sat in the back of the library with Blaise and Pansy. He didn’t think his mother would appreciate it being said so bluntly, but there were only so many ways to ask if your father was a part of a terrorist organisation.
“Are you -?” Blaise began, only to be cut short by Draco.
“Positive,” Draco said, his teeth gritted as he furiously scribbled at the piece of parchment, despite knowing it was a waste of parchment. “If He is back, I know that – my father.” He tried to get the words out, but they faltered. He noticed the ink on the parchment was running and realised he must be crying. “Mother will most definitely allow him to disown me now,” he said, balling up the letter and throwing it at the closest bookshelf, biting his lip in the hopes it would stop him from crying.
“Oh… Draco,” Pansy said, in the way she did when at a loss on what to do. She rubbed her thumb in circles on Draco’s shoulder. “She’ll – shit – I mean, she’ll mean well though won’t she?” she asked, glancing at Blaise for support.
Blaise sighed, rubbing his arm. “That’s not really the point Pans,” Blaise said, understanding Draco’s fears. His mother was only just neutral, in terms of politics. “If he does get disowned, he won’t be able to see or write to her –“
“There’s a war arriving,” Draco muttered. “And I won’t know if she’s okay, all because my parents are too cowardly to choose me over some lunatic,” he spat, curling up into a ball on his chair. His aunt had already written to him. He wasn’t sure how she knew what was happening, perhaps his mother had written to her instead of to him. She wrote that if he needed her, all he had to do was write a letter and she’d pick him up from the platform.
“Draco,” Pansy said, as if she had been calling his name for a while. “We’ll figure something out, there must be… something…” she trailed off, glancing at Blaise who was shaking his head, clearly thinking Draco couldn’t see.
He sighed, standing up from the table. “I’m going for a walk,” Draco said, fastening his cloak around his neck. “Maybe we will,” he said, shooting Pansy a wobbly smile.
As he left their corner, he didn’t miss the look they shared, a look of concern.
Whilst Draco was glad for the emptiness in the corridors, the quiet left a lot to be desired. It allowed for the echoes of his shoes on the stone floor, to mimic the deafening reverberations of his thoughts against his skull.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his palms; all he wanted was to be by the lake.
Wandering through the halls, he didn’t really remember how he ended up in the foyer outside the Great Hall. He saw Hannah Abbott in the corner of his eye, a look of concern evident on her face. “Draco,” she said, waking him from his mindless wandering. “Are you…” she trailed off as she scanned his face, sighing. “Just, don’t wander too far into the forest, okay?” she said, her smile not reaching her eyes.
Draco nodded, silently appreciating Hannah’s respect for having his own way of coping. “I’ll be okay,” he said, watching her eyebrows knit together as she tilted her head, as if trying to discern whether he truly would be okay.
-----
The wind by the lake was cold.
It pushed its way into his hair, dragging it out of his face and forcing it to stand on end. He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and making him shiver. Draco hadn’t taken a scarf, and the best he could do to keep warm was wrap his cloak further around himself.
Even though it was June, it appeared the weather itself had decided to reflect the atmosphere within Hogwarts, but the sun… the sun would worm its way through the clouds, only to boast with its warm glow and orange light.
He had found this clearing, overlooking the lake, with Cedric in his third year. Draco had received a few letters from his father that concerned him, and Cedric had shown him this place, so they could talk about it without fear of interruption.
He shivered again, pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Here,” a voice said, and Draco turned his head to see a red and gold scarf being offered his way. “You seem cold.”
Draco blinked, realising it was Harry, then blinked again. Hesitantly, he took the scarf. “Thanks,” he said, his voice barely beating the wind as he wrapped the scarf around his neck. It wasn’t particularly warm; Draco knew that meant Harry hadn’t been wearing it.
Harry sat on the bank, just a few feet from Draco. “I didn’t know anyone else would be here,” he said, as the wind turned into a soft breeze.
“Me neither,” Draco replied, watching the lake, occasionally flickering his eyes towards Harry, who was staring right at Draco.
“Draco –“ Harry began.
“Harry –“ Draco said, at the same time.
They both faltered.
Taking a breath, Draco looked at Harry, to find him now staring at the lake. “Harry,” he said again, his words catching in his throat, then tasting sour on his tongue. “Can I –“ he began. “I need to know,” he breathed out, his breath hitching as his vision went hazy.
“Your father?” Harry asked, although it wasn’t much of a question. His head turned from the lake to look at Draco as he brushed at his face with the sleeves of his robes.
Draco nodded. “Please,” he said, finding it harder and harder to look at Harry, who seemed to be rather unfazed.
Harry sighed, flicking at a stick, protruding from the dirt of the bank. “He was –“ and then it was Harry’s turn for his words to falter. “He was there,” he said.
Burying his hands in the earth, Draco found a pebble, which he held tight, nodding. “Right,” he muttered. “Right,” he muttered again, his grasp on the stone becoming painful, as the smooth ridges began to push at his palms. “Fuck!” he screamed, throwing the pebble as hard as he could towards the lake.
It landed with a soft splash, but Draco’s screaming caused Harry to tense, freezing in place. His back straightened as if someone had tied a string to his spine and pulled it – hard. He looked ready to bolt it.
“Why couldn’t you –!“ he screamed, the words tearing at his throat, making his eyes water. He noticed Harry was watching him, baffled by the outburst. “Sorry,” he said, sitting back down on the bank with a thud. “Sorry, I was just,hoping,“ he said, sighing at his own uncertainty towards his feelings.
Harry blinked, tilting his head.
He picked up a stone and pushed himself off the ground.
Tossing the stone in his hand, Draco watched as Harry examined the stone, squeezing it tightly.
He brought his hand up over his head and hurtled it towards the lake.
He screamed; his scream was sharp like a dagger and jagged like a cliff side. It startled the surrounding wildlife, and it most definitely startled Draco.
The cry made Draco flinch, and his muscles tense, but then he saw a small smile on Harry’s face which, for some reason, made Draco want to cry.
Taken off guard, Draco scrambled to his feet, just reaching Harry as he began to laugh. It was the sort of laughter that made your blood run cold, your bones rattle inside you.
“You know” Harry laughed, running his fingers through his hair, the laughter becoming more and more strained. “I think I needed to do that too,” he said.
Draco reached out his hand, hesitantly, unsure how Harry would react. He grabbed Draco’s hand. “Harry?” he asked, as Harry’s grasp on his hand got tighter.
Harry scrunched up his face, shaking his head as if to remove a certain thought. He stood there, and Draco suddenly felt the urge to hug him. He looked so worn down, so vulnerable, and Draco understood the feeling all too well.
Using the little self-restraint he could, Draco waited for Harry to react before hugging him, and when he rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, he froze, for a split second, but then he wrapped his arms around the boy. The boy who had gone through so much the past few weeks, and, by the looks of it, was yet to express a real emotion about it.
“It’s my fault,” Harry mumbled, choking on his words. “I couldn’t save him.”
Draco softly shushed him. “It’s not your fault,” he said, stroking the back of Harry’s head. “There was nothing - nothingyou could do,” he said, stumbling over his words, but meaning each one.
Shaking his head, Harry pushed himself from Draco. “No,” he began. “No, there – there must have been something, he shouldn’t have.” He turned away from Draco. “Why don’t you blame me?” he asked, facing the lake.
“Because you’re not the one to blame, Harry,” Draco replied, his voice stronger than he felt. “I miss Cedric, and he’s –“ Draco took a deep breath. “He’s really dead, but it wasn’t your fault.”
Harry started to blink furiously, whether to stop himself from crying or because he couldn’t understand Draco’s sentiment, he didn’t know. Draco hadn’t ever considered that Harry was at fault, which made him wonder who had.
They both sat back down on the bank, closer to each other than before, but entirely unsure of what to do next.
Both filled with anger, and grief, and pain, but a strange understanding laid between the two.
They both knew that this was not the end.
The two spoke about their memories of Cedric, about who he was – though Harry had but a few. Draco explained how Cedric had become a brother to him. Harry explained, albeit briefly, the night at the graveyard. Draco told Harry that it was okay not to be okay and Harry asked Draco if he had taken time to grief himself yet.
They laughed about the stupid things they used to do when they were eleven. Harry explained how Lupin had taught him how to produce a Patronus so he would stop fainting around dementors. Draco explained how once he accidentally set loose a rose bush in the Hufflepuff common room that wouldn’t stop growing and Professor Sprout insisted she personally tutor him on plant care so it wouldn’t happen again.
It’s strange how grief can bring two people together.
They sat for a while, watching as the sunlight dwindled from the sky, flickering across the lake, dancing with the ripples caused by the wind. Harry’s fingers were getting colder, and Draco’s cheeks were bright red, but neither of them wanted to face what was inside Hogwarts.
“I’m sorry,” Draco said, with a sigh. “We haven’t spoken much since our first year.”
Harry shrugged. “You seemed rather distant after those first few months.”
Draco chuckled. “It was probably the Howlers,” he replied, watching as Harry whipped his head around to look at Draco.
“The Howlers?” he asked, confused.
“My family was not happy with the hat’s decision,” he said with a shrug, smiling sheepishly at Harry. He scratched at the back of his hand, pretending to be really interested in it.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. “But you’re, basically the pinnacle of Hufflepuff,” he said.
“Just try telling my father that,” Draco said, as though he wished he could himself.
“I’d rather like to punch your dad,” Harry admitted, making Draco laugh.
Draco saw Harry smile.
“You aren’t the only one,” Draco shrugged.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to punch?” he asked, appearing genuine, and Draco rolled his eyes.
“You try being friends with Pansy and not know how to punch,” Draco joked.
Harry grinned. “Remind me not to get on her bad side,” he chuckled.
“Will do,” Draco smiled. He examined Harry’s face, and felt a weird sensation at the realisation that Harry’s facial features had changed, but also, hadn’t. Draco knew that his own features had become sharper, ‘pointier’ as Blaise had put it. There was something different about Harry’s appearance, but he couldn’t tell what. His eyes were still a bright emerald green, and his hair as untameable as when they were in first year.
Then, the guilt of laughing crept up his spine and took residence in his stomach, and he sighed. Harry laid down in the dirt, and Draco joined him. “Will you write to me this summer?” Harry asked.
“Of course,” Draco said, staring at a passing cloud. “If you want me to.”
He heard Harry sigh. “I – I love Ron and Hermione, but they don’t really,” Harry groaned. “They don’t get it, and I don’tblame them, but they think ignoring it will, I don’t know, help?” Draco heard him sigh again. “But you haven’t ignored it, or dismissed it, and I’ve missed being your friend.”
“I get it,” Draco said, staring through the trees as the stars began to appear. He knew Pansy and Blaise must be getting worried by now. “And to be honest, if I am to live with my Aunt, I might need someone to explain Muggle items to me,” he joked, and Harry threw back his head with a small chuckle, watching the sky.
“I’ll try my best,” Harry grinned, but it quickly fell from his face when he saw the castle begin to glow. “We should probably head inside, shouldn’t we?” he asked.
Draco nodded. “Probably.”
Harry laughed. “You know, I’m not actually supposed to be out of the hospital wing,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Harry!” Draco exclaimed, sitting up, bolt right.
“It’s so stifling in there,” he said, his eyes flickering towards the castle. “Everyone is tip-toeing around me, even Siri-“ he paused, and then sighed. “Everyone.”
“I’d say I’ll visit, but Madam Pomfrey won’t let me,” Draco said, with a small shrug and a smile.
“You… tried to visit me?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“For purely selfish reasons,” Draco admitted. He may not remember trying, but he knew his reasoning. If anyone knew about his father, it would have been Harry, and the curiosity had been eating at his stomach.
Harry shrugged. “I’d want to know too,” he said. “And I’ll force Pomfrey to let you in,” he added, with a smile. “For my mental wellbeing.”
Draco chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll listen to you,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Harry elbowed him. “I’m very persuasive,” he boasted, making both of them chuckle.
-----
A few days had passed since their meeting at the lake, and Draco had tried to visit Harry every day since. Pansy and Blaise insisted it was a lost cause, Madam Pomfrey was very stubborn when it came to her patients. On his fourth try, she left muttering about how it was bad enough that the entire Weasley family insisted on visiting Harry every other day, and something about a dog.
It was time for him to try again, and when he arrived at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey was waiting outside for him. “Hello again Mr Malfoy,” she sighed, a smile flickering across her face. “I believe you know what the answer will be.”
“Hello,” Draco said, smiling at the Healer. “What if I promise to be really quiet?” he suggested, with a pleading smile.
“Mr Potter has insisted I let you in,” she told him. “And I’m only doing this so that he doesn’t wander off again, as he has threatened to do,” she sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You have twenty minutes.”
She wandered back into the hospital wing, holding open the door for Draco, who quickly followed her before she could change her mind.
“Draco!” Harry exclaimed, quickly scrambling to sit cross legged on his bed. There was a rather handsome looking dog sat next to him, and Draco wondered where it had come from.
“Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said sternly, and Harry rubbed the back of his neck. Draco watched curiously as the dog appeared to be smirking.
“How are you?” Draco asked, pulling up a chair by his bed.
Harry shrugged. “A few nightmares,” he shrugged, and Draco nodded, as the dog rested its head on the bed. Harry smiled at the dog, rubbing its head. “I know I didn’t tell you Padfoot,” he muttered to the dog.
“Whose dog is that?” Draco asked, his curiosity swelling.
Harry blinked. “Remus’,” he grinned, as the dog seemed to protest that answer (at least Draco thinks it protested).
Draco shook his head. “As in, Professor Lupin?” he asked.
“The one and the same,” Harry said. “He was a close friend of my Dad’s,” he explained, and Draco made an ‘O’ shape with his mouth.
“He came to visit?” Draco asked, still mildly confused at how disturbingly human this dog appeared to be.
Harry nodded. “Yeah, Dumbledore wanted to see him,” he replied, still brushing the dog’s fur. The dog pushed at Harry’s hand with its head and Harry began muttering to the dog. “I know Padfoot, I know, I’ll explain them to you later.”
Draco furrowed his eyebrows and Harry grinned at him.
“He’s a rather intelligent dog,” Harry said, but this still didn’t explain anything to Draco.
He decided it was better not to ask. “So,” Draco began. “How are you really?” he asked.
Harry paused, taking a moment to consider whether he should tell the truth, or perhaps to figure out how he really was feeling. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. “What about you?”
“About the same,” Draco said, shrinking into his seat. “I still haven’t actually heard from my parents, and people keep asking me if – if Who-Know-Who is back, as if my father would tell me in a letter,” he sighed, rubbing at his temples. “It’s nice in the common room though,” he admitted.
“Being surrounded by like-minded people helps,” Harry agreed. “It helps,” he muttered, quickly shaking his head. “So, tell me, what crazy theories have people decided to believe about the tournament today?”