Harry
2: Harry
The table is quiet as Ron, Hermione and I eat in silence. The only noise audible is the clinking of silverware against our plates, and the occasional lift and settle of a cup.
While it wasn't comfortable, it wasn't exactly uncomfortable. I had gotten used to this after the war. It was common. But today was different.
Hermione was playing with the sleeves of her jumper, something she only does when she's nervous. She keeps fiddling with her hands, eyeing her briefcase across the room.
Finally, after dinner is almost over, she breaks the silence.
"I wonder how Draco Malfoy is doing. "
I choke. Ron pats my back and shoots Hermine a questioning look.
"What?"
I looked down at my plate, still full, and let the memories wash over me. I can't listen to her. I won't. It hurts too much.
My chair slides back with a screech and I stand up. I won't listen. I refuse to.
"Harry…"
"No, Hermione."
"Harry James Potter, you sit back down."
"No."
She glares at me, but I couldn't care less. She knows how I feel. She can screw off, just like everyone else.
I storm down the hall, heading toward my tiny bedroom, the one that reminds me of everything I had worked so hard to avoid about my childhood.
"Harry, I found his file."
I stop.
"What?"
I turn to look at her.
"I was going through files from the war, and I found his. It's not important to the Ministry anymore, and I thought you'd like to take a peek at it."
My stare is incredulous.
"Hermione, that's illegal."
She sniffs and waves her hand.
"Illegal, shmegall. Just...just take a look at it, alright?"
She hands it to me, the warmth of her hands still evident on the yellow card back of the file in my hands.
"A-alright."
I walk into my bedroom, and I hear Hermione picking up the last of the dishes and washing them in the sink.
I allow myself to smile. Since when had Hermione become such a rebel?
My smile fell. I knew the answer.
It was the war. The war had changed her-had changed all of us. The screams, the pleas of mercy, the blood.
I shake my head, infutaly trying to shake the thoughts that so often leaked from my head.
I opened the file once I was sitting on my bed. It was comfortable. But it wasn't like I even noticed anymore.
The name Draco Malfoy stated up at me, haunting me like a ghoul. I stared at that name for so long, and yet I had no idea what I wanted from it.
Did I want it to change…? No. I could never ask him -it- to change.
I looked down further. There was a headshot.
It was him at 16 years old. He had a grim expression on his face, and a dead look in his eyes. His white hair spilled over his pale porcelain face.
It was a wizarding picture, I soon noticed. I could see him shift from place to place, his faux smile a mask.
I laid my hand over the picture, blocking it from my view. I felt tears cloud my eyes, and my vision went blurry.
I couldn't deal with memories of Draco Malfoy. I just- I couldn't.
But I forced myself to keep reading.
Most of it was things I already knew. Things about him that had been written down or marked.
As I neared the end, I read it.
Ex Death Eater
I looked away and squeezed my fist. This was what had broken us. What had kept us apart.
I decided I'd keep reading. I'd finish it. And then I'd throw it out. I wasn't planning on keeping it.
As I kept going, my eye was caught on something. On the very bottom, in tiny print, was a highlighted sentence. I turned on the light and leaned in closer, trying to make my eyes decipher what it said.
I finally read it, and I dropped the folder. My eyes were wide, and my mouth had long since gone dry.
I scrambled up, and ran into the living room. I held up the folder to Hermione's face.
"Is this true?"
She looked at me for a second. No response.
"I said, IS THIS TRUE?"
She looked down, and let out a strangled 'yes'.
I dropped the file and stood there. I just stood. I remembered the fight. I remembered the tears. I remembered the screaming and the pleading. I remember the 'Ex Death Eater'.
I look down at the tiny words, the words I know say:
'Coincidental; Secret spy for the light side. Fake Death Eater. Keep hidden from the public. May be useful later.'
And I scream. And I cry. And I break things.
I barely hear Ron in the background, yelling at me to stop. I barely feel Hermione's warm hand on my arm, attempting to soothe me. All I see and hear and feel is my rage. My burning desire.
I storm to the door and yank my jumper off the rack. I slam the door on my way out. No one will stop me this time.
I'm not the same Harry that was so easy to control all those years ago.
And this time, they'll regret it.