already caught in a trap ► chapter one
title: one man army
characters: draco/harry (harry potter)
word count: 4,044 words
warnings: this is the first chapter. for prologue, go here. if you like the premise, feel free to friend me for updates.
summary: a handshake that comes before anything else might be a valuable enough start for a friendship.
It’s more than a simple statement, but something else entirely. It’s like a surprising bite when Harry’s flying and there’s only his broom and him, but then there’s also Draco’s voice, saying: “You’re ridiculous, Potter.”
“Don’t make me kick your arse again, Malfoy,” is the automatic answer as Harry flies by Draco, and when he finds himself starting a race against the Slytherin, he rushes to add: “It’s getting repetitive.”
“Ha! How cute of you to think you can beat me. I’d tell you to let your fans know that you’re trying to get canny but-wait, you don’t have fans,” Draco fakes lament, and smirks as he gets faster by the second. “Because you suck.”
Harry laughs out loud, and hurries to get to the point where Draco is, almost out of the Quidditch field. “Was that supposed to be clever?”
With that, Harry pushes Draco slightly off the broom, not really intending for the other to fall. It goes as planned, merely making the blond roll his eyes as he straightens himself still on the broom. The: “Shut up, Potter,” is nothing but a whisper.
--
routine: n.
1. bickering for no good reason, because after five years of friendship you’ve got to get used to the other’s flaws;
2. being in the Quidditch field when you’re not supposed to anymore, sometimes even with your house uniforms, the red and green being seen from afar but not really much being heard except if you’re part of it.
--
“You weren’t this silent in the Potions class early. You were actually quite impossible with your know-it-all Snape-kiss-ass attitude,” Harry says, but there’s a concerning smile on his lips that makes his eye glue on the back of Draco’s head as he flies just a little bit ahead, just so Harry won’t see his face.
All the joking happy sounds seem to be exterminated in a second. Draco sighs almost inaudibly, and says: “That was before I got an owl from Dad. He wants to talk to me as soon as possible, and I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
--
routine²: n.
1. the sinking feeling right at your stomach making you feel dizzy because you may know what this is all about.
2. a question, a statement, or sometimes may be an exclamation. perhaps to be a word, but last time was: “aren’t you too friends?” and there’s the eyebrow cocking and mum watching with the corner of her eyes, pretending she isn’t paying attention to the very detail of it.
--
There’s a moment of silence between them, where the unsaid speaks louder than any of them could voice. Harry isn’t a big fan of Lucius Malfoy, though they have tolerated each other over the years. Lucius’ clear preference for Zabini is unsettling, and even Pansy Parkinson has noticed that Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy can’t be in the same room unless Draco is between them - she has stated so, in very indelicate manners to Narcissa’s taste.
Not that Harry hangs out with Pansy too much. Harry and Pansy definitely don’t get along, but then again, Harry doesn’t really like any of Draco’s other friends. Harry likes Daphne Greengrass a little bit better than most of the girls that seem to be always around Draco. Harry tries not to even look in the eyes of Crabbe and Goyle as they’re extremely annoying pitbull guard dogs, and Zabini also isn’t any near Harry’s close friends, but if Harry was to choose one Slytherin that isn’t Draco to befriend, that would be a girl with glasses named Olivia James. She reminds Harry of a Gryffindor named Hermione Granger, but just vaguely.
Harry also has friends that aren’t going to be invited to the Malfoy’s room anytime soon. Differently from Draco and his Slytherin palls, Harry isn’t arrogant or pretentious to Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, so they’re not too opposed to Harry, but in Gryffindor he has found a couple of good friends, especially Neville Longbottom - who Draco makes an amazing effort not to bully, just because Harry insists a lot on it.
“It’s probably just about how you’re not supposed to hang out with a horrible Gryffindor and how Zabini should be in my place instead,” Harry approaches again, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. When Draco looks, Harry winks, tries to be funny. He doesn’t succeed. “C’mon, Draco, you know it can’t be serious.”
Draco sighs. He presses his lips together.
“Enough about me,” and something happens in his face, and Harry doesn’t like to see it shift into the scowl that Harry watches Draco wear when talking to people he doesn’t trust. “I heard rumours that you’re starting something called D.A.”
There’s betrayal in Draco’s face, and it shocks Harry a little to see it, specifically because of how little Draco shows his actual feelings. Even with so many years of friendship, and mostly trusting each other more than anyone else, it’s still a miracle when Draco decides to openly show something sincere.
He’s not the wearing-the-heart-on-the-sleeve type. Has never been.
“It’s not my initiative, in fact, and it has less to do with me than one would think,” Harry tries, but Draco is already giving him the sceptical look, already looking away to the Forbidden Forest and possibly wondering about other things. Harry insists. “The name isn’t Potter’s Army. It’s Dumbledore’s Army and they’re not willing to defend me, but to defeat Voldemort.”
There’s a tense moment. Harry’s eyes burn in the side of Draco’s face, and it takes him the world not to turn and look back. Instead, Draco takes a really long breath and dives into the nothingness, grabbing his broom and forcing a stop at the middle of the field. Harry follows him without really knowing what to say or do.
“Draco,” Harry calls when they reach the ground and Draco keeps walking, but that doesn’t stop him. “Draco!” Harry tries again, in vain. Rolling his eyes, he gives up on the vocally calling, and runs to Draco, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eye. When the unavoidable eye contact happens, Harry sighs tiredly. “What’s your problem? You act like it’s my fault that Voldemort killed my parents and has been trying to kill me ever since.”
“How delusional!” Draco rolls his eyes, and lets go of Harry’s hold. “The Dark Lord only means to serve Pure Bloods, he has no business with you. I’m sorry he killed your parents, I really am, I can’t even tell how many times when I was younger I wondered why it had to be you to lose them-” he stops himself. Too much revealed. He takes a deep breath, and starts again: “I’m sorry the Dark Lord killed your parents, but it only had to do with your Mum being a muggle and your Dad being married to a muggle. He considers muggle-lovers a cancer and-”
“Well, what do you think?”
It takes Draco aback. He’s been feeling like he’s had this under control, but now Harry’s staring at him with high expectations that he cannot reach. Disconcerted, he clears his throat, and raises an eyebrow. “Dad says-”
“I don’t want to know Lucius’ opinion on the matter,” Harry sighs, looking away, “I know exactly what he thinks of it. He’s made it perfectly clear over the years, and so has lovely Pansy in the couple of times in which we have actually bothered to fight. But I don’t care about Lucius or Pansy. I need to know if you really think my Mum was a mudblood and that I, as not Pure Blood, deserve to die just as well because I’m not worthy of you fucking diehard conservatives.”
This time it’s Draco who sighs, shaking his head like he’s trying his best to not lose it. “Of course I don’t think you’re not worthy. Why would I waste my time with you if I didn’t think you were worthy? What a stupid, Potter-worthy question.”
“Yeah, but is this because you had the chance to meet me for who I am, or is it because I’m a human being? What do you think of that Gryffindor girl from our year, Granger? Born from muggles. Do you think of her as a mudblood just because?”
They’ve discussed things like these before, especially from a couple of months ago to now, when the rumours of Voldemort’s comeback has been increasing with proofs every time less questionable. No one has yet seen him, but many people have claimed to have seen his most loyal servers gathering Pure Bloods.
Someone has tried to kill Harry three times already.
“You’re being dull,” Draco scolds, but taking a step back either way.
“And you’re being evasive!” Harry shouts, and takes another step forward. “Draco, give me a straight answer.”
--
opinion: n.
1. the right to be wrong or right and force this down the ones you love’s throats.
--
Draco sighs. They have been in this before, and it seems it’ll never get old.
“I do, okay? I do. Pure Bloods are better and the families that aren’t pure are indeed inferior. The Potter family was Pure Blood, you carry a great name. I think it’s a shame that you’re not one hundred per cent pure, because your mother was a witch born from muggles, but still, you’re a Half-blood, that must count for something.” Draco doesn’t know what face to wear. There are so many masks he has copied from his father, and none of them seem appropriate for the moment, and unconsciously he mirrors the hurt from Harry’s face. “I-Harry-”
“I can’t really speak to you right now. Maybe you should talk to Zabini.”
--
to leave: v.
1. when all words aren’t enough to express what you feel (or it just isn’t worth it anymore or maybe you just don’t know what is anymore) and you act on it.
2. i wish i was the way you wanted me to, but i can’t. i’m right, why can’t you see, you idiot? come back. don’t leave. because if you leave, i won’t go looking for you; can’t you just see i can’t?
3. i wish you were the way i wanted you to, but you can’t. i’m right, why can’t you see, you idiot? go after me. don’t let me leave. because if i leave, i won’t go looking for you; can’t you just see i can’t?
--
A couple of weeks before Harry Potter’s twelfth birthday, he was at the Malfoy’s mansion, because Draco promised it’d be fun - and maybe it would, and honestly, how could some days at the Malfoy’s hurt when the alternative was the Dursleys?
Most of the time it was indeed fun, for they played Quiddith, even though they weren’t supposed to - they got used to playing when they shouldn’t. It stopped being fun when in a late night when they were playing, a couple of wizards on long dark capes attacked the mansion, and seemed to be aiming at the two boys.
Harry think at him, especially. Draco just wasn’t giving them any space for a clear shot, and perhaps that was what saved him, but he can’t be sure. When Narcissa came, they all disappeared, to what Harry was later explained to be the act of aparating.
“Political enemies,” was what Lucius said, but Harry had a feeling, right in his scar.
Those weren’t political enemies. Not of the Malfoys, anyway.
--
shiver: n.
1. the Malfoy mansion.
--
The light of the Slytherin common room is dim and most students have gone to bed already. The remaining two should have already, but they haven’t. They are both sitting on different couches, both with parchments in front of them.
“Draco…” Pansy Parkinson says in a lazy voice, not taking her eyes off her parchment of Potions. “You should pay attention to me. This is serious,” but her voice is still calm and controlled. “Have you talked to your father yet?”
“No, Pansy, I haven’t,” Draco responds, at an oddly equal tone. “Why’s that?”
She clears her throat. Her voice becomes more serious and immediate. “Our families had a meeting. There are some measures that need to be considered. Has Zabini talked to you about D.A.? Well, we need a counterattack. We need to be our parents’ voices here. You know this is the right thing.”
Draco raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”
Finally, she lets go of her parchment, and walks to Draco. She sits beside him on the couch, taking the parchment from his hands, too, and demanding eye contact. When he hesitantly concedes, she speaks. “Darling, I know you’re friends with Lighting Bolt. But family comes first, and the Cause comes even firster.”
There’s the light of hope in the corner of his mouth, and he says: “Firster isn’t a word.”
He thinks Harry would’ve laughed to that. Pansy doesn’t.
“I know it isn’t, but neology felt very appropriate. We’re starting an era in which we’ll be allowed to create just what we want to. The Dark Lord is rising, and there won’t be a soul to stop us.” Her eyes are bright. She smiles. Draco can barely manage to follow her through the conversation, but straightens himself on the couch and smiles, too, though it’s disappointingly forced - he used to be such a better actor. “Why the face? This is our dream.”
--
our: pron.
1. our parents’. (but don’t worry, for they make a terrific job in inserting wicked morals, so we must carry on with big sick smiles on your faces.)
--
The second time Harry feared for his life, he saw it coming. He was thirteen and in Hosgmeade with his colleagues. He was helping Neville buy a present to a girl named Luna Lovegood. With no success of finding decent present, they found themselves on the street again. It was the moment that Harry felt his scar burning.
Neville noticed it right away, and asked what was wrong. Harry had, in the occasion, shaken his head and murmured something about Neville getting back on the store. Then, Harry saw the wizards coming, one after the other, from the shadows.
Never before had he feared the shadows, but now he did. It panicked him.
He picked his sword but not fast enough. A shadow of spells came his way, but a girl he had seen before in his house, someone he’d later learn to be called Hermione Granger, saw it, and rushed to cast spells back.
As bravely as he’s ever seen anything. Someone ran after her, a ginger boy Harry thought to have seen Draco mock on some other day, and both casted spells until more people came, and eventually Draco came, too, wanting to know what was all that about.
Once adults were there, the wizards disappeared again, but Harry knew they had come to collect him. It was said that it was just an attack from fanatics.
“Are you alright?” Hermione Granger said, frowning, but the ginger looked at them weird, and she blushed, and left after the redheaded before Harry could say anything.
Draco didn’t ask him whether he was alright. He punched him in the arm, a little bit more strongly than probably intended to, and said: “What is your problem, Potter? Getting yourself in the middle of battles and just standing there with your wand to be killed. What - is - wrong - with - your - defective - head?” each word punctuated by a new punch.
Harry didn’t know what to answer back then, but he recognized fear in Draco’s eyes. He knew he’d fear for Draco’s life if it was him. They were best friends, after all. But he should not worry, it was not about Draco.
The burning on his scar started to cease.
--
to burn: v.
1. a fact that occurs mostly during the night, causing often nightmares that make little sense but sometimes are more vivid than anyone would wish for.
2. the most intense thing to ever happen, only sometimes.
--
“Pansy… Do you know how is this gonna happen? I mean, sure, we beat the ones who say no to us. But is this all? I know there will be killing but-”
She stops him, smiling in a rather pitiful manner, absolutely uncharacteristic of her.
“You want to know whether the legend is real. You’re trying not to make the question, but I can see right through you. You want to know if Potter is to be spared or if the Lord will go straight to him, because people think he was the only one able to resist Him.” Draco tries to shrug, but her eyes insist and he ends up nodding. “How am I supposed to know? Olivia James asked me the same question the other day. I think she might be up to something involving D.A. We cannot trust her.”
The comment on Olivia James is likely to be there only to distract Draco’s attention, but when something like this is being discussed, it’s hard to be distracted.
“Who can we trust?” he asks instead, for trusting is a term he has rarely thought of, and never really came naturally.
Her smile spreads into a mocking one. It seems she’s about to either laugh or cry at their misfortune, but chooses to keep the polite smile as a back-up in case anything goes wrong. “Not each other. I mean it. There will be a team. It’s to be sorted, and we’ll be both in it. But don’t trust your allies. Think twice even before trusting me, because if I am to choose between Potter’s life and any Pure Blood’s, I’d choose a Pure Blood’s in a second.”
Draco tries to smile, even if it’s a smirk. “Even if the Pure Blood is a Weasley?”
Pansy laughs, rolling her eyes. “Smartass, I mean a real Pure Blood. In that case, I’d just say to take them both so it’d be over.” There’s a pause. She throws her head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and sighing tiredly. “I don’t know why I don’t like Potter, to be honest. There’s the obvious factors, but I’d ignore them if it meant being in good terms with people around you.”
Doing the same as her in a too hard attempt to relax, he murmurs: “Don’t be a liar. You love not being in good terms with people.”
She laughs. “I mean it. I just never liked the idea of you and him being friends. It always sounded illogical for some reason to me. I’m going beyond the Gryffindor versus Slytherin thing. It just screams danger to me, and you’re like family.”
Slytherins don’t show affection. They most certainly do not say things like you’re like family to each other, especially in such honest tones. They’d do it for interests, but not with warnings and in dim lights of a common room. What they’re having now is beyond any moment Draco has had with his actual family, which reminds him:
“As close to the concept of family we can get.”
Pansy Parkinson shrugs. “You know what I mean. As far as I’m concerned, my royalties lie with you.”
“Until you change your mind.”
“Until I change my mind, of course. Crabbe and Goyle are two dysfunctional toys, they just fear you because you’re more powerful at the age of fifteen then they can allow themselves to dream for a lifetime. Zabini respects you, but would still hand your head in a silver platter if it came to it. Maybe the Greengrass sisters are to be considered. Daphne is good friends with me and I’m pretty sure she’d be loyal to anyone I’d liked her to be, and her younger sister Astoria has a crush on you.”
“Has she?” he cocks an eyebrow smugly, but doesn’t move another muscle.
“She does. Pure Blood and all.”
Draco smiles.
There’s a noise. They both look away, but can see nothing. It’s enough to bring them back to real life though, because Pansy clears her throat, getting up from the couch.
“Wasn’t this a good chitchat? Now let’s get out of here. I’ll see if I can find Millicent Bulstrode up and you go find a way of talking to the Big Malfoy. He’s certain to know a lot more than I do, and he’ll probably enlighten you on how your B.F.F.ship with Mr. Boy Who Lived will be.”
Draco nods, and gets up too. “Hey, Pansy?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a horrible, indecent, untrustworthy person.”
She smiles.
With no less than a serious tone, he adds: “I’d be nowhere without you.”
“My pleasure, honey, my pleasure. Now I’m off to haunt mudbloods.”
“See you.”
--
ally: n.
1. someone who would maybe die for you, but never live for you.
--
The third time Harry has thought his life would come to an end, he was with Draco again. It was in the Forbidden Forest, during a detention that Snape had assigned them to when one night found them out playing Quidditch - though, of course, for unanswered reasons, only took points from Gryffindor.
Harry felt his scar burning like never before. He fell to the ground, touched his forehead. Draco knelt beside him, touched his forehead, and his eyes were wide and scared. Then there were steps, and before Harry could realize, they were both running, and the night turned into day by the spells illuminating the way and, fortunately, hitting trees and the ground.
They ran until they were out of air, and Harry only realized they stopped running when he found himself on the ground, and Draco had his own wand on a firm grip, and his lips were trembling and there was a dark wizard screaming on the ground.
It was a defense spell gone wrong. None of them knew for sure whether the wizard was hurt or dead, but the noise woke up more creatures than the attackers hoped for, and there were centaurs near them.
They disappeared, like before. Harry said a shaken thank you to the centaur who looked to be leading, but the creature ignored him, seeming to hate any human being with all his guts.
“What happened?” said Draco, and Harry didn’t know what to say.
That was last year.
--
war: n.
1. what starts when nobody notices.
--
to be continued.
characters: draco/harry (harry potter)
word count: 4,044 words
warnings: this is the first chapter. for prologue, go here. if you like the premise, feel free to friend me for updates.
summary: a handshake that comes before anything else might be a valuable enough start for a friendship.
- prologue | chapter one |
It’s more than a simple statement, but something else entirely. It’s like a surprising bite when Harry’s flying and there’s only his broom and him, but then there’s also Draco’s voice, saying: “You’re ridiculous, Potter.”
“Don’t make me kick your arse again, Malfoy,” is the automatic answer as Harry flies by Draco, and when he finds himself starting a race against the Slytherin, he rushes to add: “It’s getting repetitive.”
“Ha! How cute of you to think you can beat me. I’d tell you to let your fans know that you’re trying to get canny but-wait, you don’t have fans,” Draco fakes lament, and smirks as he gets faster by the second. “Because you suck.”
Harry laughs out loud, and hurries to get to the point where Draco is, almost out of the Quidditch field. “Was that supposed to be clever?”
With that, Harry pushes Draco slightly off the broom, not really intending for the other to fall. It goes as planned, merely making the blond roll his eyes as he straightens himself still on the broom. The: “Shut up, Potter,” is nothing but a whisper.
--
routine: n.
1. bickering for no good reason, because after five years of friendship you’ve got to get used to the other’s flaws;
2. being in the Quidditch field when you’re not supposed to anymore, sometimes even with your house uniforms, the red and green being seen from afar but not really much being heard except if you’re part of it.
--
“You weren’t this silent in the Potions class early. You were actually quite impossible with your know-it-all Snape-kiss-ass attitude,” Harry says, but there’s a concerning smile on his lips that makes his eye glue on the back of Draco’s head as he flies just a little bit ahead, just so Harry won’t see his face.
All the joking happy sounds seem to be exterminated in a second. Draco sighs almost inaudibly, and says: “That was before I got an owl from Dad. He wants to talk to me as soon as possible, and I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
--
routine²: n.
1. the sinking feeling right at your stomach making you feel dizzy because you may know what this is all about.
2. a question, a statement, or sometimes may be an exclamation. perhaps to be a word, but last time was: “aren’t you too friends?” and there’s the eyebrow cocking and mum watching with the corner of her eyes, pretending she isn’t paying attention to the very detail of it.
--
There’s a moment of silence between them, where the unsaid speaks louder than any of them could voice. Harry isn’t a big fan of Lucius Malfoy, though they have tolerated each other over the years. Lucius’ clear preference for Zabini is unsettling, and even Pansy Parkinson has noticed that Harry Potter and Lucius Malfoy can’t be in the same room unless Draco is between them - she has stated so, in very indelicate manners to Narcissa’s taste.
Not that Harry hangs out with Pansy too much. Harry and Pansy definitely don’t get along, but then again, Harry doesn’t really like any of Draco’s other friends. Harry likes Daphne Greengrass a little bit better than most of the girls that seem to be always around Draco. Harry tries not to even look in the eyes of Crabbe and Goyle as they’re extremely annoying pitbull guard dogs, and Zabini also isn’t any near Harry’s close friends, but if Harry was to choose one Slytherin that isn’t Draco to befriend, that would be a girl with glasses named Olivia James. She reminds Harry of a Gryffindor named Hermione Granger, but just vaguely.
Harry also has friends that aren’t going to be invited to the Malfoy’s room anytime soon. Differently from Draco and his Slytherin palls, Harry isn’t arrogant or pretentious to Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs, so they’re not too opposed to Harry, but in Gryffindor he has found a couple of good friends, especially Neville Longbottom - who Draco makes an amazing effort not to bully, just because Harry insists a lot on it.
“It’s probably just about how you’re not supposed to hang out with a horrible Gryffindor and how Zabini should be in my place instead,” Harry approaches again, putting a hand on Draco’s shoulder. When Draco looks, Harry winks, tries to be funny. He doesn’t succeed. “C’mon, Draco, you know it can’t be serious.”
Draco sighs. He presses his lips together.
“Enough about me,” and something happens in his face, and Harry doesn’t like to see it shift into the scowl that Harry watches Draco wear when talking to people he doesn’t trust. “I heard rumours that you’re starting something called D.A.”
There’s betrayal in Draco’s face, and it shocks Harry a little to see it, specifically because of how little Draco shows his actual feelings. Even with so many years of friendship, and mostly trusting each other more than anyone else, it’s still a miracle when Draco decides to openly show something sincere.
He’s not the wearing-the-heart-on-the-sleeve type. Has never been.
“It’s not my initiative, in fact, and it has less to do with me than one would think,” Harry tries, but Draco is already giving him the sceptical look, already looking away to the Forbidden Forest and possibly wondering about other things. Harry insists. “The name isn’t Potter’s Army. It’s Dumbledore’s Army and they’re not willing to defend me, but to defeat Voldemort.”
There’s a tense moment. Harry’s eyes burn in the side of Draco’s face, and it takes him the world not to turn and look back. Instead, Draco takes a really long breath and dives into the nothingness, grabbing his broom and forcing a stop at the middle of the field. Harry follows him without really knowing what to say or do.
“Draco,” Harry calls when they reach the ground and Draco keeps walking, but that doesn’t stop him. “Draco!” Harry tries again, in vain. Rolling his eyes, he gives up on the vocally calling, and runs to Draco, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look him in the eye. When the unavoidable eye contact happens, Harry sighs tiredly. “What’s your problem? You act like it’s my fault that Voldemort killed my parents and has been trying to kill me ever since.”
“How delusional!” Draco rolls his eyes, and lets go of Harry’s hold. “The Dark Lord only means to serve Pure Bloods, he has no business with you. I’m sorry he killed your parents, I really am, I can’t even tell how many times when I was younger I wondered why it had to be you to lose them-” he stops himself. Too much revealed. He takes a deep breath, and starts again: “I’m sorry the Dark Lord killed your parents, but it only had to do with your Mum being a muggle and your Dad being married to a muggle. He considers muggle-lovers a cancer and-”
“Well, what do you think?”
It takes Draco aback. He’s been feeling like he’s had this under control, but now Harry’s staring at him with high expectations that he cannot reach. Disconcerted, he clears his throat, and raises an eyebrow. “Dad says-”
“I don’t want to know Lucius’ opinion on the matter,” Harry sighs, looking away, “I know exactly what he thinks of it. He’s made it perfectly clear over the years, and so has lovely Pansy in the couple of times in which we have actually bothered to fight. But I don’t care about Lucius or Pansy. I need to know if you really think my Mum was a mudblood and that I, as not Pure Blood, deserve to die just as well because I’m not worthy of you fucking diehard conservatives.”
This time it’s Draco who sighs, shaking his head like he’s trying his best to not lose it. “Of course I don’t think you’re not worthy. Why would I waste my time with you if I didn’t think you were worthy? What a stupid, Potter-worthy question.”
“Yeah, but is this because you had the chance to meet me for who I am, or is it because I’m a human being? What do you think of that Gryffindor girl from our year, Granger? Born from muggles. Do you think of her as a mudblood just because?”
They’ve discussed things like these before, especially from a couple of months ago to now, when the rumours of Voldemort’s comeback has been increasing with proofs every time less questionable. No one has yet seen him, but many people have claimed to have seen his most loyal servers gathering Pure Bloods.
Someone has tried to kill Harry three times already.
“You’re being dull,” Draco scolds, but taking a step back either way.
“And you’re being evasive!” Harry shouts, and takes another step forward. “Draco, give me a straight answer.”
--
opinion: n.
1. the right to be wrong or right and force this down the ones you love’s throats.
--
Draco sighs. They have been in this before, and it seems it’ll never get old.
“I do, okay? I do. Pure Bloods are better and the families that aren’t pure are indeed inferior. The Potter family was Pure Blood, you carry a great name. I think it’s a shame that you’re not one hundred per cent pure, because your mother was a witch born from muggles, but still, you’re a Half-blood, that must count for something.” Draco doesn’t know what face to wear. There are so many masks he has copied from his father, and none of them seem appropriate for the moment, and unconsciously he mirrors the hurt from Harry’s face. “I-Harry-”
“I can’t really speak to you right now. Maybe you should talk to Zabini.”
--
to leave: v.
1. when all words aren’t enough to express what you feel (or it just isn’t worth it anymore or maybe you just don’t know what is anymore) and you act on it.
2. i wish i was the way you wanted me to, but i can’t. i’m right, why can’t you see, you idiot? come back. don’t leave. because if you leave, i won’t go looking for you; can’t you just see i can’t?
3. i wish you were the way i wanted you to, but you can’t. i’m right, why can’t you see, you idiot? go after me. don’t let me leave. because if i leave, i won’t go looking for you; can’t you just see i can’t?
--
A couple of weeks before Harry Potter’s twelfth birthday, he was at the Malfoy’s mansion, because Draco promised it’d be fun - and maybe it would, and honestly, how could some days at the Malfoy’s hurt when the alternative was the Dursleys?
Most of the time it was indeed fun, for they played Quiddith, even though they weren’t supposed to - they got used to playing when they shouldn’t. It stopped being fun when in a late night when they were playing, a couple of wizards on long dark capes attacked the mansion, and seemed to be aiming at the two boys.
Harry think at him, especially. Draco just wasn’t giving them any space for a clear shot, and perhaps that was what saved him, but he can’t be sure. When Narcissa came, they all disappeared, to what Harry was later explained to be the act of aparating.
“Political enemies,” was what Lucius said, but Harry had a feeling, right in his scar.
Those weren’t political enemies. Not of the Malfoys, anyway.
--
shiver: n.
1. the Malfoy mansion.
--
The light of the Slytherin common room is dim and most students have gone to bed already. The remaining two should have already, but they haven’t. They are both sitting on different couches, both with parchments in front of them.
“Draco…” Pansy Parkinson says in a lazy voice, not taking her eyes off her parchment of Potions. “You should pay attention to me. This is serious,” but her voice is still calm and controlled. “Have you talked to your father yet?”
“No, Pansy, I haven’t,” Draco responds, at an oddly equal tone. “Why’s that?”
She clears her throat. Her voice becomes more serious and immediate. “Our families had a meeting. There are some measures that need to be considered. Has Zabini talked to you about D.A.? Well, we need a counterattack. We need to be our parents’ voices here. You know this is the right thing.”
Draco raises an eyebrow. “Hmm.”
Finally, she lets go of her parchment, and walks to Draco. She sits beside him on the couch, taking the parchment from his hands, too, and demanding eye contact. When he hesitantly concedes, she speaks. “Darling, I know you’re friends with Lighting Bolt. But family comes first, and the Cause comes even firster.”
There’s the light of hope in the corner of his mouth, and he says: “Firster isn’t a word.”
He thinks Harry would’ve laughed to that. Pansy doesn’t.
“I know it isn’t, but neology felt very appropriate. We’re starting an era in which we’ll be allowed to create just what we want to. The Dark Lord is rising, and there won’t be a soul to stop us.” Her eyes are bright. She smiles. Draco can barely manage to follow her through the conversation, but straightens himself on the couch and smiles, too, though it’s disappointingly forced - he used to be such a better actor. “Why the face? This is our dream.”
--
our: pron.
1. our parents’. (but don’t worry, for they make a terrific job in inserting wicked morals, so we must carry on with big sick smiles on your faces.)
--
The second time Harry feared for his life, he saw it coming. He was thirteen and in Hosgmeade with his colleagues. He was helping Neville buy a present to a girl named Luna Lovegood. With no success of finding decent present, they found themselves on the street again. It was the moment that Harry felt his scar burning.
Neville noticed it right away, and asked what was wrong. Harry had, in the occasion, shaken his head and murmured something about Neville getting back on the store. Then, Harry saw the wizards coming, one after the other, from the shadows.
Never before had he feared the shadows, but now he did. It panicked him.
He picked his sword but not fast enough. A shadow of spells came his way, but a girl he had seen before in his house, someone he’d later learn to be called Hermione Granger, saw it, and rushed to cast spells back.
As bravely as he’s ever seen anything. Someone ran after her, a ginger boy Harry thought to have seen Draco mock on some other day, and both casted spells until more people came, and eventually Draco came, too, wanting to know what was all that about.
Once adults were there, the wizards disappeared again, but Harry knew they had come to collect him. It was said that it was just an attack from fanatics.
“Are you alright?” Hermione Granger said, frowning, but the ginger looked at them weird, and she blushed, and left after the redheaded before Harry could say anything.
Draco didn’t ask him whether he was alright. He punched him in the arm, a little bit more strongly than probably intended to, and said: “What is your problem, Potter? Getting yourself in the middle of battles and just standing there with your wand to be killed. What - is - wrong - with - your - defective - head?” each word punctuated by a new punch.
Harry didn’t know what to answer back then, but he recognized fear in Draco’s eyes. He knew he’d fear for Draco’s life if it was him. They were best friends, after all. But he should not worry, it was not about Draco.
The burning on his scar started to cease.
--
to burn: v.
1. a fact that occurs mostly during the night, causing often nightmares that make little sense but sometimes are more vivid than anyone would wish for.
2. the most intense thing to ever happen, only sometimes.
--
“Pansy… Do you know how is this gonna happen? I mean, sure, we beat the ones who say no to us. But is this all? I know there will be killing but-”
She stops him, smiling in a rather pitiful manner, absolutely uncharacteristic of her.
“You want to know whether the legend is real. You’re trying not to make the question, but I can see right through you. You want to know if Potter is to be spared or if the Lord will go straight to him, because people think he was the only one able to resist Him.” Draco tries to shrug, but her eyes insist and he ends up nodding. “How am I supposed to know? Olivia James asked me the same question the other day. I think she might be up to something involving D.A. We cannot trust her.”
The comment on Olivia James is likely to be there only to distract Draco’s attention, but when something like this is being discussed, it’s hard to be distracted.
“Who can we trust?” he asks instead, for trusting is a term he has rarely thought of, and never really came naturally.
Her smile spreads into a mocking one. It seems she’s about to either laugh or cry at their misfortune, but chooses to keep the polite smile as a back-up in case anything goes wrong. “Not each other. I mean it. There will be a team. It’s to be sorted, and we’ll be both in it. But don’t trust your allies. Think twice even before trusting me, because if I am to choose between Potter’s life and any Pure Blood’s, I’d choose a Pure Blood’s in a second.”
Draco tries to smile, even if it’s a smirk. “Even if the Pure Blood is a Weasley?”
Pansy laughs, rolling her eyes. “Smartass, I mean a real Pure Blood. In that case, I’d just say to take them both so it’d be over.” There’s a pause. She throws her head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling and sighing tiredly. “I don’t know why I don’t like Potter, to be honest. There’s the obvious factors, but I’d ignore them if it meant being in good terms with people around you.”
Doing the same as her in a too hard attempt to relax, he murmurs: “Don’t be a liar. You love not being in good terms with people.”
She laughs. “I mean it. I just never liked the idea of you and him being friends. It always sounded illogical for some reason to me. I’m going beyond the Gryffindor versus Slytherin thing. It just screams danger to me, and you’re like family.”
Slytherins don’t show affection. They most certainly do not say things like you’re like family to each other, especially in such honest tones. They’d do it for interests, but not with warnings and in dim lights of a common room. What they’re having now is beyond any moment Draco has had with his actual family, which reminds him:
“As close to the concept of family we can get.”
Pansy Parkinson shrugs. “You know what I mean. As far as I’m concerned, my royalties lie with you.”
“Until you change your mind.”
“Until I change my mind, of course. Crabbe and Goyle are two dysfunctional toys, they just fear you because you’re more powerful at the age of fifteen then they can allow themselves to dream for a lifetime. Zabini respects you, but would still hand your head in a silver platter if it came to it. Maybe the Greengrass sisters are to be considered. Daphne is good friends with me and I’m pretty sure she’d be loyal to anyone I’d liked her to be, and her younger sister Astoria has a crush on you.”
“Has she?” he cocks an eyebrow smugly, but doesn’t move another muscle.
“She does. Pure Blood and all.”
Draco smiles.
There’s a noise. They both look away, but can see nothing. It’s enough to bring them back to real life though, because Pansy clears her throat, getting up from the couch.
“Wasn’t this a good chitchat? Now let’s get out of here. I’ll see if I can find Millicent Bulstrode up and you go find a way of talking to the Big Malfoy. He’s certain to know a lot more than I do, and he’ll probably enlighten you on how your B.F.F.ship with Mr. Boy Who Lived will be.”
Draco nods, and gets up too. “Hey, Pansy?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re a horrible, indecent, untrustworthy person.”
She smiles.
With no less than a serious tone, he adds: “I’d be nowhere without you.”
“My pleasure, honey, my pleasure. Now I’m off to haunt mudbloods.”
“See you.”
--
ally: n.
1. someone who would maybe die for you, but never live for you.
--
The third time Harry has thought his life would come to an end, he was with Draco again. It was in the Forbidden Forest, during a detention that Snape had assigned them to when one night found them out playing Quidditch - though, of course, for unanswered reasons, only took points from Gryffindor.
Harry felt his scar burning like never before. He fell to the ground, touched his forehead. Draco knelt beside him, touched his forehead, and his eyes were wide and scared. Then there were steps, and before Harry could realize, they were both running, and the night turned into day by the spells illuminating the way and, fortunately, hitting trees and the ground.
They ran until they were out of air, and Harry only realized they stopped running when he found himself on the ground, and Draco had his own wand on a firm grip, and his lips were trembling and there was a dark wizard screaming on the ground.
It was a defense spell gone wrong. None of them knew for sure whether the wizard was hurt or dead, but the noise woke up more creatures than the attackers hoped for, and there were centaurs near them.
They disappeared, like before. Harry said a shaken thank you to the centaur who looked to be leading, but the creature ignored him, seeming to hate any human being with all his guts.
“What happened?” said Draco, and Harry didn’t know what to say.
That was last year.
--
war: n.
1. what starts when nobody notices.
--
to be continued.
- prologue | chapter one |