Chapter Text
A few days before the match against Ravenclaw, Harry found himself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay. More out of habit than anything, Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder's Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he saw Malfoy's tiny, labeled dot standing in a boys’ bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle.
Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armor. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open. Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.
"Don't," crooned Moaning Myrtle's voice from one of the cubicles. "Don't. . . tell me what's wrong ... I can help you. . . ."
"No one can help me," said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. "I can’t do it. ... I can't. ... It won't work . . . and unless 1 do it soon ... he says he’ll kill me. ..."
And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying -- actually crying -- tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into flu-cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder. Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy's hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another --
"No! No! Stop it!" squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. "Stop! STOP!"
There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall be-hind Malfoy’s ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted and Harry hesitated, watching as Malfoy cried, “Crucio!”
As the curse flew towards him Harry braced himself, his hesitation not affording him enough time to jump out of the way.
The curse struck Harry and a minor sting struck his shoulder.
He blinked.
Having expected the blinding pain of the torture curse Harry almost didn’t know what to make of the barely noticeable strike. He wondered if maybe Malfoy had missed. Malfoy on the other hand, wasted no time with confusion. The anger that had seconds ago dominated his pale features was replaced by a look of horror.
“Potter! Oh Merlin Potter I’m so sorry,” he cried rushing forward. “I swear I didn’t mean it.”
A fresh wave of tears erupted from the boy’s face, but his apology startled Harry more than anything else. He couldn’t recall another instance in his life that he had heard the words ‘I’m sorry’ leave Draco Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy himself had taken to repeating his mantras “I didn’t mean to” and “I’m sorry”, more to himself than Harry. He had fallen to his knees and buried his face in his hands shaking once again.
Harry was completely taken aback.
He watched for a moment as the normally proud and snobbish Draco Malfoy fell apart in front of him, with Moaning Myrtle watching on from the sidelines.
“Listen Malfoy… Its okay, I suppose.” He said, in a valiant attempt to stop the tears flowing from his nemesis’ face.
“Its not fucking okay Potter! I cannot believe I used that curse! That awful bloody curse- I didn’t mean to!” He sobbed.
“Yeah, you’ve mentioned. I believe you, you didn’t mean it.” Harry lied. He wasn’t entirely sure how someone could accidentally use a curse like the Cruciatus but he worried that pointing that out might make Malfoy’s tears even more violent.
As the words left his mouth though he thought back to the Ministry of Magic the year before, the night that Sirius died in their disastrous attempt at a rescue mission. He though back to his own desperate attempt at revenge on Bellatrix Lestrange and her cackled laugh taunting him “you have to mean it Potter” she had hissed as she threw the curse at him. He remembered the searing, unimaginable pain, the way his muscles ached for days afterwards- Malfoy’s curse had done nothing of the sort. Already he felt fine, he knew the raw hatred the Cruciatus curse demanded wasn’t there. Perhaps Malfoy really hadn’t meant it… or he realised his mistake.
“Is that what you’re so upset about?” Harry asked, growing angry. “That you tried to curse me but you didn’t mean it enough so it didn’t work?”
“What are you on about Potter?” Malfoy asked, his red rimmed eyes looking up at him for the first time.
“The curse doesn’t work properly if you don’t mean it. Is that what you’re upset about?”
“NO!” Malfoy shouted, climbing back onto his feet. “You idiot. I’m fucking upset because I went to use that bloody curse even though I knew what it could do. I didn’t even think about it! If I’d have thought for even a second I swear I wouldn’t have cast it, I didn’t want to… I’m turning into the kind of person who does that without even thinking about it. Is that better reasoning for you Saint Potter?”
“Well I mean… I’ll be honest I do feel a bit better about that reasoning, you know, just because I appreciate not being tortured.”
At Harry’s stumbled response Draco let out a wholly undignified snort. It seemed this was a day full of new sounds and sights of Draco Malfoy, first tears, then apologies and now snorting, Harry hoped this would be the end of what he would learn about the blond that day. He wasn’t sure he needed to know any more of his other ‘undignified sounds’.
“Listen… Malfoy” Harry began awkwardly “If you don’t want to turn into that kind of person, why don’t you just swap sides?”
“Just swap sides.” Malfoy echoed. “If only it were that easy.”
“It could be! I’m sure Dumbledore would help you if you wanted to leave…. If you want to leave… I don’t actually know what you want, but I figure being surrounded by Death Eaters all the time might not be what you want… given your whole freak out I thought I’d just put the offer out there. I’m not a fan of yours Malfoy but you seem like kind of a wreck.”
“Oh don’t pity me for Circe’s sake.”
“Trust me, I don’t pity you. I don’t even like you. I just thought I’d put the suggestion out there.” Harry snapped.
“What? Just in case the thought of not being involved with the Dark Lord just hadn’t ever occurred to me?” Draco retorted, glaring down at the shorter boy.
“Don’t be shitty with me Malfoy, I was just being nice.”
“Can’t resist playing the hero can you Saint Potter? Have to rescue all the baddies and save all the Death Eaters do you?” He spat. Malfoy had always had that ability, to make Harry feel small and ridiculous for doing the right thing. It was probably his worst quality, though of course, competition was stiff.
“Fine. Whatever. I’m leaving.”
“Fuck off then!”
Harry turned to leave what had to be in the top five strangest encounters he had ever had in a bathroom. The top one strangest encounter he had ever had in a boys bathroom.
Ready to go back to the common room leave Draco bloody Malfoy to his own shit. He had made it only a few paces before the blond stopped him.
“Wait!” He shouted, grabbing Harry’s arm to prevent him leaving.
“What happened to me fucking off?”
“Well you should still do that. Definitely. But… Look Potter I don’t like you.”
“Cheers Malfoy. I’m not a fan of yours either.”
“No I mean I really genuinely hate you. You’re the worst person I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting, you’re horribly shabby looking, you spend all your time surrounded by such hopeless cases as Granger, the Weasel, and even Longbottom, you’re somehow every teacher’s pet despite the fact that you truly are a complete dunderhead and I hate that stupid scar and your stupid glasses and overall you are just generally completely unpleasant and I hate you. You know that right?”
“None of those things at all are news to me. Like I said though, I don’t like you either. You’re such a dick Malfoy, honestly, I don’t even know how you do it, do you genuinely have to put extra effort in every day to make yourself more obnoxious and awful than necessary?”
“So you can appreciate that what I’m going to say next will be challenging for me.”
“I might be able to… It depends on what you say….” Harry crossed his fingers that this encounter wouldn’t get any more bizzare and make a move towards his number one strangest bathroom encounter… he didn’t think he could handle this exchange becoming any weirder.
“Can you not tell anyone about this?”
Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t had any intention to tell anyone about his odd morning spent in the bathroom with Draco Malfoy, but the request rubbed him the wrong way. “You mean the way you would keep it to yourself if the situation was reversed?”
Draco flinched, knowing of course that Harry was right. Of course he would tell everyone if the situation was reversed, but the situation was not reversed and Draco needed for his indiscretion to not get out, more than he needed his pride.
“Please Potter, I would be in your debt.” He asks, shamefully allowing his voice to sound pleading.
Harry was undoubtedly interested in what being in Malfoy’s debt might mean, what he might be able to ask for in return for his silence, but more than anything it was his use of the word ‘please’ that caused him to begin nodding. “Yeah, okay. I won’t mention it to anyone.”
“Thank you.” Draco nodded, his shoulders releasing some built up tension. He regarded Harry for a moment longer, as if waiting for a change of heart before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.
***
Harry returned to his dormitory that evening feeling like he had been hit with a particularly strong Confundus charm.
He really needed to stop having strange encounters in bathrooms, soon enough he would reach his limit on oddities he was able to process.
But somehow his interaction with Malfoy kept replaying in his mind. He was surprised, sure. Underneath that though, he felt a bizarre sense of relief that he couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t like Malfoy and had always (quite vocally) thought him to be a complete wanker, but the hint that he might not be quite as bad as he acted filled Harry with a sense of hope. After some deliberation he decided (quite firmly) that he was relieved simply because if Slytherin’s Prince Pureblood could be even a hair’s breath less fanatical than once expected, then maybe there were others who felt the same. Yeah, Harry reasoned, in the last few months it had been seeming as though every second person was being swayed by the crap the ministry was starting to publish, or the Death Eater philosophy. Maybe students who were already more moderate than Malfoy might not be as convinced as Harry had assumed. It was a lovely thought. Any wonder he felt relieved.
It had nothing to do with Malfoy personally.
That would be ridiculous.
Arriving in the common room later than expected Harry prepared himself for the barrage of questioning that would meet him, in the form of Ron and Hermione. Harry already tensed, not being very good at lying to his best friends and hoping they wouldn’t press him too much.
“Harry! There you are!” Hermione called spotting him as soon as he stepped out of the portrait hole.
“Why on earth are you all wet?” She asked taking in his drenched school uniform. Somehow during the madness he had forgotten that the burst pipelines had in fact given him an impromptu shower and he had therefore neglected his drying charm. He cast it quickly.
“Oh, yeah… I ugh. I got into a bit of a duel with Malfoy in the bathroom.” Harry told her, cringing. He had hoped that by sticking as close to the truth as possible he would find it easier to keep a straight story. He hadn’t thought about how many more questions the story opened up.
“You followed him into a bathroom?” She asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yeah… I thought he might be up to - wait hang on! How do you know I followed him. Maybe he followed me and I was accosted in the loos!”
Ron laughed from across the common room “Come off it mate, of course you followed him, isn’t following him how you spend most of your time?”
“He’s up to something!” Harry shouted with conviction. He was right after all.
Hermione and Ron both rolled their eyes, “of course he is Harry.” Hermione sighed, patting him on his shoulder.
She made her way back across the room and sat back down with Ron on the seats closest to the lounge. Harry shrugged to himself and followed, apparently Harry following Malfoy and having a skirmish in a bathroom wasn’t at all interesting enough to provoke questions from his friends. Harry smirked to himself, happy to have dodged a second bullet for the day and settled in to a nice night with his friends, pretending, at least for a moment that the earlier events of the day hadn’t happened.
***
Draco Malfoy on the other hand, returned to his common room in a state of near panic. He flew down the endless flights of stairs to the dungeons, all but shouted the password at the portrait and made a bee line to his own dormitory.
As soon as the familiar green room came into view Draco threw himself onto his bed and drew his curtains closed. Lying on his bed he panted, fear making his blood run cold as he began to struggle for breath. He raked his hands through his hair, his whole body trembling as he struggled to breathe properly. Tears pooled behind his closed eyes and he rocked himself back and forth, trying to ease his mounting sense of dread and overwhelm.
He didn’t know how much time had passed, he never did.
Panic attacks had been coming consistently throughout his sixth year, ever since that damn mark had been branded into his arm. He thought of the Dark Lord, his father’s pleas that he not let down the family, his mother’s tears, Potter’s horrified expression, the day he found out that he had nearly killed Katie Bell, the day he found out he had nearly killed Weasley (he didn’t even like Weasley and admittedly he didn’t have any feelings about Bell one way or the other, but he was still taunted and traumatised by the thought of what he might have been responsible for).
He knew he would eventually be responsible for worse. His stomach lurched violently at the thought. Fortunately he could take a small amount of comfort in the fact that he wouldn’t be sick this time, it had been too long since he had eaten anything substantial enough to throw up in the event he did get sick again.
His failures, his responsibilities, his future and the fact that he was apparently becoming more and more the kind of person he had never wanted to become swirled through his mind, not long enough for him to concentrate on any in particular. The picture overall was bleak. As bleak as Draco’s very existence since the Dark Lord had returned. And through it all he saw, clear as it was only minutes (hours? Days? Who knew how much time had passed?) ago, Potter’s bright green eyes alight with horror as the attempted Unforgivable hurtled towards him.
He remembered the terrible pain of the Curse. His Auntie Bella had been of the mindset that nothing taught a person how to perform the curses better than experiencing them first hand (fortunately she didn’t hold the same beleif when it came to the killing curse…. Or unfortunately, depending on what kind of mood Draco was in).
All her ‘practical demonstrations’ had done was open Draco’s eyes. He had been terrified, both at the thought of having to endure such a curse, and at the thought of having to administer it to another person. Lucius Malfoy of course, the dutiful father in his own way, had been furious when he had learned of Bellatrix’s ‘lessons’ with Draco, but the damage had been done.
Draco wasn’t like his Aunt, neither were anyone in his immediate family. Unfortunately his fanatical, obsessive and disgustingly besotted Aunt had rather set the bar in terms of expected Death Eater behaviour over the years. Neither Draco nor his parents had ever liked the idea of resorting to violence, or even supporting the reasons behind the violence, truth be told. But what was done was done, and it seemed Draco had to pay the cost.
The thought of turning out like his Aunt however, triggered a fresh wave of tears. He couldn’t allow himself to become the kind of person who threw unforgivable curses at people. He just couldn’t. He wouldn’t!… He knew what would happen if he didn’t use them, at least to the fulfilment of his mission though.
Even still, he allowed the sweet fantasy of not turning into a monster lull him to sleep.