hacked off that it messed up your hair.'
Draco was about to respond when another half-painful jolt of feeling shot up his arm, and he suddenly realized that he was holding his sword again. He didn?t remember picking it up, either.
He dropped it quickly and stood up, ignoring Fleurs proffered hand. He glanced down one more time at Harry, who was trying to brush the dust off his shirt — a losing proposition. Then he glanced back at the sealed door, remembering the splintering of the adamantine box in Lupins office, shattered by Harrys anger, and he wished that he could make himself feel that kind of rage, or pain, or grief, or anything that strong, but the emotional control drilled into him by a lifetime of his fathers teachings just could not be dissipated so quickly, no matter how much he wished it could.
Do it, he said to himself. You have to. Theres no choice.
'Harry,' said Draco, and Harry looked up, his green eyes sparking with amusement, his mouth curving up into a smile.
'…Draco?' he replied, mimicking both Dracos use of his first name and his anxious tone. 'What?'
Draco could hear his own blood pounding in his ears. Why is this so hard? he thought to himself, furiously. If there was one thing he was good at, one thing he had been practicing unvaryingly and with great dedication since he was eleven years old, it was getting Harry Potter angry. Maybe he hadn?t gotten much practice at it in the past two months, but all those years of knowing exactly where to hit Harry to hurt him the most — that wasn?t something he could just forget how to do.
Was it?
'What?' said Harry again, still smiling, getting to his feet. 'Are you going to tell me you slept with Hermione again, just to get me mad?
You said yourself that won?t work.'
'No,' said Draco. 'I?m not going to tell you that.'
Something in Dracos tone made Harrys smile slip a notch. 'What, then?'
'When I died,' said Draco, 'I saw the Founders.'
Harry shrugged. 'I know — Hermione told me.'
'They weren?t the only ghosts in that place,' said Draco, and waited. Surely Harry would know what he meant. He raised his eyes to Harry, saw his expression, that there was no smile on his face and his green eyes were blank; Draco couldn?t read them.
Harry shook away the dark hair that had fallen into his eyes.
'Malfoy? What do you mean?'
'I mean I saw your parents, Potter.'
The color went from Harrys face as if it had been slapped away.
'What?'
'You heard me.'
Very slowly, Harry took the Gryffindor sword and turned to lean it against the wall. Then he turned back to face Draco. His green eyes were dark with confusion and a dawning mistrust. 'Thats not funny.'
'I?m not trying to be funny.'
'You?re a liar,' said Harry shortly, shaking his head. 'You think I don?t know that about you?'
Draco straightened his shoulders. He was vaguely aware of Fleur, somewhere off to his left, staring at them both with wide eyes, but the world had narrowed down to just him and Harry — the way it had been for years; just him and Harry and what there was between them — call it opposition or hatred or whatever you like. The desire to hurt Harry as much as possible might have left him, but the ability to do it had not. Had, in fact, only grown stronger. How he would have killed, just last year, to know the things he knew about Harry now — how he felt, how he loved, what were the most important things in the world to him. Hurting Harry had always been hitting out in the dark, but now it could be as precise and explicit as surgery; and he didn?t want to do it, and yet he had to, because his father had always told him to consider every option and then pick the best one, and this might not be the best option, but as far as he could see, it was the only option.
I?m not lying, Potter. Its the truth.
No immediate reply came from Harry, just a shock wave of confusion and hurt and astonishment. Finally, he managed a shaky and very unconvincing smile. 'You think I?m going to fall for this twice?'
Draco stared at him. 'You think I?m lying about this?'
'Of course you are. I know you. You just can?t see a belt without hitting below it, can you Malfoy? But I know what you?re trying to do. Good thought, but you were right before — it won?t work.'
Draco stared at him. Its like you told me before, Potter. You can?t lie telepathically. Did you forget?
Harry went white, and this time seemed to have nothing at all to say.
Draco didn?t look at him, just went on: When I died, it wasn?t all blackness. I went to a place in between life and death, where the murdered are waiting to be avenged. Its not a pleasant place. Its gray and cold, and the ghosts can?t talk to each other, only to living people. I did talk to the Founders. Only when I was in the middle of talking to them someone else came up to me and asked me if I was Lucius Malfoys son. It was your father.
Now Draco did look up, and saw Harry staring at him, his eyes huge in his white face. His mouth moved, soundlessly. No. I don?t believe it. You talked to my father? You?
Draco nodded. And your mother.
Harry put his hands behind him and felt for the wall, leaning back as if he was having trouble staying upright. You?re lying. You must be.
You know I?m not.
