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Fine Lines	By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8051 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Fine Lines

Author: Squirrelchaser
(squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)

Warning: Slash (Harry/Draco), violence (kind
of child abuse), character death. Contains spoilers for the
Half Blood Prince. NC-17. ***Ages changed to 18
for the sake of my own squick, but doesn�t affect
story.

Summary: Harry finds the final Horcrux. Takes place after the end of the
sixth book (Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince), which you will have to
have read to understand this story.

Disclaimer: All of this is JK Rowling�s, who
penned and owns the Harry Potter series. This is rubbish for my own amusement,
so please don�t sue me for what I don�t have.

*HBP
p 592

**HBP
p 585

My thanks to
Messiah, a most excellent beta reader!

Fine Lines

�Faster!�
Snape panted, giving an extra hard tug on the back of
my robes as we dashed down the stairs and out through the yard, past figures
dancing back and forth in their duels.

�Come over to the right side, Draco�you are
not a killer,� * Dumbledore had said, those words ringing in my
horrified ears.

I
couldn�t believe what had happened. I felt sick inside, but even as I closed my
eyes and stumbled blindly on, I still saw his face: old, worn, wise, slumping against the wall.

�Run,
Draco!� Snape bellowed, letting go with a final hard
push as I sprinted onward, too afraid to look back as curses and hexes streaked
past my head.

My
lungs were about to burst and I stopped outside of the school gates, stooping
over with both hands on my knees, heart hammering so hard my head felt as if it
would explode. Behind me I could still hear the other Death Eaters in the yard:
screams, incantations, and muffled cries. Somewhere in the background Scarhead Potter and Snape were
screaming at each other. The half-giant�s mutt was howling up a storm as the
shack they called home exploded into flames, but even above that I heard
Dumbledore�s voice echoing in my memory again:

�You�re not a killer, Draco,� **

Filling
my lungs to scream, �I can�t do it!� Instead I let out a surprised yell as I
was grabbed from behind, but it was only Snape.

�Come
on,� he hissed, sounding out of breath.

We Apparated into
a mean hovel of a home, with rotting walls and old, moldy furniture. Mother and Aunt Bellatrix
were there, waiting.

�Draco!�
Mother cried, springing up from her seat, and bursting into tears as she held
out her arms.

I
stepped into them, and having grown taller than she in the last year, patted
her on the head as she leaned on my shoulder.

�He
is dead?� My aunt demanded.

�He
is dead,� I said, and she let out a shriek.

�Dumbledore the great, Dumbledore � HA!� Aunt Bellatrix
was screeching and skittering about the room, a half mad glint in her eyes.

Snape stood in a shadow, and I could�t see
his face.

�We
are one step closer,� Mother whispered, eyes shining as she stepped back a
little and smoothed the hair from my forehead. �We are one step closer to
victory, Draco. When the Dark Lord comes to his own he shall remember your
efforts! Oh, if only your father were here!�

I
was glad he wasn�t.

She
hugged me again and I could feel how afraid she had been. �Thank you, Severus,� she breathed.

But
even as Mother hugged me something in the bottom of my cold heart was sick. I
had failed my Lord, and he was already very angry with my father. Truthfully, I
was afraid of Lord Voldemort, of his power and his
cunning, but mostly I feared his cruelty which was doled out by the bucketful
for the most trivial of things.

Failure
was not trivial, forgivable, or forgettable to the Dark Lord � or to Father,
for that matter. Too bad this was not something I thought of before.

Stupid Draco. Poor, stupid, Draco Malfoy.

�A drink then! To Dumbledore�s health!� cried Aunt Bellatrix, cackling as she conjured up three goblets and a
bottle of dark, pungent wine.

I
sat in the darkness staring up at the cracked ceiling as we drank, Dumbledore�s
promise echoing in my ears:

��we can hide you more completely than you
can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your
Mother tonight to hide her likewise�Draco, you are not a killer�� *

For
years Father had said Dumbledore was an old aging wizard whom was past his
prime, and I had believed him. But in my years at Hogwarts I had seen his
power, seen that he really could rival the Dark Lord, and when he offered my
family and I protection, I had wanted to shout �Yes!� I had wanted to rush to
him and hug him for gladness that I didn�t have to live in fear anymore.

You
see, to serve Voldemort is to live in perpetual fear
for your life, in fear that you will displease your Lord and that he�d curse
you into oblivion. It wasn�t like this with Dumbledore, which made me envy his
followers.

�Draco, you are not a killer�� **

I�m
not! I wanted to shout as I looked about the room, feeling caged. I�m not like
all of you! I am not a killer!

Something
inside twisted and I realized that the only person who could have helped me was
dead, dead because of me. My face grew warm with shame and I felt sick,
stumbling from the mushy, moldy smelling sofa through the dark cluttered room
until I reached the front door. I was barely able to make it through before
vomiting explosively into the scraggly bushes.

�Draco?�

The
stone door frame was cool under my hand as I leaned panting, spitting, already
contemplating my options.

Mother
came to the door, goblet in hand. �Wine too strong for you, dearest?�

An
answer was too complicated and I simply nodded. �I�ll be fine,� I said. �I�ll
be in in a minute.�

She
nodded and shut the door.

I
couldn�t face the Dark Lord. I knew I couldn�t. I was going to run�

�I�m
going to run away now.

This
thought brought a great sense of relief. And it also brought a fresh dose of
uncertainty: where would I go, and who would trust me after all that had
happened?

Hogwarts,
I decided after a moment. McGonagall would be there, and she would be as good a
place to start as any. She is tough, but she would be fair.

Stepping
back inside I grabbed my cloak and had my hand on the door knob, just about to
leave, when Snape�s sharp bark came through the
darkness, making me jump.

�Malfoy! Where are you going?�

�Just
getting some air to clear my head, Professor,� I said.

He
seemed to grunt in reply.

I
strode quickly off, too afraid to check over my shoulder to see if anyone was
following me.

Now
the only problem that remained was how to get there. I had just passed my
Apparition test, but still splinched occasionally
when I was tired and traveled great distances. I was gritting my teeth and was
just about to push my luck when there was a great bang!

Out
of no where rolled a great, purple bus�the Knight Bus, which I had always
scorned, but now it was the most welcome sight I�d
ever seen.

The
bus had seen better times. The carpets were worn and thin, the blankets looked
frayed around the edges, and the bus was empty, save for an old man seated
behind the wheel, peering through glasses thicker than Potter�s.

�How much?� I asked, not looking at him.

�Where
you wanna go?� Grunted the driver.

�Hogwarts.�

�Can�t
do,� the driver said.

�What?�
I said, irritated. �Then what can you do?�

�Closest
I can get you is Hogsmeade.�

�Fine,�
I snapped.

�Eleven
sickles,� he said, and I dropped the money in his palm.

�Don�t
get too many riders these days,� he said.

I
sat down on a thin, creaky bed by the window and was nearly thrown to the floor
as the bus lurched into motion with another loud bang.

��Y
know; time�s bein� what they are and such.�

I
rolled my eyes; I did know - it was he who really had no idea. Laying down I
rubbed my left arm and wondered when He would summon me. The thought made my
stomach clench, they way it usually does when a person has to contemplate when
they�re going to die.

I
must have fallen asleep for I was jarred awake by the burn of the Mark in my skin.
My hands started to shake and I didn�t have to lift my sleeve to know that the
Dark Mark on my arm would be black as night. We were being summoned.

There
was no way I could go to him. I was too afraid that it was too late now,
anyway. My family had run out of grace with the Dark Lord.

I
pictured Mother and Aunt Bellatrix, cloaked and
hooded, joining the circle�

�Mother.

Would
he kill Mother tonight, because I failed, because I didn�t answer he summons?
How long would it be before he reached Father, in Azkaban? My insides heaved
and I was sure I would be sick again as I gagged dryly over the edge of the
bed. Groaning I covered my face with my hands, wanting to cry, but no tears
came. How long would it be before I was an orphan, like Potter?

Potter. Stupid Potter. I sometimes wonder how
different things would have been had he just been the Boy-Who-Died instead of
the Boy-Who-Lived. Show-offy,
orphaned Potter, with his stupid scar. Mudblood
mother, best friend and defender of a Mudblood, and
the poorest of the poor purebloods: sodding, stupid
Potter.

How
strange it was to lay in the Knight Bus bed, hating
him - but beginning to hate myself even more.

Somewhere
on the bumpy bus ride back to Hogsmeade, I knew I crossed
a line and I could never go back. I couldn�t be a Death Eater � which by
extension probably meant not being a Malfoy � and I
was tired of the Dark Arts; it was too hard, too complicated, the consequences
were too steep, and it literally made me sick.

I
sighed, and my eyelids began to close. Just as I was about to drift off into
real sleep the whole bus gave an almighty lurch again and I was thrown from the
bed.

�Hogsmeade,� said the old man gruffly, and craned around to
watch as I disentangled myself from the mass of bed sheets, swearing.

The
sun was rising at high noon as I trudged up the hill and finally reached the
gates, heart heavy, unbearably tired, and aching all over. The mark on my arm
had stopped burning. So there was no turning back, and I was now at the mercy
of the new headmistress of Hogwarts.

How
ironic, I thought bitterly as I squeezed in the front door, wand out just in
case.

By
some stroke of luck McGonagall was the first person I encountered as I slunk
into the Great Hall.

She
was standing before the stair case, gauging the destruction and perhaps
contemplating Hogwart�s future when she caught sight
of me. Her eyes went very hard and her nostrils flared.

For
the longest moment we stared at one another. I swallowed, and put my wand away.

Without
a word McGonagall marched me up to her office, sat me down hard in a chair on
the other side of the desk, and said in a low, dangerous voice, �Explain.�

TBC
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Fine Lines