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The Rivalry	By : Pseudonymous_Entity Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4959 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: If you recognize it from the Harry Potter books, I didn't come up with it. I'm not making any money off of this story nor do I intend to. It's purely for entertainment.

Chapter List
- 20
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Harry walked away quickly, eyes scanning the hall for somewhere to hide. Just for a moment, that's all he'd need. Shocks of moving, vindictive needles pricked their teeth up and down his arm, centered along that blasted behavior cuff. He clenched his teeth and made a fist and ignored his nails piercing into the soft skin of his palm. He needed to focus, He couldn't fall apart. Harry couldn't afford to. Because he was terrified if he slipped just once, if he broken down just one time, he'd never be able to put himself back together. It'd be so tempting too, wouldn't it? To just let go and fall to pieces and sob and scream and throw a fit on the floor and not to care who saw it. But he couldn't do that. He was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter didn't get to be weak. Harry Potter didn't get to ask for help. And Harry Potter certainly didn't get to let himself fall beneath the weight of a too large burden. If he let it show, Dumbledore would know it was getting to him. He'd get him alone and talk in that voice with that look in his eyes and he'd convince Harry that it was for the best. Just like he always did. But Harry wasn't going to do that this time. He wasn't going to give in and play along. He'd rather die.
A broom-closet up ahead was to be his temporary sanctuary. He pushed the door open and let it slam, shaking so hard he could hardly cast a silencing spell. It was only then he let his knees buckle, and his back fall against the wall, his mouth open and a scream out. Harry cradled his wrist to his chest and cursed the headmaster and the inventor of the vile thing and his wrist for being the receiver of the pain. Gulping in breaths and half-choking on them, he sat there sprawled on the floor and tried his damnedest to scream the pain out of him. It didn't make it go away, of course it didn't, but it helped in an odd way. To acknowledge the pain. He swallowed and closed his eyes in the darkness of the cupboard, indistinguishable in shade form the darkness prevalent in the cupboard he once called home. Of course the air of this cupboard didn't taste of wasted space, it only tasted of weakness and desperation. Honestly he wasn't sure which was preferable.
Harry ended up curled in a ball, holding himself together, literally and figuratively, making himself as small as he could. Never small enough though, he was still there and so was the pain and so was the problem. He needed to breathe and get control of himself. He needed to but he couldn't quite catch his breath and his chest wouldn't stop aching and his arm was being fried from the inside and he just couldn't. Frightening sobbing growls came from his mouth involuntarily, his arms gathered in to himself in an effort to hold them still. He couldn't move anymore, he couldn't breathe and he just kept making those awful sounds. He had spent every moment certain Dumbledore would come to him. Certain he would die before he could figure this out. He spent even more terrified that he wouldn't. Sometimes he felt like he was walking along the shore of a sea and the bottom suddenly falls away and the shore is further than he remembers. Like that day in the prefects washroom. That was his life. Every time he thought he had a handle on how he should act and the best way to get through his current situation, a wave came along and knocked him off of his feet again.
The thing about spending a lot of time alone, especially when it was thrust upon you by backstabbing housemates, was that it gave you a lot of time to think. You don't necessarily reach any conclusion, because wisdom is largely a combination of intelligence, self-awareness and gained perspective from experience which you didn't get from sitting on the floor of a broom closet or a washroom or the come and go room while you tried to hold yourself together and pretend the world away. But you did become very good at thinking yourself into endless loops of desperation in half the time it would take a normal person who had things other then mind numbing pain and betrayal on their minds. It was a dark, dangerous sort of desperation Harry was feeling lately. It started as any other feeling of desperation might, with anxiety and jumpy nerves and a dry throat and the constantly closing-in jail cell image in the corner of your mind, but it had mutated. Into this compassion-less itch to strike out against everything around him. To destroy everything between him and relief from the feeling, even if that something was the world. Or himself.
He couldn't do this anymore. He'd have to, but he wasn't certain he'd be successful. Because he knew once he left this tiny room, in spite of the molten lava roiling in his arm, he would have to put his mask back on, his face must return to a neutral expression and sometimes even a pleasant one, he would have to engage in small talk and be responsive to invasive questions and even, Merlin help him, smile. Because he knew, he just knew, Hermione and Ron wouldn't leave it alone. Not after that. They'd find him and corner him and demand answers to questions they had no right to ask in the first place. They'd look at him accusingly and hurt and expectantly, misunderstanding all of his reasons for not wanting share and he'd feel guilty. Then he'd have to follow them to the library or the common room or the great hall and he'd have to smile. There would be no time for falling apart then. So he did what he'd learned to do. He put up his walls. Not to keep the world out, but to keep himself inside. To keep his control. It was for their benefit really. No one knew the monster beneath his skin like he did.
Except maybe...
"Is he in there? Harry!" Came a familiar voice outside his sanctuary.
Except...
"Turn around and walk away."
Him.
"No, we need to talk to Harry."
"You need to shut your mouth, turn around and walk away."
Ron's voice came now, loud and confrontational. "Don't tell me what to do Malfoy. Why don't we let Harry decide if he wants to talk to me."
"He literally turned his back on you and walked away. Take the hint."
The voices were quieter then and he couldn't make it out. Abruptly they got much louder.
"One day he's going to wake up and-"
"And what? Realize how cold I am? That I'm selfish and manipulative? He isn't walking around thinking I'm some kitten saving, misunderstood anti-hero or something. I'm not a good guy. Do you really think he's so stupid that he doesn't know this? Or that he'll decide he misses you and wishes none of this had happened? He won't. He misses you sure, don't ask me why, but he'll never want things to go back to the way they were. He wasn't happy then. He isn't happy now but at least he doesn't have to pretend as hard anymore. Why are you trying to force him back to that?"
"...I never said he was stupid." Came Hermione's voice. Harry noticed she didn't answer the question. Maybe she didn't know the answer.
"You implied it."
"I didn't mean to. Look Malfoy the Harry I know doesn't act this way."
"Then you don't know him."
"I've been his friend for four years of course I know him!"
"Oh? Alright then let's test this. What does he always have at every meal? Is he left or right handed? Why does always wear those ugly muggle shoes instead of boots even during Quidditch?"
"I don't know."
"No, you don't."
"And you do?" Ron's voice challenged.
Harry sat up straighter.
"Apples. Left handed, but he's able to use his wand with either hand. Because he doesn't like feeling restrained. It's the same reason he doesn't like it when you try to hug him and why his bloody tie is always loose. I can't go a day without hexing him and I know this. Why don't you?" No one said anything.
Harry closed his eyes and smiled to himself. Of course they hadn't known those things. Those weren't the sort of things Ron and Hermione cared about. They knew he liked finishing his homework at the last minute, but they didn't know it was because he spent most of his time researching before writing the actual paper. They knew he liked flying but they didn't know it was because he spent most of his life locked up. It wasn't the sort of things he talked about with them. It wasn't the sort of questions they asked. They just...didn't.
"Did he tell you that? Harry told us you talk sometimes in detention."
"Of course he didn't tell me. Potter doesn't do things that way. He keeps it all bottled up until he's half destroyed himself and then he either succeeds in bashing it back for a bit or he throws himself into something stupid to keep his mind off of it and crosses his fingers no one notices because seeming weak is something he couldn't stand. Potter is proud, Granger. He wants to handle things on his own, of course he hasn't sobbed out his issues to me don't be ridiculous." Harry heard someone stomping away. Probably Ron.
"Why are you doing this Malfoy? You don't even like him, why hang around him?"
"None of your business. Leave."
Another pause. "I don't trust you."
"That's because you shouldn't."
Footsteps faded. The door to the cupboard opened. Malfoy walked in and shut it behind him. He didn't say a word at first. He didn't comment on Harry's position huddled against the wall or ask what the hell all of that had been about. He didn't ask why Harry put up a silencing spell or why he was hiding in a closet. He didn't remark on his face, which probably showed more than Harry wanted it to. Malfoy didn't point out all of the things he'd noticed wrong with him or demand answers. He just stared at Harry with silver too-knowing eyes.
"If something isn't being used it's meaningless. Is your mind meaningless Potter? Or your magic?"
Harry shook his head. "No."
"Then get a grip. You've got talents, you've got strength, Circe knows you've got a brain under that birds nest. Use them. If you won't let your obnoxious Gryffindors help you, and you won't ask me for help, then you've got no choice but to stand on your own two feet and do something with what you've got to fix whatever the problem is. That's how it works. If you won't ask for help you don't get to cry in a broom cupboard because you haven't got any. Now take a breath and get a hold on yourself. You can do this, best this situation you've got going, you always do. I don't care if the whole of the wizarding world starts doubting you, if you do it I'm going to beat you senseless. I don't suffer fools and point blank refuse to be blood bonded to one."
Harry glared up at the blonde standing above him and looking down with that cold, calculating face, wearing all-knowing superiority like a king wears his cape and Harry couldn't keep on with the golden boy act just then. He wasn't sure if he threw the first punch or not but they were swiping at each other in another moment, pushing one another back in the cupboard and stumbling over strewn cleaning buckets and mops and Filch would absolutely have a field day when he saw the mess they'd leave behind. Malfoy tripped him into the wall and he narrowly avoided smacking his face into it. Growling Harry shot a hex at the blonde. Draco slammed back into the corner, his lips turned upward. Hexes and minor curses, jinxes mixed with punches and shoves, the both of them having fun all the while. It was all bloody lips and bruised sides and nasty spells glittered with adrenaline laced laughter and unhealthy enjoyment. Harry loved every minute.
On some subconscious cue it ended. Exhausted Harry slid down the wall of the cupboard and sat there, panting. Malfoy was no better off across from him. The blonde git was still grinning wickedly and Harry could feel himself mirroring it. Even in the dim light Harry could tell the Slytherin look a mess. Hair tangled, robe unbuttoned and uneven, tie lost, shirt torn and blooded and scorch marks everywhere. He probably didn't look much better.
"Do you feel better now?"
Harry nodded. He did feel better. His situation wasn't fixed, he didn't have a plan of action, his wrist still hurt, but he felt better. It was absolutely insane to feel good after being hexed and generally beaten on, but he did. It wasn't that they enjoyed fighting one another, though they did, when they fought it wasn't Harry Potter versus the Slytherin evil doer, as many students would believe, it was each of them against their rage. Their insecurities and loneliness and discontent. They fought themselves when they dueled. They threw hexes at their own demons. And even though nothing was solved after the fact, even though it often ended with a loss of points and a trip to Madame Pomphrey, it helped as nothing else could. Hermione's well meaning rants couldn't do this. Ron's indifference and attempt to change the subject didn't help like this. Maybe it was sort of sick. Feeling better after being hurt. He certainly had no desire to psychoanalyze himself to ferret out the plethora of issues he was certain that was a symptom of. Harry already knew he wasn't the poster boy for well-adjusted.
Malfoy's words broke his train of thought. "Do you know where the strongest part of each of us is Potter?"
Harry looked at the blonde squished in the closet with him, clothed in shadowed shades of gray. "No." He whispered. He didn't have a clue.
"Just beyond our breaking point. Have you reached your breaking point?"
"I don't think so." Not yet.
"Then take some hope that there is yet a stronger bit of you out there you haven't touched yet. As horrible as whatever you've gotten into is, and I can tell that it must be, you can do this. There's a way out, you just haven't seen it yet and it when you finally find it you'll already know that you have this extra burst of strength waiting for you to get you through to the other side. Hold on to that thought."
Was he trying to comfort him? Harry looked away to hide a smile that had nothing to do with dueling. Malfoy had done this before but this was the most blatant he'd been about it since the last time. That was also in a broom closet. There was probably a name for people who liked to hide in small places when they were upset even though they hated them the rest of the time because they grew up in dark small places. He wasn't going to think too hard on it though. "Thats an odd way to look at things Malfoy."
The blonde kicked at his foot. "Says the boy hiding in a broom cupboard getting advice from a Slytherin. Again."
"I suppose you have a point." Harry beamed at him.
Malfoy rolled his eyes and stood, reaching out and pulling Harry to his feet. Harry snickered when he realized Malfoy had to stoop in the cramped space. "Good. Now I believe we've left Rene waiting for an inexcusably rude amount of time."
Rene. His potions. "Damn, I forgot. Come on." Harry held on to the taller boy's hand and pulled him out of the cupboard, smirking when he heard him hit his forehead against the doorway. Served him right for being so tall.
"Slow down you damn impatient gazelle." The Blonde cursed, the rest of thew words were in French but Harry was pretty sure they amounted to the same thing.
"Gazelle?" He inquired.
"They're fast deer-like creatures."
"I know what they are. I also know they're often called majestic."
"I would never call you majestic Potter."
"Gazelles are majestic."
"They're also Lion and Hyena bait. That's hardly complimentary."
"So you admit they're majestic."
"You have selective hearing when I talk don't you?"
"Hey Harry!" Called a voice from the other side of the hallway. Harry froze, Malfoy bumping into him, and turned his head to see the Weasely twins smiling. Their blue eyes glancing between Harry, Malfoy and the cupboard they just left. "Having fun with your girlfriend?"
Harry felt his face flush. "It's not like th-"
Malfoy started toward them, dragging Harry behind him and Harry had to suppress a groan. Neither of them were in any shape to duel the twins of all people. He tried to stop him but the grip on his hand was too strong. The blonde stopped just before the two older boys.
"Let's get one thing straight." The Slytherin said, voice low and cool. "I'm not the girl."
"You have got to stop saying things like that!"
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The Rivalry