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Changing of the Guard	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 58627 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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.

Chapter List
- 38
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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty-Nine�An
Actor and a Liar

�� I want to
tell you what happened to me to make me start Metamorphosis.�

�� Those were
the first words Draco heard after Harry began to act uneasy in his embrace, and
they shifted the balance of tension. Suddenly he was the one who felt he might
fall backwards down the stairs if a pair of arms weren�t holding him up. He
lifted his head and stared at Harry. Harry looked back, and despite the
wariness around the edges of his eyes and the sharp lines surrounding his
mouth, it was unmistakably Harry, the same man who had spoken to him about
Metamorphosis after Draco awakened from his injury.

�� You don�t
have to,� Draco said, and then wondered why in the world he had spoken those words. Of course he wanted to know
why Harry had chosen the extreme tactic of his personas combined with disdain
for his original self, instead of simple reclusiveness. �I want you to tell me
because you�ve actually chosen to do so, not because you think you owe me
another debt.� He had regained his composure now, and stepped backwards, gently
withdrawing from Harry�s arms. �Besides, don�t you want to stop Granger before
she reports you to the Healers at St. Mungo�s?�

�� Harry shook
his head slightly. �The hospital has someone on duty during the night as well,�
he murmured. �She�s probably already told them.� A shadow darkened the back of
his eyes, and Draco blinked; it was like standing in a room from which all the
sunlight had suddenly vanished. �Besides, I can handle her, but my plan for
doing so depends on my remaining calm and apparently untroubled until she
appears.

�� As for
this being my choice�� He reached out and hooked an arm around Draco�s neck,
drawing him smoothly closer. In moments, their foreheads rested against one
another�s, and their breaths mingled. Draco found himself shivering. The mere
gentleness of Harry�s touch could do that to him.

�� If my father could see me now, he
thought, but that failed to break the strange mood brewing within him, as he
had intended it to. He did wish Lucius could see him at the moment; that might
make him acknowledge defeat at last.

�� I�ve never
been more certain of what I want to do in twelve years, since I killed
Voldemort,� Harry said. �I�ve never been more certain of my self in twelve years. Let me do this,
Draco. I want to.�

�� And that
was what Draco had been waiting for, after all. He relaxed, and raised his
hands to lightly encircle Harry�s wrists.

�� All
right,� he whispered.

*

�� Harry
doubted that any of his words would be enough to really convey his guilt and
self-loathing to Draco, particularly when they were seated in front of a fire,
in comfortable chairs, with glasses of Firewhiskey in their hands. One of his
personas, Jocelyn the Amazing, was a fine storyteller, but she would not be
able to reveal these experiences; they had not happened to her.

�� Slowly, his
eyes on the flames more often than they were on Draco�s face�if his words
inspired pity, Harry did not want to know it�he told the stories. There were many
of them. Any one of them by itself was a small occurrence, not sufficient to
break his determination to simply exist after
the war, and avoid the mantle of hero again. He wanted to live and love among
his friends and family. That was all.

�� But he
could not have that. Because, one after another, his friends and family asked
favors from him, normal favors, small ones, not because he was Harry Potter but
because they valued and knew the real him.

�� And he
failed them. Each and every one of them.

�� He could
not be the husband and father he�d always envisioned, because he wasn�t
straight and couldn�t marry Ginny. Ginny had taken the news well after her
initial fit of weeping. She�d cleaned herself up, nodded to Harry, and agreed
that they should keep Harry�s orientation a secret from her family, with the
exception of Ron; it would only trouble them and make them uncertain as to how
to react to Harry.

�� But in the
moments when she wept, her head against his chest, her tears making the cloth
damp and warm in uncomfortable ways, and whispered that she had only dreamed of
marrying him for years�that she hadn�t wanted many other things because that
was the one desire for her�Harry had felt guilt stab him. The wound it opened
stayed there, stinging.

�� His life
had cost his parents theirs. His attendance at Hogwarts and the way he looked had
meant pain every single day for Snape. Dumbledore�s love for him had cost the
old man peace of mind and had made him make mistakes with regards to the prophecy
and the way he fought Voldemort.

�� Harry had
hoped, when the war ended, that simple things about him, private things, which
should affect only himself and the people he loved most, would stop exacting a
price.

�� He
shouldn�t have been such a fool.

�� Costing Ginny
her dream was only the first of the prices other people paid. George had asked
Harry to accompany him to Fred�s grave. George visited it more than anyone else
in the family thought was healthy. Of course, George blamed them for trying to
forget about their grief by avoiding the cemetery entirely.

�� But Harry
had a violent nightmare about Fred�s death the day before he was supposed to go
with George, and he�d hidden in his bedroom for hours, vomiting and trembling.
He hadn�t owled George to tell him he wouldn�t be coming.

�� He�d
received a Howler in return, and then a much quieter, sadder letter saying that
George understood if the trauma was too much for Harry; it was too much for
him, sometimes. Still, Harry could have told
him before making George think, if only for the space of a day, that
promises didn�t matter to him.

�� Another
open wound. Harry and George still weren�t entirely easy around each other now,
and never would be.

�� Neville had
asked Harry to tend to a special plant of his whilst he went on holiday with
his grandmother. Harry had forgotten about it completely, and the plant had
withered and died. Neville hadn�t even scolded him, but Harry never forgot the
devastation on his face when he came to the door of Number Twelve Grimmauld
Place and saw, past Harry�s shoulder, the plant sitting in a brown mass of
crumbling leaves on the shelf where he�d placed it.

�� Kingsley
had asked Harry to attend one Ministry party, small and intimate and filled
mostly with people Harry already knew and who would respect his privacy, as a
favor to him. Harry had made his plans to go, he really had, and even chose a
set of formal dress robes that would suit him, with Hermione�s help and
approval. Then he�d had a panic attack after a score of reporters working
together somehow rooted through the wards around Grimmauld Place and cornered
him in his study, yelling so many questions so fast that they faded into one
stream of noise in Harry�s ears. He hadn�t attended the party just like he
hadn�t visited Fred�s grave with George, and he�d embarrassed Kingsley in front
of several prominent guests, some of whom had since decided that they
distrusted the Minister in general.

�� There was
no end to the consequences of small actions. Harry had known the truth of it
before that year, but he had never had such heavy proof.

�� When he did
try to make up for his mistakes, to prove to himself that he really wasn�t as
cowardly as all that, his actions skewed; things went more and more wrong. He
had visited two of the last Death Eaters held prisoner before they went to
trial, because his panic attacks and fevered memories of the war were so
ridiculous. He had faced Voldemort without flinching, he hadn�t even suffered torture in the way that Hermione
or other Muggleborns had; how in the world had the war come to affect him so
strongly?

�� But one of
the Death Eaters had a second wand hidden away, and he risked drawing it when
he saw Harry. The first thing he did was free his companion. Harry had dueled
with them both and killed them; a flash and roar of magic through his body had
knocked him out, and he woke up to find them dead. He had tried to convince
himself he�d killed them in self-defense, but when one of them didn�t have a
wand, the words rang hollow. He�d sneaked out of the Ministry, and left
Kingsley with a mess to clean up, and himself with the conviction that he must
never allow his own magic to get so far out-of-control again.

�� And he�d
murdered two people.

�� That might
be the wound that went deepest, the one that still woke him up sometimes in the
middle of the night when he was being Harry Potter. Harry Potter was the killer
of the Dark Lord, maybe, but what he really was was a murderer. That action was
so easily avoidable, along with most of the things he�d done to those who loved
him. Why had he done it?

�� Other
failures stung him that year. He�d been in Diagon Alley when a child fell from
a roof, and he hadn�t been able to stop her in time. What good was magic if it
couldn�t do such a simple thing? Bill had asked him to try and heal the scars
on his face when Harry admitted he was now more powerful than he had been
during the war; Harry couldn�t do that either, and the disappointment on Bill�s
face hurt him so deeply that he Apparated home without another word. Mrs.
Weasley had shoved him together with Ginny, and Harry couldn�t come up with
convincing lies�then�or tell her the truth without dissolving her into a storm
of tears. So he hovered awkwardly between stupid words and silence, and Mrs.
Weasley cried anyway when she realized Harry was lying to her.

�� Owls poured
in every day, asking for help with diseases, collapsed wards, Dementor attacks,
sudden and inexplicable loss of magic, reversing Dark curses�all those things
the wizarding world had a firm faith Harry Potter could cure. And Harry really
could have helped with some of them. He�d scattered dozens of Dementors at a
time with his Patronus. But it was never enough. There were always other people
who had died in the meantime, and the press and admirers who followed Harry
inevitably got in the way and curtailed what he could do.

�� Rationally,
he knew he should forgive himself, knew that he wasn�t the hero everyone had
always imagined he was and that he had decided not to go in for Auror work
anyway. But there was one truth that whispered in his head in the middle of the
night, over and over again until it almost drove him mad. Maybe he could have
done everything that needed to be done, saved everyone, if he had taken up the
Elder Wand. Was his refusal to do so actually the good act he had always
assumed it was? Or was he merely being selfish? He could take the Elder Wand
out sometimes, and then put it back
to rest in Dumbledore�s grave. Why wasn�t he doing it? He had never been
someone to respect the rules before.

�� Mistake
after mistake. If he had been normal after the war, then he could have said he
simply couldn�t be perfect. But here was his late-blossoming magic, mighty,
faultless if he wielded it correctly, to mock his assertions and always remind
him he did have the power to change
things; he�d only let exhaustion and fear overcome him, and those were not good
excuses.

�� Who was
more evil, the person who actually committed vile acts or the person who saw
those vile acts happening and wouldn�t lift a hand to stop them?

�� And so, in
the end, Harry had created a number of perfect selves, personas who could do
their jobs and give people what they wanted, because they were limited. Harry
Potter was a pathetic, magically weak recluse who had killed the Dark Lord by
good luck and could provide a sympathetic listening ear to his friends. Gerald
was the trained bodyguard who didn�t have to be good at listening or at
Quidditch. Jocelyn the Amazing told her stories with a laugh and a wink, and if
she wasn�t amazing at ducking and dodging curses, no one held it against her.

�� Metamorphosis
worked miracles. No one asked them of Harry, but he could still perform them on
a limited basis. And that had saved his life and his sanity.

*

�� At the moment,
Draco was very glad he had extended empathy to only a small number of people throughout
his life. He had been flinching almost constantly since the beginning of Harry�s
story, and it hurt now as though his muscles were spasming.

�� You know that�s not what hurts.

�� Draco
leaned his forehead against his glass of Firewhiskey and was still for long
moments when Harry finished the recitation, until he heard an anxious shifting
across from him and looked up. Harry had clenched his hands together and was
pulling steadily on his fingers. Draco knew he had to say something soon, or
Harry would begin doubting whether he should have revealed this at all. Perhaps
he would even think that Draco was too disgusted to spend any more time with
him.

�� He leaned
over and put a hand on Harry�s knee. At once the fear-edged green eyes focused
on him and Harry went utterly still. Draco wondered if he was still talking to
the same man who told him the story, but he doubted it mattered. Harry had
listened to him even when he longed to disappear altogether, when he was in the
thrall of the most self-hating persona he had. He would listen to Draco now.

�� I can only
imagine what it would have been like, because it wouldn�t have affected me the
same way,� he told Harry quietly. �I�ve never been that concerned about failing
the people I love, and I didn�t have a heroic reputation to live up to. But�if what
you suffered was even a tenth of what I did when I realized you were in danger
of losing yourself tonight, I can only shudder. And I�m sorry.�

�� Harry said
softly, immediately, �That�s enough. Hearing that you can imagine it, and not try to laugh it off as an overreaction or
tell me I should be rational and not affected by it, is enough.� He stood and
came to a stop sitting on the arm of Draco�s chair, bending his head until
their lips brushed.

�� Draco would
have liked to pursue talk about those other reactions. Were they the ones Harry
feared from Weasley and Granger? Were they the ones he�d actually received if
he�d tried to talk about what had happened to him when he was nineteen?

�� But as
Harry pressed him backwards more insistently, Draco decided he could let the conversation
go for now. He and Harry would have other chances to talk, something in severe
doubt when he�d first Apparated to the house. He set his glass of Firewhiskey
blindly on the floor, and thought his leg might have knocked it over a moment
later. When Harry put his focus into a kiss, Draco felt as if he were caught in
the midst of open flame. It wasn�t the skill that mattered. It was the attention, the sure and certain knowledge
that a dragon could have barreled into the room right now and it would still be
secondary to Draco in Harry�s attention.

�� I want to
make love to you,� Harry whispered to him. �Will you let me do that?�

�� Draco
stiffened for just a moment. He remembered the way Harry had made love to him
in the guise of Brian, distantly, as if he were a machine using his body to
make Draco feel good and no more.

�� Harry
kissed him more frantically, sliding his tongue around the back of Draco�s
teeth, and whispered, �Not like before. Not anything like before. I was still
trying to prevent you from finding out who I was then. My focus was still on
myself, even though I pretended it was on your pleasure. Now, I want to show
you how much I really do appreciate
you.�

�� Draco
nodded and raised his hand to brush his fingertips along the back of Harry�s
skull, pushing through the thick hair until he touched skin. �How can I say no?�
he asked.

�� Harry sat
back at once, and stared him in the eye. �You always can,� he said. �If it ever
becomes too much for you, too painful, too close to your heart, you can walk
away from me. I�ll handle it.�

�� Such a liar,� Draco said, and dug his
fingertips deeper, making Harry close his eyes and whimper. Draco relaxed. That
was enough for him to be sure he was affecting Harry as well when he touched
him.

�� Take me to
bed.�

*

�� Harry�s
hands shook when he undressed Draco, and that was something he never would have
allowed ordinarily. But it was all right now, because Draco had heard the
deepest and at the same time the weakest secrets of his soul, and hadn�t
rejected him.

�� Harry
kissed his way down Draco�s back. Draco lifted his hips lazily towards him. He
was thrusting into the bed with every other movement, but with no more than
desultory interest, as if he cared more about how Harry�s hands felt on his
skin than the sheets against his cock.

�� That isn�t possible, but it�s a beautiful
illusion.

�� Harry spent
so much time learning Draco�s body with his hands and tongue that he lost track
of time entirely. The world seemed to lengthen and run around him, soft as
strings of stretched cheese or butter. He urged Draco onto his back at last and
lapped at the salt and sweat in his groin. Draco huffed a laugh that made Harry
wonder if he was ticklish there. He hadn�t noticed that at Clothilde Castle.

�� Harry
lifted his head and met Draco�s gaze. Draco�s eyes had gone sleepy and dazed in
the same way Harry�s sense of time had. Harry felt the air around them crackle
and shift as the magic that could connect them reached out. He broke the
enchantment with a little shake of his head. For the first time he, instead of Brian, made love to
Draco, he wanted no artificial conduits between them.

�� He used lubrication
as slowly as he�d done everything else, keeping his eyes on the flex of Draco�s
muscles and the bob of his neck as he tossed his head back on the pillow,
rolling his entire body downwards on Harry�s hand. Harry let his fingers spread
wide, play and wander, until finally Draco clenched his thighs hard, trapping
his hand. His eyes were dusky gray, almost frightening in the intensity of
their lust.

�� Enough
teasing,� Draco said, his words so soft and hoarse Harry wouldn�t have made
them out if there had been any other sound in the room.

�� Harry
smiled, and stood. When he guided himself into Draco, Draco winced. Harry held
still and tried not to think of this as yet another mistake he would have to
add to the long tally of them he kept in his head.

�� Draco chose to be with me. And hurting him
slightly isn�t unforgivable. He would be rolling out of the bed and grabbing
his clothes right now if it was. Draco wouldn�t let himself be used like that
just to soothe my pride.

�� Sure
enough, Draco nodded a moment later, and though he had Harry wait one more
time, he never grunted or shrieked with pain. When Harry did pause and try to
let him have some more time, Draco shook his head and stiffened the muscles in
his legs. A sharp gust of pleasure blew through Harry, weakening him so he almost
slumped on Draco�s chest. He licked his lips and realized he was panting. He hadn�t realized until now how much the
mask of the persona distanced him from his body and kept him from feeling
simple physical pleasure.

�� Move,�
Draco said, and the single, sole voice in Harry�s head, the voice of his greedy
and demanding body, echoed him.

�� It wasn�t
perfect, wasn�t the miracle of skill and technique that he�d used in the past
to bring his partners to orgasm without touching them. He did have to wank
Draco as well, and then his hand moved too fast and slipped off, and he left
bruises on Draco�s hip, and he had to control the impulse to thrust madly and
wildly until he found his own completion without having enough care for Draco.

�� But the
orgasm swept all thought from his mind just as the one in Clothilde Castle had,
and when he did drop to rest on Draco�s chest and close his eyes for a moment,
he felt as he had during the moments when he was speaking the real truth to Ron
and Hermione�hollowed, empty at last of the guilt he had carried so far and for
so long.

�� Draco
grunted again. Harry rolled to the side and gathered him in his arms. Draco
started some protest, maybe about the stickiness that clung to his chest, but
the hollow feeling had dissolved into weariness, and Harry fell straight into
sleep without enough of a pause between to evaluate the complaint.

*

�� Granger
came to the front door the next morning with two Healers behind her.

�� Harry met
them and invited them in, speaking in what Draco felt was an inappropriately
happy voice all the way down the entrance hall. Draco was seated at Harry�s
table in rather tatterdemalion borrowed robes, sipping a cuppa; he rose when he
heard the voices and leaned against the doorframe to watch.

�� The nearest
Healer had just refused Harry�s offer of tea. He drew his wand now and aimed it
at Harry. Harry raised his eyebrows and held patiently still as the man cast several
diagnostic spells at him. With each one that flashed with clear and radiant
light when it was done, the first Healer looked more perplexed, the second
Healer more intrigued, and Granger more upset.

�� Stop lying, Harry!� she snapped at last. �I
know you�re sick, and I�ve told the Healers the truth!�

�� Hermione.�
Harry glanced at her, and Draco was grateful to see that his smile did turn
brittle around the edges. He would have been concerned for Harry�s mental
health if Harry could confront her as if nothing had happened. �That was your
interpretation of the evidence I gave you. I can�t lie to magic. Could you let
me tell the Healers what happened?�

�� Do tell
us, Mr. Potter,� said the one who hadn�t been casting the diagnostic spells.
She was a tall, deep-voiced woman who examined Harry�s face as if that would
tell her something the spells couldn�t.

�� Harry
smiled at her. �It�s true I do work for Metamorphosis,� he said. �I�ve been one
of their actors, under various names, for some time now. It was a way to escape
publicity.� He leaned nearer confidentially. �I�m sure you must remember one of
the times I had to come in for basic health care and was trailed by half a
dozen reporters who thought they had all the right in the world to know what
was wrong with me.�

�� The Healers�
faces stiffened. Draco swallowed tea to prevent laughing. Harry had judged them
correctly after only a few minutes of study. They would remember and resent the
interference Harry�s publicity caused in their daily routines and the care of
other patients, and that deflected their attention effectively from the Harry
standing in front of them.

�� But I only
told Hermione that I ran the whole of Metamorphosis to spare a friend of mine,
the man who actually runs it and needed some time to flee the country and make
his business a bit harder to find.� Harry gave Granger a disappointed glance. �I�ll
admit, that you believed it came as a
surprise. But you�ve believed my lies over the years and haven�t listened when
I told you the truth, so I don�t really know why I was startled.�

�� Draco
stuffed a fist over his mouth this time. Those were Harry�s cutting words, the
only ones he could deliver to Granger in the circumstances, and if she were
wise she would listen to them.

�� There�s a
long distance between being an actor for Metamorphosis and being crazy enough
to act as a hundred different people.� Harry faced the Healers and lifted an
eyebrow. �Really, if I were like that, wouldn�t one of your diagnostic spells
have shown it? Madness can�t be hidden so easily.�

�� The second
Healer cast a spell at him without answering. It also flashed clear. She smiled.
�That would have shown any hiding personalities in his mind who thought of themselves
as separate people and whom he didn�t know about,� she said with some
satisfaction. She glanced sideways at Granger. �Ma�am, I can understand why you
were concerned, but there�s absolutely nothing wrong with him. You must have misunderstood,
or simply believed the lie he wanted you to believe.�

�� Harry
looked at Granger with open, shining, sane eyes. Draco sipped tea again. The
spell, of course, was not designed to reveal separate personas who all knew
about each other, and whom the true owner of the body controlled.

�� And Draco
really shouldn�t have been so worried. Harry was an actor and a liar. It was no
wonder he had been content to let Granger come ahead when he knew he could make
her sound like the mad one.

�� But he is Metamorphosis,� said Granger. Her
eyes had started to grow cloudy, though, and Draco knew she was remembering the
way Harry had lied to her for ten years and hadn�t let her notice. Would she
really notice the difference if he claimed he was telling the truth and then
didn�t?

�� Draco
strode up the corridor and curved an arm around Harry�s shoulders. �I do think
that�s enough,� he said. �Harry�s not mad, except in the way he spends his life
serving people who don�t deserve it, and there�s no spell to find low
self-esteem.�

�� He was
speaking both to Harry and Granger with those last words. Harry nodded against
his chest. Granger looked at him with a tremble to her lip that said she couldn�t
decide between hurt and surprise, and then looked away.

�� If he was
as you described,� the male Healer said to Granger, �he wouldn�t be able to
talk to us like this, let alone hide it.� He turned away then, and his
companion followed him to the door. Draco heard the sharp crack as they both Apparated.
He was sure they would tell this story and laugh over it for days, but at least
the secret of Metamorphosis was unlikely to spread far from them.

�� If it tries, then Harry can appear as the
Manager again and �prove� his existence to anyone who cares to inquire.

�� I know you
were telling the truth,� Granger whispered.

�� You know
no such thing,� Harry said. �You haven�t listened to me in ten years. Maybe
part of that is my fault, for not making you listen��

�� Draco controlled
the impulse to shake him.

�� But you
also didn�t want to look.� Harry shrugged. �If you try to spread this story
further, I�ll deny it. And I can deny
it, and prove the separate existence of the wizard who owns Metamorphosis and
his employees.�

�� I don�t
understand, Harry,� Granger said, and there were big tears in her eyes. �Don�t
you want to be our friend anymore?�

�� If you
make me choose between your friendship and my own freedom and sanity,� Harry
said, �you�re not going to win.�

�� Granger
walked slowly up the entrance hall, looking back several times. When she
Apparated, it was with a muted, chastened little pop. Harry sighed and shifted
his shoulders, then looked back at Draco.

�� Thank you
for being here,� he said, �and for reminding me who else I wanted to protect.�
He kissed Draco�s chin.

�� Which
persona were you using?� Draco asked, because he hadn�t seen Harry�s face for some
of the conversation and wasn�t sure.

�� All of
them,� said Harry, and gave him a smile that was extraordinarily sweet. �After
all, they�re all me.�

*

�� avihenda,
sp, Kyouteki, Luvdonite, MeLaiya, thrnbrooke, broomrider949, Mangacat: Thanks
for reviewing!

�� SoftObsidian74:
You�re welcome!

�� I don�t
know if I�d call what Harry has a psychological illness, so much as an adaptive
mechanism. Of course, those can become illnesses when stretched to the extreme.

�� Draco is
indeed very strong and brave, one of the reasons he can love Harry even when he�s
like this.

�� Draco is
wise enough to realize that Harry needs those
personas (especially after this chapter), so yes, it�ll have to be a kind of
support program. Harry can�t simply stop using them.

�� kalaway:
Thanks a lot! I haven�t formally studied psychology, so I�m glad you think it�s
realistic.

�� Lunatic
with a hero complex: Draco is going to have a time of it dealing with Harry�s
personas. However, I think his Slytherin lifestyle and his inherent fascination
with the idea has given him training for it.

�� HpFanficFan:
Harry knows he can�t entirely prevent the story from escaping, so he�ll tough
it out and �show� Metamorphosis as really real.

�� FallenAngel1129:
I would say it�s not really DID/MPD. After all, there the personalities are
usually unaware of each other and the switching is involuntary.

�� darklight3r:
Thanks very much, and welcome aboard!

�� gennastar:
Thanks very much! At this point, I think it would be a little counterproductive
to say that Harry must attain the model of �sanity� everyone else uses.

�� Lakoma: I
don�t know. What do you consider a happy ending?

�� Christabell:
Yes. Harry does need to get over his preoccupation with being normal.

�� Yume111:
Don�t worry, I understand what you mean.

�� Draco is
angry at both himself and Harry, as he was when Harry injured him; he does
think he himself should have known better.

�� I don�t
know if Dave is a coincidence or not. He may simply have been the persona who
could best deal with Draco at the moment.

�� I�m glad
you could read Draco�s emotions like that.

�� It is a
struggle between broken Harry and determined Harry, but at the moment,
determined Harry has a lot more reason to win.
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Changing of the Guard