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Smoke Among the Stars	By : WinterRaven Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the Harry Potter universe. I make no profit from this story.

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“Listen to your enemy, for God is talking.” – Jewish Proverb

Chapter Four – Confrontation

He felt sick—as though he had just swallowed something unpleasant. He was confused, dizzy and agitated. The words of the Confessional shouted up at him from the page and Harry still grasped to the newspaper, as though hoping his fingers would absorb some sense and transfer that to his whirring brain. Hermione and Ron were staring at him with open worry now, no longer veiling it as their own, but no one said a word.

So Draco Malfoy was alive and well. Harry peered up from the paper for a moment and glanced quickly around the nearly empty Great Hall. A few young Slytherins sat at the opposite table, but there was no sign of Malfoy. Could it be that he simply had not come back to Hogwarts at all? Why did that thought cause jitters to run through Harry’s spine?

He stood abruptly, so much so that Hermione flinched and Harry threw the paper down onto the table with force.

“Harry?” she whispered tentatively, her big brown eyes roaming his face.

He didn’t respond immediately.

“I…I need to go for a walk,” he managed to mutter and he turned from his friends, leaving both of them confused.

Harry strode to the doors of the hall, unsure of what he wanted or needed in that moment. Ginny Weasley came in as he was storming out. Her pale face was glowing in the morning light and he gave him a surprised look, opening her mouth as though she wanted to say something. But whatever words came from her were lost to his ears. Harry walked past her without a response. He didn’t care about what she had to say; he only wanted to speak to one person. He only cared about one thing right now—Draco Malfoy.

If Harry had to find some logical explanation for why he was so upset by Draco’s confession, he wouldn’t have been able to. He tried sifting through every excuse his mind brought forth—perhaps, if Draco had been honest during the war, they could have been allies; perhaps if Draco confessed this so long ago, they could have put their differences aside and fought for a common cause; perhaps Harry’s longstanding opinion of Draco could have changed; perhaps they could have reversed the years of hatred between each other…

But why did that matter?

Somewhere, deep in him, he felt tremendous guilt over Malfoy’s current situation—reduced to begging the general population for forgiveness. Harry felt sickened at the thought of how inhumanely they had both treated each other. Malfoy with his purity madness and Harry through violence…

And Harry recalled blood so suddenly it stopped him in his tracks.

He remembered it blooming before in a puddle of water. He remembered dropping to his knees over Draco’s trembling body, frightened. He remembered throwing his wand to the ground after he had cast an unknown curse, Sectumsempra…the desperate, panicked look in Draco’s wide, terrified eyes…the way he held Draco in his arms as if hoping that cradling him would take the blood away. Draco’s blood, everywhere; soaking into his clothing, his skin, etching permanently into his memory—

Harry stopped and leaned against a wall in the empty Hogwarts corridor. He tried to catch his breath and settle his heart, tried to push the violent image that had just come to his head. He knew and understood suddenly why he had been so upset about Malfoy’s confession, why Malfoy had been haunting him all summer…

Draco Malfoy had found closure and he had not.

~*~

Harry locked himself in his dorm for days afterward, only emerging to eat quickly in the dining hall or go to his classes. Ron and Hermione left him quite alone, though they tried to pry an explanation from him multiple times. He always shooed their efforts away. Instead, he lay down on his four-poster bed from the moment he returned from classes, his arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He lost himself in thought for hours and hours.

He could only think about Malfoy—how much Malfoy had changed and how much he, Harry, had not. Harry felt sickened with himself, agitated and annoyed for not having put as much thought into his past as Malfoy had. Nightmares tormented him every evening and his waking hours were plagued with constant, flying thoughts…

A month in to school, Harry was alone again. He was pacing the corridor late into the evening, running his hand absentmindedly on the cold stones of a nearby wall. He stopped by a large window facing the south lawn to the castle and in the far distance he could see Hagrid’s hut, the Forbidden Forest, the clear night sky.

He completed this ritual every night—taking this particular walk, stopping at the fifth floor corridor which he knew was always deserted, staring out of this specific window, letting the moonlight wash over him. But tonight was different; someone else was there. Harry hadn’t noticed, being so caught up in his head, but the other person had been watching him carefully for the past week, having been surprised on a solitary walk of his own a few days ago.

The other person lurked in the shadows for days but decided to speak up that night.

“Potter,” came his soft voice and Harry jumped as though he had been scalded, turning around quickly and drawing his wand. He could not help the gasp of shock that left him.

Draco Malfoy was before him, tall and thin and leaning on the wall opposite to the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing his Hogwarts robes and an exhausted expression, dark circles painted underneath his grey eyes. He was paler than Harry remembered, possibly skinnier too and his white blonde hair had grown shaggy, falling about his eyes with casual elegance.

“What the fuck,” Harry whispered, slowly putting his wand down to his side. His hands were shaking. “Where did you come from?”

“Been here all along Potter,” Draco responded in a low voice, eyeing Harry with a peculiar expression. “Not my fault you haven’t looked.”

Harry felt a rush of color invade his face and he cursed himself for feeling so nervous and clammy.

“Why would I be looking for you?”

Malfoy shrugged, shoving his wiry hands deep inside his robe pockets.

“Why wouldn’t you be?” the blonde retorted.

Harry rolled his eyes and fought a smile that threatened to emerge. It was like the old days, really, this banter and sarcasm. Leave it to old enemies to fall back into old habits, Harry thought as he pursed his lips together. Harry glanced up and could have sworn he saw Malfoy try to smother a smile as well.

The two stood in silence for a long moment, drinking in each other.

“How come I haven’t seen you around?” Harry finally murmured.

The blonde was staring directly into his eyes, unblinking, as though trying to find hidden thoughts. Harry felt a distinct discomfort rise in him; he tried to contain it and make his face smooth, impassive.

“I think we’ve been doing the same thing, Potter,” Malfoy said slowly, now tracing his lips with his forefinger as though trying to prolong the rest of his answer. “We’re both hiding.”

Harry scoffed and tried to veil the fact that his heart was pumping faster at Malfoy’s admission. Perhaps they had more in common than Harry remembered?

“You’re not denying it,” Malfoy said.

“It would be stupid to deny that.”

“I suppose so. You’re not as dumb as I remember you being, Potter.”

Harry ignored the insult and said: “We’re hiding for different reasons.”

“Are we?” Malfoy asked, his voice piping up in curiosity. “What makes you so sure?”

Just breathe, Harry thought as he tried to master himself. He trembled under Malfoy’s piercing gaze; it were as though the other had acquired x-ray vision since their last meeting, since the Room of Requirement, the night Harry defeated Voldemort…

“We both have something to repent,” Harry finally said, his voice small.

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up.

“You read the Confessional then?” he asked quietly, all sarcasm and gloating cut from his tone.

Harry nodded.

“You must think I’m full of shit then.”

“I don’t,” Harry whispered, breaking eye contact and staring down at the ground.

“No?”

“No,” Harry repeated at the insistence in Malfoy’s voice. “I actually…” Harry paused and cleared his throat, trying to figure out what to say. After weeks of mulling this over, obsessing over the words in the Confessional, thinking about Malfoy constantly, he couldn’t speak. He felt foolish and tried to force the words to come through. “I…I wanted to say that… I think you did the right thing.”

Harry was shocked at the laugh that rang through the empty corridor; it was jovial, a foreign, cutting sound. Malfoy was smiling openly now, a look of disbelief about him.

“Stop laughing!” Harry snarled, unable to help the burst of rage that came through. Malfoy fell silent immediately. “I’m being serious.”

“That’s why I laughed, Potter.”

“Fucking hell, Malfoy,” Harry growled, his voice rising with his sudden indignation. “I thought you were dead, you bastard!”

Malfoy said nothing. He noted how much Harry’s voice was shaking, how agitated he looked, how his hands were clenched into fists, his smooth skin splotched with red, blushing, angry…

“This whole time, I was convinced! I… It bothers me every fucking day. Do you know what that’s like? The fact that I thought I wouldn’t see you again—”

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?” Malfoy snapped, his eyes wide and confused. “You’re not making any sense—”

“I’m making perfect sense!” Harry screamed, throwing his wand to the side in his poorly controlled temper. “I didn’t know if I’d get the chance to…to…” His voice trailed off.

“To what?” Malfoy whispered, stepping away from the wall and toward Harry.

Harry’s breath hitched. They were suddenly so close, too close, merely inches apart.

“To apologize,” Harry finished feebly.

Malfoy blinked and glanced away.

“Apologize for what?”

“For everything—”

“You’re a moron, Potter,” Malfoy whispered, his teeth bared like an angry animal. “You have nothing to be sorry about—”

And before he could control himself, Harry reached out, pressing his palm to Malfoy’s chest where he instinctively knew the Sectumsempra scars were. He could feel Malfoy’s intense heartbeat beneath his clothes, pulsing into his hand, into his own body; the look of shock on Malfoy’s face was absolute, his grey eyes wide, his face flushed but Harry did not care in that moment. He had to make his own confession, had to release this torment from within him.

“I’m apologizing for hurting you,” Harry said, his voice barely audible. “In our sixth year, I almost killed you. I was stupid and impulsive and didn’t understand that the world wasn’t just black and white, that there wasn’t just good or bad.” Harry took a deep breath in. “If I had been a better person, I would have understood that you were struggling too; that we could have worked together. I fucked up. I—I’m sorry.”

And he dropped his hand from Malfoy’s body. Malfoy stared at him as though he had gone mad. Harry did not wait to listen to any response Malfoy had to make, because he turned quickly, walking to fetch his wand from the floor. He wanted nothing more than to get away, to hole himself up in his dorm and not come out for days.

“Potter!” Malfoy called out before Harry could walk too far. Harry stopped in his tracks, his back to Malfoy. “Meet me in the Hogs’ Head Inn tomorrow night at ten.”

Harry did not reply, but took in a deep gulp of air. He walked away quickly, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. And Malfoy stood in the same spot for hours after Harry’s hunched form disappeared, his own hand pressed in the same spot where Harry’s had been, the same spot that Harry had cut, maimed and scarred all those years ago.

TBC
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Smoke Among the Stars