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Hate, Is My Middle Name	By : LordMorsmordre Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1204 -:- 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

Hate, Is my Middle Name

Author

Morsmordre

Rating

R

Disclaimer

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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Chapter One

Avada Kedavra

July 1st, 1997 --London --

Lucius Malfoy, age 41, and supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was captured by Ministry Aurors on June 28th and imprisoned in Azkaban shortly after. Former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had long denied the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as well as the fact that Malfoy was entangled in the Dark Arts since Malfoy’s release from Azkaban sixteen years ago.

Malfoy’s sentence was announced yesterday, and his Kiss has been set to take place this evening at fifteen o’clock in his prison cell at Azkaban Fortress.

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It had to have been his shortest stay at the Dursley’s he’d ever had to endure over the summer holidays.

Two weeks of locking himself in his room, of shutting himself out from the world, of laying curled up in his bed, his eyes blank and glazed and seeing nothing. His ears, hearing nothing. His mouth, tasting nothing. His chest - empty. Absolute nothingness.

He didn’t know what time it was, or even how many suns had risen and how many moons had set since his arrival at Number 4, Privet Drive. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last lifted food onto his tongue, or how long it had been since he’d closed his eyes and drifted off into a dreamless sleep. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care.

No one could possibly be worried about him anyway. He certainly didn’t care for himself anymore. In fact, he liked it this way. Just himself, with nothing to bother him, nothing to worry him. Nothing to make his guilt come back to him, so painful. Too painful for words.

He’d long since blocked his mind from the happenings of the outside, effectively enough that he forgot all about the fact that he was in a house with three other people. Three other people that detested his very existence as much as he hated them back. His relatives no longer came up to his room to speak to him, or to demand his hand in household chores, or to tell him off for the racket of his owl. They passed his door without acknowledgment throughout the day, and only stopped by once in the morning, and once at night, to slip a can of soup into his room through the catflap on his door. He hadn’t touched a single one.

So on the eve of July, the 3rd, Harry didn’t hear the doorbell ringing, or the furious sound of his Uncle’s voice, or the terrified whimperings of his cousin’s, or the thundering echo of footsteps making their way up the stairs.

He didn’t even flinch when the door to his bedroom was blasted open with a loud ‘Alohamora!’. His face was turned away toward the window.

He vaguely heard his name being called and a horde of people rushing toward him, and his limp body being turned over, and his face being tapped sharply - but then everything began to fade away and the lights dimmed and blurred, and then... darkness.

-----------------------------------

The sound of urgent voices awoke him from his coma. He couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Harry lay there with his eyes closed; his head was swirling with pain and his whole body was completely numb. He recognised the voices around him, but for some reason, he could not bring himself to open his eyes. He didn’t want to see anyone. He didn’t want to be with anyone.

There were many footsteps, running past him and disappearing.

Then, all was silent.

His head was pounding more painfully by the second. The pain was unbearable. A shock like lightning went through him and he cried out, clamping his hand over his forehead and digging his nails into his searing scar.

Voldemort. Laughing. Cruel, cold-hearted, and mirthless. Full of sharp jagged rocks and icicles. Death was approaching. He could feel it.

A blast of green light, far, far away. Somewhere, a scream. A scream of despair. Tears.

Then, the pain disappeared and his body stopped it’s convulsive shaking.

Gasping for breath, Harry slowly opened his bleary eyes and lowered his hand from his bloody forehead. Sweat was trickling down his face and his heart was thundering in his chest and he instead clutched at his shirt front with gritted teeth.

He lifted himself slowly up onto his side and tumbled off the couch he’d been laying on, onto the course rug covering the hard floor. He curled up into a ball and dug his fingers deep into the rug, trying to rid himself of the pain... of the fear... of the confusion.

Where was he?

The smell was somehow familiar... the dusty, old smell of an ancient house. A scent that made his eyes sting with remembrance.

Trembling, he pushed himself weakly onto his knees, and then steadied himself with his hand on the armrest of the couch as he got to his feet. His legs felt like rubber.

He looked around, and knew where he was.

Tears began to leak from his eyes and his breath shuddered, threatening him, daring him to collapse onto the ground. He tightened his grip on the rough material beneath his fingers.

No one was there. Everything was silent. There were only lamps flickering from the corners and they were casting an eerie light upon it’s home. It was somehow different. Different from the last time he’d been there. No laughter, and the ornaments were once more covered in thick dust.

He clenched his fists and swallowed as he took a step toward the door.

Why was he here? When had he come here?

He couldn’t remember.

He’d reached the old oak doors, once magnificent in their prime years. The knobs were faded and rusting and the wood was chipped in many places.

They creaked as they opened, and he stepped out into the dark corridor outside. The long rug here, was stained and no longer the rich red that it used to be.

He was alone.

As if pulled forward by an unevadable force, he found himself walking over to the large golden frame hanging by the side of the stairs.

No. A voice inside his head pleaded desperately. No, please. I don’t want to see.

But he was standing in front of it now. His breath caught somewhere in his throat and he grabbed onto the sides of the frame with pale, quivering hands. His eyes were traveling down the cream surface, down long black lines and many many names.

They finally rested on a familiar spot. At the very bottom. He’d seen it there before.

But it was empty. There was nothing on the spot. It had been wiped clean.

A sob escaped his throat and his legs gave out from beneath him.

“No... no...” he sobbed, chest heaving and hands sliding down the wall to his sides. “No... Sirius...”

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, a gust of wind and rain blew in, and the lamps went out.

Harry whirled around on the floor and saw a narrow, cloaked figure silouhetted in the large doorway. Lightning forked across the inky black sky behind him and Harry saw red blood. Blood was streaming down the hooded figure’s chin and dripping from his cloak.

He gave a cry of shock and slammed himself against the wall, not even noticing the crack of pain in his back.

The figure staggered and leaned against the doorframe, his loud breathing coming in sharp uneven gasps.

Harry instinctively felt around his pockets for his wand but found them empty, and he began to panic. But it seemed that the figure hadn’t noticed him. Yet.

The figure reached a blood covered hand to it’s head to lower it’s hood and Harry held his breath, eyes wide with fear. When the cloth fell into a puddle on the figure’s shoulders, Harry felt his fear turning into anger and hatred and his lips pursed themselves into a thin line of pure loathing. He wasn’t shaking anymore.

He quickly jumped to his feet and without a second thought, threw himself as hard as he could, at the other, knocking them out of the door and into the pouring rain. They tumbled down the set of stone steps and landed with a splash in a wet puddle of mud, the blood slowly seeping into the water and into Harry’s own clothing.

“You!” He screamed furiously, forgetting all magic and blowing a punch into the boy’s face. “You Death Eater! You bloody murderer! I’ll kill you!”

The boy shouted something and tried to cover his face with his arms, struggling beneath Harry, who had him pinned to the the earth with his legs. It wasn’t long though, before he managed to throw Harry off to the side with a violent shove. Harry was no match; his body was repaying him for the past few weeks of improper nourishment.

Draco Malfoy clambered to his hands and knees, blonde hair dripping and the fresh cut on his pale face a bright red.

“Wait! Potter - fucking stop will you??” he shouted, his hands outstretched before him as he backed up quickly into the iron gates encircling the dirty yard.

But Harry didn’t listen to him. He mustered up enough strength to launch himself at Malfoy again, but Malfoy was able to dodge out of Harry’s way this time, and landed sprawled on the jagged walkway that led to the steps.

“Potter!” Malfoy plunged his hand into his robes, and a look of instant alarm spread across his wild face.

“Looking for this Malfoy?” Harry asked loudly, gingerly leaning over to pick up the gleaming wand that had slipped out from Malfoy’s clothing and clattered onto the pavement. A horrifying thrill flamed up inside Harry’s chest as he gripped it tightly in his fingers.

Malfoy’s mouth dropped open in momentary shock. “Give that back, Potter!” he cried, trying to sit up but wincing and clutching at his side.

“No.” Harry spat, advancing slowly onto the blonde. “I’d be handing over my own life, if I did that.”

Malfoy stared at him long and silently, his silver eyes flashing with fury and resentment. The sounds of booming thunder and deluging rain drowned out everything around them. They stood there, motionless, for long minutes. Harry had the wand pointed at a spot between Malfoy’s eyes, yet no incantation fell from his lips.

Finally, at long last, Malfoy spoke up, his voice soft and barely audible.

“Going to kill me, Potter?”

Harry swallowed and jabbed the wand unsteadily toward Malfoy’s face again.

“Give me a reason not to.” he replied, taking another step forward. “You’re a Death Eater. Your father was a Death Eater. Your whole lot deserve to die. Every single one of them.”

A grim smirk twisted Malfoy’s lips and his limbs fell limp. “Then do it. Kill me. It shouldn’t be too hard for someone like you to finish me off with a clean Avada Kedavra, should it? So go on. Kill me.” There was almost a tone of defiance ringing in Malfoy’s words as he glared at Harry. Harry tried to sneer, but his facial muscles seemed to be frozen.

Suddenly, there was a loud ‘pop!’ in the background and Malfoy’s wand flew out of Harry’s wet grip like a bar of soap.

Harry whipped around and found himself face to face with Remus Lupin, who’s face was pale and wary and his eyes flickering back and forth between him and Malfoy.

Harry’s heart twisted grotesquely inside him again; this scene looked all too familiar... and last time, he’d tried to kill an innocent man. Sirius, in fact. He lowered his empty hand and caught Malfoy’s piercing gaze out of the corner of his vision.

But this time... this time, he hadn’t been trying to kill someone innocent. Draco Malfoy was as guilty for Sirius’s murder as Bellatrix Lestrange, or Voldemort for that matter. All the Death Eaters deserved to be repaid for their deeds. They didn’t deserve life. The Dementor’s kiss wasn’t even good enough for Harry. It would never be enough.

“Harry.” Lupin said in a hoarse voice, full of fatigue and urgency. “You can’t hurt him.”

Harry’s eyes widened and then narrowed, angrily. “Why not?” he demanded. “Why isn’t he in Azkaban like his good-for-nothing father? What the hell is he doing here?”

“Harry -listen.” Lupin stepped forward, pocketing Malfoy’s wand and reaching out a hand to grasp Harry’s shoulder, but Harry wrenched away. “He’s here because the Order sent him here.”

Harry shook his head in disbelief. “The - the Order? But...” a sudden dawning washed over him like a tidal wave and he scrambled to back away, nearly catching his foot on a fallen branch. “You - you’re not Professor Lupin. You’re someone else, aren’t you? You’re trying to trick me -” his voice quavered with unsuppressable fear.

For a split second, Harry thought a small smile twitched at the corner of the imposter’s mouth.

“You’re right Harry. I’m not Professor Lupin, for I’m no longer a professor at Hogwarts. Remus will do.”

Harry paused, not knowing how to answer to that. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

Lupin glanced nervously over his shoulder at the darkened street. He brushed the cascading water from his eyes and pointed at the house.

“We need to go inside. It’s not safe to stay out here where anyone could see us. Go.” he motioned toward the door. But Harry didn’t move.

“Please, Harry. Cooperate with us. I’ll explain everything inside.”

Harry rooted his feet to the ground.

“How do I know you aren’t a Death Eater impersonating Professor Lupin? How do I know you’re not trying to break into the Order headquarters?” he asked, his voice growing in volume with each word.

“Shut the bloody fuck up, Potter.” Malfoy spat from behind him. “If we were Death Eaters - If I was a Death Eater, I’d have killed you already, and I will if you don’t shut your fucking mouth and do what he says.”

“Draco.” Lupin said warningly.

“Fine, give me my wand.” he snarled, turning his palm toward Lupin.

Lupin pointed at the house again. “Just get inside, now.”

“Give me my bloody wand!” screamed Draco.

Harry had never seen Lupin’s face so aggravated looking before.

“Mobilicorpus!” bellowed Lupin, flicking his wand at Harry and Draco. They both flinched and Harry felt his body limply floating into the air.

“What the -” he tried to move but his body wasn’t answering to his commands in the least.

“Silencio!”

His voice was gone.

Harry knew he was doomed then. He’d been captured, and he hadn’t even put up a proper fight. He couldn’t let them into the Order headquarters, but there was nothing he could do.

“Finite incantem.”

He and Malfoy were dumped unceremoniously onto the couch in the sitting room and Lupin immediately made to lock the doors.

He felt his throat tingle and knew that the silencing spell had been lifted too. He sprang up from his seat and rounded on Lupin, bracing himself for whatever might come next. He half expected a stunner but instead, Lupin conjured up long rolls of bandages and gauzes and gathered them into his arms.

“Sit.” he commanded Harry.

“No.” Harry shot back, more calmly then he felt. “Not until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

“If you don’t let me treat those cuts, they’ll get even worse.”

Harry snorted. “Cuts aren’t much compared to poisonous basilisk fangs.”

“Potter. Quit bragging and stop being so difficult.” drawled Malfoy, who was currently trying to wring the rainwater from his hair and clothing. He grimaced at his besoiled attire and at the dirt wedged in under his nails.

Harry felt his face heating up and he opened his mouth to retort but closed it with a snap when Lupin raised his wand at him again.

He pointed it in the direction of the kitchen and shouted, “Accio, chocolate!” and a overlarge bar of silver foiled Honeyduke’s chocolate came flying through the air and into his pocket.

“Now. Harry, I need to ask you not to jump to conclusions about Draco, here.” Lupin nodded toward Malfoy and pushed Harry gently onto the sofa. He began unwinding the bandage roll around his fingers. “The Order sent him here because he was in danger. He’ll be staying with us until school starts again.”

Harry didn’t even notice the fact that his right hand was currently being tended to because he was too busy gaping at Lupin in outrage.

“He can’t stay here! I’m not putting up with him for six whole weeks! Why can’t we just leave him in the streets?”

Malfoy scowled nastily and crossed his arms.

“It’s not like I want to be stuck in this rundown place the rest of the summer with you either, Potter. I’d rather the Leaky Cauldron then here.”

Harry put on a look of mock sympathy and pouted. “What, does your mother not want you anymore? Is that it? Has she disowned poor little bouncing ferret boy?”

To Harry’s confusion, the room fell absolutely silent and both Lupin and Malfoy looked away from Harry. Lupin cleared his throat and began cleaning the bloody cut on Malfoy’s knee. Harry stared at Malfoy, who seemed to be grinding his teeth together; his face colorless and livid, and Harry couldn’t tell whether it was from the pain of his knee, or the comment he’d ejaculated seconds before.

He shifted his gaze back to Lupin and found his former professor’s pale blue eyes looking at him sorrowfully.

And then it clicked.

He felt an odd twinge in his chest; a twinge that he really didn’t want to feel. Malfoy didn’t deserve his sympathy. He didn’t deserve sympathy from anyone. He was just a stuck-up, spiteful brat that had caused Harry and the other Gryffindors six years of pain and humiliation. Lots of people didn’t have parents in the world anyway. He himself didn’t have parents and he was living his life well enough.

“Eat this, Harry.” Lupin said suddenly, breaking off a slab of chocolate and handing it to him. “And you too.” he gave Malfoy the last half and crumpled up the wrapper and put it back into his pocket.

“There are wards around this house that’ll keep you safe. I need to go back to help the Order and I want you two to stay inside. Anything could and will happen if you leave the house unprotected. Understood?”

Harry watched uncertainly as Lupin stood up and readjusted his tattered and patched cloak around his shoulders.

“And try not to kill each other or do anything troublesome. The Order will be back here in an hour at the longest.” Lupin sent Malfoy an admonishing look before carefully laying his wand on the table next to the couch. Malfoy pursed his lips and reached over to snatch it up before Lupin could have a chance to change his mind.

“Harry?” Lupin queried.

“Yes, okay, whatever.” Harry mumbled, fixing his gaze on the frayed edges of the scarlet carpet.

“Come over here with me for a moment.”

Harry stalled for a few moments, silently contemplating whether or not he still believed this Lupin to be a fruit of the polyjuice potion. He looked at his doctored hand and decided resignedly that he was probably being stubborn and difficult, like Malfoy had said, even though he would never admit that out loud. He stood up and followed Lupin into the hall where they stopped by the banister and Lupin turned to him with a very serious expression on his lined face.

“Harry,” he said quietly. “I know you’re confused at the moment, but we need you to help us. And Draco.”

Harry frowned distastefully.

“Yes, you’re ‘enemies’, and you might not want to spend the rest of the summer with him, and whether or not he realises himself, he needs a friend, Harry. He needs someone to talk to. Narcissa Malfoy was killed by Voldemort himself even before we could get there, and Lucius is as good as gone now. I’m sure you’ve heard that.”

“Yeah I’ve heard, but why do I have to befriend him, Professor? Why can’t he go kick in with some other relative of his?” Harry asked desperately. “You’ve asked us not to kill each other, and I might be able to ignore him for a day or two - but trust me. We won’t live through the entire summer. We can’t even stand each other at Hogwarts, and a smaller place like this won’t improve a thing.”

But Lupin shook his head. “Look past school rivalry and see the depth of all this. Draco may have been a brat at school, but consider him now. He’s refused to take the Dark Mark, Harry. He’s refused to join Voldemort’s ranks. I consider that to be a very big step for him in the right direction. But he’ll need help.”

“He - he what?” Harry stammered. He must have not heard right.

“Harry, I need to leave now, but keep what I said in mind. We can talk about this again later.” He gave a squeeze to Harry’s shoulder and then turned around toward the front door.

“But -” he started, but Lupin was already being engulfed into the thick sheets of rain.

The door shut with a firm click and the noise died away, leaving Harry’s mind whirling insanely with confusion. He sunk down onto the bottom step of the wooden staircase, frowning and trying to think over everything that Lupin had told him not seconds before.

So Narcissa Malfoy was dead. Killed by Voldemort.

Malfoy had refused the Dark Mark.

Malfoy was in danger.

And he had to be nice to the prat.

A part of him wanted for someone, anyone, to tell him that Lupin had been lying. He could usually trust Lupin, and his old professor had never done anything to arouse doubts, but Harry couldn’t help but feel as if a sharp knife had jabbed him in the chest.

One less Death Eater had to be a good thing, but this was Draco Malfoy they were talking about.

Draco Malfoy.

He’d been Harry’s poison ever since that train ride to Hogsmeade six years ago. He’d been the antagonist in his life story and the reason why Harry’s days at school had been full of misery. Yet... yet, hadn’t all that insult-throwing and sneering served as some sort of relief in a sense? Malfoy’s face, Malfoy’s voice, everything Malfoy meant evil to Harry. And he’d been perfectly fine knowing that.

But now. It was as if his pleasure had been ripped away from him.

Draco Malfoy, prince of Slytherin House, and the bane of Gryffindor’s distress; he was no longer the dark evil that Harry had long believed him to be. He’d refused allegiance to the Dark Lord, and he’d let people of the Order take him into hiding.

This is just WRONG!!! A voice shouted inside his aching head. Malfoy isn’t good! Malfoy hates everyone who opposes evil. Malfoy was made to become a Death Eater! He’s meant to be caught and thrown into Azkaban!

And if Lupin thinks I’m going to forgive and forget that easily, he’s wrong. He thought angrily. And who says I trust Malfoy anyway? I’ll die before I ever believe him to be innocent.

But it looked as if he would be the only sane one to believe that Malfoy had the entire Order of the Phoenix hoodwinked. Maybe Ron and Hermione might agree with him, as they knew better than to trust Malfoy, but as Dumbledore had said to them three years ago, it was highly unlikely that the word of three seventeen year olds would convince anyone, especially since the trio had always hated Malfoy.

Harry would have to think of something. He’d have to keep his eyes open and his guard up every waking minute. Malfoy was not to be trusted, no matter what. He’d somehow have to put up protections on all the occupied rooms, should Malfoy try to attack during the dead of the night. He’d have to check Malfoy’s forearm to see if he really didn’t have a vulgar tattoo imbedded into his pale skin. He’d have to keep his wand in his pocket at all times and research powerful defense spells. He’d have to -

Harry paused and grasped his head in his hands violently.

He would surely drive himself insane if kept this up. His mind was already pounding as if it were being hammered by solid iron.

Rash decisions had always led him to suffering. Last June should have taught him that more than anything.

Another tear was threatening at his eye, but he blinked it away and stood up.

He’d talk to Ron and Hermione first. He’d hear their opinions. He’d watch Malfoy carefully. And then he’d decide.

Yes. Harry told himself solidly. Yes.
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Hate, Is My Middle Name