𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐏𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒

VII

Act VII.

Si vis pacem, para bellum.

If you want peace, prepare for war.

Harry woke up that day with a sense of deep-seated trepidation. He had never been good at Divination but the feeling in the pit of his stomach weighed down on him as he continued through his last morning ritual and he couldn’t help but predict that something big was going to happen today. Of course, that feeling could very well be just because it was his last full day as a student at Hogwarts. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something more than that. It could also be because of how shaken he still was from his most recent encounter with a certain Slytherin last night. He shook his head. He didn’t want to go down that road again. He had stayed up almost all night thinking about that confrontation and his subsequent embarrassing problem he’d incurred and he didn’t want to dwell on it for a second longer. After all, what else could it do but rob him of whatever piece of mind he was able to purchase this morning when he decided to push all those confusing feelings aside. It wouldn’t do him any good any way. Malfoy hated his guts. He wasn’t queer. That was the end of that.

The sinking feeling prevailed as he went about his day. It followed him all the way to breakfast as he watched all the happy smiling faces, the cooing lovers and the boisterous friends. He couldn’t help feeling like a morose idiot amidst the gaggle of happy teenagers. What was wrong with him? It’s bad enough that he felt like he had an ever-present target attached to his back that attracts dangerous situations left and right but now he couldn’t even manage a smile for his Year mates on the last day of school? He was free now! No more Snape to yell at him and deduct points. No more stupid exams to cram for with Hermione’s lectures about procrastination providing background noise. He was well on his way to becoming a full-fledged wizard in the eyes of the Wizarding World. Surely that warranted a cause for celebration? Or at least a smile for fuck’s sake! But here he was moping like some dour Gryffindor version of Snape. He sighed. He knew he was in trouble when even that didn’t stir him from his mood. His housemates hadn’t even dined to converse with him, recognizing correctly that he was brooding. Ron wasn’t even making a sad attempt to lift his spirits with a flat joke. Perhaps he’d finally learned something. After all, living seven years with a person, a bloke learns a thing or two.

He was about to continue brooding when the Hall’s doors flew open with a bang. Turning his head to search for the cause of the commotion, his jaw dropped at the sight that met his eyes. For there, framed amidst the sunshine of the early morning, was Lucius Malfoy.

Growling low in his throat, he watched the poncy bastard make his way through the hall. He was just about to demand what the bloody hell Lucius was doing here when Ron beat him to it. He almost hit the roof when he heard the wanker’s reply. How could Fudge fail the Wizarding World yet again? And letting go Voldemort’s right hand man at that? Why doesn’t he just hand over the Wizarding World on a silver platter while he’s at it? What could have possibly trumped his Veritaserum verified testimony and made it possible to let the Death Eater go? He was just about to rip the smug bastard a new one when the git turned away from them, his steps measured and set clearly on one goal.

Harry stiffened visibly when the realization of just who Lucius was heading for permeated his furious rage. He was here to take Draco away! He balled his fists and closed his eyes, desperately trying to control his anger. He could already feel his innate magic becoming increasingly volatile and he didn’t want to make a scene. It had been awhile since he’d been this angry, the last would probably at the end of his fifth year and he had shamelessly succumbed to his raw anger then, he would not let it occur again. Besides he didn’t think it would help anybody, especially Draco, if he decked the Slytherin’s bastard of a father flat on his back. He was also quite sure that it would land him in hot water so he hastened to calm himself but he found it to be increasingly hard with each step Lucius took that brought him closer to his son. It also didn’t help that Draco, that scared lost boy he was talking to last night, was nowhere to be found. The boy that was staring fixedly at his father approaching was now undeniably the Malfoy of old. His grey eyes glinting with coldness and his face a mask of unreadable emotion. For some reason that hurt more than it should and that bewildered him to no end. Draco-no-Malfoy had said himself that they would never be friends and that this was his birth right. Should he really be this surprised that Draco-Malfoy damnit!- was going to follow his father? But even though he was berating himself for being stupid enough to get his hopes up over the blond, his eyes were still searching for cool grey. And when he did finally find them gazing back at him, he didn’t break this precious contact, fearing that it would be the last time. Don't go! Don't follow him! You're worth more than that! Harry thought desperately but the blond looked away. Working his jaw tensely, he was about to open his mouth and express his volatile objection when a whisper of a voice stopped him dead in his tracks.