I will come back to you

Chapter Six

'I'm still breaking the teacups, Tinkerbell.'

P.S: I might fix them, but you can kick my arse to Neverland. You'll be doing us both a favour.

Draco stared at the parchment. Tinker-fucking-bell? Out of all the names Potter could've chosen, he went out of his way to use Tinkerbell? Draco Malfoy wasn't Tinkerbell. He wasn't 'The little blond lesbian from the snake house' or 'Calypso'.

Potter wasn't around. He never was. He was near the shore, levitating a seashell. He had walked out of the house after breakfast, considering that neither of them was intent on having a conversation.

He placed the finished plate on the kitchen counter, casting a quick cleaning charm on it. On the back of the parchment, he quipped: 'It'll be a pleasure to kick your arse out of here.'

Or not. Not that he cared. He would be glad to have Potter out of Otryazan. It was infuriating enough to be in a severed Island. He couldn't deal with Harry Potter. And at the same time, he wanted to. Because he had been alone in Otryazan. Alone for five months. Or more. He didn't count. Not anymore.

He was away from the war he never wanted to be a part of. But he was away from home. And if he could go back, he wasn't sure if he would belong there.

'Save him'

He didn't understand his father. Why would he send Harry Potter to Otryazan and risk his own life? To break the unbreakable vow, was to invite your own death. Why would he risk it, if he knew?

Draco's mind traced to his mother. He wondered if she was still coping with it. Or if she had given up. Salazar, he wished he could understand Lucius Malfoy.

He was grieving.

The trauma of the loss hadn't been easy on him. He would've spiralled into a never-ending cycle of suffering and guilt if Potter wasn't here. And he couldn't decide if he wanted to kick Potter's arse out of Otryazan or not.

If Potter wasn't here, his father would've still been alive.

And the rage curled in him again. He crumbled the piece of parchment, and tossed it aside. He pounded his fists against his head. His body was shaking with the intensity of emotions.

He could walk out of the house, towards the shore and argue with Potter. Despite the white-hot rage in him, he didn't. He couldn't risk another argument. Not after the last one.

Instead of interrupting Potter's useless attempts at perfecting wandless magic, he strode into his room and closed the door behind him. He had the sudden urge to break a few things. Specifically Potter's face.

He realized, after a moment of thinking, this his anger was directed at his father. Not Potter. Potter didn't want to be in Otryazan. He had never asked to be here.

No. He couldn't blame Potter. His father had known. He had fucking known, that if he extended even the slightest bit of help to Draco, he would be breaking the vow. And he had done it anyway.

Why would he, when Draco was here to pay the price of his own actions?

To save his family.

He dismissed his thoughts. He didn't want to stress over the questions he didn't have answers to. And the truth about his father's actions would be terrifying. He would never be ready for the truth. Never.

He heard the front door creak open slightly, and close.

Draco cursed under his breath. He had tossed the parchment aside instead of leaving it on the kitchen counter. And he wouldn't admit it out loud, but the notes were an effort. An effort to have a subtle conversation – A banter – instead of an apology.