I Think I Like Him

3. Healed & Torn

Word count- 1193

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A week scraped past; the journal still missing. And while Harry was now convinced it was simply a house-elf mistaking it for rubbish, he felt a slight pang when he thought about it. He just had a nagging feeling that it was something more. But he also knew he had overreacted.

Sure.. it was the one journal he has written in since he was nine... and it had been the only think keeping him sane for all those years hidden away in the dark of the cupboard.. and it had every little detail of the last four years written in its pages.. But it was fine, really!

Despite these gnawing thoughts, in all honesty; he was just relieved he had extracted the picture of his parents a few days before, from the inside cover. He'd only just gotten around to placing it into an enchanted frame that Hermione had gifted him for his birthday -which, once the photo's were in place, would present the picture that would leave the owner happiest after looking at it.

The photo's featured; his parents -the one Hagrid had given him in first year; the couple smiling and twirling amongst the spiralling autumn leaves. Then, a picture of himself, Ron and Hermione in first year, smiling and waving at the camera. Another of them at the end of second year with Hermione glaring haughtily at Ron, before she too joined in on the smiling. Finally, a smaller one of Harry and hedwig, her feathers fluttering wildly behind him in a blur of powdered white and soft silver.

All in all, he had decided it was better this way. Not only would it take away the embarrassment of this minor.. obsession, but would also take away the fear of anyone finding it, and potentially reading about his deepest and darkest secrets. He would be ok. He just needed distractions, and luckily for him, Ron and Hermione's bickering provided plenty.

"Ron! Stop playing chess and do your homework!"

"You're not my mother.." drawled Ron, without even a glance at Hermione.

"You're right, I'm not. But think about the howler you'll get from yours when you fail your O.W.Ls!" She exclaimed, hands on hips.

"That's not for two years Hermione!"

"Yes, and think how fast the last two years went!"

"I'll have thousands of assignments before then! One won't make a difference!"

"Actually Ronald, it's four. And if you won't do these, who's to say you'll do the others?!"

"I will"

"I suppose we'll have to see. Oh, and have fun explaining to Snape why you didn't do your homework"

"It's not his homework!"

"Oh, really?" Challenged Hermione, holding up her own potions essay.

He groaned, clambering up to the boys dorms to fetch his quill. He came down seconds later with a short brown feather nestled tightly within his fist, and a bundle of crumpled parchment in the other.

She handed him a textbook, a smug smile etched on her face.

"Stupid know-it-all..." he grumbled, crinkling his freckled nose at the parchment as he sat down; clumsily dipping his quill in ink.

She rolled her eyes "I'm going to th-"

"The library, I know." Spoke Ron smoothly, a victorious smirk flashing over his features after proving his point so expertly. She, once again, rolled her eyes before heading out the portrait hole.

Harry, who sat in the corner witnessing the situation unfold, couldn't bring himself to miss the opportunity to comment. He smirked at Ron wickedly, who replied with a questioning look. The raven mustered the best baby voice he could; "Mu-Mummy and Daddy won't-t stop-p fighting".

Ron howled with laughter at the reference from the day before, when Dean said they were fighting like a married couple, and when Harry asked, 'If they're a married couple, when who am I?' He simply replied, 'You're the kid, Harry'.

...

While Harry had been better these last few days, Draco had been slowly unraveling as the day's creeped past at a snails pace.

The diary was all the blonde could think about. Anything beyond began to shift and distort; his entire world whittled down to  faint voices and blurry shapes. All aside from the diary. And Harry.

He wanted to set the book down, give it back, burn it. Anything to help sooth the guilt slowly curdling his conscience -but he couldn't. It was as though he were reading fiction. As though the next page would welcome the fairy Godmother, and all would be well for the child. But to Draco's disappointment, that was never the case.

Potter suddenly made so much sense to him. Every malice-fuelled word, every rage-filled punch. It all aligned within the pages of the journal.

He read it day and night, tucked away within the dark of his closed bed curtains; isolated from the world. It became routine to skip breakfast and dinner just the turn another devastating page.

Staring at Potter was also routine now, and as much as Draco desperately tried to remind himself; he was convinced that real Potter and diary Harry were two different people entirely.

Because- how could the same arrogant scarface, who always got what he wanted, be the same broken boy he watched bleed onto the pages? The same bright-eyed child hoping for a day without pain. A day without fear.

He had a hard time keeping up appearances, with his mind constantly occupied with thoughts about that retched diary.

"Draco... what has gotten into you lately?"

Pansy again.

"Draco?"

Why is she here.

"DRACO?!"

Draco snapped out of his head and looked at her.

"What is it Pansy, I'm busy."

"Busy?" She rolled her eyes "with what?"

"Does it matter?" He said, looking back down the Slytherin table.

"Yes. Yes it does, because it may provide some excuse for your behaviour these last few weeks!"

"What are you talking about?!"

She sat down next to him, her cheeks steadily pinking from anger. "What am I talking about? I'm talking about you missing meals, being late to class, forgetting homework and failing tests!"

"For one, I'm at a meal now, aren't I? And for the rest, they have only happened once." He shook his head at her, "exaggeration only makes you look more of a bitch, pans"

Draco then chose to look away, and ignore Pansy completely. She stared at him for a few seconds before getting up and storming out of the great hall.

...

Harry looked up, to see a Slytherin girl pushing open the great hall doors angrily, and walking out. He turned to look at the Slitherin table, only to see the only empty seat was next to the one occupying Malfoy.

"What a surprise.." he mumbled to Ron, who was sat next to him with half a chicken leg in his mouth. "Who cud stan' mowfoy foor tat long unyway" he spoke, his mouth still full of chicken. Harry nodded despite only being able to distinguish half of the sentence.

He looked back curiously, only to see Malfoy hunched over his cereal, ungelled hair flopping unkept over his forehead.

What was wrong with him?