When all the owls arrive with the mail, Harry checks again for anything from Remus.
“Nothing?” He complains, as Hedwig swoops down for some toast and clicks her beak at him. “Okay, well, I’ll see you around, then.”
“Full moon was yesterday.” Draco whispers. “He wouldn’t have been there.”
“Oh, right.” Harry sighs. “Do you keep track? Or did you look it up?”
“I don’t really keep track, not closely.” Draco says, then clears his throat. “I need Hermione to make me cry.”
“What?”
“For the potion.” Draco says. “I think it’d be cathartic for her anyway, but I need specific tears for the potion, and I don’t think she’d mind making me cry.”
“How do you get ‘specific’ tears?”
“Tears with a specific emotion in them.” Draco says. “Happy tears, tears of mourning, things like that.”
“So what do you need from Hermione?”
Draco blows out a breath.
“I need tears of remorse.”
“Over being branded against your will?”
“Mhm.”
“Oh.”
With a huff, Draco continues on with his breakfast.
“The tears would be about bullying her. But the potion just needs remorse, it doesn’t care what the remorse is about.”
“ Do you feel bad about bullying us?” Harry asks. It’s suddenly occurred to him that Draco’s never really apologised.
“Of course I feel bad.” Draco frowns at Harry. “You would’ve been fine if I didn’t give a shit?”
“No!” Harry protests. “But you’ve never said you’re sorry to me, or Ron or anyone but Hermione. And you say weird stuff about being a good bully sometimes.”
“I am a good bully.”
“Why do you say that like you’re proud of it?”
Draco slouches, staring into Harry’s eyes.
“I sound proud of that? Merlin, Harry, why on earth do you like me at all if you think I’m glad to be a prick to people who never deserved it?”
“I-” Harry shrugs. “I dunno, you’re… really hot.”
Scoffing, Draco turns back to his food, pouring himself and Harry some more tea.
“I am sorry about what I did. I’m not glad that I bullied all of you. I’m certainly not proud of how rotten I am. Was.” He says, quietly. “And an apology has always seemed too little. I don’t know a way to show how sorry I am. Saying it feels cheap and lazy.”
“I mean… It’s a start.” Harry says. Draco sighs.
“I don’t know, Harry. I got caught up in it, every time I saw you. We would insult and belittle each other, and sometimes you’d punch me about it, sometimes I’d hex you, but that’s what we did.
“When I saw Neville, he was a good target, and I’d attack. Sometimes I’d feel bad later, sometimes I wouldn’t. I thought it was funny, the times he’d try sticking up for himself. But the older he’s gotten, the bigger and tougher he’s grown, well, I started to get scared that if I didn’t hex him first, put him on the defensive, he’d punch me in the face.”
“Yeah, you’d kind of have that coming.” Harry points out.
“I know. I know. And…” Draco huffs. “The longer it went on, the less I was interested in doing it. A leg-locker curse is kid stuff now, Neville can undo it in a second. So I needed meaner, worse things to keep it up, and at some point…”
