Remember when I loved you-drarry story

Chapter 10

The Room of Requirement had taken the shape of a spacious bedroom once again. The bed was neatly made and empty. The burning torches flickered dimly, and the odd equipments and artefacts on the shelf gleamed eerily, casting fluttering shadows on the carpeted stone floor.

Silence enveloped Harry like never before, and his fists, tightly clenched and trembling minutely, were pressed hard against his thighs as he sat, utterly still and quietly seething inside. He could almost taste the tension in the air, so thick and unbearable, but he didn't dare speak. He didn't want to expose how his feelings were churning and boiling inside him. All he knew was that he was angry — at himself and at Malfoy. His mind was reeling, and his heart felt like it was being torn apart bit by bit.

Fuck it all, he thought, this was the only way.

"So, you . . . you went to see Dumbledore," whispered Malfoy at last, breaking the dreadful silence, his shoulders visibly shaking, and his shocked gaze fixed on Harry unblinkingly.

Harry's jaws were set, and his stomach felt as though it were being impaled by a hot iron rod. "Yes."

"And you told him about everything," said Malfoy in a barely audible whisper, a look of shock and disbelief taking over his face, "without consulting me?"

Harry swallowed thickly, and he suddenly felt guilty, but it was soon replaced by a stronger feeling of resentment and anger. "I had no choice since you refuse to tell me about what you've been doing. I was scared, and I panicked, and —"

"I see," murmured Malfoy quietly, breathing angrily.

There were large dark circles under Malfoy's red-rimmed eyes, as though he'd been crying lately. He looked thinner than ever, and when he spoke, his voice quivered. He looked weaker than Harry had ever seen him, and even though he kept asking, begging Malfoy to tell him what was wrong, he always avoided the question, pushing him away the more he tried to squeeze closer. Eventually, he thought it best to just stop trying.

Perhaps, Malfoy just didn't trust him, and didn't want to trust him.

And it was okay. After all, they weren't in a relationship, were they?

Malfoy would never agree to that.

"So, you . . . you want me to go into hiding right away?" asked Malfoy silently.

Harry clenched his jaw. "Yes. We've discussed this already, Malfoy. I know you don't want to, but you have to —"

Malfoy's fingers tightened into fists, and he turned to stare at Harry, his gaze burning. "And you think this is a good idea? Locking our memories? Going into hiding? What made you think I'd agree to what you want to do? How do I know I can trust you?" Malfoy's voice was slow and quiet, but there was a tense, angry quiver hidden beneath, as if every word was trying his patience. "For all I know, you're just trying to shirk responsibility by doing this —"

Harry's chest squeezed. So, it was true. Malfoy didn't trust him at all.

"Shirk responsibility?" He wanted to laugh, but he felt as though he might break completely if he tried, so all he did was swallow and tighten his fist. Anger rose inch by inch and clambered through his heart. "That's your speciality, Malfoy," he spat bitterly, "You're the one trying to sweep this under the rug, not me."

Malfoy scoffed bitterly. "I'm trying to sweep this under the rug? You think I'm a fucking fool, don't you? I know very well what you mean by locking our —"

"I told you to tell me what you've been doing! I've asked you multiple times, but you insist on continuing to work for Voldemort. You're the one refusing to ensure the safety of our child," snapped Harry resentfully. "I had to agree with Dumbledore! If you stop stubbornly insisting on going to see your mother and leave with Dumbledore right away, there would be no need to lock our —"