Draco Veritas

Chapter Fourteen: Thorns (Part Two)

Part Two: The Wood of Thorns

***

"What letter to Hermione?" Draco said.

Harry stiffened and bit his lip. "Look, I know you said you didn't want to talk about the letters, but – "

"Letter," Draco interrupted. His tone was cold and precise. "Not letters. I didn't say anything about not wanting to talk about any letters you may or may not have written to people other than me."

"Yeah, well." Harry got to his feet, the mood of closeness between them irrevocably spoiled for him. "Every time I bring up those fucking letters, you go mental, so no thanks, Malfoy. Just drop it."

Draco stood up quickly, if what he was doing could be said to be standing—he was alert, poised on the balls of his feet, like a cat ready to pounce. His eyes were feverishly bright. "I want to know," he said. "I have to know. You wrote Hermione a letter? What did you do with it? Where did you leave it?"

"With yours," Harry said stiffly.

Color was coming and going in Draco's face in bright shifting tides. "And what did it say?"

"That," Harry said, "is none of your business." He turned, unable to look at Draco. An irrational rage was building inside him—so many times he'd tried to talk to Draco about that stupid letter, and Draco had behaved as if Harry had just performed an Unforgivable Curse on his pet owl. Now, suddenly, Draco wanted to talk about it, wanted to make Harry break the promise he himself had elicited.

Well, fuck him.

"It's private," Harry said – and felt his arm seized and jerked back as Draco spun him around so they were facing each other. Draco's cold fingers burned against his arm, five slim, icy wands digging into the skin.

"It is my business," Draco said. His voice shook, like a violin string wound so tight that it vibrated at the slightest touch. "It is very much my business, Potter, so tell me, tell me right now – "

"No," Harry said. "That letter was for Hermione. If she didn't show it to you, she must have had her reasons."

Draco's hands were balled so tightly into fists at his sides that the skin looked translucent. "Sure, she had a reason," he said. "The reason that she never got any bloody letter because you never bloody wrote one – "

"Of course I wrote one!" Harry yelled, losing his head completely. "I can't lie to you – and why would I even bother? It's none of your fucking business in the first place if I write a letter to my girlfriend, it's nothing to do with you – "

Draco laughed, unpleasantly, a sound of bitter amazement. "You don't get it, do you?" he said. "You and your letters – and all your lies about loyalty and friendship and caring about people and all that cant, it's just words to you, isn't it, everyone's always loved you, the whole world loves you, and whatever I could give you, it was nothing to you, just one drop in the ocean of how much everyone loves you – nothing special, nothing different, nothing you couldn't do without." He spoke with a rapid despairing intensity as if it no longer mattered what he said, or how he said it. As if nothing mattered anymore. "And how do you think it feels to know that the one person in the whole fucking world that you can't do without, can do just fine without you?"

The one person in the world you can't do without – Harry stared, his rage turning to frustration. "How can you say that? How can you even think that for one second, that I can do just fine without you?"

Draco was breathing hard, his cheeks flushed scarlet despite the cold. "Because," he said, "you said so."

"When? When the hell did I ever say that?"