Conflicted Loyalites

Chapter 13

Harry's POV

I woke up the next day to a pounding headache and an uncomfortable cold feeling all over, as if something warm had been next to me moments ago.

I groaned as I lay there, cursing myself for the alcohol I'd drank the night before. At the same time, I didn't regret it at all. It had been a good night, if a little fuzzy now.

I'd felt great at the time, I'd managed to keep away from the looming subject of the war, too. That had been an improvement.

I rubbed my hands over my eyes and stared again at the top of my four poster. For once, there had been no dreams. Nothing about the war, or the people I'd failed to save. I can thank the Firewhisky for that, it seemed that it had done its job well.

There was a spell to make hangovers more bearable, but as I lay there I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was.

I could hear the shower running in the bathroom, which meant that Malfoy was awake. I wondered what time it was, possibly around ten? What had woken me up so early? Usually, it'd be about one in the afternoon before I'd wake up after a night like that.

I picked up my glasses from the bedside table and stared again at the ceiling.

Ok, I had an entire weekend here, how should I spend it?

This would be a good chance to solidify the friendship Malfoy had agreed to. How could I go about it though? And what was the chance of him actually agreeing to anything in the first place? It was one thing to agree to be my friend, but another altogether to want to spend time with me.

Plus, he was a Malfoy. There was only so much I could expect from him. Kindness wasn't something near the top of my list when I thought about it.

I decided that it was worth a try. If he rejected me, fine. I wouldn't care that much. So what? I'd tried, there was little more I could do.

For some reason, I hoped against hope that he wouldn't say no. I frowned into space as I realised that. Why did it bother me so much? It really shouldn't, I didn't even particularly like him, I was just tired of us being at each other all the time.

Then again, why did this whole thing bother me so much?

I had hated Malfoy for years. I'd despised the sod, and then suddenly..... I hadn't.

I think I stopped hating him when he said that he didn't recognise me in the Manor. That would be strange in any other situation; usually if someone doesn't recognise you, it's not a good thing. I had been certain I was going to die. As if Malfoy would stand up for me! As if the fucker would suddenly have a change of heart and switch sides for my sake. The chances of that were minimal, I had accepted my fate.

When I'd looked into his eyes, blazing grey spheres that held conflict in the small flicks of blue across them, I had seen the glint of sadness there, the silent plea for forgiveness. I had been stunned when he'd defied his dad, right to his face. I knew fine well that he'd recognised me, I'd known that that was his apology. Draco Malfoy had switched sides.

Or, so I'd thought.

He'd still fought against me in the war. He'd still become a Death-Eater in the first place and helped kill Dumbledore. But, in the war, when he'd thrown me his wand, it had only encouraged my suspicions.

Malfoy wasn't acting of his own free will. Something was pushing him against me, shoving him at the dark, away from the light, towards Voldemort.

I suppose I couldn't really hold a grudge against him then, not if there was a chance he hadn't wanted to do everything he'd done.