Pretty Kitty (completed)

Chapter 18

Harry didn't go back to the common room that night.

He walked aimlessly around the school, up and down corridors, occasionally pausing to hide when he smelt Mrs Norris coming (it took all he had not to scare her away from his territory), not that it did much good- she could smell him just as well, and scratched at him warningly before taking off for her master.

Harry's hand continued to throb painfully, but he ignored it, unable to find the energy to mop up the blood dripping off his fingers, or wrap the wound that had slowly closed in a bandage.

He had to break it off.

He knew this. Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to leak this information to the Daily Prophet, to show them the many photographs the pervert had collected. The Ministry would find out- Fred and George could- would- get sent to Azkaban. He may not know much about the Wizarding world, but he knew that they'd become imprisoned in the Ministry until they were 18, then...

But he couldn't. The mere thought of them not ever being together again made him stop, slumping against one of the cold stone walls because the strength had left his legs. He was completely and utterly in love. And they loved him, didn't they?

'But if I love them, I have to protect them,' Harry thought as he slid to the floor, back still against the wall. They had to end it- Malfoy would know if they hadn't. He managed to somehow get all those pictures, he had to have a way of finding out.

'How the hell am I going to make it convincing?' he wondered. The twins were perceptive- it was near impossible to get a lie past them. Maybe he should just tell them the truth, that if they stayed together, they would be in some deep trouble.

Then again, the twins were always in deep trouble. They wouldn't take it seriously, they'd think Malfoy was bluffing, or they'd believe that they could hide effectively. But they couldn't.

Harry let out a groan of frustration and smacked the back of his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. It felt like, in just one day, he'd been allowed this overwhelming happiness, only to have it cruelly snatched away. It was the story of his life.

Five in the morning found Harry sitting at the Quidditch pitch, in the Gryffindor stands, staring at the empty pitch, lit by the rising sun, the yellow light bouncing off the posts of the hoops and shining on the dark grass.

Harry wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. He still hadn't found out how Ron had done in his try outs, or even set foot in Gryffindor tower. He just knew the moment he saw the twins, he'd break down.

He lent forward, burying his face in his hands as his shoulders shook again with dry sobs. His head still ached from where he'd smacked it repeatedly against the wall, and his right hand stung, but this was nothing.

"Fuck!" Harry suddenly screamed, standing up and kicking at the seats in front of him, splintering the wood. In a fit of rage, he tugged at the collar around his neck. His magic flared up and the collar ripped as he nearly choked himself attempting to remove it. He froze as he felt the leather flutter down his back and hit the floor.

Harry broke out of his trance and knelt, gathering the collar up and hugging it to his chest as the bell jingled forlornly.

It would have been better for the twins if they'd never even known him.

XxXxXxX

Malfoys did not feel guilt. At all. Ever.

It was in the genes, all science of course. Guilt was just not done.

And yet young Draco Malfoy could not comprehend why he was standing outside, at five in the morning, shivering as dew settled on him, and watching Potter angrily fall apart. He saw Potter rip that abhorrent collar off his neck, and then snap out of his fury, bending down to pick it up.