Aftermath (Drarry)

Chapter 6: "Congratulations, you know the days of the week."

HARRY:

As they stepped over the threshold, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to where he had left his journal before dinner. It was still there: sitting in the middle of the sofa. He couldn't help but notice, however, that there was another book that looked exactly the same as Harry's journal resting on the desk in the other far corner of the room. Malfoy rushed over to this other journal immediately and grabbed it, shoving it into his bag unceremoniously.

"You have a journal, too?" Harry asked, going over to the sofa to pick up his own and put it into his bag, albeit more carefully than Malfoy had done with his. If there was anything he didn't want Malfoy to see (and there was plenty), it was his private thoughts and feelings.

"Yes," Malfoy snapped. It sounded like he wanted to make some smart retort at Harry's expense but didn't. "How long have you been coming here, Potter? I thought this was my private space but apparently not."

"We both thought that so there's no need to get angry, Malfoy."

Malfoy huffed. "And I suppose you don't think I should be back here this year, either. Especially not since you saved my life and I did fuck all to deserve it."

Harry was slightly taken aback by that. Although he had heard that some people were giving McGonagall a hard time over her decision to let Malfoy come back, he had never even thought that he shouldn't be allowed. "No," he said, his voice softer than before. "You have the same right to an education as anyone else."

Harry saw a flicker of surprise pass over Malfoy's face before he narrowed his eyes slightly as if he was considering whether or not Harry was making fun of him. "What did you want to talk to me about then?"

"I wanted to know if you would give your mum a message from me."

"What? What could you possibly have to say to my mother?" Harry could tell Malfoy was getting defensive: his arms were crossed and tense, and he took a small step forward, towards Harry. Evidently, his mother was a touchy subject.

"I want to thank her for saving my life."

Malfoy frowned. "My mother never saved your life, Potter, that's ridiculous."

Harry nodded his head. "She did. She told Voldemort I was dead when she knew I wasn't." Malfoy looked shocked, but Harry didn't miss his flinch at the name of his former master. His arms were still crossed but they had slackened. "Wait," Harry continued. "You didn't know that?"

"No," Malfoy said, looking at the floor. He seemed to be looking anywhere but at Harry. Harry wasn't sure what possible reasoning Narcissa Malfoy could have for not telling her son that she lied to Voldemort's ugly face, so she could go into the castle to find him – it was kind of a pivotal act, after all.

"She didn't tell you? That was kind of important."

Malfoy looked up at Harry, finally meeting his eyes. He no longer looked dejected. He looked angry. "What are you trying to say, Potter?" Harry jumped when he started shouting. "Are you trying to rub it in? My mother doesn't even tell me about heroic deeds she's done, huh? Well, it's better than what you do, going around making sure everyone knows about your heroic deeds. Harry freakin' Potter: the perfect saviour. I suppose you're just sad that you don't have parents to be proud of you."

Harry clenched his fists. He should've known it wasn't worth trying to be civil with Malfoy. He felt his anger bubble up inside of him and could no longer control his words. "You don't want to get in a fight with me, Malfoy. You know you can't go running to daddy. He can't buy your way out of conflict for you anymore."