Aftermath (Drarry)

Chapter 8: "Who Says I Didn't Go Insane?"

HARRY:

Harry had been working on his Transfiguration essay all afternoon; it was about the moral and legal considerations of human transfiguration. He had just finished it and set his quill down when he heard the door of the Room of Requirement open and someone groaning, as if in pain. He whipped his head around and saw Malfoy sinking to the floor, just inside the door.

"Malfoy? What-" Harry quickly realised that Malfoy was in no state to reply. In fact, he was barely conscious. Harry pushed back his chair and ran over to him.

With Malfoy lying on his stomach, Harry could see that he had several small tears in his robes, some across his upper back and some across the back of his knees. He couldn't see what it was that had caused them, however. He levitated Malfoy's limp body onto the sofa, being careful that he didn't make him lie in an uncomfortable position. He watched him for a few seconds before realising that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, so he walked back over to the desk and packed up his Transfiguration essay.

Once his bag was all packed, Harry went back to the sofa and stood over Malfoy, knowing he should wait at least until he woke up before leaving. He wondered what had happened to him. Obviously, it was so bad that he felt he didn't have a choice but to come to the Room of Requirement, despite it being Harry's day. He didn't think Malfoy would've come anywhere near if it hadn't been necessary. He probably got in a fight, Harry thought. He scanned Malfoy's body, looking for any signs of an injury he might not have spotted. When he looked back at Malfoy's face, their eyes met, and Harry realised he was awake.

"Oh, you're awake," he said.

"Clearly," Malfoy shot back at him. Obviously, he wasn't too hurt to act like an arsehole - even when Harry was trying to be civil with him. Honestly, Harry thought, bitterly, I'm not even surprised he couldn't stay out of here on my day. He's always been so entitled.

"What happened?" Harry demanded. He wanted to know why he had been interrupted.

Malfoy sat up on the sofa before starting to speak. "There were some Gryffindors. They ambushed me." Harry remembered Third Year when Malfoy provoked Buckbeak and then exaggerated his injuries and decided he would need more convincing than that. "They stopped me in the Entrance Hall and said something about how they didn't want Death Eaters in the school." Harry noticed a blush creeping up on Malfoy's cheeks, colouring his usually pale complexion. Malfoy's obvious embarrassment at admitting what happened to him made Harry think that maybe he wasn't lying, after all.

Harry was troubled by how anyone thought that attacking someone they thought shouldn't be in the school was any different to how the Death Eaters had started out. He dropped his arms to his sides - they had been folded across his chest - and sat down on the sofa next to Malfoy. "Blimey," he said, running his hand through his hair. He didn't want to meet Malfoy's eyes: partially because he was ashamed that it was his own house that had done this, and partially because he didn't want him to see how he was feeling. "You have to tell Professor McGonagall." He hoped that she would be able to stop this before it escalates, although he wasn't sure when he started caring about what happened to Malfoy. Just last year he would have been elated if his rival had been attacked.

"Why would I do that?" Malfoy snapped.

"So that they receive consequences. Don't you want them to be punished? I'd have thought that was your style."

"Why do you even care? I am a Death Eater, so they were perfectly justified."

For some reason Harry hated to hear that he felt like he deserved it - it just didn't seem right. After all, in the end, he didn't really contribute that much to either side of the war. "You were a Death Eater. And not even a very good one."