Weakness Guides The Heart

Chapter sixteen

Two dazed figures sat on the floor, backs pressed tightly against the wall; knees tugged up to their chests; fingers lying between them, interlinked; gentle squeezes guiding their minds back to reality.

"Why are you so-desperate to stop feeling?" Harry asked, careful curiosity twisting his head towards the blonde, eyes roaming his cheeks; ones still tainted with teardrops, stained by the past, and the present.

"Because you must separate your feelings from your body, otherwise you will be destroyed." Startled, Harry's eyes snapped towards silvery grey orbs; Draco's stare was focused forward, twitching to turn, yet determined to stay.

"Who told you that."

"Who do you think..." His words were weak, inferior to his father's; poorer than Harry's elegant strength.

"No offence, but your dads a prick." Draco chuckled heartily; head shivering with agreement, gently nodding.

"He most definitely is."

"He's worse than Mister Malcurious." Harry added, eyes narrowing at the harsh squeeze of Draco's fingers.

Draco sighed.

"Well, blood can be poisonous."

A moment passed; the gentle flutter of a butterfly's wings beating, a galleon dropping; a bottle breaking.

"Wait-"

"Yup." The Slytherin groaned, the pop of the 'p' igniting a dull reverberation; one screaming at Harry's ears. "Malcurious Malfoy is my uncle."

"This school is cursed." Draco sniggered, head finally turning towards Harry.

"You've only just noticed that." Harry hesitated, eyes transfixed, engrossed in the flicker of Draco's thick lashes; irises sparkling, emotions beaming.

"You know." He began, mouth speaking without his minds consent. "Your eyes could be so beautiful. They could be so bluelike-like an ocean, deep; endless shades of-of powders and royals and-and navy's all coming together to make the most beautiful eyes."

Draco was dazed, shaken; lightening striking his erratic heart, forcing it to beat louder; harder, breath chaotic, clawing at his throat; desperate to flee, to flush Harry's soft cheeks.

"You're just too stubborn to let the true colours shine."

Harry offered a timid smile, one pure; innocent, laced with welcoming happiness; contagious dents embedding his cheeks; merriment blossoming, like daisies; their petals poised perfectly, smiling at the sun; inviting every ray that shimmered; their yellow stomachs brave, bold; brightness beaming.

Beautiful.

"You still haven't actually answered my question."

Draco sighed once again, his head dropping against the wall with a gentle thud.

"After, you know...he was angry, naturally; he had been beaten. But he was frustrated with me more than anything. He'd noticed my...reluctance, god, he probably smelled my clean hands, so...he wants to teach me his ways, I guess; his way of thinking." Draco's words sang like a story, not a fairy-tale, but a nightmare; a tragedy, gruesome and bleak; no hope flaring.

Harry listened to every word.

"He wants to teach me how to disconnect myself from my feelings, so that I won't be so weak next time; so that I am strong enough to...kill, I guess. He wanted to keep track of my progress though."

Draco's gaze drop onto his hands, fingers feebly playing, grazing the skin of their brothers with gentle care, cautious, as if the slightest push would crush their bones.

"So, he started...looking at my memories, using a pensieve. He could feel the emotions through the memories, I guess, so he knew every damn feeling that ran through my mind."

"Does he still do it?" Harry asked nervously.

"While I'm at school, Malcurious does." A silence dawned upon them, one comfortably awkward; a tense curiosity, unasked questions, consuming the small flecks of dust floating around the air. Their grips tightened, hands pleading for more; yearning for comfort, security; a feeling.

"What do I do, Harry?" Draco asked weakly; the quiver of his tongue not going unnoticed, earning a slight brush against his knuckles; Harry's fingers drawing lines along them, wrapping ribbon around his hand, securing them; stopping them from shaking.

"Well, do you want to be...numb for the rest of your life?"

A soft tremor, from left to right, answered Harry's question. A relieved smile stroking his lips, one begging for Draco's distracted attention.

"Then you have no stand up to your father."

"I can't." Draco rushed, a sudden panic raking his body; eyes crazy, irrational; jumping from Harry's eyes, to his cheeks; to his ears, nose, chin, lips. "I can't." Softly, they trailed upwards, resting upon emerald orbs; a soft plea penetrating the Gryffindor.

"I-"

"You can, Draco-"

"How? He-he won't go away, he's always there! Harry, he helped the evilest wizard, the Dark Lord, in battle and-and he's still walking free-"

"So did you." Draco froze, puzzled.

"What?" Harry lifted his body onto his knees, his form towering over Draco's; eyes watching the dwindling confusion; the fading fear. He took a hold of both of Draco's hands, the blonde hairs tickling his fingertips, and held them tight; a beam of reassurance gliding from his veins, into Draco's; the touch warm, inviting, lulling the Slytherin's focus back on Harry.

"You helped the Dark Lord, you tried-you were on the wrong side, Draco, but you saw the light."

"How-How is this going to help me stand up to my father?"

"Because it shows that you are strong; strong enough to stand up for yourself, to make your own decisions; to live your own life." Harry seethed with playful foam; a quirk tugging his lip into a smirk, a smile edging its way into his eyes.

"Now stop being so damn stubborn at get him!"