Temptation on the Warfront

13

Harry's veins flood with fear and shame and disappointment — because maybe Ron was right, maybe  this  is Malfoy, about to attack them, maybe he's already taken care of Hermione, and has come to finish them off. Harry can't breathe, can't feel anything other than  betrayal  — but no — something isn't right — if that were Malfoy's plan, he wouldn't look so  enraged .

Several things happen at once. Ron sees Malfoy, his face contorts into a livid scream, and Malfoy defends at the same time Ron fires his first curse. And then there are spells flying everywhere, burning leaves and sending up dirt. And frighteningly enough, Harry doesn't know who to protect, and who to attack, he just stands there uselessly, his wand moving between them, until finally he has to act, has to do something before the forest gets set ablaze.

"PROTEGO!" The magic bursts out of his arm with his gravelly shout, and both Ron and Malfoy are almost thrown back with the force of the invisible barrier that erupts between them.

Harry heaves, desperate for the air he can't seem to find, as his friend turns his red-hot anger on him, staring in exasperated rage. "What the fuck are you doing!?" Ron spits, "He was attacking us! And you — you just —" Ron's shoulders are shivering from his frenzied fury, his arms trembling.

Harry cuts him off with a look, his whole face aching from the way he grits his teeth, as he tries to convey the fact that Ron almost attacked him too, right before a game turned into something dangerous. And as though eager to jump to Malfoy's defence, Harry wants to say that Malfoy, apart from his stinging hex, has done nothing wrong, but more than anything Harry wants to know why Malfoy's here, and why he's done what he's done. Because he won't let himself believe that Malfoy betrayed —

Harry's eyes widen a fraction, and he turns to Malfoy with parted lips, a question on his tongue begging to be asked, a question Harry somehow knows the answer to.

Malfoy did it for him, for Harry, did it because the look in Ron's eyes spoke of danger to both of them. How long had Malfoy been following them, keeping watch on something which started as a game of friendly rivalry, but ended as a toxic competition? Harry knows Ron wouldn't have acted, even though he might've finally found a way to prove himself, prove himself as someone more than the boy who falls into the shadow of Harry Potter's footsteps. Harry has always hated the way Ron feels about his fame, but their friendship has always been too strong to let anything intervene. Is that what is happening now — a harsh, unrelenting intervention within their friendship? Harry swallows, refusing to think about it, refusing to let himself see it even if he wants to. But could Malfoy see it, unbiased, from the sidelines? Is that the only reason why he'd... protected Harry?

Malfoy's trying to catch his breath, his hair's mussed and his sleeves are pushed back, and Harry thinks Ron sees the Dark Mark at the same time Harry does, because his eyes glaze over with bleakness and he seethes, "Is this how it is, then? You're choosing him — a Death Eater — over me!?"

Harry tries to take a step closer, but his own shield charm stands in the way. "Ron — what —"

"Don't pretend like you don't fucking know what I'm talking about! I see you two at night — whispering —you're a traitor, Harry, and you're fucking insane!"

Harry feels Ron's words like a stab in the chest, and his insides turn to lead. Ron stalks back the way they came, his body rigid and his pace fast.

Dismantling his shield charm, Harry doesn't hesitate to follow, but is stopped when Malfoy blocks his way, his features calm but laced with recognisable fear. His pale brows are pulled tautly together, his mouth twitching as he tries to speak — and then he reaches out, touches Harry's arm, and Harry just burns. He jerks back, shocked by the effect of Malfoy's hand on his body, and Harry's so confused, so torn between his thoughts, that he vents it with frustration, "Don't!"