Understanding

Part 2

Let me rewind to where this all began. A brief recap of the first few years and then I'll give more details as they become more relevant.

We met in first year, of course. His hand was extended to me with that cocky smirk and I could have smacked it off his face. It reminded me of the way Dudley looked sometimes, but Draco was far more attractive. I mean, as attractive as one eleven-year-old boy could look to another, that is. We grew older and more venomous towards each other. Our fights would be nasty. Even the verbal ones were nothing but below the belt blows. Like this one I recall.

"Hey, Scarhead!" I whip around to face Malfoy.

"What, Malfoy?" I huff in annoyance because I really don't have time for this. I'm on my way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to drink the Polyjuice potion Hermione has made. Ironic that I will be turning into Crabbe or Goyle just to talk to the insufferable boy. 

"What are you doing up this late? Running off to the Mirror? Trying to see mommy and daddy again?" He grins, crossing his arm. I don't even know how he knows about that.

"Shut it, Malfoy. It's none of your business what I do." I have my hand firmly on my wand in case things get out of hand.

"What then, Potter? What could possibly be so important?" He sneers.

"You're a prat, you know that? You are an arrogant shit with nothing better to do than insult those beneath you. You'll get your day, and I hope I'm the one who takes you down. I assure you, it'll be more than painful for you." I grit out. His face flushes with anger as we both take aggressive steps towards each other until we are nose to nose.

"At least I have something to be proud of, Potter. You come from nothing and you will always be nothing." He turns to stalk off down the hall. Sitting with him that evening as Goyle, I wanted to snap his head off. He was in a vulnerable place, or as vulnerable as the devil can be. He trusted us at that moment and I could have taken him out right there. But he looked off. In this light, I could see just how pale his almost translucent skin was. Does he ever get outside?

Another fight I distinctly remember was year four. All of those horrible articles Rita Skeeter wrote about my friends and I were partly his faults. He was always tipping her off with things we did but he twisted them to be in his favor.

"I was attacked by a hippogriff and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobber worm. We all hate Hagrid, but we're just too scared to say anything." I read aloud before flinging the newspaper to the floor and storming off. My friend's voices call out behind me but I don't stop. I make it to the dungeons just in time because the boy is coming out of his chambers by himself. Before he can register what is happening, I have disarmed him and sent him flying across the hall.

"What the hell?" He asks, rubbing his head. His hair, normally perfectly gelled, has fallen down in his face upon impact. I crouch down in front of him with my wand digging into his throat. He chokes at the pressure.

"You are going to get Hagrid suspended from teaching." I spit in his face.

"The oaf will get what he has coming!" He defends. "His cracked out bird broke my arm."

"This arm?" I gesture innocently to the arm wrapped in an ace bandage. His eyes blow wide as he tries to pull it into him, but I grab it harshly.

"That pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble." I taunt, squeezing the tender wound. I have shocked myself at my confidence and more so at my words.

"Please, stop." His eyes are tearing up and I release his arm like it is burning my skin. I know I wasn't hurting him that much.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I snap at him and he stands to straighten his robes with a little dignity. He rubs where I hurt him as a tear falls from his eye.

"You know nothing, Potter. And if that Hagrid is fired from here, it may be for his own good." With that, the boy runs a hand through his hair and walks away as if nothing has happened. As if I hadn't attacked him, as if I hadn't hurt him, and as if he wasn't just crying. I kept that fight secret for years. Besides him and me, no one knew about it until now. 

The last fight I remember having with him was possibly the worst. No, definitely the worst. I have never been so scared in my life.

Whimpering filters out from the abandoned bathroom. My wand is gripped tightly in my hand ready to defend myself from whatever lies ahead. I can never be too careful anymore. Nothing is as it seems. I peek around the wall hesitantly and the sight breaks my heart, even if it is Malfoy. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his fingernails are digging into the ugly marking on his arm. Blood is rolling down the side of the sink.  His usually neat clothes are ruffled, stained, and ruined. The mirror in front of him is shattered but I can still make out his dark stormy grey eyes rimmed with red. Tears stream down his face and a sob rips from his throat. I gasp at his state and he whips around, throwing a curse at me. I dodge it and immediately go into survival mode. We throw spells back and forth, both dodging them.  He is more graceful than I despite my leverage. The dark mark sticks out on his porcelain skin like a nasty branding. He is branded as the property of Voldemort, but why do I feel like he isn't happy about it?

"Malfoy! Stop!" I plead, dodging his aims.

"I can't. You don't understand. I never can." He sounds so exhausted but he tries again and I instinctively throw a curse back, hitting his weak body. He crashes to the floor and terror seeps into me. I race to his side, dropping to my knees in the bloody water around him. His blood, my fault. He cries as the wounds become more prominent and painful. 

"I'm so sorry," I whisper to him as my eyes begin to well up. "I never meant for this."

"What have you done?" Snape sweeps into the room. His body is rigid with anger and fear. I back out of the room and take shelter in the room of requirements while I cry. I've been around death and pain but I never meant to cause it. I knew that boy. I grew up around him and no matter how insufferable he is, he doesn't deserve this fate. No one does, but the war is looming and I'm bound to lose people close to me. And Snape won't be there next time to undo it. It really hit me, then, what was happening. We weren't people anymore. All of us were pawns in this next battle and our casualties would just become statistics for the future generations to write about. I made a vow to myself that night. I promised to save everyone I could, even if they were death eaters. In the end, most of us didn't have a choice in what we did anymore. Draco is a victim of his father's mission and I am a victim of circumstance. We aren't so different. 

I smile sadly as I recall some of the harder events. But this is part of the story and it's important, no matter how hard it is. Our fights escalated over the years as we both grew stronger and more angry at the world. I can't blame him for what he did and said to me because I came to realize it wasn't even him or his words. His father was living vicariously through Draco and poor Draco had no choice but do what his father wanted. I wish I could have known all of that back then when it all started. Maybe I would have taken his hand and maybe things would have been different. But really, if anything was different we might not have won the war. Hell, we might not have had the war and Voldemort could still be alive. He could be more powerful and he could be... I have to stop myself from those thoughts. I can't have a panic attack right now. Not here.