Understanding

Part 8

I didn't expect Draco and I to get along so well. It's only been a couple of days but he and I are even starting to use first names with one another. I have taught him about some muggle things and he has shown me more about the wizarding world than anyone else I have ever encountered. Sure, he knows special spells and charms and he knows how to make some really cool potions, but he has also taught me little tricks like how to speak to the goblins at Gringotts so that they don't hate you or how to care for your house-elves as much as they care for you. Or about how to dress in certain situations like when hosting a meeting of any sort to seem more professional. His little tips could be handy one day. He's also taught me an easy and quick potion reversing potion and how to heal small wounds without Madame Pomfrey or how to numb certain pains that can't be seen or explained. It saddens me that he had to know that, but I'm glad he does so that he could survive. I think I'm going to miss his company. He may be a prat, but his company is reassuring that I am not alone. He doesn't even have to speak to me but when he walks into the living room with a sweatshirt and pajama pants on and his hair a mess it makes me feel less like an outcast.  And then he will lay back on the loveseat and kick his feet up and watch muggle TV with me and he doesn't complain about the shows because he has never seen any of them and he finds them interesting. He even asks me questions about the characters or plot when the show or movie is over and I get to go on a rampage about my favorites and the ones I hate the most and I get to tell him what I think should have happened. And then I get to explain to him what cannon means and his reaction is priceless because he can't imagine cannon meaning anything besides a big steel contraption that shoots another steel ball out of it. 

He really is cute when he is confused. I can't believe my mind, but I can't deny that his enthusiasm and smiles are infectious. 

I haven't brought up the trial since we were at Andromeda's but now it's tomorrow and I can't sleep for fear of what's coming. Draco has become something of a friend to me. He's the only one who understands what it's like to not really have a choice in your destiny. I always had to be Harry Potter; The Boy Who Lived and he always had to be Draco Malfoy; son of the leading Death Eater and righthand man of Voldemort. I guess that makes us life's bitches. 

We went to bed a few hours ago and all I can do is listen to the clock ticking on the wall. Seven hours until the trial. Six hours. Five hours. Four. Tic-tock tic-tock. 

Screams draw me from my mindless thoughts. I was so disassociated that at first, I thought they could be mine, but the closer to my body I got, I realize they are coming from across the hall in Draco's room. The screams sound broken and strangled and I run to the room to protect him from whatever is attacking. But then... I see. He is thrashing wildly in the bed and his eyes are clenched tightly. His teeth grit together and I can hear the grinding sound. A shiver runs up my spine. 

"Stop!" He yells. His eyes fly open but they are glassed over with almost a white fog. He is gasping for air but then he screams again followed by deep sobs. He is begging in his sleep, yet I can't hear what he is begging for. I would expect him to curl in on himself but it's like his arms and legs are stuck, extended apart from his body. His chest heaves up and down faster than what is deemed medically safe. He is shirtless and I can see just how skinny he really is. The skin is hallowed to his ribs and dips in between each set. I can see where his heart is trying to come out of his chest. I can't imagine what he could possibly be dreaming about but I can't watch it anymore. It hurts me too.

"Draco!" I kneel down beside the bed and shake his arm. It holds stiffly in its spot and doesn't move as if he is tied down. "Please." I shove at his sides and water hits his stomach and I realize I am crying too. His toes are curled in and the skin on his knuckles begins to tear at how hard he is making his fist. His eyes are open again but the irises roll up into his skull as his head moves rapidly from side to side. He pants loudly.

"Help!" He finally calls out.

"I'm here. I'm trying to help. Tell me what to do. It's Harry. Please tell me what to do." I beg him. I uncurl one of his fists and rub his palm soothingly. His body seems to go limpid for a few moments and then his limbs snap close to him and he curls into a fetal position. He cries softly into his knees. He seems so fragile. Like a doll.

"Draco?" I ask quietly, not wanting to startle him. He looks up where he is hunched over and his eyes lock with mine. He seems so lifeless and tired. His eyes are rimmed with red and tears threatening to spill.

"Harry." He chokes out. He reaches for me and I give him my hand. He inspects it as if trying to see if it's real. "I'm sorry." He mumbles.

"For what?"

"For waking you." He answers.

"I couldn't sleep anyway. What happened?" He scoots over and crosses his legs to give me room to sit with him.

"I ran out of my dreamless sleep potion. I was hoping I had enough in my system to last me through tonight but I guess not." He sighs. He rubs at his eyes with shakey hands.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I offer. He looks up at me seeming slightly surprised as if no one has bothered to ask him that before.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Yes." I nod and he chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I already told you initiation wasn't fun. What I failed to say was that wasn't the only time they tortured me. I was the first child to join. Of course they had fun with me." He sighs. "They say cruciatus is the worst pain spell, but Voldemort was crafty. He knew ones far worse than that." I remember being hit with the cruciatus curse. It was like it paralyzed me at my spine and set every nerve on fire. I can't imagine a worst pain. "Sometimes he even used Imperius on me and made me torture myself when he was feeling rather lazy." His arms wrapped protectively around his thin frame.

"I wish I could have been there. I would have saved you." I mutter.

"You couldn't have done anything, Harry. Don't blame yourself. Hell. Back then you probably wouldn't have even considered saving me. I know I wouldn't." He chuckles bitterly.

"I would have. No one deserves that except Voldemort himself." I assure him. My voice is firm and strong. I would have saved him time and time again. If I had the chance, I would have tortured Voldemort myself.

"What time is it?" He asks, changing the subject.

"Last I checked it was four in the morning." 

"Less than four hours to my trial." He tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs aggressively.

"You can't pull off bald, Draco. Please stop." I joke and a trace of a smile touches his lips.

"Harry Potter, you ought to know very well by now that I can pull anything off." He winks suggestively and I turn the lovely shade of a ripe strawberry. He stands up from the bed and pulls a sweater over his head. I catch a glimpse of the dark mark on the arm opposite to where I was perched before. I am aware that it represents something awful but the dark shade contrasts nicely with his skin. He somehow makes it a little less ugly.

We wordlessly walk downstairs to the living room and take our designated seats in front of the TV. I call Kreature to make us tea and two hot mugs are brought to us promptly. We lounge around and watch a movie until it's time to start getting ready. 

"You really don't have to come with me." Draco insists.

"I want to. I want to see what this whole trial thing is about." I shrug. He is combing his hair while I brush my teeth and our arms keep bumping. Even if it's clumsy, the contact is nice. I haven't been this close to anyone since Ginny. Ron and Hermione don't count because they are my best friends. We take the floo route to the ministry and I can see Draco shaking with nerves. He is directed to the courtroom for his trial and in the very center of a large circular room is one wooden chair labeled Mr. D. Malfoy. All eyes are on us and more specifically him when we walk in. He takes his seat awkwardly and I sit on the first row across the room from him. I loud door behind the podium creaks open and the Minister himself appears behind the wooden structure with robes on.

"All rise." And so it begins.