30 Days of Writing – 2: Accusation

Accusation

(Post Mortem)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“You don’t love him,” Narcissa Malfoy says. She does not bother to put up a pretense of pleasantry, and Harry knows that she dislikes him. Hates him, even. Wishes him gone.

“I don’t,” Harry replies. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? He hasn’t left me with many options.”

“My son deserves to be with someone who loves him,” Narcissa all but hisses, leaning forward. Harry sneers, and the rage welling inside him stirs the dead beneath his feet.

“And what do I deserve?” he asks. “To be trapped by the love of a person who wants me and has me despite my own wishes? To be forced to remain with a constant reminder of the madness that destroyed my mother, knowing that if I ever left him, that’s the fate that awaits him? Do I deserve to be burdened with the love of a person who gives me no options but to accept, bear with it?”

“Mr. Potter-”

“No, Mrs. Malfoy. Don’t try to pretend that your loving son is the victim here. He did what he did to get what he wanted, and he succeeded in that.”

“You’re not even trying to make it work,” Narcissa accuses him, and Harry almost smiles. Almost. He shakes his head.

“I try every day to keep him happy,” Harry replies. “But I cannot try to love him. I do not want to.”

“You will never be happy you do not change,” Narcissa says, and Harry wonders if she expects him to feel hurt.

“I gave up on my own happiness years ago,” he told her instead. “Perhaps my happiness was never an option.”

“Draco could make you happy if you let him try,” the woman insisted. “And you can do that in return, as well. He knows you’re not in love with him. He lies to himself excellently, but a part of him knows and it’s killing him.”

“I don’t think your words affect me the way you wish they would,” Harry says, and finally smiles. “Death is far more pleasant than madness, ma’am.”

30 Days of Writing – 1: Beginning

Beginning

(The Train to Nowhere)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“Today it begins,” Björn says, grinning at Harry. His face is slightly flushed and he looks positively tipsy. “The rest of our lives. We’re graduating, man. Graduating!”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, and tries to smile. “Good for us.” The hall is crowded, the music is loud, the champagne ever-present and everyone looks happy. Harry isn’t. Doesn’t quite manage to be.

“Hey,” Björn starts, and sits down next to Harry. “It’s been one hell on a ride, huh. Sometimes I doubted that I’d ever get to this point. It’s been tough. But here we are.”

“Remember in the very beginning,” Harry says quietly. “There were ten of us. Ten. And now look at us who’re left to graduate – six.” Björn falls silent for a few long moments, before he sighs and shakes his head.

“You can’t keep thinking like that,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t think of that either. You know the circumstances. There’s nothing we can do anymore. About this, I mean. But there’s much else to do about many other things, Harry, and now that we’re out of school, we can… we can start.”

“Start what?” Harry asks, nearly breathlessly. His heart is beating fast in his chest and he remembers now, remembers that even if each one in their class is – or was – an extraordinary practicer of magic, the only genius is Björn.

People forget it so easily. Too easily. But facts, even if forgotten, remain facts. If there’s anyone who could figure Harry out and connect the dots even he doesn’t yet see, it’s Björn. Björn who spews off bad poetry but can memorize runes after a single glance. Björn who can’t quite manage to become the ladies man he claims to be, and yet can dissect and recreate spells at a moment’s notice.

“This is the beginning,” Björn repeats again, this time much more seriously. “Scary, isn’t it?”