On The Wings of A Dragon

7. Confusion

It had been a week since Harry had left the Manor after being kicked out by Draco.  The first two days had been hard on him, having hardly slept.  But on the third day he decided, that even if he was a patient man, he was not going to be a pushover.  Harry knew abuse, but he also knew that he was not the type of person who would lie down and take it.  No, he wouldn't abuse people back, but he would get his just desserts, if the situation called for it.

And this situation most certainly did.  What had he been thinking, that Draco would want to talk to him, would want to see him?  He wasn't that righteous that he would demand an apology, but for Merlin's sake, he had felt crushed and embarrassed at how he had been treated.  Not only on that day, but every day before that.  He had been made a fool of, being told to wait, and then have no one come and tell him anything or have Draco even show up.  

At the end of the third day, he had received two letters.  Both had the Malfoy wax seal on them, and both were in the same elegant writing that he had come to know as Narcissa Malfoy's.  He opened the first one, and started to read, frowning here and there, but smiling as he finished reading it.

Dear Harry

Do you see?  How broken the war has left my son.  How his soul needs healing, and I know in my heart that you are the one to help him heal, because I have seen that you need to heal also.  You and Draco can help each other.  He has many beautiful qualities that nobody knows about, and I want you to witness them.  He is so very sorry for his behavior the other day, and I know that he will want to apologize to you in person.

Will you at least give him another chance?

Kind regards

Narcissa Malfoy

The second letter of course was an invite to tea, again on a Saturday.  Harry sighed and went to his desk to write a reply.  He was confused though.  Being invited by Narcissa meant that she wanted him there and not Draco.  But she had said that he wanted to apologize.  He supposed it counted for something that he didn't write an apology, and wanted to do it face to face.  But years of being insulted by the man didn't change the fact that Draco hated him.  

But Harry had never hated Draco.

He hated what he stood for.  He hated what he believed in.  His pathetic father teaching him shitty pure blood ways, and calling his best friend a mudblood, when she couldn't help being born to muggle parents.  He had to have known that it was wrong, deep in his heart.  Harry knew that there was some good in Draco, because he had shown him that there was.  Throwing his wand to him in the battle, saving his life when they were taken to the Manor.  There was good in him, Harry just had to dig deeper to find more of it.

Sitting at his desk, with a quill in his hand, he thought about what to write.  There were two letters, and so there would be two replies.  He was not so stupid as to combine both answers in one letter, and if Hermoine had taught him anything, it was just that.  Leave things the exact way you find them Harry, she had always said.  If the question asks for three or thirty three answers, then that is what you should give.

Looking out of his window, he could see the moon, and suddenly thought of his old DADA Professor, Remus Lupin.  How he missed the man and his bright outlook on life.  He had been the one to teach him so much in his third year, and for that he was so grateful.  He wondered what his reaction would have been if he knew that he had defended Draco, and was now being asked to help him heal.  He would probably pat him on the back and tell him to do what your heart says is right, just be careful.  And don't get up to any mischief.

Harry smiled at that.  He had always gotten up to mischief.  It was his middle name for Merlin's sake.  He loved mischief and trouble, and apparently he loved detention, because he had filled so many hours doing nothing productive in the punishments, like signing fan mail for Lockhart, the conceited prick.  Shaking his head, trying to get rid of those thoughts, he turned his attention back to Draco.  

He was thin and pale.  His eyes didn't have that shine to them anymore, and his skin looked like it hadn't seen cream in a while.  That was not the Draco that he knew.  The Draco Malfoy that he knew was very self aware of himself.  His grooming technique was like that of a model, he had to wake up at least an hour before everyone else just to cover all the bases.  There was never a hair out of place, never a wrinkle in his clothes, never a scuff mark on his shoes, nothing.  

He was perfect.  In every sense of the word.

What Harry wasn't sure about was, the fact that it was the war alone that did this to him.  Something must have been brewing for a while, for Draco to let himself go like that.  A friend lost in the war, perhaps.  A scorned lover that wanted more from him, maybe.  Maybe someone had broken his heart.

His father demanding in every aspect of his life, definitely.  But there was more, Harry was sure of it.  He wanted to know everything there was to know about the blond.  And he would start on the day they had tea, and he would tell Draco this too, because he had to know where he stood with him.

Being Harry Potter, means that you can't do things half arsed.  You have to come to the party in full swing, and you have to show others that you have the ability to start and finish the same task.  Take fourth year when his name had been entered into the Triwizard Tournament.  He had to finish, even with Voldemort literally breathing down his back in the graveyard.  There was no time for error.  Which was quite fucked up, because they were only human.  And to err was human.  Letting go of his confusion, having weighed his options, he turned to his parchment, and wrote his reply to Mrs Malfoy.