𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐧: 𝐓𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬

"What's this?" asked Draco, plucking Harry's daily schedule directly from his hands.

"Nothing important," Harry said, reaching to take it back. Draco held the slip of parchment above his head out of Harry's reach.

"Is that so?" he smirked and lowered the paper only enough for him to see. "It's got Mcgonagall's signature on it. You got the old Headmistress babysitting you now, is that it?"

"It's not like that," Harry groaned. "I just have... poor time management."

Draco scoffed, "Yeah. Something like that."

Harry rolled his eyes and jumped, trying to snatch the paper. Draco held it up higher, triumph on his face.

"Magic word?" he asked.

"Fuck you," replied Harry.

"Aw, not very friendly," he turned his mouth down far too much to be sincere.

Harry sighed, stopping his struggling, shoulders slumped in defeat. "Please?"

Draco smiled wide, lowering his arm to hand Harry the schedule. He grabbed it and turned around to continue down the corridor on the way to the Great Hall.

"You gonna follow it?" asked Draco from behind.

"Why should I?"

"Routine is not a horrible thing, Scarhead. She only wants you to do well on your N.E.W.T.s."

"I don't give a damn about the N.E.W.T.s."

"Then why are you here?"

Harry stopped walking. Draco stopped with him. He didn't know how to respond.

Why was he there? What valid reason did he have not to be back moping through the halls of Grimmauld Place instead of Hogwarts?

"Guess I just thought things would be different," he sighed.

"They are different."

"Not in a good way."

"They're safe."

Harry met Draco's eyes. There was no hint of the humour or amusement that had been there only seconds ago.

Draco looked at him in a way that said far more than the two words that came out of his mouth.

There was something there. A past. A future.

"Can I ask you a question, Potter?"

He nodded.

"Do you miss Voldemort?"

Harry's own eyes turned to hardness. A flame burned, fueled by the fierce anger and resentment that overcame him.

"What?" His voice came out low. If he had been paying attention, he didn't think he would have recognized it.

"Do you?"

"He killed my family."

"He gave you what you mistook for 'purpose' as well."

"He's the reason I thought I had none!" he was yelling now, thankful that everyone else was at breakfast. "He's the reason I'm an orphan! The reason I spent my life in a cupboard!"

"Cupboard?"

"I wasn't pampered with old money and statice to get me by, Malfoy! I didn't have a home to go to when I felt lost! I didn't get told 'I love you' every morning before school, or when I came home, or before bed! I couldn't even say it to myself! Voldemort caused that!"