What If? - Drarry

Chapter Twelve

After eating nothing at dinner and making a transparent excuse to Ron and Hermione, Harry carefully took as long as he could to walk through the school towards the Guest Room. At first he had to fight the crowds of students returning from the Great hall, but soon the corridors emptied themselves, and all that was left were the eerily loud echoes of his feet on the stone floor. Feeling uncomfortably aware of how nervous he was, Harry first stuffed his shaking hands in his pockets, and then removed them when they began to get clammy and damp. He didn't know what Draco was going to say, and even less what he was going to say in return. If Draco wanted him back, what then? Of course Harry wanted to be with Draco, so badly it made his head hurt, but after what Draco had done to him - how bad he'd made him feel - would he be able to say yes? And what if it wasn't that? What if he'd done something wrong, or worse, what if this was all some big joke by the Slytherins? Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to clear his mind, Harry realised he was nearing the room, and took a couple of deep breaths, wiping his palms on his trousers and straightening his back a little.

"Ilunga," He said quietly, and after one last hesitation pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as it had been when he'd left it, over two months ago. Draco clearly hadn't been back either, judging by the radio on the table, and the few sheets of parchment spread over the writing desk. Nervously, he looked around to see Draco, who stood up from his place on the sofa. Neither boy said anything for a moment, just stared, flushing with the awkwardness.

"Um, hi, Harry," Draco began gracelessly. Harry blinked at the sound of Draco speaking his name, an unfamiliar noise after going so long unsaid.

"What do you want?" He asked in a carefully flat voice "Why did you need to speak to me?"

Draco swallowed. Then straightened his back in the same way Harry had done moments earlier, met Harry's gaze, and held it. "Harry Potter, I- I owe you an apology. Would you please do me the kindness of listening to what I have to say?"

Draco's tone was formal, though unsteady, and it dawned on Harry that Draco had truly been brought up in high society, whether or not he cared to admit it. Harry nodded a little. "Okay. Go on." He made no move to sit down but instead dropped his bag on the floor by his feet, and crossed his arms lightly, almost protectively, over his chest. Draco took a deep breath.

"To begin with, I owe you an explanation. It isn't an excuse, I just think you deserve to understand. You deserve to know." Again, he paused. "Ever since I can remember, I haven't been brought up as a son by my father, but instead, as an heir. I wasn't raised, I was trained. My father, as you probably know, isn't the warmest man. But most people don't quite realise the extent of his..." He gestured, grasping for the right word, "His character. When I fail to please him, which is almost constantly, there are severe consequences. Very severe." Draco seemingly subconsciously raised his arm and rubbed an area of his belly, and looked away from Harry. "He starves me over the holidays if I don't do well in school, or if I do something - even the tiniest thing - that isn't perfect while I'm at home. He hits me or my mum when he gets angry, and he- he just does some really terrible things, Harry. I'm not telling you this so that you pity me; I don't want your pity. I just want you to understand that when I say that I don't have a choice, it is very rarely a lie."

Harry could feel his heart beating a little faster, and rage at Lucius Malfoy began to swirl in his mind. Still, Draco continued to talk.

"So, now you know, and I hope you understand what's been going on. But that still isn't an excuse for hurting you." He ran a self- conscious hand through his hair.

"Harry, I really like you. I have done for a long time, even if I didn't realise, or didn't want to realise it. But I thought that if I was with you... well, I knew it would put us in real danger if someone found out. And I didn't - I don't - ever want to hurt you. I thought, realistically, that my father might do something terrible if he knew. And he probably would. But I-" He paused, and looked again at Harry. "Being without you isn't really living, it's just existing. And I can't bear it anymore. I'm so, so sorry for hurting you, Harry. And if you could possibly find it in your heart to forgive me-"