Temptation on the Warfront

2

Harry watches doubtfully as Malfoy's face goes from disgusted to impassive, and as their eyes settle on eachother there is a very brief, unnerving moment where Harry feels like he is the one tied up, as if Malfoy has stripped away all the layers of his attempt as an interrogator and left him bare.

Harry knows that not many Witches and Wizards are capable of resisting Veritiserum — just like with the Imperius Curse, but he also knows that an Occlumency skill powerful enough is all it takes to counter the potion. He has no idea if Malfoy is trained in that area, but he wouldn't put it past him, so Harry doesn't take his eyes away from Malfoy's face.

He can't help but take in all the details, the way Malfoy's cheeks are sallow, his chin too prominent, the angles of his face jutting sharply with traces of malnourishment. All of him is very familiar, very Malfoy, but at the same time he's all wrong — different, unnatural — as if this is a mere shell of the real Malfoy, an empty husk of a human, and the pest of a boy Harry knew in school is out of reach. Harry has to remind himself that this is Malfoy, and he shouldn't care whatsoever how much food the boy who tried to kill Dumbledore has eaten recently. Harry puts it down to the fact that he knows only too well what it's like to be starved, as years at the Dursley's made him well acquainted with the feeling, and nothing more. Because his fists still itch with the urge to punch his enemy, and his wand still feels too heavy in his pocket.

While Harry has been staring at Malfoy, waiting for the traces of a crumbling inhibition, he knows Malfoy has been staring back, and strangely enough he wonders what the other boy is thinking — if the things he finds in Harry's face are as foreign as what Harry sees in Malfoy's.

Somewhere, in what seems like the distance, Ron coughs, and it brings Harry back to what he's supposed to be doing. He has time to catch the way Malfoy's eyebrows lift before Harry clears his throat and says, "Right. I'll ask again. Why are you here, Malfoy?"

There's something dark in the way Malfoy's grey eyes flicker, but Harry can't identify it. Malfoy tilts his chin back, just a little, but the gesture carries the memory of a snobby boy with the pretence of an unpleasant smell hovering beneath his nose. It's the same look Malfoy used to level at Hermione when he called her a Mudblood, the same one he'd wear when insulting Ron's family — and it makes Harry snap. He raises his wand before he's aware of what he's doing, and then he's right in front of where Malfoy sits — their knees almost touching. "Answer me."

"He's resisting it," Hermione whispers.

"Not if the bastard knows what's good for him." Harry narrows his eyes, carefully observing clench to Malfoy's jaw and the crease between his brows. Malfoy is never one to back down from a challenge, and Harry will make the whole thing a challenge if that's what it takes. "Come on, Malfoy, too tired of taking orders? Is that why you left daddy?"

Malfoy lunges forward, but is jarred by the ropes that bind him. His face is on fire, though, his teeth bared, and Harry feels his mouth go dry. But this is better than the thin and hollow person who is a ghost of what Malfoy once was. "Speak for yourself! What's it like now that you're free from being Dumbledore's lapdog? You pathetic fuck!"

And he spits at Harry's feet.

Harry would have done more than wordlessly cast a jolt of ice-like fire through Malfoy's veins, but the way the blond winced over their late headmaster's name gave him pause. In that instant Harry caught a glimpse of regret, and it shocked him to the core.

Harry doesn't know he has frozen until he is pushed to the side by Ron, charging past him with an outraged snarl caught in his throat. "Ron—" But Ron's wand has already expelled a spark of burning magic, and the hex hits Malfoy right in the neck. Harry hears Malfoy cough and splutter as he snags Ron around the elbow and tugs him back. "Don't."