Temptation on the Warfront

5

Draco Malfoy hates Harry Potter, and he is more than certain that Harry Potter hates him too. They told eachother after the argument in the kitchen, that their hate is mutual — that's how it's always been, and for that to suddenly change would be to throw every solid fact Draco's spent his life holding onto, into oblivion.

Maybe oblivion is something Draco's scared of, a foreboding cloud hidden in the untouched crevices of his mind, but fear is an emotion he's always liked to pretend is nonexistent. So instead he holds onto the notion that Potter must hate him, that Potter needs to be able to hate him as much as Draco hates Potter — because that's normal, that's what everyone expects.

Yes, Harry Potter hates Draco Malfoy, so why, then, does he insist on leaving warm meals outside of Draco's door, even when they both know that Draco won't eat them? Why does Potter care about the welfare of someone he knows despises his very existence? Why, the following morning, next to a suspiciously charred plate of pancakes, does Draco find a creased paper bag, filled with clothes? New clothes. Clothes that, when Draco takes them out and critically inspects them, appear to be his size, give or take a few inches? They're ridiculous, bizarre muggle clothes that Draco's never worn before, has never contemplated wearing before — but they are still clothes — and the gesture makes something inside of Draco's chest twinge unexpectedly.

His own clothes are caked with dust and dirt, his shirt is torn and stinks of sweat, and despite the fact that, more than anything, Draco wants to incinerate the bag of garments Potter's left him, he knows that doing so would only make him out to be a foolish, masochistic martyr. And being a martyr is what Potter does best, so Draco will do what it takes to avoid having the title associated with himself. He tells himself this as he shrugs out of the old, bloodied material, discards it into the corner of the room, and pulls on a black knit sweater, too long in the sleeves but pretty decent around the middle. Draco tosses up between completely ignoring the deed which Potter probably thought of as kindness (because there is no way in hell Draco is going to thank him) and openly acknowledging the way the sweater doesn't fit him properly, and ridiculing Potter for it.

But then he freezes, his mind reeling, because he is suddenly creeped out by the fact that Potter had to have had some sort of idea about Draco's measurements beforehand. He scowls at his arms, but the material is warm and soft, so Draco chews down on his lip and shoves the uncomfortable thought away.

What Draco next pulls out of the bag makes him think he will go with the second option of tormenting Potter about his misinformed choices after all, because the pair of pants he holds in his hands are a pair of those fuggly, uncomfortable looking, grey muggle denims. Draco doesn't know what they're called, nor does he want to, he just knows that Potter always wears them, and that is a good enough reason for Draco to decide he loathes them. He mourns the loss of his trousers as he disdainfully tugs on the denims, but a small, distant thought reminds him that at least Potter hadn't bought him underwear. God, that will be the day when Draco Malfoy concludes that existing has become too painful.

Draco's gotten to the point where he hardly feels his hunger anymore. The last meal he ate was probably whatever disgusting gruel the Auror's had threatened him with, and that was nearly four days ago. So when he steps out of the attic room, and sees the breakfast Potter's left him is a muffin, Draco's gaze goes from irritated to longing. He tries to block out the memory from three years ago, before the Manor had been taken from them, back to when Home was still a Home. His mother used to make muffins sometimes, because she knew they were her son's favourite, and she wouldn't trust the house elves with it.

Draco swallows, and suddenly he doesn't feel hungry any more. He heads downstairs, seeking out Potter, because an argument is what he needs right now, a distraction, and he won't stop until he gets one.