“Oh yes, precious Potter, still mourning his precious Weaselby… Ever the hero, aren’t we Potter?”
He hates the other man for even saying her name, because her name makes him hate himself too, because he didn’t save her. Because he should have. How can he say her name without flinching? He feels the rage building in himself, and he hates the other man.
“How dare you… How dare you insult her memory…”
“She was worthless, Potter. And you didn’t love her. I could see it, Potter, I could see how fake it was… for both of you…”
It wasn’t fake, he knows it wasn’t fake, he knows that they loved each other, he knows that what they had was real. He left her for her own protection. But sometimes he wonders if it would have worked “ could have worked “ if she had lived. And then he hates himself for his relief that they didn’t have to work it out. But it’s not like Malfoy of all people can tell him about love. Malfoy, the spoiled pureblood, what does he know of true love?
“Because you and Parkinson had such a meaningful relationship…”
“Was that an attempt at sarcasm, Potter? Because I’ll tell you freely that that slut meant nothing to me at all. She was easily thrown aside.”
How can it be so easy for him to talk about her? How can he admit that he didn’t care for her? The slime ball really feels no emotions, he decides, he doesn’t even know what loyalty or friendship mean.
“You’re disgusting. You really only care about your sick little self, don’t you? You just don’t give a damn, even about your so-called friends.”
“She wasn’t a friend, even in the broadest definition of the term, Potter. She was there for amusement “ to be used and then got rid of. She served her purpose.”
It’s awful how Malfoy can just shut people out. He hates himself for almost wishing that he could be the same, that he could just not care, could just use people and be over with it. And he hates Malfoy for being so disgusting “ so pathetic! “ but he hates himself even more for almost envying him for it. Almost.
“You’re pathetic, Malfoy. You think you’re tough “ but you’re just a Mommy’s boy, aren’t you? Always trying to impress your dear Death Eater daddy…”
He knows that that blow is below the belt on some level, but Malfoy has already thrown all rules to the wind. How dare he have mentioned her! He deserves every moment of torment Harry can give him.
“How dare you insult my father Potter! Worthless half-blood, you’re not worthy of licking my boots, no matter what some Muggle-loving idiot tells you.”
How Malfoy dares insult Dumbledore is beyond him. Dumbledore, who would have saved the ungrateful arse. Dumbledore, a powerful wizard, a caring man, a wise mentor, a brilliant fighter. The entire world is mourning Dumbledore, and he just stands there, his would-be murderer, calling him childish names. Some how, Harry isn’t even that angry anymore, just disgusted with the ease with which Malfoy talks of Dumbledore. Malfoy, the cowardly Slytherin who couldn’t even finish the job he set out to complete.
“Oh, you mean the Muggle-loving idiot you had to get Snape to help you finish off?”
Malfoy says nothing, and he feels a moment of triumph. He, too, has grown up and he knows that Malfoy doesn’t know how to answer to that. A dose of his own foul, Slytherin medicine.
“Nothing to say, ferret boy?”
“I finished off the Weasley slut, didn’t I?”
And suddenly every feeling of self-control is gone, gone with the words that just left that disgusting mouth. He killed her? Him. It was him. It’s all his fault. The thought reverberates in his heart, even as his brain tells him that Malfoy is lying, that Malfoy is too weak to have commit murder. His fault, his fault, his fault. Somehow, it helps, to think like that. His fault, his fault, his fault. How dare he?
“You… you disgusting… pathetic…You’re just a… weak… sick…”
He feels satisfaction seeing Malfoy grinding his teeth in frustration. He was always sensitive about his precious pride. Why? Why, when all the world knows how weak he truly is?
“Oh no, Potter, I am not weak. She screamed Potter, she screamed for you and where were you? Ever the hero and you couldn’t even save your own precious girlfriend.”
No matter how much is a lie, this, he knows is true. And it hurts him. It hurts, knowing that Malfoy is right, knowing that he should have saved her. He saved a girl he didn’t even know when he was fourteen, didn’t he? He rushed to Sirius’s aid when Sirius didn’t need him, didn’t he? He was responsible for that death, and for hers too, because he got there, but too late, too late. He misses her, and he knows that he should have saved her. And he hates Malfoy for smirking in his face while saying it, telling all the world of his own weakness, of his own failure. He should have saved her! He should have…
“Nothing to say, scar-head?”
Something inside of him just cracks. He isn’t thinking anymore, really, he just wants everything Malfoy is saying to be a lie, he just wants her to be alive again, he just wants to hurt the man who has done his best to ruin his life for years.
He surprises even himself, disarming Malfoy, and holding his wand against the pale white throat. A part of him wants to kill the cocky arse, who still doesn’t have the decency to look afraid. But really, all he wants is for it all to be over, for it all never to have happened, for him to be lying.
“You’re lying. You’re lying,” he manages.
“You’ll never know will you, Potter?” comes the mocking taunt.
No, he won’t know, will he? He’ll always wonder… but he still wants the satisfaction of seeing ferret boy suffer. Seeing him in pain. Killing… He isn’t thinking straight he knows, but something about Malfoy’s face just makes him feel such anger, such rage, he feels he could do it. He could kill.
“I’ll kill you, Malfoy.”
“Do it then, Potter.”
He hates how calm the other boy is remaining, he wants him to be afraid, he wants him to show the cowardly side that has always dominated his weak character. He wants to feel power of him. And somewhere, a little bit of him hates himself for thinking like that, but mostly he just doesn’t think anymore, because it’s too far gone for that, really.
“I will, I’m warning you, I will…”
Suddenly, he feels Malfoy’s mouth moving against his, and without thinking he gives in, throws his wand aside, knows that he is safe for this instant, here, with Malfoy. He doesn’t really know why he doesn’t pull back, only that this feels right, in some way.
And he’s seen too many deaths to kid himself, he knows that this is war, that his life could be over tomorrow, that this could be his last night, his last moment, his last kiss.
Yet somehow, there is a feeling of life growing in him that he has seldom felt before. This might be his last kiss, but to Harry, it is the first.