Where Will You Go
Chapter 2 - Escape
But where will you go?
With no one left to save you from yourself,
You can’t escape…
…You can’t escape
The Gryffindor captain held his nose as he entered the changing rooms before Quidditch practice.
"Ugh…how many times do I have to remind the lot of you to clean up after yourselves? Do any of you wash your clothes? It smells like sweat and old socks."
"Yea," Ron chimed in, "Dobby would have a field day in here."
Ever since Harry became captain, the Gryffindor team hadn’t lost a match. He was tough on the practice schedules and a great motivator. Some even said he was better than Oliver Wood, and Wood had valued Quidditch more than life itself. He had a tight plan for this day in particular, with the Cup only a few wins away and a big match that Saturday.
The team changed quickly, and practice began. Harry mounted his Nebula 500 and zipped off into the sky. The new broom had been a present from Sirius, before he had fled. Harry hadn’t heard from him in months.
He flew around the pitch, practicing the Wronski Feint and the famous Potter back flip. Well, it was famous to him. He zoomed past the Slytherin stands, and slowed to a hover as a voice called his name.
Draco sat staring up at Harry from the stands.
"Get out, Malfoy. Other captains aren’t allowed to watch practices and you know that."
"It’s not Quidditch I'm here for, Potter," the blonde sneered. "It’s you."
Harry looked at him in surprise. "Wait."
Harry flew over to Ron and told him to take over practice. With no further explanation, Harry headed back to Draco and landed beside him.
"Let’s walk," Harry suggested.
After strolling in complete silence, the boys made it to the shores of the lake. They sat on the huge rocks that looked over the shimmering waters. Draco sighed. Harry looked at him questionably. Draco glanced over and smirked at him, before turning back to watching the setting sun.
Harry stared at the boy’s face. His cold grey eyes were fixated on the orange sky, and Harry could see the reflection of the waters in the cloudy orbs. Harry’s eyes fell to Draco’s ivory white cheeks, his pointed nose, his pink mouth. He looked like a statue. Harry had never noticed how flawless Draco’s skin was, how shiny his blonde hair was, slicked against his head. Then again, there wasn’t much to notice when you were exchanging insults and spells from across the room.
Harry tilted his head back and closed his eyes. The sounds of the wind in the trees and the lake water lapping at the shore made him tired, and he quickly dozed off.
"Never close your eyes, Potter. You never know what will be waiting for you when you open them."
Draco’s voice brought Harry back from his nap. The sky was dark, and it took Harry’s eyes some time to adjust to the dim world, and the wand pointed between his eyes. He looked up in confusion at Draco’s face.
"You never told me why you came to see me."
Draco’s expression faded from the usual smug Malfoy smirk to a look of despair. His already pale face whitened even more. The wand dropped away from Harry’s face, and the blonde stared, biting his lip indecisively.
Harry watched Draco with a worried interest. Was this not his enemy? Was he not the person who had made his, Hermione and Ron’s lives hell for six long years? What was he doing coming to him?
"What’s happened to you, Malfoy?"
Draco looked at him nervously, and reluctantly reached for his sleeve, slowly rolling it up. Harry didn’t need to see what was there; he had the sickening feeling he already knew. He grabbed Draco’s wrist, stopping him from continuing.
"They made me, Harry."
Harry. His name sounded foreign on the tongue of Draco Malfoy. Malfoy. What a façade. Harry’s eye’s searched Draco’s. The icy grey seemed to melt, and Harry saw a trapped, scared child deep in the recesses of his enemy’s eyes.
"What do I do? I can't be my father. I can't be a Rookwood, a Lestrange, a Rosier. I'm not them. I thought I was, but I'm not."
"Draco, the war’s been over. Voldemort’s gone-"
Draco laughed in disgust. "Where do you think I got this mark? Not from my father. Voldemort is hardly gone. He is still alive, as are his Death Eater friends. Nothing’s changed, Potter. Nothing."
"I’ll fight it. I swear, I’ll fight it again," softly, "We- we can fight it…Draco." A chill ran over Harry as he whispered the boy’s name.
Draco looked back at him sympathetically. "They’ll kill you. Like they killed Weasley… and Cedric…and everyone else who stood in their way. Don’t think for an instant they won’t."
Harry’s heart ached at the mention of his lost friends. Emotions flooded his mind. "Its late," Harry’s eyes were distant, and his voice cracked as he spoke. "I’m cold. Let’s talk inside?"
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