Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Chapter 3: Entanglement

Draco uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his pockets. "You wanted to speak to me?"

"I have an inkling of what you're planning," Severus said, pushing the pile aside. He clasped his hands on the desk and regarded Draco coolly. "And I'm curious whether you've lost the last shred of sense you once possessed."

"I won't let you talk to me like this," Draco growled. "I'm in his circle, now. His inner circle. He trusts me with things."

"He trusts you with nothing. He expects you to fail."

"He doesn't!" Draco cried. He had meant to keep his cool—he was sick of losing his temper—but his nerves were so frayed that it took nothing to set him off. "He knows I've done well, knows I almost have it..."

Severus rose to his feet. "Tell me what you're planning. I can help you."

"No! You don't—I've almost got it, I just need a bit more time—he wouldn't like it, anyway, us talking about this. It's supposed to be a secret."

"This past year, you've made nothing but poor decision after poor decision."

"Whose side are you on?" Draco shouted; he couldn't help himself. "It was his idea to bring me in. To give me this job. So why are you questioning him? How can you tell me it was a bad idea to join him, when—"

"Listen to me," Severus hissed, coming around the desk to stand in front of him. "I know you think this will protect your parents. It will not. He will find other ways to punish them. And there is still the question of..." A pained expression flit across his face. "Macnair."

Draco recoiled, nearly tripping over the desk. "Once I manage, he'll leave me alone. The Dark Lord would never...he'll protect me, once I..."

"As usual, you overestimate your own importance," Severus snapped. "There may come a time when I can no longer protect you. And what then?"

They both winced as their Marks suddenly burned; Draco gasped, clasping his arm.

"He's angry," Severus muttered. "We may be called tonight."

"Tonight?" Draco repeated, horrified. "But we were only just there—they're going to be suspicious, if we keep leaving..."

"Perhaps you should have thought about that, before you made such a foolish mistake."

He knew they were going to be called. The pain in his arm was mounting, the blistering heat blinding him as it rippled through his skin, his muscles, his bones...

Draco sat up and tried to rip away his arm, but Harry held it tightly, refusing to let him go. Snarling, he twisted his free hand into the blanket, trying to steady himself.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..." Harry said. Finally, he took his wand away, and Draco crumbled back onto the blanket, panting. His arm continued to burn.

"Draco," Harry muttered. "It's lighter."

He took a moment to regain his breath. In the meantime, Harry pulled his arm back into his lap, gently running his fingers across his forearm. His touch was soothing—like a cold balm, it drove the pain away, until finally only a dull ache lingered. As his pulse steadied, Draco leaned over to look at his arm. Harry was right—even against his pale skin, the Mark was a formless grey smudge. It could have been mistaken for a bruise.

"We could just leave it like this," Harry said quietly. "And then you wouldn't have to see any more memories."

"No," Draco rasped. His throat ached. "I want it gone. Completely."