Indifference Towards Difference || Harry Potter

16 | When Love Bargains With Deceitful Pleading

And now here Malfoy was, saying his assistance would be appreciated and that Snape meant something to him, perhaps similar to how Harry had felt— still felt — about Sirius.

If you were in Malfoy's shoes now, and Sirius had gone off somewhere deathly dangerous and someone could tell you exactly how he was...

A small voice in his head helpfully piped up to remind Harry that Sirius was dead. But dismissing that, he rolled along with playing Devil's advocate. And of course he'd want to know. Desperately so.

"Potter." Harry started at Malfoy's voice; apparently he'd been a little too caught up in his musing. There was a strange gleam in Malfoy's eyes now, and he looked considerably paler.

"I'll exchange information about myself, and my... change in lifestyle, if you would be willing to use your... connection..."

Well, he hadn't been expecting that. Hell, he hadn't needed that as some sort of sick incentive. Harry knew enough about wanting to keep things about home and summer to oneself.

"You don't have to—"

The blond cut him off. "It would be better for both of us if we established a basis of... trust. We are going to be stuck together for the rest of the summer after all."

Yeah, but I don't need your whole life story for that.

Especially seeing that Harry wasn't planning a massive Show-And-Tell by way of explaining all his injuries.

"I won't expect the same from you, Potter," Malfoy said promptly.

Are all Slytherins just trained in some sort of mind-reading thing? Why can't we get this training?

"You don't have to tell me about whatever got you here rather than sun-bathing in Hawaii or wherever," Harry began, raising his eyebrows at Malfoy's disgusted look, "but I'll do it anyway. I'll... check up on Snape." Those were words Harry never thought would leave his mouth.

But Malfoy— though a part of Harry was starting to see him more as Draco, rather than the arrogant Slytherin ponce— looked more at ease at his words. The differences were small, but the way his eyebrows were less drawn together and some colour had return to his lips after being slightly pressed together... Harry had finally done something right.

"I'm going to have to go to sleep for this though." If he wasn't feeling quite so numb and dreadful, Harry fancied that he would've smiled— maybe even given a small, hollow laugh— at Malfoy's bemused expression.

***

A swarm of midnight black robes with bone-white masks were gathered before him in the vast hall, his Inner Circle granted with the privilege of being closer to their master at the forefront of the arch. Harry vented a part of his frustrations on the last few latecomers, lazily casting a 'crucio' to watch them writhe at his feet, before kissing his robes and stumbling back into the crowd.

A heavy quietude haunted the chamber moments before Harry began to speak.

"My Death Eaters," he began, in a voice that could cut glass, "It is rather sad to say that tonight, I, Lord Voldemort, find myself... most displeased," Harry finished with a hiss, smiling darkly at the sound gulps he heard. Fear was a most beautiful thing. Anger though, was another. Dangerous, volatile... alluring. "It has come to my attention, that our dear, sweet Harry Potter is no longer with his relatives. He has disappeared. And not one of you have brought such news to me."