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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 2:06:47 GMT 1
Harry really wasn't sure what to think about the situation at hand. He knew Dobby had known about Malfoy being there, and in his current state, before he had seen the other. He wasn't sure if Dobby was being motivated by fear or anger—but he stood nearby anyway, clearly unsure. His eyes flicked between Malfoy and Dobby, taking the situation in as it played out. Malfoy's mouth twitched into a slight, almost unidentifiable smile, and he answered the house elf's question.
"I'm fine Dobby," said Malfoy. The tone of his voice—it made it sound like he and Dobby were on better terms than they appeared. He remembered what the older Malfoy had done to Dobby, Malfoy's father, and he put this Malfoy in his place—he wondered, had Malfoy ever abused Dobby? Dobby edged closer, saying something that Harry couldn't quite make out. Malfoy shook his head and Harry's ears pricked. He was curious—you didn't whisper to someone you didn't like, did you? Whispering was usually used when you were telling someone a secret, or some other thing that needed to go unheard by other people. He fought to remain expressionless though, hiding his interest and curiousity inside of himself. It was easier than some would think. Yes, Harry wore his emotions on his sleeve—but curiousity and interest were ones he was better at hiding, thanks to his aunt and uncle. Eavesdropping around their house was dangerous, though most of the time, they ignored Harry as if he didn't exist.
Dobby went about collecting the dishes, as if his exchange with Malfoy had never happened, asking in that familar cherry-voice, "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Not for me thank you," answered Malfoy. His face was hid by Dobby's big head and the way Dobby straightened moments later, turning around to flash Harry that old grin, made Harry wonder if anything else had been said in secret.
He wondered what Malfoy was thinking right then—he didn't remember anything that had happened after this point in his age, right? So what did he tell himself to explain how things were? And would he remember any of this when he was older again?
"And for you, Mister Master Harry?"
Harry looked down at the elf, smiling.
"No thank you, Dobby."
Dobby gave them both a slight bow, his eyes seeming to linger on Malfoy for a moment longer than they needed to, and then he was gone with a soft pop.
Harry folded his arms over his abdomen, looking at Malfoy for a moment. He might as well try entertaining Malfoy for a minute and get it over with, so that when Hermione came back he could give her a half-truthful answer, because he was fully aware she'd ask.
He cleared his throat.
"Is there anything you'd like to do, Malfoy? Going outside is obviously out of the question—but I've exploding snap or," insert mental cringe here, "chess if you're interested."
It was Ron's old set, and if Malfoy played, probably not at all up to par with what he usually used—but then, if Malfoy wanted to play a game, it would be over in a few minutes anyway, Harry was sure. Yes, he was that bad at the game that he knew, without a doubt, he would loose to a six year old.
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 2:58:47 GMT 1
The blond smiled inwardly. Yes he could sense the raven-haired’s curiosity and it was oddly satisfying. “No, thank you Dobby” the teen replied and then with a slight bow the small elf left and the two boys were left to their own devices. The other boy folded his arms as he once again looked at the blond. The blond was getting quit tired of this but hey… what could he do?
Then he could see the wheels in the boy’s head turning and then the unsuspected question came “Is there anything you'd like to do, Malfoy? Going outside is obviously out of the question… but I've exploding snap or chess if you're interested”
The blond cocked his head slightly. Hmm… this could get interesting. He had a few things he’d like clearing up and hey… a game was a good way to get to the truth.
He remembered a party at the Parkinson’s house a few months… or was 5 years and a few months… ago where Pansy had practically dragged him up to her room where a few of her other friends were sitting around playing exploding snaps. They had a twist to the game though that could prove to come quit in handy if he wanted to find some answers.
The only draw back was that he’d have to make sure he’d be the only one winning. He really didn’t want to end up having to share about his ‘secrets’. But then again, that might just be a risk he’d have to take.
The blond looked up at the raven-haired once more “well… we could play either…” he said smiling secretively “but how about we make them a bit more interesting?” he asked.
He wondered what the response would be. If he could get the other boy to play, some things could be cleared up and he just wanted to know. “How about some truth chess, or exploding truth?” he suggested.
So he made up the truth chess… who cared? It could be fun, and he needed something to occupy his mind and keep busy. “Rules are simply, with chess, whoever takes a piece of the other gets to ask a question, with exploding truth, the one who finds his cards unexploded gets to ask a question” the blond explained.
It had been mildly entertaining when he’d played it with Pansy and her friends, getting to know everyone’s secrets, while making sure you’d win enough to never really have to let on anything.
This time though, it would be more then entertaining… ah well.. if the other boy agreed, he would see what he could squeeze out of him during the games.
For the blond it was a bold move. He didn’t know how well this boy was in both games, and even though yes, the blond had the games down pretty well… this could backfire. He just hoped his gut-feeling had been right in telling him the teen was rubbish at either one of the games.
The boy casually leaned against a nearby wall running a hand through his hair brushing it out of his eyes again while he waited for the boy’s reply “or are you too scared…?” he teased letting his grey eyes meet the green ones
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 3:26:54 GMT 1
In all honesty, Harry was a bit surprised to see Malfoy considering it. He had looked like he wanted a conversation about as much as Harry did—and then there he was, proposing something entirely different than Harry had in mind. Apparently, he wanted a conversation after all. Or information. A small part of him told him to watch his step. Even though Malfoy was six, he was still obviously a decietful little prat—Harry didn't think for one moment that Malfoy was mentioning these games just to amuse himself. Maybe it was because he had dealt with the older version of Malfoy so much. What ever the reason though... he listened to Malfoy explain the games quietly, his thoughts racing.
Truth chess, eh?
Exploding truth?
He weighed his options for a moment.
Of course, Harry wasn't about to choose chess if he agreed (and had a choice). He was horrible at chess. Malfoy would be the one winning, of course, and therefore asking all of the questions. Exploding snap—at least he had a fighting chance then, considering the game consisted of gut-instincts and luck. And according to his friends (and Malfoy, for that matter), sheer, blind luck was usually on his side. The corner of his mouth twisted into a slight, bitter smile. He wasn't sure what he'd ask Malfoy, of course, as most of his questions... well, Malfoy wouldn't be able to answer those for another ten years or so. So should he really agree to it? Not only that, but taking advantage of a six year old? Really.
He looked down at the floor, glancing up a moment later.
Why the hell not.
"Sure," he said finally. "Twist and all."
He had the feeling that he really didn't get a choice at which game they played—something in Malfoy's eyes—and so he let the other pick, leaving only to fetch it from his trunk. Bringing the game out, he set it down at the small table in front of the fireplace, motioning for Malfoy to join him. If Malfoy went into territory Harry wasn't comfortable with, or didn't think Malfoy should know about, he had every intention of forfeiting the game and walking away. He'd like to see Malfoy try and make him play it out. He dropped to the floor, folding his legs languidly underneath him, and set up the game.
"You can start," he said easily, sounding considerably more comfortable than he felt.
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 3:56:54 GMT 1
The blond smiled as he pushed himself from the wall as the raven-haired seemed to think about his proposal. When the teen agreed and went to leave to collect the chess board and pieces he wondered what he should asked first. Hmm.. tough one… he couldn’t very well start with a question like ‘why are you shutting you’re friends out?’ he’d never get an answer. Not yet anyway. ‘Have we always hated each-other?’ then? The boy had figured out that there was a bit of resentment.. if ever there was an understatement….and he was sure that his ‘older version’ must not have been to fond of him either … if ever there was an understatement.
The blond thought for a few minutes until the boy returned with the game. He went over to where the raven-haired had sat down and joined him on the floor and watched as the other set up the game. “You can start” the teen said in a calm voice but the blond was no fool. For now however it didn’t matter and he made his first move. It wasn’t long until Harry had walked into his trap though and that he took one of the boys pieces. “alright” he smiled “time for the first question” he stated his eyes lingering on the piece he’d just taken and then back up at the boy in front of him on the floor… “we’ll start with an easy one” he shrugged “whose this Ron person you both keep mentioning?” he asked his eyes on the other boy.
Okay so yeah.. it was an easy enough question, and well.. it would satisfy his curiosity somewhat. While he waited for a reply he had mentally already made his next move on the board.
‘Thank you father, for forcing me to play hours at a time…..’ he thought … it had made him a worthy opponent and even if the 15 year old version didn’t play chess as much anymore, he would never really forget.
His father had started teaching him these things young. However it had been quit confusing for the blond at first. His father wanted him win, because Malfoys never lost, but then, when the time had come where he had finally had his father ‘check-mate’ he got sooo angry. Draco had then given up… there was no pleasing that man and if his father was hell-bent on kicking his ass then it would happen either way.
He again pushed these thoughts aside though and he was now planning the best strategy for asking questions. He might have to lay low for a few before really getting into the deep stuff…
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 5:22:36 GMT 1
They were only a few minutes into the game when Malfoy captured one of his pieces. Captured, jumped, blind-sided. What ever. Harry honestly hadn't seen the move coming. Told you he was bad at chess. He watched Malfoy's piece destroy his curiously, expressionless. It was sort of funny, really. He couldn't manage to keep these little ceramic pieces intact, and yet people expected him to save the whole world? Despite his apparent lack of strategy (unless he was under great pressure,) he had some how managed to survive countless near-death experiences. How? Was fate fucking with him? Shouldn't he be dead already?
"Alright," said Malfoy, drawing his attention away from the war scene on the board. "Time for the first question."
His eyes flicked up to meet his.
"We'll start with an easy one."
Harry's forehead wrinkled.
Easy one? That implied he had worse ones. And that he had them all sorted out. He knew Malfoy had an ulterior motive. Mashing his glasses against the bridge of his nose with his index finger, Harry waited.
"Who's this Ron person you both keep mentioning?"
Harry shrugged, a bit relieved. Easy enough question. He wondered how in depth he was supposed to get with these questions—anyway, he supposed he should warn Malfoy about Ron now, anyway, just in case he decided to pay a visit sometime. They couldn't keep Ron away forever and who knew how long Malfoy was going to be stuck there with them.
"A friend," he answered finally, careful not to use the past tense, though he wanted to. "He's not very.. fond of you when you're older. I think you know his family, actually. His surname is Weasley."
Harry looked down at the chess board while he was talking, silently going through the moves. He couldn't see anything brilliant, though he suspected he was missing something—the only move that would get him anywhere was to the right of the board, where he could jump one of Malfoy's pawns. His own pawn would get captured in turn though, from the looks of it. He sighed, glancing back up at Malfoy.
"Is that a good enough answer?"
And with that, Harry captured Malfoy's pawn.
He thought for a moment, asking the first question that came into mind, not really expecting a full answer. It was trivial and didn't really matter anyway. Harry, really, already knew the answer—and if he wanted Malfoy to say it, he'd probably have to wait for another good ten years. At least this was a distraction, and it would save him from Hermione's bickering later.
"What do you want to be when you're older?"
((You know, love, you could probably turn the censoring off...))
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 12:21:43 GMT 1
The blond watched the raven-haired’s reaction. This had been the one who had defeated ‘the dark lord?’ He had no stragistic insight.. how in the world had he pulled it of? Maybe something for another question. He looked at him and could see the relieved shrug. Apparently the teen had already figured the questions would be deeper. Well… everything in good time…
“A friend” his answer came “ He’s not very.. fond of you when you’re older. I think you know his family, actually. His surname is Weasley” the raven-haired finished.
The small boy frowned slightly. Why didn’t he like him? But when he learned the absent boy’s name he understood. His father had worked at the ministry with his father, and he had often heard about the pitiable muggle-loving fool. To his father they were the scum of the wizzardian world. Poor and a disgrace to world of magic. The blond was sure that the redhead would probably have heard about the same about his family… well.. except for the poor bit. His family, after all, was pretty much the richest Wizzard family around. The blond sighed slightly.
“Is that a good enough answer?” came the other’s voice again and the grey eyes went to the chess-board once again and nodded an affirmative answer. He had what he needed to know, besides, this was just an easy question.
He had already seen the raven-haired could capture his pawn… but also that he could capture Harry’s piece afterwards. His eye went up back to the boy as his pawn was smashed to pieces and wondered what the teen’s question would be.
“What do you want to be when you’re older?” he was asked and then blond frowned slightly wrinkling his nose as he thought about this. He had never thought about this and really didn’t know. Besides… it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was going to have to follow in his father’s footsteps… become a death-eater, keeping up the family name… what ever that meant. Hell, maybe he would have to work at the ministry as well to keep up appearances.
It’s fair to say none of this was what the blond wanted. He didn’t want to turn into his father. He didn’t want to be a servant… torture or even kill people. He however wouldn’t be given a choice.
He looked up at the boy before him “I don’t know…” he shrugged honestly “work at the daily prophet maybe…” he eventually replied. Not like that was ever going to be approved by his father, but the blond loved reading… and well.. travelling around writing stories might actually sound like fun. Besides… then he’d be free… away from home.
He then looked at the board once more and captured the piece that had just captured one of his “so.. is it true..? Did you really defeat ‘he who shall not be name’?” he asked. He was careful not to call him ‘the dark lord’ since his father didn’t want any suspicions regarding his loyalty. The small boy never really understood the fear surrounding this Voldemort guy. Sure he was all evil and what-not… but if the stories were true… a baby could defeat him.... Maybe this was a little too much.. too soon… but he was just curious to know if there was any truth to what his father had told him and if this really was the same boy…
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 16:52:46 GMT 1
Harry watched for Malfoy's reaction carefully, curious at the look he was being given. Malfoy frowned a bit, wrinkling his nose, and Harry wondered if he had ever thought about it before then. He had to remember, this Malfoy was six. Maybe his father hadn't gotten around to telling him he'd be following in the old man's footsteps? He inwardly snorted. For some reason, he doubted that. It was hard for him to believe that Malfoy didn't know, when everything he said and did resembled the older version (of himself, and his father) so much. Malfoy looked up at him.
"I don't know," he answered, shrugging. "Work at the daily prophet maybe..."
Harry was careful to keep his curiousity inside. It wasn't hard—it was barely there, though a part of him did wonder if that was the truth. If Malfoy really wanted to work at the Prophet at one time. If he thought about it, he supposed, it wasn't that farfetched. The Prophet was brilliant at spreading rumors. So were the Malfoy's.
Malfoy's eyes dropped to the board and, automatically, Harry's followed, though he already knew the move that was going to be made. Sure enough, Malfoy captured his pawn, the one he had just moved moments before.
He looked back up, waiting, tensing slightly. The other carefully kept his eyes on the board.
"So... is it true? Did you really defeat 'He Who Shall Not Be Named?'"
He wondered when the harder questions would come—and again, how much he should tell Malfoy. He imagined it would be okay to tell Malfoy what he already knew, when he was the age he was supposed to be, considering this wasn't time travelling or anything. Just a potion. It couldn't hurt the future, could it? Harry smiled bitterly, laughing. Yeah. He had defeated Voldemort alright. That was why he came back, at least once every year, plotting with a vengeance, dead set on destroying him and everyone he cared about.
"Yeah," he answered finally, his bitter smile still in place. He glanced back down at the board. "Something like that."
Defeated really wasn't the right word, really.
More like pissed off.
His smile twisted into a slight smirk, something that looked a bit out of place on his face, all things considering.
He waited for Malfoy to press him for another answer—something more elaborate—and sure enough, Malfoy didn't disappoint. Harry kept his eyes on the board, pretending to survey it for any good moves. As if he'd be able to spot them anyway.
"Defeated isn't the right word," he said carefully, shrugging carelessly, "considering he's come back now. Four times."
He thought of the Ministry, how they weren't willing to admit that fact, how they had tried getting him expelled from school for speaking the truth. Malfoy would be good working at the prophet, Harry thought vaguely, if he ever had the chance. He could certainly lie better than Fudge. His eyes grew a bit darker, angry, his expression melting, resembling a bit of the person who was supposed to defeat Voldemort—the madman Voldemort was trying to turn him into. He didn't get how they expected him to protect them, when they weren't even willing to admit what was right under their noses. Could he really do this alone? He thought of Hermione and Ron, and Ginny, and the rest of the Weasley's. He thought of his dead parents, of his Godfather on the run, of Cedric.
He was going to have to.
His eyes met Malfoy's.
"He's tried killing me five times now," he said carefully, unsure if he should continue, but unable to stop himself, "he's failed every time. So much for that Dark Lord of yours, eh? All powerful and mighty, or some rubbish?"
His bitter smile returned, though it looked off this time—felt off. Different. It didn't quite reach his eyes.
His voice was quiet, pondering.
"I wonder... I wonder how many lives I have left."
He held Malfoy's gaze for a bit longer, his own eyes a mixture of anger and hopelessness. He felt as if he could drown in that hopelessness—give in and never come up for air again, because Harry was very aware that he would probably die trying to kill Voldemort. He could only hope he took the bastard down with him. Finally, he dropped his eyes to the chess board again, grabbing a piece and moving it on a whim. They continued playing in silence until Harry somehow managed to capture one of Malfoy's rooks. His anger had faded a bit, though barely, and he barely even thought of the question he wanted to ask Malfoy.
He wanted to know if Malfoy could kill him.
If they met, some day soon, in a battle field—would Malfoy have the bronze to finish him off? He didn't imagine it would be that hard for the boy. They had always hated each other.. but he wanted to hear him say it. Admit it. He lifted his eyes, meeting the six-year-old's, and instead asked, "What are your parents like?"
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 19:08:28 GMT 1
The blond raised an eyebrow as he watched the other boy’s reaction to his question. He could see the wheels in the raven-haired’s head turning. He wondered if maybe he’d moved to fast… but then came the reply. A bitter smile formed on the taller boy’s lips and there was a simple “yeah… something like that”. The blond looked up curiously. So his father had been right? He kept his eyes on the boy other boy and didn’t miss the smirk on his face.
Funny really, that a smirk on the raven-haired’s face looked… wrong.. out of place whereas the same expression would look so at home on his and his father’s lips.
Luckily he didn’t have to wait too long before the other boy continued keeping his eyes on the board, pretending to survey it. The blond smirked inwardly. The dark-haired boy was so transparent. Maybe he should take some acting classes or something.
“Defeated isn’t the right word… considering he’s come back now. Four times” was said with a careless shrug.
The blond sighed inwardly. Great… that would mean his father would be even more determined to have him take ‘his place’ amongst the circle of the death-eaters… whoop di fucking do. He kept it too himself though and simply kept his eyes on the other teen. So that’s why he was trying to push his friends away, put on the ‘act’. He should really tell him that it really didn’t matter whether they were his friends or not… Voldemort would just kill everything in his way and for some reason the blond was almost positive that the brunette girl wouldn’t stop trying to fight him no matter what the raven-haired did. Once again though, it wasn’t any of his business, and at the moment he, or so he just found out, had his own issues to deal with.
“He’s failed every time. So much for that Dark Lord of your eh? All powerful and mighty, or some rubbish?”
The blondes clenched his jaw slightly and his eyes hardened even more. That madman was not his freaking ‘Lord…’ no matter how much his father pushed and wanted it to be. Where he father believed being a follower of Voldemort made him powerful, the blonde considered it degrading and unworthy… he was a Malfoy… not a freaking servant.
That however was a thought he couldn’t quit well voice if he wanted to survive.
“I wonder how many lives I have left” the teen then spoke softly his bitter smile returning but his eyes a mixture of anger and hopelessness. He almost –note almost- felt sorry for the boy.
Then it was time for a bit of chess again, he knew the raven-haired had the chance to take his rook. It was all strategy. It would take too long now before he had him check-mate he braced himself for the question that would come and he watched the teen as he saw him think about what he should ask.
“What are your parents like?” came the question and the blond looked up slightly confused. He had not expect this question… What was he too say? He figured “well… they hate me. I don’t know why, but as long as I can remember my father rounds on me for every single mistake, beating me nearly to death or as I think muggles call it ‘pimp’ me out to his friends. My mother I’ve hardly seen since she told my father she wanted nothing to do with me 3 years ago and I’ve tried to figure out why… but I just don’t know what I could have done for her to hate me.
He looked up shaking his head “they’re just parents” he shrugged. What more could he tell? “My father’s not home much since he’s very busy and my mother… well she’s sweet and takes care of me…” he shrugged slightly. He almost burst out laughing. Sure his father wasn’t home a lot… but enough to give him his almost daily beating.. and his mother… sweet and caring? Yeah right. But then again.. he couldn’t tell the truth, hell.. the other boy probably wouldn’t even believe it anyway….
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 19:37:12 GMT 1
Harry was perfectly aware that his plan probably wouldn't work. Voldemort would probably kill his friends anyway—but they were clever. They were fighers, and maybe, just maybe, if Harry could put distance between them, they would have a chance. He knew the odds were against him, but it was the only thing he had to hold onto. The only thing he had that would stop him from drowning himself in that hopelessness—the only thing that kept him going, day after day. It was the only reason he wanted to fight.
Not long ago, Harry had overheard his cousin talking about a boy in his school that had committed suicide. It had been a shock for Harry. He knew people killed themselves all of the time—but for what ever reason, he never really thought it happened to teenagers. People he knew. Didn't like, but knew. He had started thinking about it shortly after, wondering what would happen if he did it. He didn't consider himself suicidal of course. Just curious—but he never seriously considered it. After all, if he really wanted to die, he could just stand in the middle of the street and yell Voldemort's name. He was sure a Death Eater would be more than happy to finish him off, or if they didn't, an Auror. Couldn't have their precious little secret getting out, after all.
Harry waited for Malfoy's reply. He looked a bit confused.
He wondered what Malfoy had expected.
Malfoy looked down at the chess board for a moment longer, as if deliberating on how to answer. It really didn't matter to Harry. The answer, that is. It was just a question. He could really care less, but the questions he really wanted to ask—he knew Malfoy couldn't answer and even if he could, wouldn't answer.
"They're just parents," he said, shrugging, meeting Harry's eyes. "My father's not home much since he's very busy and my mother... well she's sweet and takes care of me."
Harry nodded, more than happy to take that answer and run with it. Well, not really, but it didn't matter, remember? There was something in the way he said it—it almost sounded rehearsed, scripted, though for the most part, it fit what he knew of Malfoy's parents. He remembered the packages of sweets Malfoy got every year, at the beginning of term, and how he would gloat. He wondered if there was more there, things Malfoy was too afraid to say, or too uncomfortable to. Harry vaguely remembered something Hagrid had said once, about the pureblood families—that they were full of secrets. He said they were like every other wealthy family in England. Private, secretive, and usually corrupt. And not just in the whole evil sort of way. And then he remembered something his uncle had been talking about—two summers ago, maybe?—when an old British family had made the television. For incest and abuse.
He looked back down at the chess board, dismissing the thoughts as quickly as they came, and worked about distracting himself again, loosing himself in the violence of the game.
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 22:03:06 GMT 1
The blond was glad the other boy didn’t really care and hadn’t pushed it any further and was simply reverting back to the game. He supposed he was like the rest of them. Thinking he was this spoilt rich kid… and he himself was beginning to believe his own lie. Ah well.. would be easier that way. The blond boy closed his mind of once again not allowing any other thought than those dealing with the game before him. It wasn’t long till he was into the game again and he once again was able to capture another one of the other’s pieces.
He smiled looking up once again “my turn again” he commented “hmm… so this whole ‘who shall not be named’ thing why you’re trying to push you friends away?” he asked. He already knew of-course, but he wanted to see if he’d actually man up to it. Probably not… but hey.
While waiting for an answer he looked back at the board. Yep.. his trap was set… one or two more moves and then… maybe he should drag it out a bit. On the other hand… they could always play again…
He brushed his hair back out of his eyes watching as the other boy was probably thinking on how he should answer this one. The blond would know if he’d be lying. He’d learned to read people very quickly. It was dangerous for him not to. He wondered if things would ever get any better. It seemed his father hadn’t changed, and he doubted his mother had had a change of heart.
Merlin he was pathetic. He knew better then this. He mentally kicked himself. He should just freaking leave it alone already. This was of no use. All this time to think wasn’t good for a person. He however forced his eyes back up to the raven-haired curious.
He wondered if he would even get an answer out of him this time. He would know soon enough though.
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 18, 2008 22:30:46 GMT 1
The two played in silence for a bit, until Malfoy captured another one of his pieces. Harry was starting to get careless—even he could see that one. Malfoy smiled, looking up at him, and Harry resisted rolling his eyes. Of course he'd find humor in this. He couldn't help but to wonder why, though. It wasn't like Harry was putting up a fight. Maybe that would change with the next question—but Harry wasn't so sure anymore. He was half-tempted to tell Malfoy something he shouldn't know, just to see if it did change the future. How much worse could it get anyway?
"My turn again. Hmm.. so this whole 'who shall not be named thing', is it why you're trying to push your friends away?"
He swallowed. Observant little ferret, wasn't he?
An image from fourth year flashed through his mind, Mad Eye Moody making Malfoy dance like the ferret he was. He half-smiled, glancing down.
Funny, he didn't panic like he imagined he would. Maybe because he was trying to make it obvious.
Now Harry had two choices; to lie, or not to lie. Lying, he knew, would get him no where. If this Malfoy was anything like his older version, he'd see right through it. It didn't help that Harry was a horrible liar. Still, it didn't matter because what was Malfoy going to do? Call him out on it? And then what? Precisely. It wasn't any of his business anyway. And Harry could care less what Malfoy thought of him. Yet, he was tempted to tell him—the truth. He couldn't trust Malfoy to keep quiet about it, he was sure, but maybe that would be a good thing. Harry wasn't strong enough to just tell them the truth, because he knew they would fight him—but if he trusted in Malfoy instead, and if they somehow heard it from him... maybe they'd stop fighting.
Finally, he shrugged, looking up.
"To protect them," he said easily, his voice flat, as if he didn't care about what he was saying. And in a way, he didn't. "I know it's a long shot, but it's the only shot I have."
He paused, "Voldemort's going to try killing them either way—but this way, maybe they'll be harder to get to."
He could tell Malfoy was judging him—he could see it in his eyes, and even though he kept telling himself he didn't care what Malfoy thought, the idea bothered him some. Who was Malfoy to judge him, when Malfoy didn't have a friend in the world? He was a cold-hearted git and he was destined to follow in his father's footsteps—no matter what—so why would it matter to him if Harry was trying to protect what he could?
"They're my friends. I'm trying to help them," he continued, the corner of his mouth twisting up, ever-so-slightly, "a concept I'm sure you're unfamilar with, even at this age."
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Post by loekie on Nov 18, 2008 23:36:02 GMT 1
The small boy didn’t miss the slight swallow and the blond tilted his head slightly as he watched the raven-haired contemplating on what to do This told him two things. One, if the other boy lied, it would be obvious to tell.. and two, if he did tell him the truth, it would be for a reason. He wasn’t sure what reason, but behind the truth would be a deeper meaning. He didn’t like the thought, the thought of being manipulated somehow, but then again, hadn’t he been pretty much most of his life? Everything his father had done for him, to him, had been to somehow manipulate his son into acting the way Malfoy Senior wanted.
The little boy frowned waiting patiently.
“To protect them,” came in a flat reply, made to sound easily. “I know it’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot I have” was added and the blond rolled his eyes.
A pause and then
“Voldemort’ s going to try and kill them either way… but this way, maybe they’ll be harder to get to”.
The small boy rolled his eyes “yeah right” he smirked shaking his head “cause he’s really that lenient” the blond retorted sarcasm dripping from his every word. Was this really this bloody dense? The blond had already concluded the brunette to stubborn, and he again was sure there was nothing the teen could do to keep her away, even thought would be in even more danger –she, after all, was a mudblood- and if there was anything the ‘dark lord’ hated.. , just like his father.
“You really think they’re going to just leave you to it? Let you fight on your own? They’re no fools and already in danger, and if they don’t fight back - beside you, whether they ‘like’ you or not, whether you pushed them away or not, - they, and their families are dead” he said “but hey, it’s your funeral” he shrugged
He sensed the other boy eyeing him. He met his gaze. Shit, this boy was going down… he wasn’t nearly mentally strong enough yet to pull this of. The blond, of course, didn’t know about how Harry’s like had been far from pleasant as well… maybe not as bad as his own… but still, for some reason, the raven-haired hadn’t quit gotten as far… hadn’t build up the walls enough to pull this of without destroying him.
“and then what? When this is all over, and by some miracle, you win… then what? Everything is going to get back to normal?” he asked, curious to know how well the boy had thought this through.
“They’re my friends, I’m trying to help them” the raven-haired simply continued and the child looked up seeing the corners of the boys twisting up before he added “a concept I'm sure you're unfamilar with, even at this age."
The blond narrowed his eyes ever so slightly the gray in them hardening to an even colder steel. The boy really had to work hard on containing his anger, make sure it would shine through.
Who was this boy to judge him? The teen didn’t even know him…! However this may be, there was a point of truth in it. He had never had any friends – his father had called it a weakness, you should only associate yourself with people that could actually be valuable to you – and the blond had never been allowed to have friends, simply associates or ‘lackeys’, and about the ‘helping people… no….why should he? He could barely survive himself, he really didn’t need the crap of others as well.
The blond rolled his eyes “perhaps, but at least I’m not the one chasing my friends away when I’m going to need them most” he stated lightly. He knew this was stupid. What did he care about what this damn martyrs opinion? Deep down the boy knew exactly why… because it was the brutal truth…and the blond didn’t like being called out in things. It meant the other had noticed a weakness and could exploit that to keep you down.
The fact that his father was actually doing the same things had crossed the boy’s mind but there was nothing he could do about that…
His eyes met the other boy’s once more wondering what was going his mind right now…
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 19, 2008 0:22:53 GMT 1
Malfoy wasn't telling Harry anything he didn't know. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, and he knew that, chances were, they would die anyway—but he had to try. It was the only thing he could do to keep himself sane. His reaction, though. It was admittedly classic. He wondered why it mattered so much to Malfoy that he knew what he was doing—that he knew he was probably only hurting his risks of winning by pushing his friends away, that they were going to die either way, with or without him by his side. He supposed even Malfoy had a bit of that child-like innocence left in him.
He wondered when it died.
He saw Malfoy's tighten a bit at that last part—it was the closest thing to a flinch he had gotten out of him. Apparently, he had hit a weak spot. He wasn't about to play on it, though—verbally harassing a six year old... that was just wrong, even if the six-year-old acted more mature than a lot of people in Harry's own house. It was only because he was cold, though. Still, he felt the need to make his argument, make sure Malfoy understood—at least as well as he was capable of understanding it. And apparently, Malfoy was dead set on making his point, too.
"Perhaps, but at least I'm not the one chasing my friends away when I'm going to need them most."
Harry actually laughed at that.
"Don't tell me you give a damn, Malfoy," he teased lightly, though his eyes still held a bit of the hopelessness they had before. The laugh refused to reach them.
"I know it's not going to go back to normal," he said, his voice calmer than it had been in a while. He didn't realize thought like this until the words were out of his mouth—but then, the moment they were, he knew it was true. "Either way I'm going to die."
He shrugged, realizing how suicidal that made him sound.
Funny.
He really hadn't ever considered it—but then now, looking at it, he supposed he knew why. He never considered suicide because of what he had to do. And he was almost one hundred percent sure that he was going to die doing it—he never really thought about the what if. What if, by some chance, as Malfoy said, he won? What if he defeated Voldemort and he lived? And his friends lived? He almost seemed to count on death, and when thinking about it, he suspected he still would, even after Voldemort died. It would be too hard to act like things were normal. It would be too hard to try making them normal because they never had been. He probably wouldn't even try. Who knew? Maybe things would change. He was only fifteen after all, though he felt so much older. Maybe he'd find something worth living for before then—but he doubted it. Luck had never been on his side. So really, that was just another reason to push his friends away.
It was sort of funny, how calm he was to discuss his own death.
Like he was discussing the weather.
"But at least I'm trying."
He tilted his head slightly to the side, surveying the younger boy for a moment.
"I don't know you very well, Malfoy—how you think right now. But I know how you act when you're older, and I'm willing to bet, self-sacrifice isn't something you'll be learning about anytime soon."
He shrugged again, perfectly nonchalant, smiling a bit. It wasn't nearly as bitter as before. It was almost as if, saying what he had to Malfoy, somehow helped him accept what he had to do. If he could just hold onto this feeling—this feeling of not caring, maybe his life would be easier.
"I don't care what you think. In this case," he smiled a bit more, sounding more certain of himself by the minute, "you're actually right—and you're not telling me anything I don't know. I know what the chances of me succeeding are, with or without my friends—but I'm willing to die for them. I love them. And I really don't expect you to understand that."
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Post by loekie on Nov 19, 2008 2:24:57 GMT 1
The child was very well aware the other boy probably thought about all this himself and he wasn’t even sure why the hell he even bother to bring it up. He rolled his eyes once again. Who did this teen think he was talking to. The raven-haired eyed him and he knew then that he had noticed the slight flinch… f*ck... he really needed to work on that.
Luckily the raven-haired hadn’t shown to want to use the newfound ammunition, not yet anyway.
The boy started laughing on what he had last said. The boy raised an eyebrow shaking his head when the raven haired replied
"Don't tell me you give a d*mn Malfoy,"
The teen's voice came teasingly but the blond didn’t miss that his eyes were still holding the hopelessness he’s seen before and the laugh never made it all the way to his eyes. Whomever would take the time to get to know the small boy a little bit would soon realize that when the boy smiled it too never ever reached his eyes. They just remained expressionless and cold. The blond had spent many hours at one of his parents parties being forced to make chit-chat and smile politely...
Again the blond reprimanded himself mentally. He needed to stay alert and on his guard. He could not let the unfortunately turn of events get to him and make him slip up and spill the beans.
“Don’t confuse pointing out stupidity to someone with actually caring Potter” he retorted a smirk playing around his lips.
"I know it's not going to go back to normal, either way I'm going to die”
It came calm and collected but the blond would have none of it
“Most likely, but do you really want to go with your friends hating your guts?” he asked leaning back on his elbows as he looked at the older boy. The way the raven-haired had spoken though... Hmm.. maybe he’d have killed himself before he’d come up against the ‘dark lord’. The 6 year old had never really thought about it.. killing yourself… it seemed like a coward thing to do..
“But at least I’m trying…”
The teen finished and the small boy raised an eyebrow “yeah” he smirked “pissing them of” he sighed rolling his eyes. Yep the boy really was dense. He didn’t know why he was hell-bent on getting his point across.. but hell.. did it really matter?
Then there came something about how the teen didn’t know him well, but knew how he acted when he got older. Can you say 'duh'.
The blonde could only guess how his behavious was going to turn out but just couldn’t be bothered to really think about it. He set his eyes on the other boy’s “true enough, I’m no fool” he shrugged “but I do know that there is a difference between success and playing a freaking martyr” he retorted.
Then the raven-haired spoke again
"I don't care what you think. In this case," the boy sounded more sure as he continued "you're actually right … and you're not telling me anything I don't know. I know what the chances of me succeeding are, with or without my friends … but I'm willing to die for them. I love them. And I really don't expect you to understand that."
The boy’s eyes hardened once again, but he was able to control it better now “of course I’m right” he smirked shaking his head “you love them so much you’re hurting them” he commented.
“Love is for losers. It makes you weak and clouds your judgement, makes you doubt whatever you need to do to win” he responded. Even he now realized this was not something a 6 year old should be talking about, but over the years he learned that love only meant trouble and weakness. His parents had quickly taught him that lesson, and ever since his mother’s outburst when he was 3 he had swore to himself to never ever let that happen again.
The boy sighed “you need them, if you stand any chance at winning, numbers is a necessity” oh Merlin.. what the bloody hell was wrong with him? Was he really giving this boy advice? Oh my… he was soooo dead when his father would come for him. Somehow he always seemed to know when he’d done something wrong. Ah well.. he’d have to make the most then of the time he had left.
He ran a hand through his hair “I don’t really care what you choose to do, it’s none of my business really thank Merlin, but if you want to stand a fighting chance, you do not go down this route alone. He’ll have killed you in under a minute, and then you’re friends are sure to die next. Together you can bundle your powers and have at least a bit of a shot” he shrugged “so what have we learned? You go alone you all die, you stand together and have the chance of a least a few survive, either way, shoving them away won’t do any of you 'do gooders' any good” he concluded.
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Post by plzkthnks on Nov 19, 2008 4:09:59 GMT 1
"Of course I'm right," said Malfoy, smirking and shaking his head, "you love them so much you're hurting them."
"Love is for losers. It makes you weak and clouds your judgement, makes you doubt whatever you need to do to win." Malfoy stopped, almost hesitating before going on to say, "You need them, if you stand any chance at winning, numbers is a necessity. I don't really care what you choose to do, it's none of my business really thank Merlin, but if you want to stand a fighting chance, you do not go down this route alone. He'll have you killed you in under a minute, and then you're friends are sure to die next. Together you can bundle your powers and have at least a bit of a shot." Malfoy shrugged, and Harry listened to him, amused. Again, this was nothing he wasn't already aware of—and the fact of the matter was, Voldemort hadn't succeeded yet and, for the most part, Harry had been alone. And Voldemort had had help. Maybe he had a better chance at coming out of this alive than he thought. "So what have we learned? You go alone you all die, you stand together and have the chance of at least a few surviving, either way, shoving them away won't do any of you 'do gooders' any good."
Harry abruptly smiled at the end of his speech.
"Finished?" he said lightly, clearly amused. He couldn't believe he jost got a lecture from Malfoy—a six year old Malfoy, nonetheless, on strategy. He let a bit of disgust slip into his voice. "I'm not going to use them as a sort of shield, Malfoy, just so I have a better chance of winning."
He shrugged.
"Besides, Voldemort hasn't gotten me yet—even with help." He paused, the messag he wanted to convey very clear—even with your father's help—as he stared quietly at Malfoy for a moment.
"Love might hurt," he said finally, agreeing with the first part of Malfoy's speech, "but it's also brilliant. It makes you want to live—it's transforming, protective, even when all hope is lost." He thought of his mother, of how willing she was to die to protect him, and in return saved his life—maybe he could do something like that for Hermione and Ron, he mused, though the thought was gone as quickly as it had came. Impossible, he knew. That had been a magical fluke.
He continued anyway.
"I love them so much that I'm willing to die protecting them—and to hurt myself by pushing away, in a weak attempt to keep them safe—and you're going to grow up to be cold, apathetic and heartless to the world and those around you. You won't even hesitate to hurt those in your way—" he paused, a bit of his curiousity shining through, "I'm willing to die for love and you're willing to live without it. Who do you think is worse off, Malfoy?"
He stared at Malfoy for a moment longer and found himself doing something he had long ago given up on—figuring Malfoy out. The way Malfoy talked—it made it sound like he had never known love. Like he hadn't ever loved anyone, and no one had loved him. That didn't make sense though—what about his parents? Surely they loved him? Memories played out in his head, a blur of movement so fast that he really couldn't put them into his own words. But there was Malfoy, gloating outside of Potions about the gifts his parents sent him—Malfoy in second year when Harry had snuck into the Slytherin common room, again gloating—Malfoy, proud and arrogant near his father at the World Quidditch cup—Malfoy, defensive as always after Harry made a comeback about his parents in trade for one Malfoy had made—Malfoy, threatening to call his father everytime something went wrong—and then he was looking at the smaller version of the boy, the very version that sat in front of him. Malfoy, clearly frightened when Harry went to touch him. Malfoy, worriedly asking if his father had been asking for him, something Harry thought nothing of at the time—Malfoy, curled up into a ball as Snape and Dumbledore talked about his father, the tightness behind his eyes—Malfoy, spitting out the lines about his father and mother being 'just parents,' and going on to say how love just hurt.
He looked down at the chessboard.
Everything clicked together at once.
Something had happened to him, something bad, that taught him to act how he did when he was older. Harry had always figured that he just wanted to be like old daddy dearest—he had never wondered if there were more to it than that, and now, sitting here actually talking to the boy... it made him question what he thought he knew.
He suddenly felt a bit uneasy.
He remembered the abuse Lucius used to put Dobby through—that much was evident by the way Dobby reacted to things afterwards... he remembered what his uncle had seen on the television and what Hagrid said again—what if Malfoy had had a very different reaction?
Still, even with a slight light on things, that seemed like a bit of a stretch.
Instead of saying anything else though, and trying to ascertain his thoughts, he moved another piece on a whim—signalling the end of the conversation. They fell into silence again as they played, Harry's thoughts continuing to run.
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