Chapter 39: 2

"Hey, Dobby."

As I whispered the name from my bed, a loud crack echoed through the room, and my house-elf friend appeared.

"Maria Potter! You are alive! Maria Potter has triumphed! Maria Potter has won against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

Dobby began to hop about in a frantic little dance, squeaking through his tears. I reached out and patted his shoulder, telling him to calm down, and asked if he didn't need to return to Malfoy Manor with Lucius.

"Maria Potter... Dobby is a free elf. Dobby is bound no longer! Harry Potter has set Dobby free! Harry Potter’s sock has become Dobby’s most prized treasure!"

Apparently, the same method had worked to secure Dobby’s dismissal this time as well. Though, I thought to myself, I still have my reservations about a mud-stained sock being a "treasure."

"In that case, Dobby—can we talk now?"

When I invited him to sit, Dobby didn't tremble with overwhelmed emotion like he had that day; instead, he perched himself on the edge of the bed.

"Dobby, what did you know?"

"Dobby knew that the diary held by Young Master Draco was an evil thing. The diary was very frightening... but the Young Master would not let it go. And then, this summer, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named spoke with Master—no, no! He is Master no longer!—he spoke at the Manor..."

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named asked if his son still had the diary. Master—no, Lucius! Lucius answered 'of course.' At that moment, Dobby saw it. Dobby was serving them, so Dobby saw everything. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named laughed! Terribly! Cruelly! And then he said, 'It seems I can finish them both off at once.' Only Dobby heard it..."

Dobby stood up on the bed, trembling with indignation. His bat-like ears flapped violently.

"The enemy of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is Harry Potter! Our hope, Harry Potter! Dobby knew he could not let this happen. If Young Master Draco returned to Hogwarts, terrible things would occur..."

"Dobby," I whispered softly. "You... you didn't care what happened to Draco at all, did you?"

"?" Dobby looked confused. "No, it is not that Dobby did not care. But if Young Master Draco is there, Harry Potter is in danger. Since Dobby was the house-elf of the House of Malfoy, he had no choice but to try and stop Harry Potter."

I fell into silence, unable to find the words. Even if I were to berate Dobby for being "heartless," it would be meaningless. He is non-human, after all. Just as the laws preventing Apparition within Hogwarts do not apply to elves, human morality doesn't quite fit them either.

"Dobby... your kind... you can be quite cruel."

I pulled my dear friend into a hug. My dear—non-human—friend. Dobby jumped, squeaking that a witch had hugged him, and then blinked his eyes in wonder.

"Dobby knows of no creature more cruel than a human."

He was, truly, both honest and cruel.

Two days later, I finally received permission from Madam Pomfrey to be discharged. She had been reluctant, but Professor McGonagall persuaded her, arguing that I couldn't afford to fall any further behind in my studies. Hermione was in total agreement; to make up for it, she was incredibly attentive to my needs in our daily life.

Though the wound on my stomach didn't even pull anymore, I found myself constantly leaning on her kindness.

On my way to a meeting, I passed Professor Snape. He no longer even looked at me as I walked away. The rift between us had grown too deep.

I suppose that every time I get hurt—every time I expose a side of myself that foreshadows my death—he will only distance himself further.

To Severus Snape, my very existence was a deadly poison that forced open his old wounds.

Even knowing that—because I refuse to stop being reckless—I am, as he says, arrogant.

He was already sitting at the meeting spot. Harry had told me there were no visible injuries, but seeing his thin back made me worry nonetheless.

"A bit cold-hearted of you, isn't it? Not even coming to visit me in the Hospital Wing."

"I didn't have the confidence that I wouldn't destroy the infirmary if I did." he replied.

"Wow."

I sat down beside him. His profile, as he gazed out at the Black Lake, was still pale, but it no longer held the pallor of the dead.

"...Are you alright now?" he asked.

"I've been fine for three days. Madam Pomfrey is just being dramatic."

"She had every right to be. You—you were in a terrible state."

His voice was hoarse. For a moment, I thought he was on the verge of tears. I'm no good at handling it when you cry. So...

"Draco, let’s have a fight. Not a joke or play-fighting, but a head-on match. Oh, but no magic or fistfights. Right now, I can only see a future where I lose, and that wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"............Did you leave your brain behind in the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Oh? You've still got a tongue, I see. Come to think of it, Slytherins—cunning and ready to use any means to achieve their ends—are notoriously bad at fair play, aren't they? How pathetic, Malfoy of Slytherin."

Draco stood up. Honestly, this young master with his sky-high pride is so easy to provoke.

"You have a lot of nerve, Potter. You 'reckless Gryffindors' are all talk—protecting, helping, saving—while your actual skill never quite catches up to your mouth."

"And who was it that was saved by that recklessness? You're the one who went and wrote in that diary. Did you think you'd be fine? That the 'clever Master Draco' could handle the memory of Voldemort? Talk about overestimating yourself."

"Fine, yes! I thought I could do something! I thought I had to do something—that I had to achieve something before I saw you again! I didn't know if you had your memories or not; I thought if it came down to it, I’d have to face it alone. Is it so wrong to take precautions!?"

"Yes, it’s wrong! It’s the worst! I didn't know Malfoy was such an idiot. Why are you trying to resist alone when you’re so weak? When you’re so easily drawn to the dark—when you’re so terrified of Voldemort!"

"I thought I’d overcome it! No, I have to. To stand beside you—I can’t keep carrying this burden forever!"

"That’s exactly the 'overestimating yourself' I’m talking about!!"

Finally, the argument devolved into a scuffle. We grabbed each other’s collars, foreheads pressed together as we glared.

See? It’s getting heated again.

"I’ve... I’ve been scared this whole time, too!" I yelled.

"────Huh?"

"I’m scared too! I’ve nearly died over and over, I’ve touched his memories, I’ve been shown nothing but the things I have in common with him! I’ve felt such intense hatred for people—hatred so strong I wanted to kill—and in those moments, he’s always flickering there! It’s like being told we’re the same. Even I... I was drawn to the darkness."

"You...?"

"Yes. Your 'Great Hero' was one wrong step away from being the second Voldemort. Even Dumbledore doubted me. We were... we were like twins."

"............"

"There’s no way someone like you could win alone. You’re a coward, a spineless Malfoy. You should have just handed over our information immediately. If you were going to nearly die, you should have just run away. Even then... you knew it was me, but you said you 'didn't know' if it was Harry Potter. You were shaking with fear, yet you lied to his face. You and your father... you’re both idiots..."

"...Don't insult my father."

"Your mother, too."

I pressed my face against his shoulder. I didn't want to cry. If I cried, he wouldn't be able to.

"We are weak. ...So don't go doing reckless things by yourself."

"To hear that from a Gryffindor who mistakes recklessness for chivalry and calls it a virtue..."

"To have a cool-headed, cunning Slytherin—who never moves without certainty—do something like this..."

The softness returned to our sarcasm. I felt his arms wrap around my back.

"I hate how reckless you are."

"I know."

"You do things even when you know you can't. If you failed because you thought you could, that would just be stupidity. But you—Harry Potter—you always do it even when you can't. You're forced to do it even when you think it's impossible. And then—you succeed. That’s just not right."

"Is it?"

"I do. I hate that 'heroic' side of you. Heroes are... too far away."

I felt his hair brush against my neck, and we slowly sank down to sit. I lifted my head and pulled him into an embrace.

"I’m not far away. I’m right here. See? I’m right here."

His arms tightened around me until it almost hurt, but it felt comforting.

"Don't cry."

"I'm not crying."

"I told you, I’m no good when you cry."

"I'm not crying."

"Then is this... snot?"

"............"

"Ow, ow! Sorry! Stop pinching my back!"

A great breath escaped my lungs, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I remembered how to breathe.

"Anyway, let me give this thick-headed Malfoy a piece of advice. If I lose you, I won't be able to stand anymore. You’re the one holding my life in your hands, Draco."

"I could say the exact same to you. Getting a horrific injury like that..."

"You looked like a corpse."

"The level of shock upon waking up was completely different."

"I can't argue with that."

I chuckled, stroking his blonde hair—hair that felt even lighter than my own. Usually, I’d think about how lovely and airy it was, but now, it felt terribly fragile.

"...Take care of your life."

"I will."

"Harry was in a bad state, too."

"I heard from Harry that you were the one in a bad state?"

"Harry was worse."

"Well, aren't you loved?"

"Of course I am."

He gave my back a playful smack. It reminded me of the "wing-slap" Hedwig gave me when she was waiting with a letter back in the Common Room, and I laughed even harder. I swatted him back a few times in return.

"──Right, okay, fight’s over! It’s been a long time since Christmas. Still, it's better than the seven years of our actual school days."

"...In the end, what were you even angry about?"

"Oh, you really don't remember? ...Maybe it's for the best I didn't slap you."

"What? Slap me?"

As I let Draco go, a thought occurred to me. I wondered who "Maria" would count that as. The body was Draco’s, so... Draco? But then again, it wasn't his will. ...So, Riddle?

"It’s just that Maria’s first kiss ended up being with Voldemort. A very... intense one, at that."

"................What?"

"Ah, I'm hungry. Come on, stand up, Draco. Let's go raid the Kitchens."

"Wait. Hey, wait! Explain yourself! ──Hey! Maria!"

Another tumultuous year passed. Between Harry becoming incredibly overprotective after I collapsed, the professors being hauled off to the Ministry over the Lockhart incident, and the dispute over how to manage the Horcruxes, the trouble never seemed to end. Still, for the most part, Hogwarts remained peaceful. Though the screams of agony from students buried under end-of-term exams echoed for quite a while.

Gazing out the window of the Hogwarts Express compartment at the scenery returning to the reality of the Muggle world, my expression softened at the weight on my shoulder.

His sleeping face really is like an angel's.

It might have been a terrible year for him. Even so, I could say it.

"This year was fun, too."

"...Was it?"

He gave a tiny reply. Playing possum, are we? I thought, pinching the back of his hand.

Please, let next year be the same—let these be days where, in the end, we can smile and say we had fun.