darkravenwrote: (rose)
[personal profile] darkravenwrote
Author: [livejournal.com profile] darkravenwrote
Title: The Devil’s Eyes
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings/Characters: Gen, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy
Word Count: 613
Rating: G
Warnings: None? evil!Malfoy?
Prompt: For my ‘Compassionate’ tile on GYWO Bingo.
Author’s Notes: Yes, okay, good. :) Lol, titling this was my downfall.
Summary: Malfoy’s trial is pending. Harry goes to see if there’s any reason -- other than his own conscience -- he should testify for his rival.

"I need you to give me a reason why I should do this for you, Malfoy," Harry says, topping up his glass of water. It's the only thing sitting on the table between them in the sparse interview room. Hermione thought he should bring his notes, but he doesn't need to; everything about Malfoy's case is already engraved in his mind. He’d just end up fiddling with them as a distraction. Malfoy would notice that.

"Why should I? I didn't ask you to come to my rescue, Potter." Even with charmed shackles glowing around his wrists, Malfoy manages to look pompous. His spine is straight but he's leaning back, at ease, like they're having a conversation over cups of honeyed tea.

"Hermione asked me. Your mother approached her." He regrets admitting that last in a way. It's a lie. Hermione did ask him to come here, she doesn't believe in the fate the ministry has set out for Malfoy. But Narcissa Malfoy had never approached her. It's something Malfoy needs to hear, though, to pull him from his self-sacrificing sulk. If Malfoy thinks his mother still yearns for his return, he will do everything in his sneaky power to make it so.

Malfoy doesn't look like he's going to believe him at first. Then: "She did?" he asks, tentatively. Hopefully. Something about his face changes, then, like he’s setting himself in stone. Readying himself to weather a storm.

"So why should I help you?"

Malfoy stares up at him through the ragged fringe he's grown during his time imprisoned. His eyes are pale grey and soulless.
Maybe Harry shouldn't help him, he thinks, trying to keep his nerve and the eye contact Malfoy challenges him with. Harry can see the future that will unravel from this. Malfoy will slip his greedy fingers into the ministry somehow and rise through the ranks behind everyone's backs. And one day, while everyone is revelling in their hard won peace, Malfoy will stab a knife through all their backs.
But Hermione's right, in this he is innocent. Or as innocent as an indoctrinated child being told what to do can be.

"Because you owe me," Malfoy finally hisses. He doesn't need to lean forward threateningly to make Harry shiver. The power imbalance in this little prison room deep in the ministry's bowels should be clear. Harry should feel confident that he holds Malfoy's future in his palms. But instead, every word Malfoy says is part of a maneuver he has had hours to ponder and mastermind alone behind his bars. A giant chess match Harry wishes he could ask Ron for strategic help with. He feels small whenever Malfoy sets his unwavering stare on him.

Harry could explain his debt away. They've done plenty to and for each other. Malfoy's referring to his attempt to leave Harry anonymous at the mansion. Harry has saved him many times in return, chief among them their flight from the fire. But Malfoy's right; somehow he knew. Harry doesn't feel like they're even yet. He still feels heavy with the debt.

"I don't owe you anything," he tries anyway. It sounds hollow as it echoes around the little room.

Malfoy is undeniably, annoyingly smug opposite him.

"That's your problem, Potter. I knew as soon as you walked through that door that you'd help me." Here he does lean forward, resting his forearms on the table and adjusting them once minutely to get comfortable. To show he has no fear of Harry or his position. "You're too compassionate."

Malfoy grins, his teeth white like a grindylow's fangs being hit by the sun as it rises to the surface.


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