Title: On the Bound (Love Ridden 3)

Author: Romie

Archive:  anywhere.  In fact, I'd appreciate it.  Let me know if it's convenient.

Rating:  PG

Pairing:  prelude to Harry/Draco

Spoliers:  none

Disclaimers:  Rowling is God.  Fiona Apple deserves a nod too.  Anything I've made up, y'all are free to use.

Warnings:  This series features a same-sex romantic pairing.  If you find that sort of thing objectionable, then don't read it.

Summary:  Harry uses insight and logical thought to arrive at plausible and largely incorrect conclusions.  Not that Draco's are markedly more accurate.

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Witches and wizards have been persecuted in western society almost every time our existence has been revealed to muggles.  We're told about it over and over again every year, as if they're trying to drill the following facts into our head: you are not wanted.  The world does not like you.

 

I know that they're trying to protect us.   Or at least they think they are; I say part of them is still working to justify our complete withdrawal during the seventeen hundreds.  It's been more than 300 years, but the guilt lives on.  So they remind us over and over again of the dark days, then worry at the perpetual flare-ups of violent anti-muggle sentiment.

 

I know better than anyone what horrors the ignorant are capable of enacting.  For the first half of my life, I lived with some of the most bigoted, most insensitive muggles the world has to offer.  At the slightest suggestion of anything remotely off-colour - magical or otherwise - I was beaten and starved.  Humiliated when possible.

 

But they're not all that way.  Hermione's parents, muggles both, are two of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet.  One of the highlights of 5th year was when Dean's father took several of us to a West Ham football game.  Seamus couldn't understand why there was only one ball, and Ron kept trying to get his hot dog to bark.  That was a great day.

 

The Dursleys acted as they did because they were afraid.  I didn't realize that consciously until years after I left, although I'd been manipulating it since I first learned to speak.  Fear is an ugly thing; it turns all too quickly into righteously-justified hatred.  The sentiment that made the Dursleys created Voldemort too - anti-wizard and anti-muggle extremists both wave the same flag of systematic persecution.  I disagree with the way we're taught about either.

 

Professor Binns' lecture today dealt with witch trials during the Spanish Inquisition.  I've heard it so many times that I had trouble paying attention - he does the same speech every year.  Most of us try to sleep through it, although Hermione takes notes each time just in case something's changed.  Instead, I found myself latching onto the concept of Faith.  I don't think I've ever trusted anyone, not completely.  I love my friends, of course, and I know they'd do anything I asked of them, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm the only one actively protecting my interests.  That is, I've never had the luxury of a higher power, be it God or parents, to tell me "don't worry; everything will be okay."  Not who I could believe, anyway.

 

That sounds lonelier than it is; I'm really quite content with my lot.  I wouldn't choose dependence if it was offered me.  But it must be nice to have that cushion.  Malfoy's just lost his, I think.  It was pulled out from under him when his father left.  It must be strange to suddenly go from having a powerful, wealthy family to being an orphan with no allies.  At least I had Dumbledore, and later Sirius, to rescue me, and I didn't know what I'd lost until I'd regained it.  Malfoy's denied that providence.

 

I watched him closely today, hoping for another slip, but I couldn't find a single chink in his armor.  He's perfect at what he does; I suppose he's had a lot of practice.  I could almost believe I'd imagined yesterday's shuttered glance if it hadn't affected me so profoundly.  It's become almost an obsession; I look down at my Arithmancy notes and find that I've doodled dozens of half-closed eyes.  Quiddich practice was called off after the third time I ran into a chaser.

 

At lunch, I tried to talk to Ron and Hermione, but they were no help.  Ron called him a snake and a slimy cad, and volunteered to trounce him for me.  Hermione looked worried and asked if I really thought he was up to something.

 

The truth is, I don't know.  I'm not used to wondering.  Strange as it seems, Malfoy has always been a bit of a constant in my life.  You can count on him to have some sinister plot going; he's almost reliable that way.  Why he does it has never been important, only that he continues to do so.  Who wonders why his heart beats until it stops?

 

Ever since that Look, I've been trapped in a circle of whys.  Why is he staying at Hogwarts?  Why does he watch me?  Why is he so devoted to cruelty?  *Why can't I let it go?*  I'm tired of whys.  I'm choking on them.  I need some solid becauses, but they're proving as elusive as dircawls.

 

Damnit, I never wanted to wonder about Malfoy's psychology.  I'm not supposed to care what he's thinking or whether he's happy.  That notion freezes me - he makes me as much of a fiend as he is.  Of *course* I should care.  I ought to be able to consider him in the same way I would Ron, or even Parvati - as a moderate, rational person who makes the choices he does for a *reason*.

 

It's more difficult than I would ever have guessed.  I suppose my brain just isn't built that way; I'm having to construct new thought highways just to recall that he has a first name.  I'm no better than the Dursleys, who loathed me for being different from them.  To be fair, Draco's repeatedly proven himself far nastier than I ever was, although I admit I've said some pretty horrible things when Uncle Vernon's back was turned.

 

But apparently I lied every time I said I'm not prejudiced.  Apparently, I hate Draco Malfoy.  Hate all Slytherins, actually, even though I eventually made my peace with Professor Snape.  And although it's since been justified, I have to acknowledge that I felt that way before I even entered the school - before I even knew who they were.  All too clearly, I remember my terror when the sorting hat nearly stuck me with them.

 

I guess that should have been my first tip off.  I've been a fool for ignoring it so long.  The logic doesn't line up; why would the founders have created an "evil" house?  Imagine them sitting around and saying "hmmm, what are the four cardinal virtues?  There's intelligence, bravery, loyalty, and, oh yes, evil."  Would the hat have ever considered placing me in such a place?

 

No!  The fourth virtue is craftiness, the origin of politics and technology.  Strategy.  Guile can sometimes accomplish things straightforward courage can't; for illustration, one has only to think of the Wronsky Feint, or Ron's and my Divination exams.  Perhaps more dark wizards have come out of Slytherin than any other house, but maybe that's because we expect it of them.  *I'd* certainly feel betrayed by the system if I thought that everyone looked on me with suspicion.

 

I've been so blind.  All this time, Draco's been struggling to keep to the good, and we've all been shoving him back toward the dark as hard as we can.  No more.  It's time for a new reckoning, a clean slate.  It won't be easy; even if Draco is miraculously cooperative, (wishful thinking on my part,) there's still the other Gryffindors to deal with.  Hermione will listen to reason, but Ron'll probably try to examine me for head injuries.  Nevertheless, persistence will triumph in the end now that I know what to do.

 

I gather up my Arithmancy notes and shove them in my satchel, but instead of following the rest of the class back to Gryffindor Tower, I head to the Dungeons.