Harry Potter The Long Lost Malfoy

That's the reason he wanted to hurt the Dursleys. Not just because he wants to torture Muggles all the time—although maybe he did, maybe that's the reason he signed up for the Death Eaters, I don't know. But he wanted to hurt them for me, because he's desperate to prove that he loves me. The same reason he gives me gifts.

It didn't make him some perfect father of the year. Harry still didn't want his father to torture or kill other people for hurting him. But it let him understand his father as more than just some monster.

"You still don't need to cut off your arm," Harry whispered, when he felt he could trust his voice.

"Without removing the Dark Mark, I am vulnerable to being called back to my Lord's side," Father murmured. "And I am vulnerable to pain through it, as well, and tracking. I might have suffered from those already if he had any kind of strength in his present form." He hesitated. "It will hurt me, Henry, I won't lie to you about that. But this pain is much less than what I would suffer if I was forced to raise my hand against you. Beloved son."

Harry leaned closer and hugged his father again. It felt like something he needed to do, just then. And something that he wanted to do so he didn't have to look in Father's face right now.

His heart was too full to do anything else.

...

"But someday you're going to want the Dursleys punished."

Harry rolled his eyes. They were in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, going back to school, and Draco had barely waited through Harry's game of chess with Ron and a conversation with Hermione about how woolly Divination was to ask Harry if they could talk alone. Harry had the impression that there had been other people in this compartment until a short time ago, probably some of Draco's Slytherin friends, but Draco seemed to have chased them all out.

"Someday isn't today." Harry looked out the windows, at the grey clouds and the countryside rushing by. At least he could feel fairly sure there weren't any Dementors on the Express this time. Minister Fudge had agreed to withdraw them from the school until after the Easter holiday, if they didn't catch Sirius before that.

I have to do something for him.

"But when you want them punished, will you tell me?"

"Would you hurt them for hurting me, or for being Muggles?"

Draco frowned at him. Harry saw the frown in his twin's reflection in the window glass, but didn't turn around to look at him. "I don't see why my motivation makes a difference."

"There's a difference between vengeance and justice. And a different between justice and torturing someone because you think they're inferior pieces of shit."

"Gryffindor hasn't been good for your language. Mother would scold you so much if she could hear that."

"Answer the bloody question, Draco. Did you think that I wouldn't notice you're deflecting?"

Draco squirmed in place on the seat. "I just don't see why it matters! I want to hurt them either way. And I don't know which motivation it is. Okay? Does that make you happy? That after everything, I don't know if I would take more pleasure in hurting them because they hurt you or because they're inferior?"

"They're not inferior!"

"They don't have magic!"

"They have vehicles that can go twice as fast as the Hogwarts Express and fly hundreds of Muggles through the air! They have cures for diseases that don't rely on potions! They communicate with each other faster than any owl alive!" Harry waved his hands in exasperation. "If you just want to talk about things you can do, even. I know plenty of people in our school who have magic, and it's not like they really do anything with it!"

Draco hesitated. Then he said, "They can't really communicate faster than we can with owls. You're bluffing about that."

"Of all of those, you pick that one?" Harry demanded, but realized a second later that Draco might actually know about Muggle vehicles, and maybe even the disease cures. Hadn't he said once that he'd nearly bumped into a plane or a helicopter or something when he was flying on his broom?

And Harry, strangely, knew exactly how he wanted to handle this, too. He leaned back on his seat and smirked at his brother.

"I don't suppose you know what a telephone is?"

"Why would it matter if I didn't know what your bloody Muggle invention is?" Draco muttered, and kicked the floor.

Harry smiled. "You don't know. Just admit you don't know."

"It's not important that I don't know! It's not like you not knowing about Hogwarts and magic and Quidditch before two years ago!"

Harry widened his eyes. "But I didn't know about those things because I was kidnapped. Are you saying that was all my fault? That I should have known about those things when I didn't even know I was a Malfoy?" He made his lip quiver.

Draco stared at him, aghast. "Henry—I didn't mean—of course it's not your fault!"

....

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