Harry paused again, figuring it would be considerably more beneficial for the two of them if he was able to gather a coherent explanation.<br/>“Have you ever felt a Cruciatus curse?” he eventually asked, his voice softer as if there were others within an audible space. His question was fundamentally rhetorical, though he still found himself looking for a sign of recognition in Draco’s expression.<br/>He shifted forward as if it wasn’t something they ought to talk about, and in a way, it wasn’t. Harry generally avoided the subject, knowing what that same question would evoke in others. He was tired of being perceived as a martyr for that experience, when all he had been was a tortured child.<br/>It was a comparison Harry hadn’t expressed to his Healers, certain it wouldn’t be productive; that they simply wouldn’t know, making the allegory completely useless.<br/>Harry continued without confirmation, his voice inflicted as if he had to explain the sensation to Draco. Part of Harry expected Draco to understand. He glanced away briefly, offering them both an opportunity to take a breath.<br/>“There’s a moment where it doesn’t hurt and still it knocks you to the ground.”<br/>Harry picked at his thumb, though his eyes returned intermittently onto Draco, trying to gauge if he made sense. Despite the brutality of the recollection, his voice was steady, unaffected.<br/>“But you’re anticipating the pain,” he said to his thumb. He paused again. “I think you’re right, that the Aberdeen case and Towthorpe fundamentally gave the same sense of vertigo, but I only expected pain to follow at Towthorpe.”<br/>Speaking about it, Harry had a hard time distinguishing whether that expectation was part of trauma or ingrained into the Cruciatus curse as part of the torture, psychological before it became physical. Looking back up at Draco, he realized he might know the answer.<br/>“It didn’t come,” he added, a final elaboration. “The pain. But I don’t think I ever considered it a plausible progression at the Aberdeen house.”