DISCLAIMER: I am not JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter does not
belong to me. I wish it did, but it doesn't. I am making no money off this
trifle of a story.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Draco Malfoy stepped outside into a cool breeze from the air sweeping over the lake and onto Hogwarts grounds. Goose pimples began to prickle against the skin of his exposed arm from the wind brushing against the warmth of his flesh. Back inside the Hogwarts castle, the air had been warm from the many fires and torches lit around the school and the contrast froze him from the inside out. He shivered, glanced back to the school, and gave a brief thought on returning for his cloak. Dismissing the notion, he wandered farther from the doors, not wanting to run into Crabbe or Goyle on the way back.
A fifth year student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy came from a long line of magic people. He was what wizards call a pureblood. His farther was Lucius Malfoy, a man of powerful connections due to his intimidating nature. During the dark times of Lord Voldemort, Lucius had been one of the Dark Lord's supporters though never proven to be a Death Eater after Voldemort's downfall. Now that Voldemort had regained his power again, however, there was a possibility that everything could change.
Being a pureblood with an intimidating, forceful parent, Draco was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. Become a Death Eater, support Voldemort, despite Harry Potter, the boy who had caused the Dark Lord's fall in the first place. He took it all in stride, silently accepting the path his father chose for him at the moment of his birth. Nothing Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, said could help him when it came to the matters of his father. No one could interfere in Draco's life when it came to Lucius Malfoy.
It was only the beginning of October and already the air around Hogwarts was crisp. Leaves rustled nearby in the breeze, a familiar and comforting sound that always reminded Draco of Hogwarts in the fall and the security he always felt there. Inhaling deep, Draco could feel the oxygen fill his lungs to capacity before deflating and repeating the process. Turning his head to survey the grounds, he took a few steps forward and stopped again, basking in the evening glow. This was when he liked it best. The sun was just beginning to set, light enough to feel comfortable before the dark overtakes the senses and leaves one blinded in the night.
Angular shadows jumped across the pointed features of Draco's face, his blond white hair practically reflecting the rays. As the sun began the dissent behind the horizon, Draco sighed, a light breath puffing out from his lungs. Allowing his legs to fold under his body, Draco dropped to the ground and ran his fingers through the grass. Without Crabbe or Goyle by his side, he was able to feel glorified and free. Odd how they always made him feel trapped when the only reason he continued to keep them around was for his own peace of mind. Draco had more enemies than he could count, much less care to think of, and most stemmed from their hatred of the Malfoy name. The others stemmed from Draco following his father and upholding the Malfoy name through his talent for rudeness.
Trying to make his father proud. That was all Draco had ever wanted to do. He tried hard and made enemies along the way for it. Trapped. Trapped by his own fears and insecurities of a young boy whose whole life was centered on following after a dark and evil father. A father who supported one of the darkest Lords, perhaps the worst ever. Draco had to become a powerful wizard, a dark wizard, and never let Lucius down.
Too many pressures for a young boy. Pressures that just kept building and now at fifteen, Draco felt like he was breaking. When he was awake and even when he was asleep, all Draco's mind ever seemed to be on was how he was going to let his family down. Draco tried. He insulted Hermione Granger for being a mudblood, the most horrible name you can call someone of non-wizard descent. He patronized Ron Weasley for his family's love of Muggles, non-magic folk. Worst of all, he criticized Harry Potter for no other reason than that his father hated Harry. He even was openly hostile to the Hogwarts headmaster, someone who Lucius claimed was the worst thing that ever happened to the school. Draco said the nastiest things he could think of. Things that were most inappropriate and even bothered himself sometimes to say. He did everything he could fathom that would please Lucius in even the slightest, but nothing ever seemed to work.
Draco knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he would never be the wizard, the person his parents wanted him to be. He could never be the person, the Malfoy he was expected to be by anyone who had ever heard the Malfoy name. He knew he put up a good facade, played the part of bad, evil Draco Malfoy with convincing charm. Never was there a one who could fake the hostility as well as he could. He had years of practice, after all. Part of him admired his facade, his image, and Draco clasped to it in desperation, hoping that one day it would not only be a front. Draco hoped he could become that image because that Draco was cold, heartless, and didn't care who he hurt. That Draco could make Lucius proud without feeling guilt nipping at his very soul. That Draco was so fake that it was beginning to wear thin and go transparent only to reveal the real and weary Draco behind. A Draco that was too tired to fight anymore.
Pulling his legs out from underneath his body, Draco brought his knees into his chest and let his chin fall to rest there. Draco's head was spinning, his mind and body shaking from the inside out in a heavy vibrato, only this time it wasn't the wind that made Draco shudder. His body felt empty, his mind torrid with nothing redeemable about himself to live for. It wasn't the failure to meet his father's standards that made Draco feel so empty, at least not in full. He would soon have to choose between his father's path and placing his own and Draco knew what would happen if things continued this way. He would follow his father, be miserable, spend the remained of his life hiding because he could not be a loyal servant to Voldemort.
No, the reason Draco felt empty was drainage. His hate, his anger, his hope all drained out into self-loathing. Draco had hated himself for being too scared to set his own path and being so eager to please Lucius, who had only ever looked at Draco as a servant, never a son. Draco had hated himself for allowing himself to be in such a position for so long. Now he was drained of that hate, all emotion gone with only a numb soul left, weighing heavy in his body.
He wanted it all to end. His pain was gone but the dead weight of his mind was worse than the hate. No longer could he loathe himself in private. At least emotion had once been present in him but now it was fleeting, leaving him a little more hollow every day. He was the epitome of lifeless, emotion a memory of the past that only he could recover. Everything seemed to be falling in a downward spiral and Draco couldn't wait to hit rock bottom. He couldn't wait for the agony to end, the expectations to disappear.
On more than one occasion, Draco's thoughts shifted to the possibility of suicide, ending it on his own terms rather than allowing fate to toy with him. The only thing that would stop him was the knowledge that he wasn't that weak and even the genuine Draco Malfoy could pull through the suffering. When the emotion fled, that knowledge went with it and Draco hugged his knees tighter as dusk really settled in.
"What good is being a wizard if you still have to endure pain like this?" Draco wondered aloud, his voice breaking the silence that blanketed the grounds at Hogwarts. A low and heavy sigh escaped his lips and his eyes turned up to stare at the starless sky. A waxing crescent moon seemed to be suspended in the inky blackness that was now night. How long had he been out here, sitting in the chill? Draco wasn't really sure.
As he sat there pondering the length of time, the hours he had spent allowing his mind to drift where it was rarely allowed to go to, a new figure appeared coming out of Hogwarts School and onto the surrounding grounds. Harry Potter rarely came out alone, especially at night just before he was required to be in his common room, but he needed to wander and the only thing that usually kept him from doing so was Hermione and Ron permanently attached to his side. Even when they weren't with him, Harry was usually forced to stay inside due to heavy commotion from whatever evil plan Lord Voldemort had cooked up to destroy him.
Things this year passed by placid thus far, compared to the usual, anyway. Harry wasn't fooled and from the letters he received from his godfather, Sirius, Harry wasn't the only one. Now that Voldemort had risen again, it was naive to expect that he wasn't cooking up some plan to finally end Harry's life.
Harry glanced around the grounds before walking away from the doors. His eyelids fell shut as the breeze swept across his skin. Looking around a second time, his eyes fell on a familiar head of blond white hair.
Draco Malfoy was another oddity in Harry's unusually calm and smooth school year. The year at Hogwarts always seemed to have certainties according to past experience. Draco Malfoy being an incorrigible git was right up there with a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and Professor Snape's loathing of Harry to increase. It was as certain as Lord Voldemort wanting Harry dead but in addition to a missing in action Voldemort, Draco had been more quiet than usual. Sure, he still insulted Harry, Hermione, and Ron, but his smirk failed to reach his eyes. They were just dead light without the infamous mirth dancing in them.
Harry held back, afraid to approach Draco and not knowing what to say if he approached him, anyway. Draco's body was curled up into a ball, his back hunched over and knees drawn up to his chest. His arms were pulled around his legs, hands clasped before his shins. The view Harry had of Draco allowed him to see Draco's back and just about half of the right side of his face. Harry could see Draco's eyelids drooping; hear the erratic pace of Draco's breathing, which was heavy, amplified in the stillness. For a moment, it seemed like Harry forgot to breathe. His head grew dizzy from a lack of oxygen and when his lungs began to work again, Harry found himself sucking the air in with desperation.
"I just can't do this anymore," Harry heard Draco say. He jumped at hearing Draco's voice break through the invisible wall of unknown tension. "I just can't do this anymore," he repeated.
Harry felt a twinge of guilt, standing in the shadows and watching his arch enemy confess his innermost thoughts aloud. Draco didn't know Harry was there and if he did, he wouldn't be speaking aloud. He looked to the doors, contemplating going inside so that Draco would never have to know he was eavesdropping. After all, it would only be an uncomfortable situation for them both to confront. He tried to move his feet but they wouldn't budge, refusing to move from where they were standing. The moonlight falling across Draco was too perfect for Harry to leave, too beautiful to ignore.
In the faint glow, Harry could see Draco's hands fly to his head, palms pressed against his cheeks. The silhouette of his body was vibrating in rapid shudders. Soft and strangled whispers were foreign in Draco's voice to Harry, but they filled the void between them. Draco stirred, his body lifting to stand up and Harry ducked behind the nearest hedge, afraid of being caught.
"Not tonight," said Draco, his arms hugging his torso. "I'm sorry."
The defeat, the diminishing hope in Draco's voice, coming from Draco's mouth was almost too much to believe. In Harry's world, Draco Malfoy was a bad kid with a big mouth who didn't care who he hurt and really got on Harry's nerves. He was unfeeling and his main purpose was to make others, especially Harry, as miserable as possible. He emotion, the genuine pain and sorrow in Malfoy's voice was a lot to grasp, so much that for a second, Harry thought someone cooked up a polyjuice potion and was posing as Draco Malfoy.
However, the suspicion didn't feel right and so Harry stood hidden, shocked at what he was witnessing. He hated Draco Malfoy. Naturally not nearly as much as Lord Voldemort or Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed his parents and got them killed by the Dark Lord, but he hated Draco Malfoy all the same. At least he had hated Draco Malfoy for being cold, unfeeling, and desperate to ruin Harry's life and make him miserable. Now, seeing him so broken in a moment so raw and intense, Harry didn't know what to make of Malfoy. All he knew was that Draco could not know Harry was there. He couldn't know Harry had heard or seen any of that.
Harry held his breath as Draco neared the hedge, sighing to himself. "Too much to deal with," muttered Draco, brushing his fingers along the tiny leaves. His fingers swept past where Harry was hidden but he continued on without seeing him and headed inside, leaving Harry out in the cold.
He headed for the dungeons and spit out the Slytherin password before sliding into the common room. Draco sat there by the fire, warming his body and senses and he shut off the thought process. His mind wasn't too keen on any more thinking tonight.
Five minutes passed, Harry waiting in the bushes until he deemed it safe to head for the Gryffindor tower without running into Draco Malfoy along the way. Exiting the hedge, Harry slipped inside the school and rushed along the halls. His legs couldn't wait to get back to the Gryffindor common room but his mind was apprehensive. He wanted to sit down and analyze his thoughts. Try to make some sense out of what he saw tonight and somehow figure out where he stood on his attitude towards Malfoy.
True, he had always been a cocky son of a bitch to Harry. His arrogance was always in abundance. Tonight was a whole new side to Draco and it was one that Harry had never witnessed before. Harry was willing to be that no one had witnessed it before. If that was what Draco Malfoy hid under that rough exterior, Harry was willing to bet that Draco didn't trust anyone enough to show the interior and thus why he was alone at such an emotionally trying time. Who was he supposed to go to, anyway? Crabbe? Goyle? His father, Lucius? Yeah right. Harry couldn't feel worse about overhearing.
Not only was he left with confusion on Malfoy, not sure what to make of him or how to decode his behavior, Harry wouldn't even be able to really think it over once he got back. Ron would be there, wondering where Harry escaped to and Hermione would be back from the library. As much as he loved his friends, Harry had the complicated Draco on the brain and he didn't want to answer questions nor sit in between the Hermione and Ron tension. Harry really wished they would just admit their crushes and get together already because then he might have some time for himself. Coming between the unspoken crushes was really starting to take a toll as he wondered exactly how blind a person could be before they got a clue.
Before Harry realized where his feet had taken him, he was standing before the portrait of the fat lady in the pink dress that concealed the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
"Password?" she asked.
"Cashew guzzard," Harry replied and the portrait swung back, allowing him to enter. His predictions had been correct. Hermione and Ron were both seated by the fire and their heads snapped up as he entered.
"Harry," Hermione called to him, "where have you been? Surly you weren't sneaking off to somewhere you aren't supposed to. And all alone. Just because there haven't been any signs of trouble yet, it doesn't mean that you're safe. Especially since You-Know-Who has risen again."
"His name is Voldemort, Hermione," Harry said, choosing to sit beside them with no other options. They had caught him and there was no chance of sneaking off to the dormitory now.
"Ignore her, Harry," interjected Ron, sneering at Hermione. "As long as Dumbledore is around, you'll be fine."
"You're scar isn't hurting, is it?" asked Hermione.
"No, my scar doesn't hurt," Harry answered curtly, swatting away Hermione's prodding hands. "I was taking a walk to clear my head. Between homework, classes, and Quidditch, I don't have much thinking time anymore."
"And we have our O.W.L.s this year, too," Hermione added. Both Ron and Harry scowled at her. "Sorry."
Glad they got the point not to pry, Harry sighed and his thoughts wandered immediately to Draco and the way he looked under the silver moonbeams. He had told them that he went outside to clear his head, a complete truth in his original intentions, but he ended up returning with a bigger mess to fog up his mind. There were few people who could crawl under his skin more than Malfoy. Harry didn't understand how the boy he was outside, full of dead emotion, could be the same boy that had terrorized him ever since coming to Hogwarts. The Malfoy who was hiding in the cold was the same Malfoy who tried to get Hagrid fired and openly campaigned against Harry in the Triwizard tournament last year.
Admittedly, some of it did make sense, to a certain extent, anyway. From their first flying lesson, Harry had been able to see how unsure and vulnerable Draco could become without Crabbe or Goyle looming over him. Even when they first met in Diagon Alley, getting fitted for robes, Draco was on autopilot, spitting out words engraved into his brain by his father. At the time, Harry was convinced Draco believed in every word he said. Part of Harry still believed that.
He was reading too much into a vulnerable moment. At least that's what Harry tried to tell himself. Everyone had weak moments as it was part of human nature and no matter how bad, Draco was still a human. There was nothing especially deep in what Harry saw. Probably would be best to ignore the fact that he had seen anything at all. Even if he was in a moment of weakness, Draco was still the Muggle-hating wizard he had always been.
"Next Saturday we have a trip to Hogsmeade," Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts on Draco. Harry was actually pleased for his thought process to be derailed. It was becoming too messy and complicated to worry about, anyway.
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, stretching his arms over his head and releasing a yawn. Perhaps a trip to Hogsmeade would give him time off from thinking about Draco if, indeed, he was still thinking about Draco then. It was barely an hour since first seeing Malfoy outside and Harry's mind was already becoming obsessed with it. He tried to push it away, reduce the value to the contrast of personalities. Yes, Harry was certain that a change of scenery would do him good, even if the novelty of Hogsmeade was wearing off.
"You should go to bed, Harry," instructed Hermione, patting down his unruly mass of black hair only to have it stick up again. He formed a weak smile at the gesture and concern, but Ron's jealous glare did not unnoticed. "You aren't looking well and I should think a little rest would do you good."
Harry nodded in agreement, too tired to do much else. He was grateful for Hermione's keep sense to detail, picking up on his weariness and not asking questions. Ron's jealous bout had already vanished, going as quickly as it came. Only concern was left visible on his face, overpowering any other emotion that he may have been feeling.
"Are you going to be alright?" asked Ron as Harry was pulled to his feet by shaking legs.
"I'll be fine," he reassured, smiling broad and retreating to the boys dormitory before the inquisition could further. Five poster beds stood in a circle and Harry walked to his own, dropping to the mattress. His back unfurled against the bed, vertebrae by vertebrae, until he was fully laid out, eyes set on the ceiling.
"Harry?" Ron's soft voice asked, floating into the room.
"What is it, Ron?" he replied. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron walking to his own bed and sitting down on the mattress.
"I'm just worried about you," he answered.
"No need to be," Harry reassured him. Once again, silence took over and the scene outside with Draco Malfoy began to play over and over again in his mind. Harry was still aware of Ron's presence but it was stored away in a dormant corner of his mind. "Why don't you just say something to her?" he asked, breaking the silence and attempting to divert the subject from himself.
"Tell who, what?" replied Ron, cocking his head to the side.
"Tell Hermione that you like her." Harry paused and though he couldn't see Ron, he was convinced that his mouth was open, searching for words of protest. None came and Harry took that as a signal to continue. "Don't even try to deny it to me. Nothing you say is going to make me believe otherwise."
"I-" Ron stammered. "I suppose I don't know. I do like her a bit but -" His voice trailed off.
"No excuses. You really should tell her soon because its only a matter of time before someone comes around and won't hesitate. I saw how you were last year when Krum had that thing for her and I see how you are every day when she fawns all over me.
Ron sighed. "But Harry -"
"No excuses," said Harry, cutting him off again. "She likes you, too. I can tell. So don't wait for her to come to you. If you do, someone else will sweep in right under your nose."
"Like last year when you waited with Cho and Cedric took her away first," Ron contemplated.
Harry's thoughts cut short, at first the image of Cedric Diggory's dead body coming into his head and then a vision of Cho. Sure, she was pretty, and for the last two years, Harry had quite the crush on the Ravenclaw girl. Now, however, his crush on Cho seemed meaningless and shallow.
"Ron," Harry said, elongating the name.
"What?"
"I started thinking about Cho when you brought her name up and I don't think I like her anymore." It felt strange for Harry to admit to aloud, the words foreign on his tongue. "I still think she's very pretty but that's as far as it goes."
"Wow," Ron said, mulling it over with Harry. "So you think I should tell Hermione and I should tell her soon."
Harry sat up in bed, straightening out his body so that he was sitting directly across from Ron. "Yes. I think you should tell Hermione and the faster you do it, the faster I'll be able to get out of the middle of your lovey dovey crushes."
Ron's freckled face became red, flushed with embarrassment and the shade seemed to travel from his face right up through the bright orange strands of hair. They nodded and the matter was settled. Both climbed into bed, Ron's thoughts settled on one Hermione Granger and how to spill his secret to her without turning the color of his hair. Harry's thoughts had returned to Draco, the way he looked under the moon that made his already pale face even paler. He racked his mind, listening to Draco's words play over and over again like a skipping record. Draco's voice, stance, words had chilled him. Stripped Harry of all the hate he carried for Malfoy along the way.
Maybe Draco had changed. Something Harry noticed only now as that though their first meeting in Diagon Alley was probably the nicest Draco had ever been, that was also when he was the most indifferent. From the Hogwarts Express on, Draco's strength seemed to crumble piece by piece. His attacks became more of defensive tactics than offensive play, only fighting when it came to upsetting Harry.
None of his thoughts seemed to make any sense. First Draco, then Ron and Hermione, which was followed by the Cho discovery. When all was said and done, Harry lay alone in the dark, covers pulled up to his chin. All thoughts came back to the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. Harry would not call him kind or good, at least not yet, but he would no longer call him cruel, cold, and unfeeling. There was so much more to Draco Malfoy that Harry, no one even, had seen. He could feel, too. Did feel, in fact, and though this seemed a given, it stumped Harry. Saying he didn't know what to make of Malfoy was an understatement. He was downright confused.
Maybe he didn't have a clue now but Harry planned on keeping a close eye on Draco in the coming days.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Loved something. Hated something. Tell me in a REVIEW or email me at [email protected]
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Draco Malfoy stepped outside into a cool breeze from the air sweeping over the lake and onto Hogwarts grounds. Goose pimples began to prickle against the skin of his exposed arm from the wind brushing against the warmth of his flesh. Back inside the Hogwarts castle, the air had been warm from the many fires and torches lit around the school and the contrast froze him from the inside out. He shivered, glanced back to the school, and gave a brief thought on returning for his cloak. Dismissing the notion, he wandered farther from the doors, not wanting to run into Crabbe or Goyle on the way back.
A fifth year student at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, Draco Malfoy came from a long line of magic people. He was what wizards call a pureblood. His farther was Lucius Malfoy, a man of powerful connections due to his intimidating nature. During the dark times of Lord Voldemort, Lucius had been one of the Dark Lord's supporters though never proven to be a Death Eater after Voldemort's downfall. Now that Voldemort had regained his power again, however, there was a possibility that everything could change.
Being a pureblood with an intimidating, forceful parent, Draco was expected to follow in his father's footsteps. Become a Death Eater, support Voldemort, despite Harry Potter, the boy who had caused the Dark Lord's fall in the first place. He took it all in stride, silently accepting the path his father chose for him at the moment of his birth. Nothing Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, said could help him when it came to the matters of his father. No one could interfere in Draco's life when it came to Lucius Malfoy.
It was only the beginning of October and already the air around Hogwarts was crisp. Leaves rustled nearby in the breeze, a familiar and comforting sound that always reminded Draco of Hogwarts in the fall and the security he always felt there. Inhaling deep, Draco could feel the oxygen fill his lungs to capacity before deflating and repeating the process. Turning his head to survey the grounds, he took a few steps forward and stopped again, basking in the evening glow. This was when he liked it best. The sun was just beginning to set, light enough to feel comfortable before the dark overtakes the senses and leaves one blinded in the night.
Angular shadows jumped across the pointed features of Draco's face, his blond white hair practically reflecting the rays. As the sun began the dissent behind the horizon, Draco sighed, a light breath puffing out from his lungs. Allowing his legs to fold under his body, Draco dropped to the ground and ran his fingers through the grass. Without Crabbe or Goyle by his side, he was able to feel glorified and free. Odd how they always made him feel trapped when the only reason he continued to keep them around was for his own peace of mind. Draco had more enemies than he could count, much less care to think of, and most stemmed from their hatred of the Malfoy name. The others stemmed from Draco following his father and upholding the Malfoy name through his talent for rudeness.
Trying to make his father proud. That was all Draco had ever wanted to do. He tried hard and made enemies along the way for it. Trapped. Trapped by his own fears and insecurities of a young boy whose whole life was centered on following after a dark and evil father. A father who supported one of the darkest Lords, perhaps the worst ever. Draco had to become a powerful wizard, a dark wizard, and never let Lucius down.
Too many pressures for a young boy. Pressures that just kept building and now at fifteen, Draco felt like he was breaking. When he was awake and even when he was asleep, all Draco's mind ever seemed to be on was how he was going to let his family down. Draco tried. He insulted Hermione Granger for being a mudblood, the most horrible name you can call someone of non-wizard descent. He patronized Ron Weasley for his family's love of Muggles, non-magic folk. Worst of all, he criticized Harry Potter for no other reason than that his father hated Harry. He even was openly hostile to the Hogwarts headmaster, someone who Lucius claimed was the worst thing that ever happened to the school. Draco said the nastiest things he could think of. Things that were most inappropriate and even bothered himself sometimes to say. He did everything he could fathom that would please Lucius in even the slightest, but nothing ever seemed to work.
Draco knew, without a doubt in his mind, that he would never be the wizard, the person his parents wanted him to be. He could never be the person, the Malfoy he was expected to be by anyone who had ever heard the Malfoy name. He knew he put up a good facade, played the part of bad, evil Draco Malfoy with convincing charm. Never was there a one who could fake the hostility as well as he could. He had years of practice, after all. Part of him admired his facade, his image, and Draco clasped to it in desperation, hoping that one day it would not only be a front. Draco hoped he could become that image because that Draco was cold, heartless, and didn't care who he hurt. That Draco could make Lucius proud without feeling guilt nipping at his very soul. That Draco was so fake that it was beginning to wear thin and go transparent only to reveal the real and weary Draco behind. A Draco that was too tired to fight anymore.
Pulling his legs out from underneath his body, Draco brought his knees into his chest and let his chin fall to rest there. Draco's head was spinning, his mind and body shaking from the inside out in a heavy vibrato, only this time it wasn't the wind that made Draco shudder. His body felt empty, his mind torrid with nothing redeemable about himself to live for. It wasn't the failure to meet his father's standards that made Draco feel so empty, at least not in full. He would soon have to choose between his father's path and placing his own and Draco knew what would happen if things continued this way. He would follow his father, be miserable, spend the remained of his life hiding because he could not be a loyal servant to Voldemort.
No, the reason Draco felt empty was drainage. His hate, his anger, his hope all drained out into self-loathing. Draco had hated himself for being too scared to set his own path and being so eager to please Lucius, who had only ever looked at Draco as a servant, never a son. Draco had hated himself for allowing himself to be in such a position for so long. Now he was drained of that hate, all emotion gone with only a numb soul left, weighing heavy in his body.
He wanted it all to end. His pain was gone but the dead weight of his mind was worse than the hate. No longer could he loathe himself in private. At least emotion had once been present in him but now it was fleeting, leaving him a little more hollow every day. He was the epitome of lifeless, emotion a memory of the past that only he could recover. Everything seemed to be falling in a downward spiral and Draco couldn't wait to hit rock bottom. He couldn't wait for the agony to end, the expectations to disappear.
On more than one occasion, Draco's thoughts shifted to the possibility of suicide, ending it on his own terms rather than allowing fate to toy with him. The only thing that would stop him was the knowledge that he wasn't that weak and even the genuine Draco Malfoy could pull through the suffering. When the emotion fled, that knowledge went with it and Draco hugged his knees tighter as dusk really settled in.
"What good is being a wizard if you still have to endure pain like this?" Draco wondered aloud, his voice breaking the silence that blanketed the grounds at Hogwarts. A low and heavy sigh escaped his lips and his eyes turned up to stare at the starless sky. A waxing crescent moon seemed to be suspended in the inky blackness that was now night. How long had he been out here, sitting in the chill? Draco wasn't really sure.
As he sat there pondering the length of time, the hours he had spent allowing his mind to drift where it was rarely allowed to go to, a new figure appeared coming out of Hogwarts School and onto the surrounding grounds. Harry Potter rarely came out alone, especially at night just before he was required to be in his common room, but he needed to wander and the only thing that usually kept him from doing so was Hermione and Ron permanently attached to his side. Even when they weren't with him, Harry was usually forced to stay inside due to heavy commotion from whatever evil plan Lord Voldemort had cooked up to destroy him.
Things this year passed by placid thus far, compared to the usual, anyway. Harry wasn't fooled and from the letters he received from his godfather, Sirius, Harry wasn't the only one. Now that Voldemort had risen again, it was naive to expect that he wasn't cooking up some plan to finally end Harry's life.
Harry glanced around the grounds before walking away from the doors. His eyelids fell shut as the breeze swept across his skin. Looking around a second time, his eyes fell on a familiar head of blond white hair.
Draco Malfoy was another oddity in Harry's unusually calm and smooth school year. The year at Hogwarts always seemed to have certainties according to past experience. Draco Malfoy being an incorrigible git was right up there with a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and Professor Snape's loathing of Harry to increase. It was as certain as Lord Voldemort wanting Harry dead but in addition to a missing in action Voldemort, Draco had been more quiet than usual. Sure, he still insulted Harry, Hermione, and Ron, but his smirk failed to reach his eyes. They were just dead light without the infamous mirth dancing in them.
Harry held back, afraid to approach Draco and not knowing what to say if he approached him, anyway. Draco's body was curled up into a ball, his back hunched over and knees drawn up to his chest. His arms were pulled around his legs, hands clasped before his shins. The view Harry had of Draco allowed him to see Draco's back and just about half of the right side of his face. Harry could see Draco's eyelids drooping; hear the erratic pace of Draco's breathing, which was heavy, amplified in the stillness. For a moment, it seemed like Harry forgot to breathe. His head grew dizzy from a lack of oxygen and when his lungs began to work again, Harry found himself sucking the air in with desperation.
"I just can't do this anymore," Harry heard Draco say. He jumped at hearing Draco's voice break through the invisible wall of unknown tension. "I just can't do this anymore," he repeated.
Harry felt a twinge of guilt, standing in the shadows and watching his arch enemy confess his innermost thoughts aloud. Draco didn't know Harry was there and if he did, he wouldn't be speaking aloud. He looked to the doors, contemplating going inside so that Draco would never have to know he was eavesdropping. After all, it would only be an uncomfortable situation for them both to confront. He tried to move his feet but they wouldn't budge, refusing to move from where they were standing. The moonlight falling across Draco was too perfect for Harry to leave, too beautiful to ignore.
In the faint glow, Harry could see Draco's hands fly to his head, palms pressed against his cheeks. The silhouette of his body was vibrating in rapid shudders. Soft and strangled whispers were foreign in Draco's voice to Harry, but they filled the void between them. Draco stirred, his body lifting to stand up and Harry ducked behind the nearest hedge, afraid of being caught.
"Not tonight," said Draco, his arms hugging his torso. "I'm sorry."
The defeat, the diminishing hope in Draco's voice, coming from Draco's mouth was almost too much to believe. In Harry's world, Draco Malfoy was a bad kid with a big mouth who didn't care who he hurt and really got on Harry's nerves. He was unfeeling and his main purpose was to make others, especially Harry, as miserable as possible. He emotion, the genuine pain and sorrow in Malfoy's voice was a lot to grasp, so much that for a second, Harry thought someone cooked up a polyjuice potion and was posing as Draco Malfoy.
However, the suspicion didn't feel right and so Harry stood hidden, shocked at what he was witnessing. He hated Draco Malfoy. Naturally not nearly as much as Lord Voldemort or Peter Pettigrew, the man who betrayed his parents and got them killed by the Dark Lord, but he hated Draco Malfoy all the same. At least he had hated Draco Malfoy for being cold, unfeeling, and desperate to ruin Harry's life and make him miserable. Now, seeing him so broken in a moment so raw and intense, Harry didn't know what to make of Malfoy. All he knew was that Draco could not know Harry was there. He couldn't know Harry had heard or seen any of that.
Harry held his breath as Draco neared the hedge, sighing to himself. "Too much to deal with," muttered Draco, brushing his fingers along the tiny leaves. His fingers swept past where Harry was hidden but he continued on without seeing him and headed inside, leaving Harry out in the cold.
He headed for the dungeons and spit out the Slytherin password before sliding into the common room. Draco sat there by the fire, warming his body and senses and he shut off the thought process. His mind wasn't too keen on any more thinking tonight.
Five minutes passed, Harry waiting in the bushes until he deemed it safe to head for the Gryffindor tower without running into Draco Malfoy along the way. Exiting the hedge, Harry slipped inside the school and rushed along the halls. His legs couldn't wait to get back to the Gryffindor common room but his mind was apprehensive. He wanted to sit down and analyze his thoughts. Try to make some sense out of what he saw tonight and somehow figure out where he stood on his attitude towards Malfoy.
True, he had always been a cocky son of a bitch to Harry. His arrogance was always in abundance. Tonight was a whole new side to Draco and it was one that Harry had never witnessed before. Harry was willing to be that no one had witnessed it before. If that was what Draco Malfoy hid under that rough exterior, Harry was willing to bet that Draco didn't trust anyone enough to show the interior and thus why he was alone at such an emotionally trying time. Who was he supposed to go to, anyway? Crabbe? Goyle? His father, Lucius? Yeah right. Harry couldn't feel worse about overhearing.
Not only was he left with confusion on Malfoy, not sure what to make of him or how to decode his behavior, Harry wouldn't even be able to really think it over once he got back. Ron would be there, wondering where Harry escaped to and Hermione would be back from the library. As much as he loved his friends, Harry had the complicated Draco on the brain and he didn't want to answer questions nor sit in between the Hermione and Ron tension. Harry really wished they would just admit their crushes and get together already because then he might have some time for himself. Coming between the unspoken crushes was really starting to take a toll as he wondered exactly how blind a person could be before they got a clue.
Before Harry realized where his feet had taken him, he was standing before the portrait of the fat lady in the pink dress that concealed the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.
"Password?" she asked.
"Cashew guzzard," Harry replied and the portrait swung back, allowing him to enter. His predictions had been correct. Hermione and Ron were both seated by the fire and their heads snapped up as he entered.
"Harry," Hermione called to him, "where have you been? Surly you weren't sneaking off to somewhere you aren't supposed to. And all alone. Just because there haven't been any signs of trouble yet, it doesn't mean that you're safe. Especially since You-Know-Who has risen again."
"His name is Voldemort, Hermione," Harry said, choosing to sit beside them with no other options. They had caught him and there was no chance of sneaking off to the dormitory now.
"Ignore her, Harry," interjected Ron, sneering at Hermione. "As long as Dumbledore is around, you'll be fine."
"You're scar isn't hurting, is it?" asked Hermione.
"No, my scar doesn't hurt," Harry answered curtly, swatting away Hermione's prodding hands. "I was taking a walk to clear my head. Between homework, classes, and Quidditch, I don't have much thinking time anymore."
"And we have our O.W.L.s this year, too," Hermione added. Both Ron and Harry scowled at her. "Sorry."
Glad they got the point not to pry, Harry sighed and his thoughts wandered immediately to Draco and the way he looked under the silver moonbeams. He had told them that he went outside to clear his head, a complete truth in his original intentions, but he ended up returning with a bigger mess to fog up his mind. There were few people who could crawl under his skin more than Malfoy. Harry didn't understand how the boy he was outside, full of dead emotion, could be the same boy that had terrorized him ever since coming to Hogwarts. The Malfoy who was hiding in the cold was the same Malfoy who tried to get Hagrid fired and openly campaigned against Harry in the Triwizard tournament last year.
Admittedly, some of it did make sense, to a certain extent, anyway. From their first flying lesson, Harry had been able to see how unsure and vulnerable Draco could become without Crabbe or Goyle looming over him. Even when they first met in Diagon Alley, getting fitted for robes, Draco was on autopilot, spitting out words engraved into his brain by his father. At the time, Harry was convinced Draco believed in every word he said. Part of Harry still believed that.
He was reading too much into a vulnerable moment. At least that's what Harry tried to tell himself. Everyone had weak moments as it was part of human nature and no matter how bad, Draco was still a human. There was nothing especially deep in what Harry saw. Probably would be best to ignore the fact that he had seen anything at all. Even if he was in a moment of weakness, Draco was still the Muggle-hating wizard he had always been.
"Next Saturday we have a trip to Hogsmeade," Ron said, interrupting Harry's thoughts on Draco. Harry was actually pleased for his thought process to be derailed. It was becoming too messy and complicated to worry about, anyway.
Harry nodded in acknowledgment, stretching his arms over his head and releasing a yawn. Perhaps a trip to Hogsmeade would give him time off from thinking about Draco if, indeed, he was still thinking about Draco then. It was barely an hour since first seeing Malfoy outside and Harry's mind was already becoming obsessed with it. He tried to push it away, reduce the value to the contrast of personalities. Yes, Harry was certain that a change of scenery would do him good, even if the novelty of Hogsmeade was wearing off.
"You should go to bed, Harry," instructed Hermione, patting down his unruly mass of black hair only to have it stick up again. He formed a weak smile at the gesture and concern, but Ron's jealous glare did not unnoticed. "You aren't looking well and I should think a little rest would do you good."
Harry nodded in agreement, too tired to do much else. He was grateful for Hermione's keep sense to detail, picking up on his weariness and not asking questions. Ron's jealous bout had already vanished, going as quickly as it came. Only concern was left visible on his face, overpowering any other emotion that he may have been feeling.
"Are you going to be alright?" asked Ron as Harry was pulled to his feet by shaking legs.
"I'll be fine," he reassured, smiling broad and retreating to the boys dormitory before the inquisition could further. Five poster beds stood in a circle and Harry walked to his own, dropping to the mattress. His back unfurled against the bed, vertebrae by vertebrae, until he was fully laid out, eyes set on the ceiling.
"Harry?" Ron's soft voice asked, floating into the room.
"What is it, Ron?" he replied. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron walking to his own bed and sitting down on the mattress.
"I'm just worried about you," he answered.
"No need to be," Harry reassured him. Once again, silence took over and the scene outside with Draco Malfoy began to play over and over again in his mind. Harry was still aware of Ron's presence but it was stored away in a dormant corner of his mind. "Why don't you just say something to her?" he asked, breaking the silence and attempting to divert the subject from himself.
"Tell who, what?" replied Ron, cocking his head to the side.
"Tell Hermione that you like her." Harry paused and though he couldn't see Ron, he was convinced that his mouth was open, searching for words of protest. None came and Harry took that as a signal to continue. "Don't even try to deny it to me. Nothing you say is going to make me believe otherwise."
"I-" Ron stammered. "I suppose I don't know. I do like her a bit but -" His voice trailed off.
"No excuses. You really should tell her soon because its only a matter of time before someone comes around and won't hesitate. I saw how you were last year when Krum had that thing for her and I see how you are every day when she fawns all over me.
Ron sighed. "But Harry -"
"No excuses," said Harry, cutting him off again. "She likes you, too. I can tell. So don't wait for her to come to you. If you do, someone else will sweep in right under your nose."
"Like last year when you waited with Cho and Cedric took her away first," Ron contemplated.
Harry's thoughts cut short, at first the image of Cedric Diggory's dead body coming into his head and then a vision of Cho. Sure, she was pretty, and for the last two years, Harry had quite the crush on the Ravenclaw girl. Now, however, his crush on Cho seemed meaningless and shallow.
"Ron," Harry said, elongating the name.
"What?"
"I started thinking about Cho when you brought her name up and I don't think I like her anymore." It felt strange for Harry to admit to aloud, the words foreign on his tongue. "I still think she's very pretty but that's as far as it goes."
"Wow," Ron said, mulling it over with Harry. "So you think I should tell Hermione and I should tell her soon."
Harry sat up in bed, straightening out his body so that he was sitting directly across from Ron. "Yes. I think you should tell Hermione and the faster you do it, the faster I'll be able to get out of the middle of your lovey dovey crushes."
Ron's freckled face became red, flushed with embarrassment and the shade seemed to travel from his face right up through the bright orange strands of hair. They nodded and the matter was settled. Both climbed into bed, Ron's thoughts settled on one Hermione Granger and how to spill his secret to her without turning the color of his hair. Harry's thoughts had returned to Draco, the way he looked under the moon that made his already pale face even paler. He racked his mind, listening to Draco's words play over and over again like a skipping record. Draco's voice, stance, words had chilled him. Stripped Harry of all the hate he carried for Malfoy along the way.
Maybe Draco had changed. Something Harry noticed only now as that though their first meeting in Diagon Alley was probably the nicest Draco had ever been, that was also when he was the most indifferent. From the Hogwarts Express on, Draco's strength seemed to crumble piece by piece. His attacks became more of defensive tactics than offensive play, only fighting when it came to upsetting Harry.
None of his thoughts seemed to make any sense. First Draco, then Ron and Hermione, which was followed by the Cho discovery. When all was said and done, Harry lay alone in the dark, covers pulled up to his chin. All thoughts came back to the enigma that was Draco Malfoy. Harry would not call him kind or good, at least not yet, but he would no longer call him cruel, cold, and unfeeling. There was so much more to Draco Malfoy that Harry, no one even, had seen. He could feel, too. Did feel, in fact, and though this seemed a given, it stumped Harry. Saying he didn't know what to make of Malfoy was an understatement. He was downright confused.
Maybe he didn't have a clue now but Harry planned on keeping a close eye on Draco in the coming days.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Loved something. Hated something. Tell me in a REVIEW or email me at [email protected]