Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual
relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU
HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
you'll never know, dear
just how much I loved you
you'll probably think this was
just my big excuse
- ani di franco
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I'm sure if I tried a bit harder, I could think of an excuse. I've spent my life carefully constructing explanations, smoothing over my own insecurities with illogical logic. The shame of lying to myself never completely fades, but it is easy enough to detach emotion from action. It is a truth I confine to a little black box in my mind, the place where all inconvenient realities are trapped and tied down.
So why am I struggling to lock this new slice of hard truth away? What makes it any different?
I stare at the back of his head and will it to move. I need those green eyes, I need to let them soak up my frustration like a sponge.
His black hair looks greasy around the nape of his neck. It's too long, he increasingly lives up to his orphan status. Hoping for a sympathy fuck, I'll bet...Freak.
Merlin, so much anger. It's better to just stop thinking.
I wish McGonagall would shut up. I haven't got the energy today. My sixth year in this dump and I am itching to get out. I sit up at night and plan escape routes like a prisoner in Azkaban. Futile, though - I'd never get past Hogsmeade. Malfoys are cowards, if nothing else.
The room falls silent as McGonagall barks out instructions for notes. I blink a few times in an attempt to clear my buzzing head. The room fills with the incessant scratching of quills and sharp pains shoot from my temples. McGonagall is twirling her wand from hand to hand with a soft whooshing, and Potter is drumming his fingers on the shiny desk like a pianist. The dull taps grow louder and louder in my skull, making me want to scream -
"Shut up!"
It was supposed to be a whisper, but something is wrong. Every neck is craned towards my corner of the room, every set of ears perked in anticipation. They are dogs. Weasley's lip curls into a canine snarl.
"Excuse me, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall glowers. Is it too late to pretend nothing has happened?
"Nothing, Miss."
She glares at me for a few seconds longer before returning to her wand. I'm surprised; if that had been Snape -
The bell pierces through my thoughts and my stomach sinks in relief.
"Class dismissed."
As I am moving to the doorway, a black-haired figure steps in front of me.
"Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth," Potter says slowly.
I can hear Weasley snickering in the background.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Blaise Zabini is skulking outside the door to my room.
"Draco, I just wanted to - " he falters when he sees my face. If I'm lucky, the scowl alone will get rid of him without the effort of saying bugger off.
"I just wanted to borrow your razor," he finishes in one breath. I shove past him to the door with the intention of slamming it in his face.
"Hey, I heard about the hard time that bitch McGonagall gave you," he says conversationally. I don't consider the consequences - I turn and my fist connects with his nose. I give the door a satisfying slam for effect.
Morgaine's ears are up, alerted by the noise. She purrs gently as I run my hand through her black fur, letting some of the tension drain out of me. My head is thumping woodenly.
Morgaine is a haphazard companion in my small room. I don't know where she goes or what she eats, nor do I wonder. She always returns eventually, materializing by the bed when I sleep or leave the room. She doesn't need doors.
I have waited five years for the luxury of a private dorm. It wasn't difficult to be elected Prefect; the Slytherin morons voted me in, my academic records took care of the rest. An effortless campaign for a meaningless position. The rest of the student body can transform each other into rats for all I care. I rather wish some of them would.
If nothing else, it was worth it solely to see the look on Potter's face. He couldn't believe Dumbledore let me through. The crimson anger spread across his cheekbones and he pursed his lips so hard they turned a moist scarlet, and...
Enough, Malfoy. Not tonight.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I am climbing the stairs on my way to dinner when Snape clutches my elbow. I resist the urge to squirm away from his repulsive grip as he steers me back down the stairway.
"Sir?"
"Come with me, Mr Malfoy."
Snape's office is comfortably warm but as dim as the rest of the dungeons, lit only by the firelight from the hearth. I am always loathe to enter this squalid space; there are scrolls flooding the teacher's desk and the whole room reeks of mothballs and...old men. I wonder briefly about Snape's age.
He lifts a pile of books off a chair and beckons me to sit. I can see the dust particles ascend as I lower my weight to float around my head. Snape settles down behind the massive desk, clearing a space for his folded hands among the scrolls.
"Blaise Zabini is presently being treated by Madam Pomfrey for a broken nose. Care to explain to me what happened?"
No. "I'm not sure, Sir." His eyes darken visibly, but I allow mine to leave his gaze and wander the room.
"Draco," he spits, drawing my eyes back to his face. "This is the third incident this term."
I battle the urge to shrug nonchalantly and say 'so what?'
He pauses and bores his eyes into mine. "One more," he says, "and your parents will be coming to collect you."
"They know?" I try to speak slowly, but he can hear the panic in my voice.
"Not yet."
A sigh of relief slips through my lips and Snape's eyes soften slightly.
"However, Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you tomorrow afternoon. One p.m., precisely." And he ushers me out of the room before I can respond.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Standing on the other side of Snape's door, I let my breath out slowly. Fuck. What's worse? Lucius, Dumbledore, Lucius, Dumbledore....
"Errr..." Suddenly I feel exhausted, as if there is concrete running through my veins. I drag my feet up the stairs and stand at the door to the Great Hall. Dinner is well underway, but the smells wafting through the doorway make my stomach turn. I slump against the stone arch and scan the tables from my shadowed position. Zabini is absent, I can only guess he is still sulking over his nose. Pansy is crooning over Crabbe and Goyle is swallowing food so fast I wonder how he has time to chew. He coughs suddenly, choking on a mouthful, and Crabbe leans over to slap him heavily on the back.
The Griffyndors roar with laughter and I allow my eyes to travel down their table. Weasley is standing on his stool, making a fool of himself. McGonagall orders him to sit down without leaving her seat at the teacher's table.
Potter is apparently oblivious to the raucous. His head is down, staring at his plate, and he pushes his food around with a fork, distractedly. Mentally, a tug at his hair, urging him to look up, but he doesn't move. Granger leans across and taps him on the shoulder gently, and the deep furrows in his brow smooth out. I can see his mouth move into a smile.
I pull myself out of the reverie and move away from the door, not hungry in the least. My footsteps echo through the empty Entrance Hall as I walk out of the door and into the snow.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
The grounds are coated in white, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night sky. The ice on the lake groans and creaks quietly and I shiver as a wolf's howl rings through the Dark Forest. Coward.
I'm too tired to walk any further. I sink cross-legged onto the snow, wrapping my cloak around me like a cocoon. The light wind bustles across my cheeks and freezes the tears in their path. Reaching inside my jumper, I pull forth the small bottle of vodka and scull its contents in a futile attempt to drown myself.
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
you'll never know, dear
just how much I loved you
you'll probably think this was
just my big excuse
- ani di franco
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I'm sure if I tried a bit harder, I could think of an excuse. I've spent my life carefully constructing explanations, smoothing over my own insecurities with illogical logic. The shame of lying to myself never completely fades, but it is easy enough to detach emotion from action. It is a truth I confine to a little black box in my mind, the place where all inconvenient realities are trapped and tied down.
So why am I struggling to lock this new slice of hard truth away? What makes it any different?
I stare at the back of his head and will it to move. I need those green eyes, I need to let them soak up my frustration like a sponge.
His black hair looks greasy around the nape of his neck. It's too long, he increasingly lives up to his orphan status. Hoping for a sympathy fuck, I'll bet...Freak.
Merlin, so much anger. It's better to just stop thinking.
I wish McGonagall would shut up. I haven't got the energy today. My sixth year in this dump and I am itching to get out. I sit up at night and plan escape routes like a prisoner in Azkaban. Futile, though - I'd never get past Hogsmeade. Malfoys are cowards, if nothing else.
The room falls silent as McGonagall barks out instructions for notes. I blink a few times in an attempt to clear my buzzing head. The room fills with the incessant scratching of quills and sharp pains shoot from my temples. McGonagall is twirling her wand from hand to hand with a soft whooshing, and Potter is drumming his fingers on the shiny desk like a pianist. The dull taps grow louder and louder in my skull, making me want to scream -
"Shut up!"
It was supposed to be a whisper, but something is wrong. Every neck is craned towards my corner of the room, every set of ears perked in anticipation. They are dogs. Weasley's lip curls into a canine snarl.
"Excuse me, Mr Malfoy?" McGonagall glowers. Is it too late to pretend nothing has happened?
"Nothing, Miss."
She glares at me for a few seconds longer before returning to her wand. I'm surprised; if that had been Snape -
The bell pierces through my thoughts and my stomach sinks in relief.
"Class dismissed."
As I am moving to the doorway, a black-haired figure steps in front of me.
"Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth," Potter says slowly.
I can hear Weasley snickering in the background.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Blaise Zabini is skulking outside the door to my room.
"Draco, I just wanted to - " he falters when he sees my face. If I'm lucky, the scowl alone will get rid of him without the effort of saying bugger off.
"I just wanted to borrow your razor," he finishes in one breath. I shove past him to the door with the intention of slamming it in his face.
"Hey, I heard about the hard time that bitch McGonagall gave you," he says conversationally. I don't consider the consequences - I turn and my fist connects with his nose. I give the door a satisfying slam for effect.
Morgaine's ears are up, alerted by the noise. She purrs gently as I run my hand through her black fur, letting some of the tension drain out of me. My head is thumping woodenly.
Morgaine is a haphazard companion in my small room. I don't know where she goes or what she eats, nor do I wonder. She always returns eventually, materializing by the bed when I sleep or leave the room. She doesn't need doors.
I have waited five years for the luxury of a private dorm. It wasn't difficult to be elected Prefect; the Slytherin morons voted me in, my academic records took care of the rest. An effortless campaign for a meaningless position. The rest of the student body can transform each other into rats for all I care. I rather wish some of them would.
If nothing else, it was worth it solely to see the look on Potter's face. He couldn't believe Dumbledore let me through. The crimson anger spread across his cheekbones and he pursed his lips so hard they turned a moist scarlet, and...
Enough, Malfoy. Not tonight.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I am climbing the stairs on my way to dinner when Snape clutches my elbow. I resist the urge to squirm away from his repulsive grip as he steers me back down the stairway.
"Sir?"
"Come with me, Mr Malfoy."
Snape's office is comfortably warm but as dim as the rest of the dungeons, lit only by the firelight from the hearth. I am always loathe to enter this squalid space; there are scrolls flooding the teacher's desk and the whole room reeks of mothballs and...old men. I wonder briefly about Snape's age.
He lifts a pile of books off a chair and beckons me to sit. I can see the dust particles ascend as I lower my weight to float around my head. Snape settles down behind the massive desk, clearing a space for his folded hands among the scrolls.
"Blaise Zabini is presently being treated by Madam Pomfrey for a broken nose. Care to explain to me what happened?"
No. "I'm not sure, Sir." His eyes darken visibly, but I allow mine to leave his gaze and wander the room.
"Draco," he spits, drawing my eyes back to his face. "This is the third incident this term."
I battle the urge to shrug nonchalantly and say 'so what?'
He pauses and bores his eyes into mine. "One more," he says, "and your parents will be coming to collect you."
"They know?" I try to speak slowly, but he can hear the panic in my voice.
"Not yet."
A sigh of relief slips through my lips and Snape's eyes soften slightly.
"However, Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak with you tomorrow afternoon. One p.m., precisely." And he ushers me out of the room before I can respond.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Standing on the other side of Snape's door, I let my breath out slowly. Fuck. What's worse? Lucius, Dumbledore, Lucius, Dumbledore....
"Errr..." Suddenly I feel exhausted, as if there is concrete running through my veins. I drag my feet up the stairs and stand at the door to the Great Hall. Dinner is well underway, but the smells wafting through the doorway make my stomach turn. I slump against the stone arch and scan the tables from my shadowed position. Zabini is absent, I can only guess he is still sulking over his nose. Pansy is crooning over Crabbe and Goyle is swallowing food so fast I wonder how he has time to chew. He coughs suddenly, choking on a mouthful, and Crabbe leans over to slap him heavily on the back.
The Griffyndors roar with laughter and I allow my eyes to travel down their table. Weasley is standing on his stool, making a fool of himself. McGonagall orders him to sit down without leaving her seat at the teacher's table.
Potter is apparently oblivious to the raucous. His head is down, staring at his plate, and he pushes his food around with a fork, distractedly. Mentally, a tug at his hair, urging him to look up, but he doesn't move. Granger leans across and taps him on the shoulder gently, and the deep furrows in his brow smooth out. I can see his mouth move into a smile.
I pull myself out of the reverie and move away from the door, not hungry in the least. My footsteps echo through the empty Entrance Hall as I walk out of the door and into the snow.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
The grounds are coated in white, a stark contrast to the darkness of the night sky. The ice on the lake groans and creaks quietly and I shiver as a wolf's howl rings through the Dark Forest. Coward.
I'm too tired to walk any further. I sink cross-legged onto the snow, wrapping my cloak around me like a cocoon. The light wind bustles across my cheeks and freezes the tears in their path. Reaching inside my jumper, I pull forth the small bottle of vodka and scull its contents in a futile attempt to drown myself.