Title: There's A Place For Me
Rating: M for Marvelous!
Summary: When a Slytherin meets a Hufflepuff, things aren't going to come out exactly as planned. Cunning and sinister, Draco Malfoy would do anything for power, which includes serving under the Dark Lord. Jovial and shy, Russell Sonier never asked for this…
Warnings: This is Slash in all its glory! (Slash being boy on boy romance, also referred to as Yaoi if you're feeling Japanese.)
Genre: Romance, Action/Adventure, and Humor
Author's Notes: You asked for it, so here's another fic from someone who's probably not your one and only! I hope you like it, it's been an idea I've been playing with for a couple weeks now. The main characters are Draco Malfoy and Russell Sonier (an OC character. It's pronounced "Sawn-yay). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!
"And we all bleed the same way as you do
And we all have the same things to go through
Hold on if you feel like letting go
Hold on, it gets better than you know
Don't stop looking, you're one step closer
Don't stop searching, it's not over
Hold on." --Hold On by Good Charlotte
Chapter One: "L is for Lame, and that's a Hufflepuff."
"You can't run from me!" the old, decrepit caretaker shouted as Draco rounded the corner of yet another empty corridor. The wind from his running swept his blonde hair out of his eyes, giving Draco an enhanced view of his escape.
Just a few minutes before, he had been attempting to sneak into the Potions dungeons with Adrian Pucey(1), a fellow Slytherin. Draco needed an extremely important ingredient to add to the Veritaserum he was brewing in a deserted bathroom and he knew very well that Snape had some stored away in his cabinets somewhere. If Mrs. Norris hadn't come and ruin everything, Draco and Adrian would've gotten away Scott-free.
He couldn't make out Filch's insane rambles anymore, so he stopped and leaned his shoulder against a wall, panting. Running all the way from the dungeons to the fourth floor was one great plight, no doubt about it.
"I'm going to hang you from the dungeon ceiling and put rats all over the floors to nibble that precious hair of yours!" Filch's cackle drew Draco off the wall and he slipped around another corridor. He needed a place to hide. His head whipped about in each direction until he spotted what would have to be his temporary sanctuary.
A broom closet. It wasn't too small, he could fit inside. As soon as Filch was gone, he would be able to get out of it anyway, so all in all, it was the perfect choice. He slipped inside and clicked the door shut, just as a whiskery, pudgy gray face rounded the corner behindtwopaws. Careful not to make any sound, he sat down against the far wall and waited. The light of the closet was dim, giving everything an almost orange glow. And it was stuffy, filled with the aroma of floor cleaner.
Draco didn't know that House Elves used floor cleaner. Then again, House Elves didn't deserve to do it the easy way with magic, so who really cared?
"Where'd you go, boy?" came Filch's voice from outside the closet. It was all Draco could do not to snicker. The shadows of the old man's feet appeared in the crack between the bottom of the closet door and the floor. "Hmm…"
Draco heard Filch lay his grimy, germ-infested hand on the doorknob. It slowly turned….
BANG! The sound of an exploding dung bomb came from a few hallways down. Suddenly losing interest in his search for Draco, the shadows of Filch's feet disappeared. It didn't take long before the shadow of a cat was gone, too.
He let out a sigh of relief. It was about time. Standing up (as much as he could anyway, he had to crouch over slightly due to the size of the closet), he shuffled to the door and opened it.
Or tried to. It wouldn't budge. He tried Alohamora. He even shoved his shoulder against it. None of his attempts seemed to be working. The door was locked from the outside.
"Bloody hell!" he shouted, kicking the door and not caring who or what heard him. Groaning in frustration, he leaned back on the wall again, sliding to a sitting position.
That's when he saw the shoe. Two shoes. A pair of white trainers. Connected to khaki pants. They led to a form-fitting emerald sweater (whoever it was, they were scrawny). On top of the shoulders was, what else, someone's head. It was a boy. Obviously, Draco had figured that out due to the lack of any bulges on their chest. The boy looked about sixteen or seventeen, Draco's age. He had thick, messy, golden brown hair that flipped out on the ends, almost hiding his dull brown eyes.
The boy was staring at him in horror, eyes wide like an ostrich.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" Draco sneered. At this, the boy averted his eyes and looked nervously at a cardboard box, placed directly across from the yellow mop bucket he was sitting on. He gently touched his eye (which was purple and puffy)for a second before quickly putting his hands in his lap and lacing them together, sweat lurking on the tan, callused hands. "Who are you and what are you doing in a broom closet?"
This made the boy turn and look at him again with those large, ostrich eyes of his. The long eyelashes blinked one, twice, three times before he answered. "My names Russell Sonier."
Draco waited for a minute before rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "And the broom closet?" This case seemed hopeless, Draco knew he was going to lose patience in a few milliseconds. In fact, it was beginning already. This chap was a complete dunderheaded bugger.
"Well…" Russell began slowly, looking down to his linked hands. "You're in here, too."
"Yes," Draco sighed. "I am. But I was running away from a nasty, balding man named Argus Filch. You, however, were not." Russell stayed silent. "What, do you hang out in broom closets? Make friends with the dust pans? Do you even fucking have friends? I've never heard of you before and truth be told, I really wouldn't be surprised."
It was true. Just looking at this kid, he could practically tell his whole life story. He was poor, maybe even more so than those infernal Weasleys were. Told by the shabbiness of his clothing. He definitely wasn't a Slytherin or a Gryffindor and it seemed highly unlikely that he was a Ravenclaw. He sat with his back slouched, hiding his face even more than his hair did. The black eye and bruised lip suggested that people really didn't like this kid.
No wonder Draco had never seen him before. He was a "shadow-dweller". One of those kids that just hangs in the background because no one really wants to pay attention to them anyway. Draco hated that type of person. If you really want something, use any means to get it. Don't just hide like a pansy.
"I was shoved in here," Russell's quiet yet smoothly deep voice interrupted Draco's silent reverie. It was just as Draco had predicted. Man, he was good.
"By who?"
"One of your friends," this seemed to make Russell even more nervous as his feet started to shift uncomfortably. Draco smirked. It figured. Bloody golden-hearted Gryffindors would never, ever hurt a poor, pathetic bloke like Russell Sonier.
"Which one?" Draco asked. He mused through the ideas. He didn't think Adrian would give the time of day to any Hufflepuff (or Ravenclaw if this kid was smarter than he seemed). Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to think of shoving him in a broom closet. Possibly Dimitri Dolohov(2).
"Blaise Zabini," Russell muttered. Oh, Draco hadn't thought of that one. He wasn't surprised though. Blaise had been talking about a boy that was getting on his nerves in his Potions class (Draco took Advanced Potions, Blaise took the Remedial class). Apparently, Russell had been Blaise's partner once and botched their potion by clumsily knocking it over with his elbow.
"Well, I'm sure you deserved it," Draco said casually, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the door lazily. He would just have to wait for someone to come around so he could get them to open the door. Draco could feel Russell's ostrich eyes on him again. He glanced to his left to look at the brunette. There was a tint of confusion and angst in those plain eyes of his. It made Draco want to laugh. Sometimes, people could be so naïve. Obviously, this boy had many weaknesses. Just another lowlife at Hogwarts.
They sat in silence for almost half an hour before Draco finally caught sound of footsteps coming down the outside corridor. He jumped up, bumping his head on the ceiling. Ignoring the slight throb, he banged on the door.
The footsteps stopped. "Who's in there?" a voice asked. He didn't recognize it, but did he really care who saved him from this retched closet? No, he didn't. So he banged harder.
Whoever it was walked slowly towards the closet, opening it with even more sloth-like movements. When the door was finally open, Draco rushed out, taking a deep breath of cool, Hogwarts air.
"Finally!" he said, stretching his arms up. Russell came out a few seconds later, rubbing the back of his neck. Anthony Goldstein(3) had been the one to let them out. He was a Ravenclaw prefect.
"Thank you..." murmured Russell in that meek voice of his.
"You're welcome," Anthony said, a curious look on his face. "And why were you two in a closet together…?"
"I was fucking running from Filch and so I hid in a closet, it wasn't my fault this lump of idiocy was also in there. Merlin, I'm a bloody Malfoy, would I ever settle for something like…" Draco scrunched his nose in distaste, sizing Russell up. "That." He spat out the word as if it were a bitter taste on his tongue, making Russell flinch and rub his arm. Eyes rolling, Draco walked away from the two, towards the Slytherin common room.
Now that Filch was gone, he got safely back down to the dungeons and the commons without getting "hung from the ceiling". He collapsed onto a black, leather coach, loosening his tie and kicking his feet up.
"Where have you been?" Theodore Nott(4) asked, looking up from something that he was writing.
"Stuck in a bloody closet because of that scum bag Squib, Filch," Draco shook his head at the recent memory. Theodore let out a small snicker, turning back to his messy scrawl. Draco closed his eyes, leaning his back into a relaxing position. A weight fell down next to him, pushing his legs off the couch. He opened one eye to be met by the sight of Blaise.
"Malfoy," Blaise said, leaning against the arm rest on the couch.
"Zabini," Draco nodded. Then, he remembered what Russell had said about Blaise being the one to shove him in the closet. "Do you know Russell Sonier?"
"Who?" Blaise said as he lamely gazed at his fingernails.
"That one Hufflepuff."
"Oh…wait, who?"
Crabbe entered, closely followed by Goyle.
"L if for Lame and that's a Hufflepuff," Crabbe said. The two oafs guffawed, walking towards the exit of the common rooms, Goyle holding his fingers in the shape of an "L" against his forehead. When they were gone, Draco and Blaise glanced at each other, both shaking their heads.
Author's Notes: So this is my new story. Hope you like it.I've got to get some sleep! Ciao!
Just in case you missed it….
(1) Adrian Pucey was noted in the books to be a Slytherin chaser and student.
(2) The last name "Dolohov" is from Order of the Phoenix. Antonin Dolohov was a Death Eater that tortured countless Muggles and non-Death Eaters.
(3) Anthony Goldstein was mentioned in Order of the Phoenix as being a Ravenclaw prefect in Harry's year and a member of Dumbledore's Army (the DA).
(4) Theodore Nott is actually Theodore Nott Jr., who is mentioned in the books as the son of a Death Eater (obviously Theodore Nott) who is equal in place to that of Lucius Malfoy.