Title: Outsider
Rating: PG-13 (probably not that high, but I'm being safe)
Setting: Sixth year
Disclaimer: The only thing in this story that I can rightfully claim is the character that is only referred to as 'you.' Everything else is JK Rowling. Even if I wish I could steal it all from her.
You knocked on the door, but you're fairly certain that occupants of the room didn't hear you. So you open the door and poke your head in to call out a hullo. Though they probably won't hear you then either. People at Hogwarts have made a habit of not hearing you; made a habit of not listening to what you have to say. As soon as you can see the room properly, however, you snap your jaws shut tight. There's only two people in the room-- you must have went to the wrong door-- and one of them is Draco Malfoy.
A week after you arrived at Hogwarts, you told the famous Harry Potter that you felt bad for Malfoy. He'd looked at you disbelievingly for a moment, and then scowled. He was always rather short with you after that. Only a week, and you had already made enemies with the Boy-Who-Lived. Hermoine Granger was rather cold to you also, which surprised you. She didn't strike you as the type to dislike someone simply because one of her best friends disliked them. You were sure there had to be some other reason, but you couldn't figure it out. Shockingly enough, Ron Weasley was still nice to you, though he didn't listen any more than anyone else did. He's just smile at you as if you were touched in the head whenever you tried to explain what you thought about Slytherins, whether it was Malfoy or Professor Snape.
"You live in your own little world, don't you?" he'd asked you once.
You had frowned and said, "If you mean that I don't see the rest of the world the way the rest of you seem to see it, then I suppose so."
He had patted your arm awkwardly, and warned you against saying things in front of Harry. "He's a bit touchy."
"I've noticed," you replied dryly.
Now, Draco Malfoy was standing in the far corner with an odd look on his face. There's a woman standing in front of him, and she looks to be about mid-thirties. You wonder, for a moment, who she is-- possibly one of the people who have been coming for the war effort? -- then decide it's none of your business and decided to leave. But you don't, because it suddenly occurs to you that it looks like the woman's got Draco backed up against the wall. Someone's breathing harshly and you think it's probably Draco, because he looks like he's taking gasping breaths. You can feel that something's wrong here, but you're not sure what. The woman is speaking, but you can't hear her properly, so you slip inside the room and tiptoe towards them. Your heart's thudding so loudly you're sure they'll here it, but neither one notices you. You wouldn't be so daring, only you can't shake the feeling of wrongness.
"…knew you mother is school too. Never would have thought Narcissa and that death eater would have had so pretty a child…"
The way she says pretty makes you shiver. You wonder why Draco doesn't just push her away. It seems like the sort of thing a sixteen-year-old boy would do, but he stands there stiffly, taking shuddery breaths and looking at her with wide eyes. Wide, fear-filled eyes.
"…but you're from bad seed. Bet you're evil though and through like your parents. Pity such beauty is wasted like that…" She trails a long, skinny finger down his cheek.
You can't just stand there any longer. You stride forward. "Excuse me."
The woman turns to look at you disdainfully. More than likely, she thinks you're a student. You're quite aware you don't look the least bit imposing.
"What do you want, little girl?"
"Professor Dumbledore wants to see Malfoy," you lie, and hope desperately that she can't tell.
She glares at you for a moment, before turning back to Draco. "Go on, don't keep him waiting."
Draco walks with you silently out the door, down the hallway and around a corner. He then collapses against a wall.
"Does the old man really want to see me?" he asks.
"No." You resist the urge to tell him to respect his elders instead of calling them old.
He smirks. "Didn't think you had it in you. Thanks."
You try to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor at the thank you. "You're welcome."
The smirk fades. "Don't tell Potter. Or any of his little…fans."
Oddly enough, you want to laugh at that. "I don't think anyone would believe you just thanked me."
"About in there!" he snaps out angrily, gesturing back the way you came.
You let out an undignified snort. "Even if I did tell Harry, or one of his friends, they wouldn't listen. They don't listen to me."
"Weasel does." Draco's looking at you frankly. You gaze into his apprehension-filled eyes, and for just a moment, you can fancy that you can see into his soul.
"No he doesn't," you say sadly. "He just pats me like I'm his puppy dog, whatever I say. But don't worry. I shan't tell a soul." You pause for a moment. "Except for perhaps Dumbledore. I think he should know what is going on in his school."
Draco grimaces and gives a short nod. Relieved, he straightens. "See you 'round," he shoots over his shoulder as he ambles off. You watch him and think about what you saw in his soul. You didn't promise not to tell anyone what you saw there. But first you need to tell Dumbledore about that woman without really knowing what happened. He ought to be able to figure it out though, and take steps to insure something like that doesn't happen again. Having random people coming and going, something was bound to happen, you suppose. But it's all for the war effort, and Dumbledore will work something out. Great man, Dumbledore. And then you're going to find Ron. He'll only pat your arm and more or less tell you you're crazy, but that's better than nothing.
* * * *
You're matching Dumbledore stare for stare and wondering what's going on in his head. You figure you probably don't want to know. Finally, Dumbledore stands up, ending the staring contest. You stand up too.
"Thank you for coming to tell me so quickly. Steps shall be taken to insure such an incident does not reoccur."
He nods to you, and you get the feeling you've been dismissed. You nod back and move towards the door. Just as you reach for the door, you hesitate. You turn back and open your mouth to ask about something that's been bugging you, but he's busy with something on his desk, so you slip out the door without disturbing him.
You run down the steps lightly, and proceed to wander the halls aimlessly. You're hoping to run into Ron somewhere. You could drop by the Gryffindor common room, but the fat lady doesn't take kindly to being knocked on, and you figure that all the Gyffindors will glare at you since Harry doesn't like you. They're good at sticking together like that.
You spot Professor Snape, after a while. You made the mistake of waving when you first arrived, but now you know better. You nod; he nods back. You've come to this civil arrangement. You feel that Professor Snape is a tragic figure, in spite of, or perhaps because of, his nasty persona. That is more than likely one of the reasons Harry doesn't like you.
You keep on wandering around, and you think you might have to give up, or maybe resort to the fat lady's wrath, when you spot a Gryffindor scarf heading towards one of the doors to the outside. You can endure one glare, you suppose. You run to intercept the scarf before it goes outside, and realize the face above the scarf is familiar. You've seen him with the 'Golden Trio;' if only you could remember his name.
"Neville!" You hope and pray you have it right. That's all you need, to insult him and have him hate you forever simply because you got his name wrong. Though, perhaps, that's a bit over dramatic.
"He turns and blinks at you, "Yes?" he asks timidly after a slight hesitation.
You wonder if he is scared of you; he looks a little frightened you think. Or maybe it is just uncomfortable. "I'm not crazy," you blurt before you can stop yourself.
Neville smiles at you. "I didn't think you were."
"Then why did you look scared of me?" You're smaller than he is, even if you are older, and you're way behind him in magical skills.
Neville's face grows serious. "I'm not. It's just that Harry…"
"Yes, yes, I should have guessed that," you murmur, more to yourself than to Neville. "Harry doesn't like me, so therefore the rest of Gryffindor House shouldn't either…show of solidarity and all that. Ron gets out of it because he's part of the Golden Trio, I suppose."
"Golden Trio?"
"Never heard them called that? Well, I really shouldn't take up so much of your time. People will think I'm trying to seduce you to the dark side."
Neville blushes at your use of the word seduce, and laughs a little. "It's all right."
"Anyways," you continue, "I wanted to ask if you had seen Ron anywhere."
"Last I saw him, he was with the rest of the Golden Trio, headed toward the library," Neville says with a smile.
"Thanks, Neville," you say and wave as you scurry off. You might have found another friend.
Before you know it, you've stumbled onto them. They haven't made it to the library yet. They've apparently gotten caught up in conversation with several other students. It sounds like it's about house elves.
Ron spots you and looks relieved. He hurries over to where you're standing. "Please tell me there's something you want to talk to me about."
"There is." Ron looks so overcome with relief and joy that you have to laugh. "What are you escaping?"
"Hermione on a rampage, that's what." He grimaces.
You smile. You know he doesn't really mind Hermione's rampages most of the time, but she seems to be really in a state this time.
"So what did you want to talk about?"
You think for a minute, how should you start? It had all seemed so clear just a little while ago.
"There was something I saw…or I thought I saw, at least…."
You're half expecting him to think you've been imagining things from that beginning, since he thinks you're half-crazy already. He just nods though, and you figure he's probably seen enough weird things around Hogwarts that you could tell him you saw a flying pig and he'd believe you.
"Where'd ya see it?" Ron asks.
"In someone's eyes." You're really not explaining this well at all.
"A murderous glint?" he asks hopefully.
All you can think is boys, and you give him a mock shove. "No, I'm not doing this right. Let me start again." You notice Harry is glaring at you, and you try to ignore him. "I was talking to Draco today."
"You were talking to Malfoy." He says it in a voice that implies he can't believe it.
"Yes," you say, and before you can continue, he interrupts.
"Did he insult you?" You can see Ron's hand clenching.
"Surprisingly no. It was his eyes that I was talking about."
Ron just blinks at you for a few moments. "His eyes?" he finally asks.
"Yes. I saw something in them…in fact, I think I might have glimpsed his soul for a moment." When you say it out loud, it sounds sort of stupid.
Ron snorts. "Malfoy doesn't have a soul."
"Even Voldemort has a soul, Ron."
Ron, very bravely, doesn't flinch at the name. "So you saw Malfoy's soul. Was it black?"
You're about to retort heatedly, but you stop and consider what he has just said for a moment. He means it in jest, but you think there might be something serious there. You grasp Ron's arm.
"Black and blue," you say simply, as though he should know what you mean. Ron looks confused. Maybe half the reason that everyone (with the exception of Neville, you happily remind yourself) thinks you're insane is because you can't explain a thing to save your life. "I saw a broken and sad little boy," you clarify. At least you hope you're making it clearer. You hope Draco never finds out you called him a broken and sad little boy. He will most likely hex you to the moon for it.
The confused look disappears, and an odd one takes its place. "Are you going somewhere with this?"
A part of you wants to say no and run off to lock yourself up in your little room. You notice out of the corner of your eye that Hermione's glaring right along with Harry now. Maybe you should go back to your room. She's glaring at the hand on Ron's arm. You release it, and it comes to you why Hermione's been cold to you. Armed with this knowledge, the other part of you wins.
"The Slytherins. Not all of them, but most of them."
He raises an eyebrow, and you realize you left out the most important part.
"They're broken. They're like broken children."
Ron opens his mouth, and you're sure he's going to tell you that it's the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard. Instead, he suddenly looks thoughtful.
"Ron." Hermione strides over. "Ron, come on. We're going to the library." She doesn't even spare you a glance after all that glaring.
"Oh, ok. G'bye," he says to you.
Ron turns to go, but you grab his arm again and immediately drop it as soon as you have his attention. Hermione's standing next to Harry again, so she shouldn't overhear.
"You should tell Hermione how you feel about her."
"Wha?" He's clearly still thinking about what you said before.
"At least make sure that she knows we're only friends."
"She ought to know that already," he protests.
"Well, she doesn't, trust me," you say, as you move forward with him. You abruptly stop as he reaches Harry and Hermione. They look through you and turn towards the library, with Ron trailing behind, still looking thoughtful.
"I wonder why Dumbledore asked her to come here. It's not like she's got anything that could help with the war effort," you overhear Harry say. You were meant to overhear it, you think. Ron shows no signs of hearing it though, which makes you glad. He'd stand up for you, and you don't want him getting into a fight with his best friend on your account.
You can't blame Harry for saying it; you've been wondering the same thing yourself. You've never been accepted into a Wizarding School, so the professors have been working with you in the evenings. You're struggling with the things that second years can do with ease. You didn't even get your wand until a week before you came to Hogwarts. You're young too. Barely older than the students in age, and younger than at least half of them in experience. It's pathetic, really, so what use Dumbledore thinks you'll be, you have no idea.
You're going to ask him, one of these days. You are. Though you're afraid of the answer. That's why you haven't asked yet.
The end…I think.
Review please. Even if it's just to tell me you read it. Constructive criticism is welcome. That means, if you want to tell me you didn't like it, tell me why, so I can improve my writing.