Of Dragon and Girl
Chapter One: Celebration and Changes
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I am simply borrowing them and tweaking their personalities for this fanfic. Oh people hell bent on suing, I pity your lost souls… give mercy to this poor fanfic author…
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It was hard on Draco Malfoy. Life was catching up with him, and he didn't like it one bit.
Voldemort was gone, and his father with him. Narcissa was slowly adjusting to their new station in life, but Draco was not. Sure, they still had all the money they could every want two generations over, but the fear behind the name Malfoy was gone.
Partly it was his own fault, Draco mused, staring out at the Scottish landside rolling by the window. A smile hinted on his lips as he watched the various animals and people blindly ignorant of the train of wizard children passing them by. He wished he could be like them, ignorant of the whole Voldemort ordeal, rather then a past player.
Because that was all Draco Malfoy was any more. One of the people Potter had used to vanquish Voldemort forever.
Now that he had been used, there was no use for him. His brow creased as he brought his hands up to his face. He laced his long, ivory fingers together and rested his lips on his knuckles, debating his place in the world. No longer could he torment people, for all knew of his part in Voldemort's defeat. He had betrayed the Dark One by refusing the Darkmark, instead running from Malfoy Manor to give the disturbance Potter had needed to stage his single man attack on Voldemort. Draco had run like a coward, while Potter had gotten all the glory.
But Draco only felt relief, no scorn or jealousy. Well, not much any way. Old habits die hard, as the familiar saying said, and jealousy of Potter was one of them. For six years he had harbored great hatred in his heart for the Boy Who Lived, and it was hard to push that behind him. Sure, he was grateful that Potter had killed Voldemort before the dark mark could be burned on his arm, and sure he liked knowing that he would never have to face the hated man again, but Draco had loved being one of the bad. He had known in his heart that he couldn't do really terrible things, but he had lived to torment the other kids.
Now, he thought grimly, his sharp teeth catching his knuckle in their cold grip. Now was everyone's chance to torment me.
But strangely, no one had even given him a second glimpse. At the platform, everyone had ignored him (of course, he had arrived just after Potter had showed up, so everyone was jumping over the 6 times over hero), and even in the train no one had stopped into his compartment to taunt him for his sudden turn to good. It was strange, a twist from his normal trip; welcome, indeed, but strange too.
The slide of the compartment opening brought his gaze swiftly from the window to the door. A pair of wide, honey brown eyes greeted him, surrounded by a mess of curly red hair.
"Weasley." He muttered, out of habit, although his voice lacked the usual sneer. Instead, it held a sort of nonchalant slur.
"Malfoy." Ginny Weasley replied, her eyes still wide.
Bloody hell, he thought tiredly, here comes the first of the tormentors.
He watched as the freckled girl took a deep breath, eyes blinking in an attempt to hold back curiosity. He wondered what insult the girl would come up with, but didn't both to make up a retaliation. It wasn't worth it—anything she would say about him was true.
Except calling him a Deatheater.
He took his knuckle out of his mouth and sighed, bothered by her dancing feet and flickering eyes. She obviously had no idea where to start, and he hated long, silent moments. Gathering your thoughts was one thing, but absolute silence was quite another. "The other compartments full?"
He watched her blink in confusion, a smile spreading on his pinched but still handsome face. Perhaps he could torment the students of Hogwarts in a new way—leading them into confusion on his sudden good manners.
"Actually…" She began, and then swallowed a large gulp of air, brown eyes looking glassy. She looked like she was going to faint if she stayed upright any longer, but Draco wasn't going to offer her a chair. If she wasn't intelligent enough to sit down then she shouldn't be talking to him, he thought, watching her face. "Um… the party for Harry is kind of loud." She finished lamely, perching herself on the very edge of the seat across from him.
She looked like she was ready to jump up and fly away. He thought in amusement, before turning his gray gaze back to the window. "So I gathered." He drawled, bringing his knuckles back up to rest his lips on. He closed his eyes, feeling the circulating air move his pale blonde hair, parting it so that the usually slicked back strands now fell in two waves on either side of his long face. He made no move to sweep it back, instead, waited for the Weasely to explain why she had jumped into his compartment. She obviously had something to say, and Draco was mildly curious to see what it was.
Probably a bloody insult. He thought to himself, idly noting the cold temperature of his pale hands.
"Er… Draco?" He heard the girl mumble. He brought his gaze back to her, amused again by her puzzled expression. He half guessed that she had thought he would hurl insults at her, rather then ignore her as he was doing. Well, was doing. Now she was fidgeting under his cool and unflinching stare.
"Yes?" He smoothly asked, his eyebrows arching above his humored gray eyes.
She rubbed at her nose, then leaned towards him, an earnest expression unfurling across her freckled face.
Here it comes. A voice murmured inside his mind, as her bright red (obviously helped by muggle cosmetics) opened to speak. "Uh…Draco…I just wanted to thank you for helping Harry."
He felt his own gray eyes widen with shock. She…a Weasley… was thanking him? For running away? "Uh… thanks, I guess." He muttered, shock ebbing in his system. Never, in all of his life, would he have EVER guessed a Weasley would EVER thank him, much less for running away.
He watched a hint of amusement gleam in her honey brown eyes. "A Malfoy? Shocked?" Her laugh was low and unassuming, filling the quiet compartment for all its muted sound.
He bit his lip, uncomfortable with her air of companionship. He was Draco Malfoy—runner from Voldemort, coward of the year. He wasn't supposed to have friends, much less someone suddenly decide he needed to be thanked for being a coward.
Was this what being good was? Being uncomfortable? Trying to stop the flow of blood rushing to his face?
Before he could formulate some sort of a witty reply, he was stopped by a huge smile dawning on Ginny's freckled face. "So, Mr. Malfoy is turning into a bashful hero." A dimple appeared on her left cheek at her eyes danced like summer honey shimmering in the bees hive.
"I'm not a hero." He grumbled, trying to hide his face. What was coming over him? He thought frantically, his heart beating fast in his chest. Why was he acting so weak? His father—
His father was dead, he though harshly, shutting up his mind.
She laughed again, her threadbare black robes ruffling faintly as she stood. He stared up at her outstretched hand, not contemplating why she held it out to him. Surely she didn't want him to kiss it—
"I want to shake your hand, Draco." Her voice rang out with a strength he admired, one he lacked. Why else would he have run when Potter had not?
"What for?" He heard himself mumble self-consciously, wishing this infuriatingly difficult to understand girl out of his compartment. He really just wanted to be left alone…
"Silly boy! You helped save us, Draco, whether you believe it or not." She beamed at him with a smile holding the force of a Bludger to the chest when he grasped her small hand with his own, giving it a soft squeeze.
"See you around Malfoy!" She called out to him after jerking her hand away after a moment, her voice sounding distant in the recess of his mind. She paused at the door, the noise of the partying Hogwarts students spilling from the opened door. A look of indecision slipped into the honey of her eyes, but it quickly left just as fast as she turned and swept back out the door, leaving Draco alone to his thoughts again.
He turned back to the window, but the sheep and other livestock were absent from the scenery. Instead, all he saw was a blotchy, green blur—
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Authors note:
I know Draco is terribly out of character. I'm toying with the idea of how he could act following the deaths of both Volemort and his father. Any reviews would be welcome! More interaction with Ginny is going to occur in the next chapter! I promise!
~Zumi