Author's Notes:
It's clear from the very first paragraph, but just in case, this is Draco's POV ;)
i'm not gonna beg for reviews, but think of them as cookies! wouldn't you be happy to
get a cookie? so make me happy and give me one!
my very first Harry/Draco fan-fiction, i hope you enjoy it!
A Silver past:
I can recall every detail of Hogwarts, the magnificent architecture, the high windows that stretch to the ceilings, and the detailed paintings that add to itself a meticulous design every now and then, whether it was an extra plate of fruits, or a new deck of cards or even a whole new person. Hogwarts never seems to have a satisfied ego. The soul of the castle was a perfectionist, it wanted to be at its finest and it accomplished its goal in the most mesmerizing way. I uplift myself from the memory surfacing back to present as if by a levitation charm. I took another sip of muggle's coffee in this soulless coffee shop they call Starbucks. I sneer at no one in particular. Wait till my father hears about this! A Malfoy, in a muggle shop, the horror! I unleash a smirk imagining my father's reaction, but it turned quickly and quietly into a scowl. That would give him another thing to agonize over in Azkaban. I took a disapproved sip and felt its warmth sink into my core. This muggle's drink had more effect on me than any other energy potion I ever had, the things that muggles came up with on their own, without a pent of magic were astonishing.
Staring at my cup, it takes me to a coffee black haired Gryffindor with egocentric stupid grin stamped on his face. His hero complex summarized in a lightning scar. Time and time again, our eyes locked together in a challenge of dominance. And every single time, a part of me can't help but noticing how they have every possible shade of green in them. I was even able to sort out the levels of his anger through them. If his eyes where bottle green, then he was merely annoyed by my presence. It was as if he wanted to bottle me up, secure the bottle, and throw me into a bottomless ocean. While if they were forest green it was irritation, usually I get him there by calling him a Scarhead, or any other insult that comes to mind at that particular moment. The most dangerous color of them all is emerald. It's when his eyes go hard and cold and I basically should get my wand ready.
It was as if Potter was put on this earth to contradict everything I stand for. It has always been a Gryffindor to a Slytherin, bravery against deviousness and a masked expression to an expressive face. Potter was unable to disguise his emotions, if he was infuriated, every line in his face prickles with it, and whenever I was able to itch such an expression on his features, the sight has never failed to charge me with pleasure. Through his green sea of emotions I uncovered layers of fear and pain. These raw feelings lay deeper, like the giant squid in that grey mossy lake. Almost unnoticed for those who don't look thoroughly, not an ounce would show as bloody perfect Potter carries himself heroically, refuses to show an instant of weakness, keeping that proud grin on his face through war wounds and bruises. I fold into myself as my involuntary admiration settles above him like an unseen halo.
I blow into my already cold coffee as if by that I can blow thoughts of Potter away, and as If my coffee cup turned into my own pensive, it chose a dangerous lurking memory, one that I usually refuse to recall. But here in this busy muggle coffee shop, I felt concealed, almost as if I'm wearing an invisibility clock. Amusingly enough, he was. It was on our last year cradled under Hogwarts protection. Before the ultimate rise and fall of the dark lord, I was by upbringing on one side of the war while he was by choice on the other. The school allowed us one of its merry trips to Hogsmeade and I was glad for a view change and the chance to get some butter beer. Little did I know that Potter had the same idea. I was easily able to deter Crabbe and Goyle as I walked into the three broomsticks; I scanned the available seats with my eyes and found a table at the corner with a deserted glass of butter bear. I got my order and as I was heading to the same table, the glass of butter bear was gone, it was in a blink of an eye and I knew no one came even close to the table, so it was really obvious, it left no room for assumptions.
I walked to the table trying to hide a small smile that threatens to break the left side of my mouth, I slid in and eerily drawled: "breaking the rules again, aren't we Potter?" at first there was not a sound, until I blindly kicked my legs under the table and a satisfactory "ouch" tickled my ears. A growl followed, as I elegantly drank my beer with not a hint of recognition on my perfect smooth face. "What do you want, you filthy prat?" Potter hissed from underneath his hiding. I put down my beer careful not to attract attention, wouldn't want idiots running around with rumors that Malfoy has gone mad talking to himself, do we. I dressed my face with a disapproving glare worthy of professor's Snape dark sarcastic facade. "Now, now, are you certain you are willing to address a prefect in such a manner? After all I have already got a wild card over you, you are not to leave the school premises I presume". It was difficult not being able to see his eyes nor calculating the amount of anger in them, but I was, as always, up for a challenge.
Potter said nothing but I was able to hear the bitter sound of him swallowing a mouthful of butter beer, then he sighed as he said in an indifferent tone; "so do I have to severe my own arm to shut you up?" "Tempting" I smirked, "that would defiantly be a competitive advantage at Quidditch, you wouldn't even be able to balance yourself on a broom, reminds me of the last time you got your arm deboned. That was a golden moment for the golden boy now, wasn't it?" Potter kicked my leg from underneath the table as a warning; I grilled the nothingness with my stare wishing that I could see him this moment. Potter let out a chuckle, "you're staring a tad too low if you were aiming for my eyes", I snapped back ignoring what God only knows he was hinting; "well if you weren't a coward, you'd take off that lame excuse of a clock of yours and face me like a wizard", "I'm not supposed to be seen you moron! That is what you've been holding against me, if I showed myself you have gotten no lead on me" he retorted. I raised my eyebrows at him for the lack of better words and said; "a word bet then, that should be sufficient". Before Potter had the chance to take the honorary crown of a buffoon by asking what in the snitch a word bet was, I started explaining. When I was done, he simply said; "so it's like truth and dare, but with no bottle or dares" obviously my dignity wouldn't have allowed me to ask what that was, or why a bottle was needed. "What are you planning to gain out of this?" the hidden boy snapped. I slipped my hand to my pocket, securing it around my wand, not sure if emerald was conjured in those dangerous eyes of his. "Nothing", I declared with an air of indifference, "an insight on the disgustingly famous boy who lives, if you granted Rita Skeeter an interview, this bet would be as effortless to you as breaking rules." He either didn't get my sarcasm or nobly ignored it, with no face to see emotions sketched on it, I feel unbalanced yet sure that his Gryffindor recklessness will kick in soon, beside it wasn't like I gave him any possible move, it was check mate for the great Potter.
"Do you think that I accidentally shrunk my brain? I don't have a scrap of trust in you. What would insure me that you would stick to your part of the bargain?" I smiled inwardly, no matter how tight a situation is Potter seems to always seek a gain out of it. The audacity of a Gryffindor, it seems like. Then again, this could be the only thing that kept him whole all these years dealing with the dark lord himself; it would be intriguing to have an insight of his mind, even through a lame word bet. "If I solemnly swear it to you, my word wouldn't satisfy? Have you such little faith in me? Well if it pleases you, I'm willing to bind myself to it". Another pause and I got the answer that made my eyes shine in a stormy -up to something- gray. "If you were bounded, there is nothing for me to lose". It was like catching the snitch with only ten points between you and your opponent. Purely accelerating…