The Third Law, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: If I possessed any part of the Harry Potter franchise, there is no possible way it would be as brilliant as it is… and all the poor children would most likely be severely scarred, mentally or otherwise.

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."

-- Isaac Newton's Third Law of Motion

Severus Snape only vaguely acknowledged that a student was approaching his desk. This was an uncommon scenario, in the midst of a silent work period as they were, and it peaked his curiosity even if he would never admit it. He reigned supreme over his classroom and governed with a firm hand, or so he chose to believe, and knew that any reason for a student to actually confront him after he'd given them an assignment and ordered silence would have to be a damn good one; he wouldn't fool himself into believing that the majority of his students were not frightened terribly of him. Smirking faintly to himself, he drawled his response to the intrusion without taking his eyes off of the particularly dismal essay of the correct handling of Kelpies by one Neville Longbottom.

"I seem to recall requesting a silent and concentrated work period, Mr…" Snape's dark eyes reluctantly rose from the parchment to finally gaze upon the student before him. "…Malfoy."

In truth he had meant to berate the boy further—oh yes, even the teacher's favorite student could not always escape his sharp tongue—but Draco's appearance stopped him cold. It was not so noticeable if one didn't happen to be searching for signs of distress, but Snape, who perhaps knew Draco better than anyone else at the school, missed nothing.

Draco Malfoy was positively ashen, his cheeks void of all color save for the dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. The sharp angles of his face, more pronounced now with the weight loss that had been becoming progressively worse since the start of the year, only added to his ghostly appearance. His lips were bloodless and pressed in a thin line, the tension showing in the pronounced way the tendons showed in his neck and the line of his shoulders. Snape did not fail to notice how his hands shook before he hid them in the folds of his robes. The professor furrowed his brows and rose halfway out of his seat as to secure the privacy of their conversation.

"Draco, what's the matter?" he muttered, fully aware of the way his students' eyes were trained on the pair.

"Professer, can… can I use the bathroom?"

Snape tried not to be too concerned by the way that his ward's voice cracked as he spoke. Gone was the petulant and conceited boy of several months ago, when Snape had overheard him bragging to his Slytherin peers about the new responsibilities awarded to him. Gone was the mask of arrogance.

Professor Snape, his eyes riveted to his distressed student, nodded his acquiescence and watched along with every other person in the room as the wiry, blond-haired figure of Draco Malfoy fled from the dungeons at a dead run.

I need to go somewhere… somewhere private. Somewhere were no one would think to look for me. Oh Merlin… just somewhere.

It seemed he could never move fast enough. He passed by empty classrooms and empty people in a blur, the tight ache in his chest causing his breathing to be reduced to painful, ragged gasps.

He couldn't take it anymore.

When he'd received his assignment via his father he'd been cautiously excited. Excited. The Dark Lord wanted something of him, thought that he could be useful. When—not "if," as his mother always insisted on saying—he succeeded he would be the most praised and powerful Death Eater in the Dark Lord's forces.

He still remembered the Dark Lord's laughter and delight when he told him that the Vanishing Cabinet was a portal between Borgin & Burkes, that it only needed to be fixed before he could transport his Death Eaters into Hogwarts easily. No one would suspect a thing. They had burned the Dark Mark into his arm that very night.

Such pain…

And when he was crouched on the bitter floor, reeling from the shock and sting of his blackened skin, the Dark Lord gave him another order in his high, cold voice, the red slits of his eyes narrowed on his serpentine face.

Kill Dumbledore.

He knew this was revenge. Everyone was certain he would be killed in the attempt of this precarious mission; he'd thought they simply underestimated him. But now… now everything was different.

He'd tried, first with the necklace, then with the poisoned mead. Pathetic attempts, he knew. All of his bravado was now gone and the thought of his assignment sent icy fear through his spineless body. He didn't want to be a killer, not like his father, not like him. Dumbledore was a fool, but he'd always been kind to him even though the gesture was often met with antagonism and had never been reciprocated.

What did he care? The old muggle-lover had to die. He was standing in the way of the Dark Lord's mission.

But as hard as he tried, he could not muster up the courage and hate to properly attempt to kill the headmaster.

He'd be killed. He would watch his mother die, screaming for mercy, screaming for him to save her, and then with a casual flick of the Dark Lord's wand he would follow in her ghostly footsteps. He would die like the thousands of others killed by that wand, alone, powerless, and amounting to nothing.

And so his fear, the fear that disgusted him beyond measure, was the reason for his flight. The pressure was constantly closing in around him, rendering him breathless and sweating. He needed escape and yet there was none. He needed comfort and yet it was impossible. He needed help, but nothing could help him now.

It wasn't working. Nothing was working.

His pounding footsteps sounded hollow as they reverberated off of the stone walls of the castle. He looked around wildly, panicking as he began to feel the burn of tears behind his eyelids. No one was allowed to see him cry.

Where do I go now?

His path a blur, he burst through the nearest door he saw, relieved to find that it was an empty bathroom. His chest heaving, he leaned against the tile wall, closing his eyes as they began to fade black. He would not collapse.

He'll kill me.

He finally let loose a tortured noise, like that of a man watching his world cave in around him or a parent waiting for his child to die, and slid down the wall until he sat defeated on the floor. He covered his face with his hands as hot tears began to leak from beneath his pale eyelashes.

And then he heard it. A splash.

He was on his feet in a second, wiping furiously at the tears that lay like diamonds on his cheeks and throat, they were that rare, and drew his wand with a quaking hand. He said nothing, not trusting his voice to mask his emotions. He did not cry.

A translucent head peeked over one of the stall doors, before an equally translucent body of a teenage girl with thick glasses and mousy hair followed it. She looked at him with doleful eyes with a frown on her dreadfully plain features. He was so shocked that he forgot that tears still shimmered at the edge of his gray eyes.

"What are you doing here? No one ever comes in this bathroom. And why do you have you're wand out? Oh, that's right, you've come to torture poor Myrtle! Poor, poor, Myrtle, let's poke fun at her, she can't defend herself because she's dead! Well—"

"You're Moaning Myrtle?" Draco blurted rudely, his eyes wide as he slowly tucked his wand back into his robes.

She sniffed, fat tears running down her face. "You're all so cruel! That's a horrible thing to call someone."

He assumed that meant he had guessed correctly. This was good, talking with someone. It kept the pressure at bay. "Don't you usually stay in the girl's bathroom?" He asked, keeping his voice crisp and condescending as always.

"Yes, of course. I'm allowed to visit, you know. It gets quite lonely sometimes in my toilet. Why were you crying just then? Has someone been bullying you, too?"

Damn. He stiffened, his eyes darkening considerably. Just then Draco regretted very much that ghosts could not be hexed, jinxed, cursed, or any other such solution to his problem. "I was not crying," he said quietly, the threat evident in his tone.

She remained oblivious, bobbing up and down distractedly before him. "Yes, you were," she singsonged. "What's the matter? Not many boys would cry like that."

Draco studied her, the anger that he would have expected to arise at her words remaining curiously dormant. The need to share his burden was threatening to overwhelm him, causing an ache in his chest that nearly had him doubled over on his knees. Oh, the things I could tell you…

Apparently she had taken his silence as an invitation to continue. "You're the first boy I've seen in a long while. Harry Potter and his friends used to come and see me, but that was a long time ago, and now I haven't talked to anyone in ages! And then I helped him with that tournament that he was in. He's quite an ungrateful boy, barely thanked me at all! And now I'm left all alone, with nobody around except the people who sometimes flush me down the toilet. I—"

"Shut up."

The mention of Potter's name darkened Draco's mood immediately. The pressure was buzzing in his ears now, so much so that he could barely distinguish her words. He shut his eyes tightly against the light of the bathroom that had suddenly become ten times brighter.

He would be killed.

He vaguely heard Myrtle's cry of outrage. "You're so rude! I'm only trying to be nice, and then you have to insult me!" She covered her face with her hands—not that it did anything to hide her tear-streaked features—and let out a choking sob.

Draco had never apologized to a soul in his life, and he was not about to start now. "That was hardly an insult," he murmured, his eyes closed against the fresh onslaught of emotions.

Kill Dumbledore. Get the Death Eaters in the castle. Attempt to avoid death; it is not expected of you to return alive. No one is denying that this is a difficult task.

He's sixteen!

He should be proud to serve his master at such a young age.

Please…

"What on earth is the matter with you?" Myrtle asked, her anguish forgotten.

Draco had not the strength for the customary superiority in his voice. "I have a… problem."

"Oooo! Tell me what it is!"

He stared at her. This girl seemed to have a taste for morbidity.

You mustn't tell a soul, Draco. Not even Crabbe and Goyle.

Well, obviously, mother…

He was very tired of obeying.

His world crashed down as he divulged the secret that would kill him. He could feel the Dark Lord's presence in his mind, feel the cold curiosity, but remembered his aunt's instructions.

Wipe your mind blank. Block all emotions. Be calm. YOU'RE NOT DOING IT, DRACO!

But he did, now. And so, in a voice as blank as his mind, he told the ghost all he was doing.

Of course, hesidestepped the factthat the task was assigned to him by the Dark Lord. He didn't tell her about letting the Death Eaters into the castle, he didn't tell her about killing Dumbledore. No, he was not suicidal. He replaced names with "someone" and places with "somewhere," killing with "do something for."

And he felt calmer. He looked at her and saw pity in her large, watery eyes.

He felt the comforting hate and condescension return. "Don't feel sorry for me. You're fucking dead, Mooooooaning Myrtle," he sneered.

He saw tears leak from her eyes and his confidence soared. "So insensitive! So tactless! How dare you! I'm only trying to be nice," she pouted shakily, her voice edging on hysterics.

Draco smiled coldly, the vicious glitter having returned to his eyes. "Yes, well, I don'tneed that, you stupid girl. Why don't you do us all a favor and move on to wherever you dead people go after being ghosts? It's not like anyone would miss you, would they?"

She released a howl of indignation that echoed alarmingly off the cracked walls of the bathroom, swooping haphazardly about until she hid once again within the safety of the stall door. "You're just like everyone else!" She cried, sobbing. "You're an evil little toad!"

He smiled that cold smile again and turned to walk out of the bathroom. The pressure was gone, the pain had dissipated as hers increased. This was good.

He heard a whimper as he reached for the handle of the door. "Don't leave me here! It's so lonely… you'll come back, won't you?"

"It's a possibility."

"Draco, where have you been? You were gone for nearly half an hour."

He sneered down at Pansy as he took his seat once more in Potions. He could feel Snape's eyes on him, searching for signs of weakness, signs of failure.

"When did you get the idea that it was any of you're business?" He retorted viciously, his eyes satisfied as she shrank before him, cowering like ascorned puppyat the violence in his voice. "You're potion smells rancid, Pans. Honestly, you can't do anything right."

Draco met Snape's eyes coolly and betrayed nothing.

Do it soon, Draco. I'm becoming impatient with you.

"You must accept suffering and redeem yourself by it; that's what you must do."

--Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky

A/N: Ah! My first Harry Potter fic. Interesting? Stupid? Boring? Let me know.

I was fascinated by Draco and Myrtle's relationship when reading HBP. It's the only time I can remember seeing Draco totally exposed, without his "mask," as it were. I came back from vacation and expected hundreds of fanfictions to be written about it, about why Draco felt he could open up with Myrtle more than anyone else, but I couldn't find a single one! How strange, I thought, so I decided to write one of my own. It's probably completely pointless and boring compared with the sweeping romance and epic proportions of most of the other HP fics out there (I re-read Gravidy's "The God of the Lost" yesterday, and now feel sufficiently microscopic), but I felt someone should at least try to spout psychobabble about their relationship, as I (and others? Maybe?) found it so interesting. Myrtle obviously has transferred her school-girl crush on Harry to Draco, which Ithink strange because obviously, being Draco, he couldn't have been very nice to her. Oh well, she is a somewhat manic-depressive ghost, after all.

I'm assuming I don't have to explain too much the connection between Newton's Third Law and this story, but it's there. Yes, I am a science geek.

Many thanks to my beta/sister, Allie, the Harry Potter knowledge-god.

I am tempted to continue and write the Draco/Harry SECTUMSEMPRA! fight from Draco's point of view, but as I happen to be very unreliable at updating, this may not happen. I've got "Lady Ektibar" to write now.

Thanks for taking the time to read, all.