Title: Your Own Disaster
Chapter: One
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If I was in any way affiliated with Harry Potter or its
other, um... affiliates, then I wouldn't be in school right now. So, I don't own
anything besides the plot, and this whole story unless there are bits in there
from other stories/songs/movies or other forms of media. If I used anything that
is not from me, then I'd state it at the end of each chapter. The title is a
song by Taking Back Sunday and I'm too tired to come up with a chapter title.
Chapter One
"Dreaming permits each and every one of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives." - W. Dermont
They slid across the ballroom, swimming in a pool of bodies, tangled in limbs. The girl exuded mirth and unmistakable happiness, while the boy was the epitome of composure and grace. But he was happy, there was no doubt. He was with the girl he loved the most -- how could he not be? He looked at the girl and flashed her one of his smiles. She was one of the very few recipients. She smiled back -- grinned, more like -- as they painted the whole area with their footsteps, slicing through people and dancing, not to the beat of the song, but to the beat of their own hearts, the blood coursing through there veins. They were like fire and ice, one blazing, the other piercing but, in each other, they were perfect.
The song ended, driving people back to their places, in pairs, no less. She was thankful for the end of the song as she wasn't much of a dancer. She didn't enjoy it, in fact, but he had wanted to dance with her. "With nobody else but you," he had said days earlier, and now there she was, on the dance floor, her arm in the crook of his.
They made their way to their table. "Not too shabby, eh?" she wanted to know. He looked down at her, slightly surprised at her inquisition, but he shook his head all the same when he realized that she had wanted an answer. "No, not at all," he said, then added with a grin, "I'd ask you for another round of dancing, if you didn't mind it as much as you do." She found herself swimming in guilt. She was about to ask him to dance another dance with her -- the song was a good one anyway -- when he realized her expression, and declined her invitation even before she could ask. He said, "I wouldn't want to dance if you don't," and he smiled for good measure.
She wasn't quite sure if she'd believe him and before she could ask him if he was sure, he cut her off, saying, "Yes, love, I'm sure." She wasn't entirely convinced and was again about to protest, when he grabbed a hold of her arm and practically dragged her out of the ballroom, whispering, "I have to show you something."
And they left the party. It was boring anyway.
---
Draco Malfoy woke up, more than slightly irritated, obviously not in a good mood. A scowl was plastered on his face and his hair was uncharacteristically out of place. Of course, this was because he'd had an uncharacteristically bad dream. It was about that Weasley girl. Again.
He never knew why he had these dreams in the first place. It was not as if he'd harbored feelings for her -- no, far from it. They hadn't even conversed or acknowledged each other. And, she wasn't even extraordinarily pretty, nor was she useful. Not to him, anyway, he decided, when he recalled the Chamber of Secrets. He didn't know how he knew it was her, but he did. Not that it helped. He still didn't understand these dreams (nightmares, really) and he didn't appreciate them invading his thoughts whenever he couldn't control them. He didn't like it. And Draco Malfoy was an extensively nasty person when he didn't like something.
After waking up to that absurdity, everything else went downhill. His robes required mending, he was running out of parchment, and his hair refused to cooperate with him, no matter how many charms he'd set them to. On his way down to breakfast, he was stopped by a first year Slytherin boy who'd been on his way to Transfiguration class and had gotten lost. Draco had to show him his was as he was this year's Head Boy, and by the time he reached the Great Hall, the house elves were already clearing up the plates. Now, one must realize that an aggravated Draco without breakfast spells out the Apocalypse. However, a hefty number of souls were too dense to know or even notice, hence the hefty number of bloodied noses, fat lips and broken hearts.
And now, he was here, in the Headmaster's office, awaiting his verdict. He was sent here by McGonagall, under the accusations of "destructive behavior of a high authority" although he was pretty sure that he was sitting on one of the plush chairs in the office on account of him calling the Transfiguration professor "a spinster wound up too tightly" when she took 50 points off of Slytherin. He was smiling to himself because of his "remarkable victory" when the Headmaster entered the room.
Draco whirled around to face the only mistake Hogwarts made, as his father would have said. He offered a curt nod in greeting and Dumbledore reciprocated his gesture. He took a seat in front of the Slytherin boy and offered him a chocolate frog. Draco politely declined. Even though he was a hormonally-imbalanced human fist most of the time, he still had his "morals" and respected the professors that mattered to his status. He remembered McGonagall and risked showing a smirk. The Headmaster thought nothing of it and spoke about why he was there instead.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy, I hope you understand why Professor McGonagall sent you here in the first place," he started. Because I cost my house half a hundred points with one blow? Because I called McGonagall a spinster? Because I am absolutely gorgeous and you want to make a proposition? Draco offered mentally.
"It's because of your recent behavior," he said.
Oh.
"Mr. Malfoy, you have to understand that because you are the Head Boy, you have more responsibility than other students. It is expected that you act more sensibly, and that you restore peace rather than destroy it." He nodded, his head bent down. He knew all of this was true. He didn't deny that his recklessness would cost him so much more than he was willing to give, one of these days. Draco knew all of these things, yet he couldn't help himself. Hogwarts was so full of nitwits and numbskulls; they were asking for his insults and other bodily harm, really. Although, it wasn't as is their cranial cavities weren't severely damaged enough already anyway. He realized that he had cut off Dumbledore's well thought-out speech, and forced himself to listen.
"...after which I will ask you to strip down to your undergarments and pole-dance while singing a medley of 'I'm a little teapot' and 'I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts," Dumbledore finished the speech, a little too nonplussed for Draco's liking. The Headmaster had a terribly calm and unreadable expression on his face, but his eyes twinkled as he noted the expression on Draco's.
He smiled and said, "I figured as much. I was telling you, Mr. Malfoy, about your punishment," he waited for the boy's signal for him to continue and when he got it, he did, "and that is why you are stripped of your Quidditch privileges for two months," his jaw dropped open, "and you are to use that time you previously spent on the aforementioned extracurricular activity tutoring a Sixth Year student, preferably from Gryffindor." Sparks of anger flew from Draco's eyes like shattered glass on a freeway. He didn't mind it much when his Quidditch was taken from him. He knew he deserved that, but this... tutoring a Gryffindor, this was too much.
And he had no problems letting Dumbledore know how he felt.
Rational thinking was not in Draco's (or any other Malfoy's) vocabulary. Act now, ask questions later -- that was what he lived by, and without thinking, he grabbed hold of the snowglobe on Dumbledore's desk, and hurled it at the wall on his left side, causing it to shatter into a hundred thousand little pieces. After which, he commenced screaming like a banshee, degrading himself to the mental capacity of a five-year-old. Thirty seconds into his manic screaming, Draco realized what he'd done and started mumbling incoherent apologies. He knelt down to clean up the mess and pick up the pieces. In his haste, he cut himself and swore inwardly, but continued his cleaning until the Headmaster told him to stop.
Draco steadied himself by holding to a heavy bookcase as he stood up. He brushed away the shrapnel off his hands and robes then pressed his damaged hand onto the sleeve of his robes. He sat himself down in his previous seat and looked at the old man. Draco started to say "Im sorry, I should not have done that, but please, allow me to tutor anyone else other than a Gryffindor, because I can't stand their goody-goodyness and their bravery" when Dumbledore cut him off before he even got to the sound of 'm'.
"Now, Mr. Malfoy, I understand that you are quite disturbed by this proposal."
Quite? Want to try completely disgusted? Or do you prefer suicidal?? The proposition he imagined Dumbledore making looked quite good now. Okay, not really. He wanted to protest, but began nodding along with the ticking of the Grandfather situated at the far corner of Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster continued, "but we saw this as our opportunity for the restoration of peace between the houses -- yours and Gryffindor, most especially.
Draco had only one thing to say to that: Why do I have to restore it?
As if reading his mind, he, Dumbledore, started speaking. "You are given this responsibility because you are the Head Boy, Draco." He spoke with such urgency that shivers involuntarily shot up and down Draco's spine. He was slightly alarmed at how Dumbledore called him Draco instead of the standard issue Mister or Master Malfoy.
Dumbledore reached across the desk to touch Draco's hands, which rested on his lap, as a sign of reassurance. Draco looked up and saw Dumbledore's eyes, grave and old and wise, from behind his half-moon spectacles. "Don't ruin this, Mr. Malfoy. Show them that we made the right decision declaring you the Head Boy." Draco could do nothing more than nod. He knew that this was going to be hard, but he also knew that Dumbledore was right. He hasn't really been Head Boy material, save for his grades which were thisclose to knocking Hermione Granger's off the top spot, and he'd given them nearly enough reason to put another person in his stead. Draco Malfoy was not going to let this happen. He'd gone through enough.
He sat straighter in his seat, and resigned himself to his destiny. If he was going to tutor for two months, he was going to make these two months the best ever as Head Boy. He quietly thanked the Head Master and left the room with a new sort of confidence.
Draco trudged down the long staircase on the way to his next class and sighed to himself. This was going to be a long day.
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A/N: Agh. This was written in between school and other things. Sorry if it's a bit... sloppy. That is all. :D