a/n: ok this is kind of a lot further from canon than i originally intended, but oh well.
i don't really like this chapter at all, but i think it's kind of necessary. it's short too - my apologies.
also thank you to the person who reviewed. c:
What We Take; How We Win
Chapter 1
The dormitory is empty. Everyone else has gone to breakfast and left Draco, who's notorious for hexing those who interrupt his sleep, to wake up on his own.
Now he stands and mechanically dresses himself. It takes him longer than he'd like to find matching socks in what used to be a perfectly organized trunk, and once he has them on, he doesnt notice that one is grey and one black. He pulls his robes tight around him. He feels the silver and the green and it all feels cold.
Since it's saturday, he has nowhere to be, except he does.
He could probably make it to the seventh floor corridor with his eyes closed by now, he spends so much time there. He knows people are beginning to notice him slipping away into the disappearing door between classes, during meals, at night, but theres a certain power in keeping secrets, so he keeps this secret. They'll find out soon enough.
There's no one around as he watches the door appear in front of him and slips through it. Although he admittedly doesn't check very thoroughly.
...
The cabinet Draco's tinkering with is a fairly new discovery, as is the room itself.
He'd heard of the Room of Requirement before, but he wasnt expecting it to show up when he was pacing the halls a week before, pleading with the universe for an answer to his problems. But that's exactly what it did. At first he simply stared at the huge, ornate door that appeared out of nowhere, not quite registering what it was, but no one was around so he opened it and stepped inside.
He couldn't make sense of what was in front of him. It seemed useless: just bookshelves and rows and rows of stuff. there was no better word, it was just... stuff. He thought of leaving but had to remind himself that he had no other brilliant ideas, did he? So he ventured further into the room.
By coincidence or fate, the Vanishing Cabinet was the first object he focused on. He thought it seemed familiar, like maybe he'd seen it in passing, but he couldnt place his finger on where or when.
It was large and dark and wooden, with intricate carvings around the edges. He opened it and it smelled of dust. Still, he was intrigued by the familiarity and examined it more closely, and upon further inspection, it was... not at all interesting.
Maybe, he thought, I could smash my head in the door. That'd be helpful.
He yelled in frustration and picked a book up off the ground, something about How To Get The Witch (or Wizard) of Your Dreams. The people in Draco's dreams weren't people he wanted near him. He threw the book at the cabinet with all the strength he had - hearing it land inside with a thud - fell to his knees and let out a loud, choked sob.
It was a while before he was able to compose himself. When he finally left, his classmates were at dinner, and he went to the Slytherin common room to rest in a soft chair until they were finished eating.
He didnt plan to go back, but when he found himself alone in the corridor again, with the door staring him in the face... he couldnt resist, although he knew it was pointless. Once he was inside, he spent hours looking through the junk sitting all around him, finding nothing of any value at all. He ended up standing in front of the cabinet again, anger apparent on his thin face.
He looked it over once, opened it, and his eyes widened.
A smile - a genuine smile - lit up his face.
It was empty.
...
As soon as he looked down at the dusty wood, he remembered throwing a book in it when he was there before, which triggered the more important memory. He was with his father in a shop called Borgin and Burkes, when he was six or seven years old. He saw a dark wooden cabinet in a corner. It had intricate designs around the edges, and Draco drifted away from his father to get a closer look. He was running his hands along the carved side of one of the doors, the wood rough on his soft fingers, when he heard his father snidely telling him not to wander off in shops.
When they passed it on the way out, Draco pointed it out and asks his father what it is.
"I believe," said Lucius, glancing at a shopkeep nearby, "that is a Vanishing Cabinet."
The shopkeep nodded at this so Draco's father continued. "If you put something in it, it will be transported to a replicate cabinet in another location."
"Like a Portkey?"
"Somewhat, now come Draco. We have things to do."
...
It's almost time for lunch when Draco slips back into the hallway. He isn't particularly hungry, but he's feeling fatigued, and it occurs to him that he hasn't had a meal in days. He knows it's pointless trying to hide when there are people around, so he doesn't try to conceal himself as he steps out of the Room of Requirement. No one seems to notice, anyway.
"Malfoy."
The sound startles Draco, and he turns quickly, instinctively holding his wand up. His mind is a bit foggy from hunger and sleep deprivation, so it takes him a few moments to process what stands before him. It is black robes and black hair and green eyes. It is disheveled and messy. Everything about it is so... so very messy. Draco sighs internally. He's not in the mood for this. He spits out one word.
"Potter."
Harry's eyes narrow slightly as they examine Draco's face. "What are you doing?"
"I was just on my way to the Great Hall, Potter. You see, I often consume a midday meal. I find it keeps me from becoming famished during the afternoon hours. I call it lunch. Now I'll just be on my way, if you don't mind."
But Harry steps in front of him, blocking his path. "No, what were you doing in there?"
Draco sneers. "I don't see how that's any of your business."
"Tell me!"
"Now, Potter, whining won't-"
"Tell me or I hurt you," Harry holds up his wand. Draco sighs dramatically.
"Calm down, Merlin. I was just having a wank."
It's silent for a moment and the dark-haired boy looks taken aback. He opens his mouth then closes it.
"Right. I'll leave you to get all hot and bothered over that image," Draco smirks and turns his back to the idiot, but is jerked to a stop by Harry's hand on his upper arm. Strong, rough fingertips dig into the fresh wounds from last night's shower and an involuntary yelp tumbles out of Draco's mouth.
A yelp.
Harry freezes. His arm drops stiffly to his side.
Draco doesn't turn or pause before stalking away. He's not completely sure what's just happened, but he knows that all his dignity just flew out from between his lips - so why look back and see the result?