*AN: Thanks to those who read and Tenshi Yama- Angel of Darkness for reviewing. Means so much! I forgot to mention this the first time but I'd like to thank my betas- SnowSheba and Pure Hearted Tyrant, they are so amazing! Whatever mistakes they missed are mine and mine only, please point them out and I'll correct them as soon as I can. I have a feeling I should mention something else about the story...maybe it'll come to me later. I dunno. Please enjoy!*
The Hospital Wing is just around the corner and we walk those three meters in silence.
I push open the grand double doors of the Hospital Wing and walk inside, pausing near one of the beds. Madame Pomfrey is tending
to some boy, whose face resembles a blowfish, swollen and puffy, near the back of the room. I wait patiently and then glance over at Harry,
who is covered in blood and shifting his weight from foot to foot impatiently. Finally she finishes and motions the boy to lie down before closing
the curtain around him and walking over to us.
"What happened? Nothing looks to be wrong with either of you," Madame Pomfrey asks, hands gesturing wildly. The woman must be
blind! Harry is covered in blood and she thinks nothing is wrong! I count to ten in an attempt to reign in my frustration. It doesn't work.
"Professor Snape sent us," Harry offers. It's a pointless suggestion and I can't resist the urge to elbow him sharply in the ribs. He
shoots me a dirty look and I pray to Merlin I haven't just returned us back to square one. Despite her questions about what was wrong she
examines Harry, occasionally sending venomous looks my way. I retreat slowly with my hands up.
"It wasn't my fault, Goyle hit him," I say in my defense. She raises her white eyebrow, but stops with the dirty looks. I sigh in relief.
The last thing I need right now is for her to throw the blame my way as well. Just because I have the Dark Mark doesn't mean I'm a Death
Eater anymore. I tried every remedy in the book to try and remove the damn thing, and it won't go away. It just stays stubbornly inked into
my skin, a black blemish against my ghostly skin. Needless to say I don't wear short-sleeved shirts very often.
The war is over, yet everyone still looks at me like I'm Voldemort himself. There are days when I don't even want to get out of bed to
face all the people who hate me. And on my way to classes, I've had hexes come so close to my head that they leave a furious red mark on my
cheek and I can feel the burn of it.
I watch as Madame Pomfrey runs her wand over Harry's body, murmuring spells under her breath. The dried blood flies off of Harry
and just disappears in the air. I readjust my silver and green tie and straighten my robes. Run a hand through my hair, making it stand up on
end. I've given up on slicking it back every day and it's grown out, almost to my chin. I really should get one of the girls to cut it, but every girl
under seventh year just fawns and points, or hexes.
"He's fine," Madame Pomfrey finally states. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are narrowed down at me in loathing. Being the son
of a former Death Eater, and one yourself, tends to get that sort of response. Instinctively, I shake the long sleeve of my robe well over my left
arm. I nod curtly and turn to leave, expecting Harry to follow. Which he does.
We walk back to Potions in silence. As I walk in the room, Uncle's eyes are immediately on me. I shove all of my stuff into my bag,
ignoring everyone's pointed looks. I sling my bag over one shoulder and walk over to Uncle, avoiding everyone's eyes.
"Uncle, I need some time…you understand," I say quietly, keeping my eyes down. I straighten the edge of a stack of parchment on
Uncle's desk.
"Draco, you cannot run from your problems," He whispers. I shake my head and turn around, walking away.
"I'm not running," I whisper back, knowing he can hear me. I feel every eye on me as I stalk out the room. The door shuts behind
me and I think about where to go. Room of Requirement is out, that was destroyed during the war. There's always the lake….but I'm not quite
sure that the mermaids would take very kindly to me.
After a few minutes of deliberation and uncertainty, I decide. The sweet shop. At this point in the day, there's going to be no one
there and I have a terrible sweet tooth. I think back and wonder if the one-eyed crone was destroyed. Then I laugh harshly. I'm an eighth
year, I can basically go wherever I want, no more sneaking around. Adjusting the bag on my shoulder, I begin the walk to Hogsmeade.
I tighten the jacket around me as I step outside. There's fresh snow on the ground. I hate snow. It's cold and wet and just awful.
My boots crunch into the white powder and, out of amusement, I kick a bit up into the air, only to be rewarded with a wet boot. I sigh in
distaste and continue walking. When it starts to snow again I pull a hat from my bag and push it onto my head. It's not one of those furry,
overexpensive ones. Just a simple Slytherin knit.
The warm atmosphere of Honeydukes greets me and I take a deep breath. It always smells amazing in here. Maybe I'll stop by
Madame Puddifoot's after this. Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll stop by Madame Puddifoot's for coffee and to think….or read. I look around quickly,
already knowing what I want. I buy a bag of Chocoballs, two Chocolate Frogs, a sugar quill, and two Licorice Wands. These all go in my bag
and I linger around Honeydukes for just a little bit longer, enjoying the warmth. When beads of sweat start around the collar of my jacket, I
walk out the door into the frigid air. On the way to Madame Puddifoot's I nibble on a Chocoball. The chocolate spreads through my body,
sending out a soft warmth. It's a long walk to the Tea shoppe and for most of the way I'm shivering and thinking of Harry. For a stupid moment
I wonder if the two are related.
He wouldn't like me even if we were the only two alive and crammed in a broom-shed together. Even if we were, by some miracle, to
start going out then there are so many things we'd have to work through to make it work. Merlin, there are so many things. Many of them I'd
like to not think about, so I'm not going to.
The tea shoppe is empty and just as warm as Honeydukes. I sigh in relief and slide out of my jacket, draping it over my arm. I look
around, the place is empty. Just how I like it. There's a squishy armchair over to the corner. I run a hand through my hair and sink down into it.
I reach into my bag and pull out, first a sugar quill, then my book. Chewing the end of the quill I thumb through the yellowing pages until I find
my spot. Comfortably, I sit in the armchair and sip at hot tea, slowly sinking further into the world of words.
"Mister Malfoy, it's time for dinner," Madame Puddifoot lays a hand on my shoulder. I sigh and nod, shutting my book slowly. I might
as well go and eat, as I can't really ignore everyone forever. As I pull on my jacket and knit, I wish I hadn't eaten all of my candy.
The walk is long and atrocious. The snow is cold and wet. The white flakes fall onto my face, little fingertips of cold. Wiping my face
on my sleeve, I continue walking, even faster this time. I pass Honeydukes and I have to resist the urge to walk into the warmth of the candy
shoppe.
Finally I make it into the castle and I stamp my boots against the rough stone, white patches of snow surrounding me. A cold drop of
water slides its way down my neck and I shudder before shaking the snow out of my hair like a dog. Suddenly I laugh, had Pansy been here
then she would have shrieked. I sober in half a heartbeat and stand up. I straighten my tie and adjust my bag. There's no one in the halls, but
I look around anyway, just in case.
I'm nearly to the Great Hall when I realize it. That's the first time I've genuinely laughed in…. two years I think. Merlin, it felt good. I
smell food and close my eyes, willing to just follow the delicious smell. I walk a couple of steps and then stop. When I was prisoner at the
Manor, they often gave me nothing but stale bread that cracked against the stone floor and pumpkin juice. If I were lucky they'd give me half
an apple, already nibbled through by rats, or a palm's amount of crumbled cheese. For months on end that'd be all I'd have. When I came back
to Hogwarts, after the war, my robes hung on my body, and I ate so much that first day that that night I was sick, spending it wrapped around
the toilet.
I push open the grand double doors and stride over to the Slytherin table, mostly filled with new, bright-eyed first years, all star-
struck. Yeah, there are some people from last year, and some sixth and seventh years that have come back, but not many. I pick a spot by
Pansy and immediately begin piling my plate. Shephards Pie, Yorkshire pudding, and loads more.
"Draco, where were you? We couldn't find you anywhere," She speaks as the fork is halfway to my mouth, her hand on my shoulder,
delicate fingers and long nails, a dainty touch. I shovel food into my mouth to stall. Casually, I shrug out of her touch, it's not that I don't like
her; I just don't want her touch. I want Harry's touch, calloused hands and broad fingers splayed out on my shoulder.
"I needed time," I answer. There's no space between bites and I soon have another forkful of food between my teeth. There's a
silence going around the table and I look up from my plate, everyone is staring at me. I don't know what I'm doing that's so fascinating, so I
keep eating. Silence, I've learned, can be one of the best answers. More food, more silence. After an agonizing few seconds, I hear forks
scraping plates and the tension in my shoulders melt.
I still don't know what they were staring at. I mean, yeah, I have been acting strange since the war ended, but don't I have a right
to? I was held prisoner in my own home, under the darkest wizard of our time. After two years of that now I have all of this freedom and food
and I don't have a clue what to do. I have a right to be confused and….I look up and catch Harry's green eyes, curious and probing. I feel a
blush creep up on my neck and I quickly slap my hand over it and stare back down at my plate.
Damn, I'm sure he saw that. I look up just enough to spoon treacle tart onto my plate. I should probably look up now to keep
people from thinking wrong of me. Slowly, I lift my head to casually look around the Great Hall. Slowly, almost painfully, my eyes make their
way to the Gryffindor table. The mudblood is holding a thick book in her lap, holding it up and open with one hand and guiding a forkful of
kidney pudding towards her mouth. I watched, gluing a bored expression on my face, a careful look of disinterest. If it falls onto her book I'm
going to laugh.
My eyes glide over the next of the Golden Trio, the red-headed Weasley. He's, like always, stuffing his face. I run a hand through my
hair and almost pause at the next person. He's bent over his plate, like there's still a world on his broad shoulders, and just picking through
his food. Suddenly he slices brutally through a sprout and looks up, sighing. Again, his eyes meet mine and my instincts shout at me to duck
my head and avoid him, but I resist. I'm stronger than that. We lock stares for almost a minute. I swear, I can feel my heart stop in my chest. I
study him, well his face anyway. He looks…non venomous for once, like he doesn't want to kill me. Whether he does or not isn't my problem, or
it wasn't. But it became my problem when I decided to fall for him. So, this is a new victory. I calmly lay a hand on my chest, feeling my heart
begin to stutter and race and even falter, as if I can calm it. Harry still doesn't take his eyes off of me. His head tilts to the left and there's the
slightest angling of his eyebrows. Anyone other than I would have paid no attention to it, but because I have watched him so obsessively for
the past few months, I know this look. It's a look of innocent curiosity, usually given to girls he's after and sometimes his friends. There's no
hostility, nothing. It makes my heart stop for a moment and I have to look away, back at my plate of food.
"Draco, what's wrong? You look all…funny and stuff," Blaise asks quietly. I could laugh, but I just shake my head and brush my hair
over my face to hide the smile I can't contain.
"Just feeling a bit sick I guess," I answer, giving a sly look to Blaise, who just shakes his head and looks away. He knows. I know he
knows. He just doesn't show it. He's pretty good like that, as a mate I mean.
The Weasley girl walks up to me, her red hair plaited over her shoulder, a ribbon winding through the fiery strands. I can see why
Harry was obsessed with her. She stops a couple feet from me, in case I'm still dangerous I guess. She holds out a scroll, bone white and
slender.
"Don't be flattered, McGonagall is forcing me to invite you," She says venomously. I shrug and run a hand through my hair. I look up
and see the contempt on her face, like she can't decide whether or not she wants to spit on me. I just sit there staring at the scroll for a
moment before realizing that I should probably say something. I look up, but she's gone. Sighing, I unroll the scroll and bend it backwards,
creasing it just enough so that it stays open.
I look up and glance around the Great Hall, a handful of the students are propping open a scroll, eyes scanning the page. I notice
that the only ones with scrolls are eighth years, war survivors. Some of them have their mouths curled downwards in a frown, others are fist-
pumping the air in…excitement?
A pit of dread begins in my stomach and suddenly, I don't want to read the scroll, but I have to get it over with sometime. Come on
Malfoy, don't be a prat. I take a deep breath and read over the spindly letters. I have to read over the words several times before it begins to
make sense in my head. It's an invitation. To a party. In the trophy room. At midnight. All eighth years are invited and the dress style is casual,
muggle clothes or wizard robes. I sigh and shake my head, of course I wasn't going to go.
But Harry was probably going to be there…Again, I sigh and run a hand through my hair. Why is my life so complicated? There are
going to be people there. People who hate what they think I've done with my life. People who wouldn't blink an eye at the thought of torturing
me, my family. I wouldn't even consider going if I weren't in love with Harry Potter. But I am.
*Thanks for reading!