Vonne: Please excuse any spelling mistakes I've made in this one, especially. I must say that I've overindulged on pink champagne. Don't ever attempt at writing something after having an excessive amount of champagne. You may still be able to spell correctly, but you take the risk of nothing making any sense. Nonetheless, I'm going to preview this again after I write it. Still, forgive me for anything in the future that may ruin the flow of things.

Mellowy Candescent: I am so sorry that it's taken me so long to update this! I just got your review today and, believe me, I quickly finished this up as fast as I could. Of course, I'd started this the other night, when I wrote the above message. HA, but I kept it up there just so most of you could get a better understanding as to why it took me so long. Nonetheless, I still have no excuse. HA. I will try to never to take this much time again. But I'm so glad you liked it! I hope you like this chapter, too. :)

......: Well, since I didn't know exactly how to address you in this response, I figured-- why not just do the dots? HA :) Anyway. You'll be happy that Draco's now drunk in this one. Maybe you'll even like to see it go the other way around. However, Draco's a bit of an alcoholic. Depression usually comes with addictions in some sort. But know that I read your review and did this especially for you! :) Thanks for your interest!

Dramione1996: Yes! I thought including the fatherly side of Lucius was important. Plus, I've always known that the Malfoys were family oriented, ya know? :)

Shining Bright Eyes: I thought that the last part of the previous chapter was important. It's vital when someone REALIZES they have a problem instead of continuing to deny it. :) Anyway, I hope you like this chapter and I'm so glad you enjoyed the last one. I put as much effort into this as I did the previous one. HA, so my hopes are high!

Lily18DM: Oh, hello! I'm glad you read through all the way to chapter twenty six! That's a ton of reading that I'm glad you stuck with! I'm so happy that you consider my characters to be realistic. I've always tried especially hard for it to be that way and that's why everything may seem slow, but its only supposed to be gradual. And thank you so much for all the compliments! I love that you were excited to come home and read this! I hope that you're still just as thrilled, even though it took me forever to update this!

Isabella120: Thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked them! And I'm sorry to hear that you were sick, but I'm glad that you're better! :)

Sophia: I thought so too! :) However, I think that Draco was a bit beat up in the books, we just were only given one side of the whole story. Remember how he confided in Moaning Myrtle? :) Maybe Draco's a bit of a lost person. Still, it's undoubtable that he made the wrong choices in life. Thanks for the review! I loved hearing your opinions and I'm so glad you liked it! :)

Doni: Thank you! Lucius is very disappointed, but he is Draco's father, after all. :) Thanks for all your constant reviews! I love them.

Anavell: Yes! He's finally starting to try and fix everything. Kind of a nice change, huh? :p

Anyway, longer chapter for all the time I took. Sorry again! :(

Chapter Twenty Seven:
Break Even

Draco Malfoy was face up in his room, staring at the ceiling above him that seemed almost questionably endless. His bedroom was darkened and around him the curtains were drawn, plunging him into a blackness even deeper. Because he knew that it was the proper thing to do, he'd slipped himself under the covers, only managing to remove his tie and his muddy shoes. Still, under the covers from the shoulders down, Draco could feel his body shudder. He glanced down at the small radio on his chest and reached for it, holding down the little button for a long moment before deciding against actually speaking. What was he planning to do anyways? Inform Hermione that she had been correct in her suggestions?

He'd been foolish and he'd realized it almost embarrassingly too quickly. Though, since recognizing his faults had come almost uncharacteristically natural to him lately, such a revelation was hardly a surprise. He leaned back and with a twist of his wrist flicked the radio off of his chest. The tiny thing fell almost pathetically to the floor on the dark pile that was his bunched up jacket. Then with an elongated sigh, he rolled back his eyes, sat in comfort behind the solitude of his heavy eyelids. He was, in fact, far more tired than he'd initially expected. But it was sleep, however, that seemed to escape him. And the frustration was what seemed to keep him further from his goal of going under. The heart beating in his chest-- that was to blame; no, it was his buzzing brain. Surely, that was the true cause of his unsolvable misery.

The darkness around him didn't exactly close in, however, it was all the more daunting as it persisted. Against the wallpapered edges of his room, Pettigrew's scratch marks were still everlastingly present. And Draco no longer wanted to match them up with destruction of his own, instead he wanted to shred the wall of the printed paper entirely. Nonetheless, his body desired rest and refused to lift him. So, conclusively, he only stared in desire, wondering why he was only more and more passionate about destruction. And, for the most part, he could feel himself ignoring his tired eyes, staring at the wall back and forth as if he could mentally burn a hole into it.

And as the night lasted, lingering on much more longer than it should have, Draco Malfoy watched the room, the wallpaper, and the structure of the Manor in its entirety. Until finally, there was nothing particular left.

"Good morning!" Ron Weasley's friendly face was direct and sunny. His body was bent over completely and his palms rested on the caps of his steady knees. A bright smile rested on his face and his blue eyes were two sequins. The boyish glow that had truly never left Ron was ever so present, even so early in the morning. Still, looking quite dopey behind his attractively childish grin, he leaned forward and yanked the covers off of Hermione's covered face. "Get up, we're going to breakfast!" Unmistakable and obvious, the look of joy on his face over the idea of grabbing a bite to eat was rather inevitable.

Hermione blinked open her eyes, still pink and crusted from the night before. She remained quite lengthly stuck in the period of confusion that plagued her the several few moments before her mind actually woke up. Then, she noticed the visible radio resting on her chest and, hurriedly, she tossed it off of her, stuffing it underneath her ample supply of bed sheets. Then, she lightly rubbed her eyes, for they had been pressuring her to go back to sleep. The newfound light that leaked through the opened curtains of her windows, however, greatly prevented her from doing such a thing. Begrudgingly, she said in a delusional mumble, "breakfast? It's... what time is it?"

Ron, however, was paying only a fraction of attention. He pulled himself away and looked goofily back at Harry, who seemed to appear out of thin air at the frame of her bedroom door. "Well," he said with fast-paced aggression, "it's time to get up and go get something to eat, 'Mione. That's what time it is."

Yawning, Hermione gave Harry a pleading look, to which Harry only responded with a shrug. "I told him I'd treat him to lunch. Ginny's coming along." Then, squinting as if curious, Harry added, "these Weasleys... they love their food." But Ron wasn't paying much attention. Instead, he paced around the front of Hermione's bed like a lost dog and then located her discarded coat. With greedy hands he whisked the thing up off of the ground and shoved it out in her direction.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said, a bit jittery as if he'd gone through food withdrawls. "You're killing me here."

Considering Ron's stature, Hermione did have to consider whether or not she was actually 'killing him'. The longer her silence lasted, the more he seemed anxious; Harry, on the other hand, seemed to only enjoy their back and forth. And, even though she'd have rather have done something else, Hermione realized that her friends were, of course, a largely important part of her life. Even though she was more than slightly annoyed with Ron's urgency, how could she say no to him? In a way, she loved Harry and Ron both more than she'd ever loved two men in her entire life. Thus, she reached forward and snatched the rancid thing out of Ron's pale fingers, trying to remain solemn at the sight of his renewed smile.

And so she allowed herself to be whisked out of the room entirely, grabbing the tossed aside radio before she had time to even think as to why. Furthermore, as the carried the damn toy in the depths of her jacket pocket, she was almost embarrassed of her need to carry it around. She thanked her lucky stars that the silly object had remained unnoticed and kept her mouth shut as she permitted the two boys to coax her along. With Ron in the front of her, his fast paced walks kept her in a consecutive pace, for if it weren't for him, she'd have been lost in all her wonder.

They pushed her through the busy streets of Hogsmeade and showed her to a table that was admittedly quaint. In the small little diner, she leaned back, watched Ron's eager face glance around the place whole-heartedly. In his eagerness he drummed his fingers on the surface of the rounded table top. Hermione considered this-- Ron, as a whole. He was once someone she'd thought she'd been in love with. But she'd never fallen lost that love with him. Their relationship was simply different. Because, quite frankly, Hermione found that she did truly love Ronald Wesley with all her heart. And while she did love him very much, she was not in love with him. Luckily, she'd realized that the feeling was mutual. Still, she couldn't help but smile back at the kind boy that she could never be sincerely annoyed with for too long.

"Ron," came a spare voice, that of Ginny Weasley, who stepped lightly through the front of the diner with a concerned expression, "I'm very much worried about you." She scanned the excitement on Ron's handsome visage and exchanged curious looks with Hermione herself. "He's horrifying when he's not fed, honestly." Then, as she leaned forwards to whisper jokingly in her brother's ear, she teased, "you need help."

"What I need is a ham sandwich," Ron replied begrudgingly, scrunching up his nose. Standing above him, Harry looped his arm around Ginny's shoulders and kissed her lightly on the cheek before pulling out her seat. At a much closer look Ginny was, as always, much younger looking than she actually was. Her soul was a much more matured one than her brother's, but appearance-wise, it was unquestionable that the two were related. Ginny's lovely red hair was just as obvious as the rest of her family's. It touched her broad shoulders lightly and flied out slightly behind her in the minimal wind. Her eyes were overwhelmingly radiant and her pale face was covered in freckles.

She crossed her legs at the top of her slender thighs, told Hermione that her brother was mental, and then started straight into a conversation. Ginny was, as always, as talkative as usual and Hermione pretended to listen. She couldn't deny herself from thinking back to the radio. Frustrated, she was overwhelmed about her obsessive attachment to the thing. Besides, she'd only just talked to Draco Malfoy the previous night. She should have been able to let the damn thing go. So then, why was it that she couldn't seem to drop the subject? Her care for Malfoy's well being was almost impossibly curious. For the brightest witch of her age, she should have been able to figure this out. More than honestly, she remained constantly curious.

Her curiosity was, however, short lived. Back from the end of her pocket, a short burst of invasive static emitted from her clothing. The slight buzzing made her jump; her eyes moved cautiously around the table, to the group of three around her that had more than obviously noticed. Ginny stopped her talking and Ron looked up from scanning the diner. A bout of obnoxious awkwardness sprang from the table and Hermione, plunging her hands into her pocket, wrapped her entire palm around the large speaker. Leaving it on was a mistake, of course, but something kept her from switching it off. Was she truly that interested in Draco Malfoy?

Decisively, she coughed, clearing her throat in a sound that she tried to make sound more like static. "Excuse me," she said, continuing to produce raspy grumbling noises, "something got caught in my throat." Ron raised a brow and bent down, the first interest he'd taken in anything since the delay of his sandwich. His hurried eyes scanned her front, eyeing the lump in her pocket inquisitively. "erm..." Hermione stammered, her palm still covering the noisy toy, "excuse me momentarily."

Rushed and straight postured, Hermione walked away from the table, her eyes wide with worry. Additionally, she rounded the corner away from the remaining three, pressed her back up to the brick wall of the place, and yanked the radio from her pocket. At first she glared at the thing, waiting for the noise to come up again and only when it finally did, did she allow herself to breathe out again. "Uhmm... hello?" came the voice of Malfoy, who sounded posh still even in his invasively stuttering voice.

"Yes, hello," Hermione said, instantly cross. "You do realize that it is the middle of the day, don't you?"

She could hear a slight grumble from Malfoy's side of the radio. "Uhm... yes," he replied, mocking her only slightly, "I'd figured that much out for myself, thank you."

"So then," she called back testily, "what are you doing with this thing in the middle of the morning?"

"I'm not even going to bother telling you that I could ask you the same question, Granger," Draco said bluntly, his voice rather monotonous through the radio.

Considering this, Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. Her reddened face seemed to remain humiliatingly present. "Touche," she finally said after a short while. However, she snapped herself out of her admiration and fixed herself to become stiff again. "However, I still don't see why---"

"I need to talk to you," Draco said, cutting her off. His tone was now only desperate. Pleadingly, he added with as much conviction as Hermione could take, "Goyle... he's still bitter with me. I'd like for that to end. And, since you were surprisingly correct on your ideas with my parents, I'd only figured that you'd be just as just for this type of thing."

Hermione's eyes softened. All the while, she both wanted to strangle and help out Draco Malfoy. Nonetheless, she counteracted, "I'm at breakfast."

But there wasn't even a minor pause. Directly after she'd finished talking, Draco said, "I know. I can see you."

Hermione raised her whole head. She passed on scanning with her eyes and instead moved her entire skull around the area in front of her. But the streets were bustling with passersby, and not a single one of them could she make out to be Draco. Though, in the midsts of her search, Draco Malfoy's scolding voice said through the radio, "don't stare, people are going to notice."

"No one's going to notice anything," Hermione snapped, only slightly due to her climbing frustration, "because I don't even see you."

Malfoy's voice was now that of a grumble. Bitterly, he said, "well, that's the point." And then Hermione spotted him; there, straight across from her, leaning hidden at the nearest building. He was, in all aspects, covered from head to toe. He wore a long gray scarf around his slender white neck and the collar to his dark pea coat was popped up. As a matter of fact, she couldn't even see any sign of his signature blond head, though she'd suspected it was somewhere underneath the newsboy cap he'd had pulled down low over his while cranium. However, she could tell that it was him right away-- could tell just by the sight of those cold, gray eyes. They stuck out from the shadow of his over excessive attire like a pair of shining bright headlights. It was, of course, his dead giveaway.

At the first sight of him, Hermione put the radio down. Shooting her arm back down to her side, she leaned forward, whisper-yelling over to him, hissing, "what are you doing?"

But Draco instead picked back up his radio. Hermione could see his slender white fingers gripping the rather bulky black radio contradictorily. "I was trying to find you, go figure," he informed her, impatiently, "and so I've found you."

"And yet, nothing is being accomplished," Hermione said testily. Her brown eyes shifted over to the cluster of her friends, seated at the table. Ginny was back in full swing; she'd started her conversation with Harry, who was listening with a smile plastered on his rather attentive face. Ron had been granted his wish of having something to eat and, currently, he was devouring his sandwich as if he hadn't had a thing to eat in days. She wondered for a moment how he'd stayed so thin, and then admired the relationship that Ginny and Harry shared. Perhaps a bit excessively envious, she forced herself to look away from the practically disgusting couple.

Draco snorted, drawing himself back. She could see the way he positioned himself on the wall that stood away from her. He leaned back, looked a little bit jittery, and said out loud, "which is why we need to hurry. Goyle holds grudges."

"And I have a lunch with my friends," Hermione interjected, half wishing that she could go along with Draco anyway. However, she consistently found herself thinking about how her friends would feel. Surely, she couldn't just simply walk off. Even in the distance, Hermione could see Draco's head lull backwards. He breathed out and looked sincerely disappointed; as if he'd wasted all that precious time stalking her. "Look," she said sorrily, "I'll help you out later. I can't leave yet. Not now."

Malfoy's face reddened. Then, giving up, he leaned back into the radio. Hermione rolled her eyes, watching him insist upon speaking into it. No one was going to have any idea that she'd been talking to him, anyway, even if she had been yelling to him from across the street. However, she obliged to his wishes and raised the silly thing back up towards her ear. From there she heard him say, "fine, b-but this needs to be fixed."

"Alright, Malfoy," Hermione said back rushed, "You want my advice?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"Don't try and talk into this thing in the broad daylight ever again." Then, after her harshness, she looked up and gave him a sly little smile. However, Malfoy was far too oblivious to take any notice to it whatsoever. Instead, he balled up his fists, slammed the radio back down childish and frustrated into his pocket, and stalked away from her, turning the corner like a child that didn't get its way. And then for the moment when she felt like following him, she had to almost physically restrain herself from moving a single muscle. Once she'd managed to find the restraint, however, she put on a false skip and made her way back towards the table, turning the radio off and taking her seat soothingly. "So," she said with a smile that was more nerve racking than she'd expected, "what did I miss?"

A slight drizzle was beginning to fall over the house and Draco Malfoy, who was standing vulnerably outside in it, stared on at the doorstep of Gregory Goyle. There was a rather curious look about him as he considered the building. Covered in a twist of green vines, the quaint little home was everything that he'd never imagined Goyle to be. Of course, nothing about anyone Draco had thought he'd known had seemed consistent and, restless, he quickly took back any pre-made assumptions he'd already made about reentering the house. Perhaps Goyle wasn't still angry with him... perhaps he'd be in the clear.

Or, in a more probable event, Goyle had heard about the cancelled wedding. Of course, Pansy had probably told him. However, Draco was only presuming. Without truly knowing much about anything anymore, he was starting to see the large flaw in his social accusations. He had lost his ability to see such things and now, residing in the darkness of uncertainty, Draco tossed his head to one side and nervously chewed the bottom of his lower lip. A light bit of rain dropped down on the tip of his nose, making him wince. The scarf around his neck had come loose and only hung there like a loose piece of soaking wet decoration.

Well, now or never. But at the rate Draco was going, it would seem that he was leaning towards never. His anxious hand remained pitched above the doorknob and he seemed sincerely shocked that he could not move forward to open the door. And what was wrong with him? Was it really that he no longer possessed the confidence to barge in and fix the mess he'd made with his friend? Did he have no sense of self-worth? Or, perhaps, he did have a sense of self-worth... perhaps he'd had a very realistic sense of it after all.

A nervous chill ran up his spine. He shouldn't have been nervous, shouldn't have been anything but calm, collected, and composed. He was, in reality, a Malfoy. He wasn't supposed to feel anything of the sort. But now he was starting to think that a Malfoy without his sanity wasn't really much of a Malfoy at all. Perhaps it was time to let all of his previous inhibitions go for a change. He'd been wrong almost consistently from now on, so what other proof did he have?

Now or never, he repeated again, swallowing the large lump that bothered him relentlessly. Now or absolutely, inevitably, utterly never. An ample amount of encouragements flooded through his mind and, though only false flattery, Draco Malfoy chose to listen to his unconscious mind. He buttered himself up by saying mentally, "what are you afraid of? What's the worst that could even happen? You didn't technically know that you were doing anything wrong in the first place. Just... just explain that to Goyle. He'll understand, of course." Now or never, go for the plunge, take the dive and leap already.

However, nature itself seemed overly impatient already. As Draco wasted his time standing limp at the door ahead of him, a slight wind picked up. The notion of well overdue coincidence overtook the scene entirely. The door ahead of him whisked open with a rush and Malfoy stumbled back, clutching his useless scarf with the cold tips of his pale fingers. He gave a timid gasp, reeved back, and stared at the shadow before him with wide eyes. "Draco," said the figure monotonously, "what are you doing?" The shadow was large and bulky, undoubtedly that of Gregory Goyle himself. He was wrapped in his robe and the socks on his feet were mismatched and unfitting. His eyes were narrow and there was an almost rancid stench about his breath that made Draco squish his face together disgustedly.

"I came here to talk with you, Goyle," Draco said once he'd managed to regain himself. He was, in his own way, much more composed than he'd figured himself to be, however, he still managed to pull off appearing crooked and awkward. Nonetheless, he pulled off 'collected' much better than Goyle had. The big man was perched in the doorframe, eyes moving around like an observant bat's. His short hair seemed to have grown only slightly, and the facial hair that surrounded his jaw was unkempt and a bit out of place. "Goyle?" Draco asked again, bending forward to get a closer look at his friend's face. Goyle, however, seemed to take notice to Draco curiosity and, apparently embarrassed, he glanced away to avoid any eye contact. "Do you mind if I come in?"

Goyle lifted his meaty hand and scratched the gruff of his chin. Shrugging, he rolled his eyes, plunged his hands into his pockets, and headed back inward on the balls of his feet. Draco followed in after, looking meek and curious on his own. But Goyle's place was an absolute wreck. The fireplace was the only source of light in the entire living room and there was three open bottles of wine spread out upon the surface of the table. Over the past couple of days, Draco considered that Goyle didn't want to suspect that Goyle could have consumed that much. However, Goyle's actions were pointing to the fact that he had certainly done so. "H-How..." Draco started, standing in the middle of the living room, glancing around wildly at every passing change, "how have you been?"

The large man flopped down on the living room couch. He'd place a pre-filled glass of liquor at he coffee table and plucked it up with his sausage-like fingers. "I haven't seen Pansy in a week, he informed Draco, fascinated by the light of the flickering fire. "She probably doesn't even want to look at me again."

"Why would she not want to look at you?" Draco asked, continuing to scan the interior of the home.

Goyle's face morphed. He tossed Draco a sarcastic look. Gone was the somber sadness that he had so recently taken a hold of, now it was more than time for his anger to shine. "Why would she not want to look at me?" he mocked bitterly. "Why? I made a complete fool of myself in front of her-- don't look at me like I didn't. I completely threw myself at her and all the while she was interested in you! I... I even cleaned up the house and made lunches. I wore cologne!"

Malfoy's shoulders sunk. He took to moving about the messy building and his fingers picked up the empty bottles sprawled on the table. As he put each of them in the garbage bin, he grabbed the dish rag off of the sink. Wetting it, he ran the rag across the top of the table. He took to picking up the discarded chairs. Helplessly, he replied, "you always wear cologne."

"Not this shit," Goyle retracted, lifting up the bottle that just happened to be out next to him. "I actually paid 20 pounds for this waste of money." He lifted the small bottle and thrust it against the couch across from him. The little thing hit the cushion and bounced up minutely. "She said it smelled like moss."

Sighing, Malfoy finished up tidying the kitchen area, and while the place didn't sparkle with cleanliness, it was very much of an improvement. Next, feeling parental, he made his way towards the sink and ran it, washing all of the food-stained plates that sat lifelessly in it. "I didn't notice you smelt like moss."

Goyle snorted, "yeah, you don't notice much, do you?"

Wincing, Malfoy swallowed his pride. Goyle, of course, had a point. Still, he decided against uselessly trying to defend himself-- even when Goyle was completely intoxicated, Draco knew that he really didn't have much of a chance of winning that discussion. He stuck to cleaning up the wreck that Goyle shamefully called a residence. Lifting his foot, he kicked shut the oven that had been left recklessly unopened, and advanced towards Goyle. On his way, he whisked up the blanket draped across the back of the spare couch and spread it lightly over Goyle's body. But Goyle only made a face, slapped it off with the back of his hand. "Draco?" Goyle said once he'd watched the wool blanket slip completely to the ground.

"Yeah?" Malfoy asked back, staring back down at the rejected cover on the floor. He couldn't help but feel a bit hurt at the denial of it.

"Don't patronize me."

Malfoy sighed and flopped back down on the other couch, his hands resting limply in the seat of his lap. He breathed out rather softly and then, with a loud groan, he thrust his head into the palms of his hands, allowing Goyle to stare down at him in fury. "Malfoy, I don't have all night, okay? I've got other things to get to." But Goyle looked as unmotivated as he'd ever been. He was practically melted on the cushions of the couch and appeared as if he'd had absolutely no desire to leave the comfort of it any time soon. "So, get on with whatever you're here to say. You have a wedding to get to, anyway, don't you?" Then, spitting, Goyle said harshly, "go and start your life."

But Malfoy looked up from the palms of his hands. Perspiring slightly, he leaned forward, seemed to glisten with desperation. "No, no... Goyle... I'm not getting married anymore!" A desperate smile spread across his face, hoping that the news would instantly fix things. However, Goyle's face did not morph into that of an uplifting visage. Instead, Goyle's exterior only reddened. He seemed to put on an expression of even further unhappiness, much to Draco's horror. His face slipped slightly and he seemed sincerely morose in all his lost glory. "What?" he said, draining of any color, "what? what's... what's wrong?"

"What'd you do, Malfoy?" Goyle slurred, edging himself up off of the couch. He looked almost unwillingly furious, as if such a feeling had been almost unavoidable. But he drunkenly raised his fists in the air and looked ready to knock Maloy's lights out. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" Malfoy said defensively, but he too reeled up from the couch, holding his hands out in defense. He had no doubt that Goyle would sock him if he had the chance to. But Draco wasn't going to give Goyle that chance. Instead he let his chest sink, appeared utterly defenseless behind his raised palms. And while his wand rest in the back of his pocket, he wasn't ready to pull it out; furthermore, he didn't believe that Goyle deserved such a threat. "I, just told her how I truly felt, Goyle. I just told her..."

Goyle's face contorted. He looked ugly and drunk with rage. "Your true feelings?" he asked with red faced advancement. His eyebrow raised and his eyes narrowed. "Your true feelings?"

Malfoy's face drained entirely. "Yeah... my true feelings."

"And what are your true feelings, Malfoy?" Goyle said, but this time he actually managed to charge for his friend. With one fast moving hand, he whisked Malfoy up off of the ground with a steady fist. Draco gasped, but he was to late to defend himself. With a little gasp, Draco was dragged to the edge of the living room and his back hit the wall instantly. Goyle was strong, nonetheless, and had held Draco up firmly, keeping him only slightly elevated from the ground. Malfoy's arms flew up to the spot where Goyle had his raised. His tie was beginning to tighten, choking him quickly. But Goyle's eyes were locked in to Draco's, a burning fire raging behind them. "Answer me!" he yelled loud and demanding, "what did you do?"

Breathing hard, Draco couldn't help but pant. He gripped Goyle's fat fingers, trying to pry them off. However, he seemed to loose the desire to free himself. He couldn't deny the seriousness in his best friend's eyes. Instead, he sunk lower, gave up on everything entirely. "I never wanted to marry Pansy..." he said hoarsely, the lump once again growing heavily in his throat. "I never... I was never in love with her."

Only a short moment passed between them. Goyle looked as if he'd just been seeing Malfoy for the first time. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open ever so slightly. Then he snapped out of his well deserved delusion. His face turned the most intense shade of scarlet that Draco had ever seen. Goyle's fingers tightened around his collar anxiously. He pulled Draco away from the wall and then slammed him back down. There was the most intoxicated glaze behind his once newly friendly eyes, but now all of that seemed to be more than obviously missing. "You lied to me? You lied to her!" He roared, lifting his spare hand in the air. Then, consequently, he balled it in a fist.

Draco slammed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the punch. His face was melting, otherwise solemn with the new bout of self realization. Once again he had the desire to tear the walls apart. He could hear a bustle of voices running around in his head, mocking him. They told him that they had told him so, that all his planning was, of course, useless. True happiness, they said happily despite all his terror, was not for Draco Malfoy. Then, conclusively, Goyle decided not to waste any more time. He brought his palm to Draco's face with a hard swing and once he'd come in contact with Draco's visage, the very moment that he slammed his fist into Draco's face, he dropped him and swore loudly, "fuck!"

Both of the boys flopped to the ground on impact; Goyle with a disappointed sigh and Malfoy with an injured groan. Malfoy's arms flew up to his nose, which was now pouring blood. His back slid down the wall in the very same way that Goyle's did. But the both of them were defeated. Goyle extended his legs out in front of him and Malfoy did the same, pressing his blond head back against the wall as the blood dripped out from it. The two of them panted together, almost rhythmically, seated lifeless in the silence.

The voices that flooded through Draco's mind had just begun to subside. They faded out with the silence, enjoying the sight of seeing Draco now more than ever. With his hands up at his nose, he sniffed, trying to blink out the tears that filled his eyes. Sure, the punch had hurt him, but that wasn't the cause for any of his sadness. He resisted the urge to even feel embarrassed about it, because what good would that do him now? He'd already made the biggest fool out of himself that he could have possibly made. There was no lower that he could sink. However, Goyle was the first to speak. Though Draco had been thinking about what he'd wanted to say for quite some time. Goyle, taking the nerve to do so first, crunched up his face. He said in a matter of fact tone, "I'm drunk."

But Draco couldn't blame him there. Sure, the tables were turned, but there was no way that Draco was in any place to scold him. He would have done the same thing in Goyle's situation. He shook his head, dropping his hands from his face. Since it happened to be a continual trend, he didn't bother wiping himself free of the red mess. Instead, he just leaned back and limply frowned. "I'm sorry," he said sadly.

However, Goyle shook his head. In turn, he shut his eyes. His spare hand cradled his fist, as if he'd hurt it in the process of punching Malfoy. "It's not your fault," he said with true effort, "you're sick."

For a moment, Draco froze. He let his hands trail on the floor of Goyle's home. He didn't even bother being hurt over Goyle's accusation; he'd known such a thing already. His father had made it quite clear that he'd agreed, and now Goyle. In fact, Draco Malfoy was beginning to believe the majority himself. And as the two sat there together in their own thoughts, Malfoy heard Goyle slump slightly in his spot. His hefty figure slid down the edge of the wall and, with one big snore, he flopped to the ground entirely. And with the fire still glowing, Draco remained still, staring ahead in the orange light darkness until even he wasn't conscious anymore.

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