House: Slytherin
Category: Bonus Round, ch 1
Prompt: Discarded Book [object]
Word Count: 1102
A/N: This is part of a larger story written with four other authors. There are links to the other chapters on my profile. Now, enjoy :)
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The sun was rising, the sky just beginning to lighten to the palest pink, the night relinquishing its hold on the world as the new day dawned, and it was an awe-inspiring sight; however, Draco was in no state to appreciate it. All it reminded him of was Potter. Potter, who rose from the dead and freed the Wizarding World from the Dark Lord's shadow. Maybe Potter and Granger and Weasel were happy, but he, Draco Lucius Malfoy, was not.
He stormed out of the Great Hall, internally seething. Although his face was blank as ever, there was a tightness to his eyes. He wore the polite, uninterested same mask day in and day out; after weeks of bearing his classmates' constant, subtle slights, it was hardly a surprise that even when he was livid, his face was composed. He'd had too much practice. His mask slipped, however, and for a split-second as he remembered why he was outside instead of inside the Great Hall. Every morning, he woke early to eat alone; however, this morning, there had already been a group of Hufflepuffs at their table laughing and joking and acting as if the war had never happened. When Draco had entered the Great Hall, though, they immediately quieted and fixed him with suspicious stares.
Draco had slouched over to the Slytherin table and fixed himself breakfast, but their accusatory stares unnerved him. Finally, unable to take it anymore, he had pocketed a piece of toast and stormed away. The stupid Hufflepuffs didn't understand. Neither did the Ravenclaws, and neither did the Gryffindors. Even the Slytherins didn't understand. No one could understand what he'd gone through. He had lived for nearly three years with a monster just a corridor away. He'd watched his father cower, watched his mother writhe and scream, and watched the Manor, his childhood home, be consumed by the growing darkness.
Draco scowled. The war had destroyed him. Maybe Potter and Weasley and Granger had returned as heroes and heroines, but he'd been part of the losing side. He wore the brand of a megalomaniac madman, and many were unable to see past it. Drawing his cloak tighter around him, Draco sat along the shore of the Black Lake. He took a mechanical bite from his toast, his eyes fixed upon the still water. In the light of the rising sun, it gleamed a deep red, almost the color of blood. It was beautiful. Draco leant over and ran a hand through the water; however, his hand remained its pale, sickly white. He hadn't truly touched the blood in the Black Lake. Just as he hadn't truly fought in the war. He'd fought to save his skin, not because he enjoyed cold-blooded murder, although many at Hogwarts certainly believed him capable of it. He contemplated his hand for a few seconds more, noticing it was now tinged faint blue, for the icy water had chilled him to the bone. Then he returned his attention to the Black Lake.
For a split second, he wondered how drowning would feel. How the ice cold water would enter his mouth, slide down his throat, and then fill his lungs. The sudden desperation as he realized he couldn't breathe, the moment of panic and terror– and then nothing. He'd die there in the water, and no one would notice, not until someone found his blue, bloated corpse floating in the lake. If they ever did. Perhaps the Giant Squid would pull him down into the depths, and he would never be seen again. He'd heard rumors of mermen living in the Black Lake as well…
Draco took a deep breath. He couldn't kill himself. He wouldn't kill himself. He hadn't survived the entire war to die by his own hand.
Taking another deep breath of the crisp morning air, he looked away from the water. Autumn had come, and with her she had brought splendid colours: around the lake, the trees blazed bright and vibrant with their yellow and red leaves. It made for a picturesque scene, especially as the sun moved higher in the sky and the Black Lake reverted to its natural pale blue, its smooth surface shiny as a mirror; however, one small ripple marred the perfection.
Draco fished a soggy book from the water. It was so waterlogged that the writing was incomprehensible, but Draco was curious. Why would anyone have wanted to discard this book? "Well, what are you?" he said quietly.
To his disappointment, the book didn't respond. He sighed, then cast tergeo on it. His wand siphoned off the water, and when the book seemed dry, Draco sat down at the water's edge, ready to start reading. Yet as he flipped open the cover, he only had time to read the words 'My Journal' before gravel crunched beside him, and driven by some inexplicable need for secrecy, Draco slipped the book into his pocket. When it was hidden, he turned to face the intruder. "Yes?" he drawled.
"Draco." It was Pansy standing there before him, hands on her hips.
"Pansy," Draco replied calmly. "What do you want?"
"You need to eat breakfast!" she answered, frowning at him. "Don't think I can't see you're skipping your meals."
Draco scowled. "And when did my eating habits become your business?" he snapped. "I'm Draco Malfoy, and I will do what I bloody well please. Even if it's kill someone."
Pansy stepped back, eyes wide. "You can't let those Gryffindorks get to you, Draco," she finally said softly, closing the distance to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You're hurting."
"I'm not hurting!" he protested, shrugging off her touch.
"Don't lie to yourself," was Pansy's only response. "It doesn't help."
Something in her tone made Draco pause. He looked at her again, closer this time, noting her tired eyes and pursed lips. Coming back had been hard for her. Perhaps even harder than it had been for him. He may have been Potter's rival, but it had been who Pansy had shrieked that everyone sacrifice Potter to the Dark Lord. Draco sighed. "Pans, the lies are all I have left. The war broke me. It broke us." He squeezed her hand. "We're drowning here. It's impossible to stay afloat. There's nothing we can do."
"I know, Draco," Pansy replied. "But we'll survive. We survived the war. All we've got to do is keep swimming."
The two returned to the castle together, and it was only much later that night, when he lay tossing and turning, unable to sleep, that Draco remembered the mysterious book he'd found in the Black Lake.