Booted feet dragged lethargically behind the Gryffindors with whom he'd found himself isolated. He shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze fixed upon the floor of the Great Hall. He walked to the Slytherin table, feet retracing steps he'd taken so many times before. Draco sighed and seated himself between Crabbe and Goyle, keeping his eyes downcast to avoid the sight of Pansy in front of him. He rubbed his wrists underneath the table, muttering to himself.. praying to whatever gods there were to keep his housemates silent. He didn't want to talk about his summer. He didn't feel like listening to sympathy or concerns. He didn't care.
Someone was talking. Draco couldn't discern who it was, but someone was talking about the war.. how all the pureblood boys like Crabbe, like Goyle, like Malfoy were expected to take the Mark, come Christmas. Draco had been pushed over the edge. "Why don't you just sod it? I don't want to hear about the stupid war, or the stupid Mark, or anything equally asinine!" Fury flashed like firelight in those normally stone-cold eyes, instilling in every Slytherin the fear of God.. or the fear of an angry Malfoy. Even Pansy grew wary and backed away from him, keeping her mouth shut for the rest of dinner. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a Look. They'd seen Draco acting more unusual than was the typical fare. He fell asleep on the train and ended up coming in with those Gryffindors. And now he was acting extremely snippy towards his own House. Neither of the boys were all too bright, but it wasn't too difficult to see that something was hanging over the young Slytherin's head. Most of the Slytherins had the same thoughts hanging overhead - Death Eaters - but not in the same volume and propensity as Draco's. Pansy was worried about her parents, as were most of the other kids, but some had a different problem altogether. Will they want me for their war?
They can't choose me. I'm too valuable here.
They won't need me. They've got it under control.
They can't use me. I won't fight for them. Thin fingers ran through moon-kissed locks, a ragged sigh escaping. He needed to go for a walk, and he needed to be alone. As quietly as possible, he rose and left from the Great Hall, issuing silent pleas to the gods to be alone for a while.
He needed to understand everything, once and for all.
Slender fingers, the colour of vanilla, closed around the tip of his pen as he began to pour out his thoughts and dreams onto the unlined sheets of his journal. He sat on his bed, curtain half-drawn, his wand and the Lumos spell providing the lighting for his writing. Ron and Neville were going over Herbology work, and Hermione was in the library, as usual, doing some "light reading." Harry chuckled to himself as he remembered the first time she'd mentioned light reading. They'd been searching for Nicholas Flamel, and Ron had found his name on one of the Famous Wizard cards in the Chocolate Frog box. Hermione had dashed to her room and brought down this monster of a book.. nearly scared Ron to death, Harry mused.
Everything used to be so carefree back then. We didn't even worry about relationships.. for us, it was just making it to the next class, through the next homework assignment, passing exams. It was just school that gave us grief, but we were kids. I wish I could've been more like Ron or Hermione, growing up. I wish I were normal. I'm almost sick of being "The Boy Who Lived." I'm sick of being the special case. Everyone thinks I'm so special because I've got this bloody scar on my head, and they just don't understand. I never asked to fight Voldemort. I never asked to lose my parents. I never asked to be made into a special case.
"'lo, Harry.. what'cha writing?" Harry swallowed hard and peered up over his glasses at Ron. He cracked a faint smile and moved over on his bed, so that Ron could sit down. "Just writing in my journal.. documenting the day, that's all." Ron didn't seem to find the idea of journaling humourous, much to Harry's relief. "That's neat, Harry.. I never thought of doin' something like that. Guess my life can't be as important as yours though, so it's no use, eh, Harry?" He'd meant the last part as a joke. Harry knew that. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but cringe, his visage darkening considerably, even in the absence of light. "Oh, Harry.. I.. I'm sorry.. I didn't mean--" "Don't worry about it, Ron.. it's alright." Harry forced a smile, closing his journal quickly. He couldn't let Ron see how he doubted the purpose of his existence.. he had to keep morale up, didn't he?
The blade of the athame glinted in the moonlight, reflected in pools of a deep greyish hue. Slender fingers turned the small silver dagger over in his hands as he admired the slender handle, which rounded itself out and fit perfectly in a closed palm. With a slow thrust of the dagger-hand upwards, his lips parted in a whisper.. As above... Just as slowly, he crouched down, stabbing the moist spring earth with the dagger. ..so below.
Darkness surrounded the common, and jeers rose into the nighttime sky. An orangish blaze swept just overhead, and he looked up to see a torch. He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes landing on an attractive young woman. She was bound to a wooden stake, surrounded by piles of brush. Her gaze, cold as slate, was fixed upon Orion, who had risen high in the sky. Her lips moved in a silent prayer as the torch was set upon the dried brush, which ignited immediately. She never took her eyes off of Orion, even as the flames began to lick at her flesh. She's innocent! The words slid past his lips before he knew what he was saying. An older woman nudged him to silence, glaring at him. Her eyes reflected the flames as she hissed, "Quiet.. or ye'll be next." He turned away from her and inspected the flames. She was nowhere to be seen. As the crowd began to disperse, satisfied that their witch had been burned, he lifted his gaze to Orion, just as she had.
Orion seemed a little brighter now.
He awoke to the sun on his face, and the grass beneath him. Wait a moment.. grass? Slowly, he sat up and surveyed his surroundings. The first rays of the sun were just rising over the treetops, which meant it was still early. The blade remained stuck in the ground, only inches from where he sat. He reached out to retrieve it, and last night came flooding back to him.. as well as his dream. It took him a few moments to realize that he might want to return to the dormitory, before he was discovered missing by too many people. He returned the dagger to its box and dashed across the grounds, praying for invisibility, or something similar.
"Ooh.. what is that? Can I see?" "Wow.. that must've been expensive." "Where can I get one like that?"
It's mine. No, you can't see it. It's been in the family for generations. And you can't get one like it. Now sod off, you obnoxious prats. His glare was iced over; the storm in his eyes frozen solid. He slammed the box shut, placing it in his trunk and locking it securely, using several advanced Locking Charms. He gave a derisive snort, looking over the room, and headed upstairs to the Hall, his cocky swagger and pleased smirk daring anyone in sight to touch that trunk.. to take that blade. There'd be hell to pay, and he made sure everyone knew that, although he had yet to say a word.
He kept his silence through breakfast, ignoring Pansy's feeble attempts at flirting. He felt overshadowed by the bulky Crabbe and Goyle, who continued to follow him loyally like gargantuan lapdogs, and he felt sick of hearing about the break for holidays, and who was expected to take the Mark and join the Dark Lord. Draco's hand immediately flew to his wrist, covering the spot where the Mark would be. I'm not taking the Mark. The flapping of wings caught his attention, especially when he spotted his eagle owl among the ranks. The packages of sweets weren't in the talons' grasp, as was the norm, but a letter was in his beak. Draco caught the letter and broke the seal, pulling out the parchment tentatively. His father had written him a letter. A letter to stop the world, to cause the boy to regain control of his shaking form. He folded the letter up and rose from his seat, addressing Crabbe and Goyle curtly. "I won't be in class today. Pick up my assignments." And with that, he dashed off, letter clutched tightly in his hand.
I stumbled across her in the forest. I was crossing the river when I saw her limp, the water rushing over her body. I rushed over to save her, but she was already gone. Her eyes were hollow, staring up at the sky breaking through the trees. Her lips, parted slightly, were curled into a smile. She'd killed herself.. drowned herself in the river. It was as if she knew I were going to pass, and see her at the bottom of the river. It was so eerie. Her hair had pooled 'round her head, like a watered-down halo, and her dress was a darker shade of blue. I looked over the rest of her body, and noticed the red stains on the wrists of her sleeve. I lifted her arm and saw the dagger, saw the cuts. I knew I could do nothing, but I took the dagger anyway. I knew Father would want it.
"Mister Malfoy.. are you becoming like Potter the celebrity, and refusing to pay attention to me now?" Snape hovered over the younger man hawkishly, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to read the scrawlings that took place of Potions notes. Hurriedly, Draco covered the parchment with his arms, a blush creeping into his pallid cheeks. "S-so-sorry, Professor.. I'll pay attention now, I swear." Snape scowled, hating to have to punish a member of his House, and sighed reluctantly. His voice betrayed his emotions as he spoke, "Five points from Slytherin.." A pause, a sigh, and he continued. "And.. see me after class, Mister Malfoy." Meekly, Draco nodded, ignoring the snickers from the trio to his left. "And ten points from Gryffindor!" Ah, much better. Thank you, Snape.
--
"Draco.. I know it's hard on you, since your mother.. --" Draco's glare cut him off. "What she did doesn't affect me." An exasperated sigh from Snape followed, as the older man placed his head in his hands. "Draco, it does affect you.. it's affected your schoolwork remarkably. You've got to pull yourself together.. Maybe you should see someone.." Again, Draco shot a withering glare at the Potions master, his arms wrapping around his torso tightly. "Just because that selfish bitch" -- the word was spat out with venomous hatred that even took Snape by surprise -- "killed herself doesn't mean I'm going to do it too, or that I'm depressed, or anything of the sort. If anything I'm pissed off, Professor, and I've got a bloody good right to be, too!" Snape was silent for a few moments, letting his student's outburst sink in. "..very well then, Draco. But I hope to see an improvement in your work. You'll be getting an owl about your detention shortly.. once I decide what it should be. And it'll be with those Gryffindors, you know..."
Draco rose to leave, but the older man reached out, grabbing his shoulder. "I know about your father as well, Draco. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you're welcome to --" The younger Slytherin's gaze hardened, as cold and stony as the dungeon walls enclosing them. He's dead to me. "I appreciate your concern, Professor.. now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to eat something sometime this century." After he had carefully spat out his choice words, he rose and left for the Great Hall, cursing his namesake. Look at what you're putting me through.
"Bloody 'ell! Draco, not payin' attention?" Ron Weasley positively roared at the thought of Snape's favourite Slytherin in trouble with Snape himself. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, both noting that something was obviously troubling Draco. Neither had it in them to admit it, but deep down, they worried about the frail yet powerful leader of Slytherin House. (Harry had summed it up best once when he said, "He might be a prat, a lousy git, a tyrant, and a wanker, all rolled into one, but he's got his blue-moon moments." From there, Ron and Harry had proceeded to argue over Draco's every fault, from the scar just below his right temple to his short fused temper. Hermione wondered aloud how such adamant haters of Draco could know so much about him, which was answered with an exasperated "Sod off!")
"Do you think he's alright?" Hermione's quizzical statement mirrored her tone of voice, and Harry could offer but a shrug. Ron soured at her, muttering curses under his breath before offering his own response. "Look, 'Mione, no one really cares about Draco.. right, Harry?" Silence. "Well, Harry? Am I right?"
"It appears, Weasley, that your mouth has remained open for far too long." Ron's face grew pale, his freckles becoming dalmation spots upon his skin as he turned to face the owner of such a frigid drawl. Malfoy stood a step below them, resting against the stone railing of the stairs. Hermione reached for Ron's hand, giving it a hard squeeze, her own face paling to match the Slytherin's cream-coloured tone. Harry's eyes narrowed, green slits bright like unearthly lights set in his skull.
"Look, Malfoy...sod it. Ron didn't mean anything by what he said, did you, Ron?" Harry turned his head sharply, his glare softening a bit, replaced by a pleading look. Ron was slow on the uptake, however, his face regaining its colour and then some. "Of course I meant something, Harry! Why w-OW!" Pale eyes widened considerably, shifting over to Hermione; she'd just delivered a squeeze to his hand that could make a grown man fall to his knees. Pain being just what he needed to understand, Ron smiled meekly and nodded. "Right, Malfoy.. I was just joshin'."
"..right. I'll overlook this altercation with you, Weasel. Just remember that it's best to keep your mouth shut about affairs that're none of your concern. And be thankful you've got the Mudblood around to keep you calm, else I fear I'd have to rough you up." Draco's lips tightened into a thin half-smirk as he shoved past the trio. Hermione was biting her tongue, refraining from making any more "ferret" comments. Ron was nursing his hand, wondering where Hermione had picked up that kind of skill. Harry, however, had had entirely too much of Malfoy for the last five years, and apparently this encounter was the Bludger that broke the Beater's skull. "Malfoy, I've had enough of you picking on us just because you're the high and mighty Slytherin 'prince,' and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Draco smiled, although the smile was a typical Draco fashion - more of a cruel, sadistic smirk than anything. "Just what are you going to do to me, Potter? Sic your werewolf on me? How about that useless Giant you're always around?" Hermione had let go of Ron's hand; she went after Harry, who was slowly advancing on the slender, forked-tongue serpent of Slytherin House. "Harry, don't--" She reached for his shoulder, trying to hold him back, but he pulled out of her reach before she could get a grip. She slumped and sighed, Ron coming close to console her as Harry's fury was unleashed on the once-haughty Malfoy.
"You know, Malfoy, you've just reaffirmed my choice on the first day we were here. I've definitely sorted out who's good and who isn't, and it's obvious that you aren't.. you'll be just like your father, won't you? You know your father's got Aurors beating down the doors of your precious manor.. he's going to rot in Azkaban, and I don't doubt that you will, either!" Harry noticed the look of hurt cross Draco's face, but he continued. "I thought you'd changed at the beginning of term, Draco. Thought you were different. We all did.. obvious we were wrong. You'll always be that insufferable git, the impossible Slytherin with his head so far up his --" "HARRY!" Hermione came over to give him a swift cuff on the ear, causing a wince, and a lull in the onslaught of cutting words. Harry's hand came up to rub his ear, muttering curses of the Muggle sort in Hermione's general direction. Draco took the silence as a sign to say his piece.
"You know, I thought you'd be able to sympathize with me this year.. it's hard enough, with everyone expecting me to take the Mark and all." He sniffed, attempting to retain an air of regality, though his pride was obviously wounded. "But losing my parents's been bloody hard, Potter.. you know how that is." Harry swallowed hard, anger slipping away into the dank recesses of his mind. Malfoy's parents.. gone? The other two Gryffindors were suffering from the same reaction. Harry racked his brain, searching for something to say, but Draco had lost patience with the silence. He turned around and rushed back down the staircases, to the dungeons he called home for the rest of term. Harry was half-tempted to follow the boy, but thought better of it. Offering a shrug to his companions, he trudged towards Gryffindor Tower, silently wondering just what had happened to Draco Malfoy.
Someone was talking. Draco couldn't discern who it was, but someone was talking about the war.. how all the pureblood boys like Crabbe, like Goyle, like Malfoy were expected to take the Mark, come Christmas. Draco had been pushed over the edge. "Why don't you just sod it? I don't want to hear about the stupid war, or the stupid Mark, or anything equally asinine!" Fury flashed like firelight in those normally stone-cold eyes, instilling in every Slytherin the fear of God.. or the fear of an angry Malfoy. Even Pansy grew wary and backed away from him, keeping her mouth shut for the rest of dinner. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a Look. They'd seen Draco acting more unusual than was the typical fare. He fell asleep on the train and ended up coming in with those Gryffindors. And now he was acting extremely snippy towards his own House. Neither of the boys were all too bright, but it wasn't too difficult to see that something was hanging over the young Slytherin's head. Most of the Slytherins had the same thoughts hanging overhead - Death Eaters - but not in the same volume and propensity as Draco's. Pansy was worried about her parents, as were most of the other kids, but some had a different problem altogether. Will they want me for their war?
They can't choose me. I'm too valuable here.
They won't need me. They've got it under control.
They can't use me. I won't fight for them. Thin fingers ran through moon-kissed locks, a ragged sigh escaping. He needed to go for a walk, and he needed to be alone. As quietly as possible, he rose and left from the Great Hall, issuing silent pleas to the gods to be alone for a while.
He needed to understand everything, once and for all.
Slender fingers, the colour of vanilla, closed around the tip of his pen as he began to pour out his thoughts and dreams onto the unlined sheets of his journal. He sat on his bed, curtain half-drawn, his wand and the Lumos spell providing the lighting for his writing. Ron and Neville were going over Herbology work, and Hermione was in the library, as usual, doing some "light reading." Harry chuckled to himself as he remembered the first time she'd mentioned light reading. They'd been searching for Nicholas Flamel, and Ron had found his name on one of the Famous Wizard cards in the Chocolate Frog box. Hermione had dashed to her room and brought down this monster of a book.. nearly scared Ron to death, Harry mused.
Everything used to be so carefree back then. We didn't even worry about relationships.. for us, it was just making it to the next class, through the next homework assignment, passing exams. It was just school that gave us grief, but we were kids. I wish I could've been more like Ron or Hermione, growing up. I wish I were normal. I'm almost sick of being "The Boy Who Lived." I'm sick of being the special case. Everyone thinks I'm so special because I've got this bloody scar on my head, and they just don't understand. I never asked to fight Voldemort. I never asked to lose my parents. I never asked to be made into a special case.
"'lo, Harry.. what'cha writing?" Harry swallowed hard and peered up over his glasses at Ron. He cracked a faint smile and moved over on his bed, so that Ron could sit down. "Just writing in my journal.. documenting the day, that's all." Ron didn't seem to find the idea of journaling humourous, much to Harry's relief. "That's neat, Harry.. I never thought of doin' something like that. Guess my life can't be as important as yours though, so it's no use, eh, Harry?" He'd meant the last part as a joke. Harry knew that. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but cringe, his visage darkening considerably, even in the absence of light. "Oh, Harry.. I.. I'm sorry.. I didn't mean--" "Don't worry about it, Ron.. it's alright." Harry forced a smile, closing his journal quickly. He couldn't let Ron see how he doubted the purpose of his existence.. he had to keep morale up, didn't he?
The blade of the athame glinted in the moonlight, reflected in pools of a deep greyish hue. Slender fingers turned the small silver dagger over in his hands as he admired the slender handle, which rounded itself out and fit perfectly in a closed palm. With a slow thrust of the dagger-hand upwards, his lips parted in a whisper.. As above... Just as slowly, he crouched down, stabbing the moist spring earth with the dagger. ..so below.
Darkness surrounded the common, and jeers rose into the nighttime sky. An orangish blaze swept just overhead, and he looked up to see a torch. He pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes landing on an attractive young woman. She was bound to a wooden stake, surrounded by piles of brush. Her gaze, cold as slate, was fixed upon Orion, who had risen high in the sky. Her lips moved in a silent prayer as the torch was set upon the dried brush, which ignited immediately. She never took her eyes off of Orion, even as the flames began to lick at her flesh. She's innocent! The words slid past his lips before he knew what he was saying. An older woman nudged him to silence, glaring at him. Her eyes reflected the flames as she hissed, "Quiet.. or ye'll be next." He turned away from her and inspected the flames. She was nowhere to be seen. As the crowd began to disperse, satisfied that their witch had been burned, he lifted his gaze to Orion, just as she had.
Orion seemed a little brighter now.
He awoke to the sun on his face, and the grass beneath him. Wait a moment.. grass? Slowly, he sat up and surveyed his surroundings. The first rays of the sun were just rising over the treetops, which meant it was still early. The blade remained stuck in the ground, only inches from where he sat. He reached out to retrieve it, and last night came flooding back to him.. as well as his dream. It took him a few moments to realize that he might want to return to the dormitory, before he was discovered missing by too many people. He returned the dagger to its box and dashed across the grounds, praying for invisibility, or something similar.
"Ooh.. what is that? Can I see?" "Wow.. that must've been expensive." "Where can I get one like that?"
It's mine. No, you can't see it. It's been in the family for generations. And you can't get one like it. Now sod off, you obnoxious prats. His glare was iced over; the storm in his eyes frozen solid. He slammed the box shut, placing it in his trunk and locking it securely, using several advanced Locking Charms. He gave a derisive snort, looking over the room, and headed upstairs to the Hall, his cocky swagger and pleased smirk daring anyone in sight to touch that trunk.. to take that blade. There'd be hell to pay, and he made sure everyone knew that, although he had yet to say a word.
He kept his silence through breakfast, ignoring Pansy's feeble attempts at flirting. He felt overshadowed by the bulky Crabbe and Goyle, who continued to follow him loyally like gargantuan lapdogs, and he felt sick of hearing about the break for holidays, and who was expected to take the Mark and join the Dark Lord. Draco's hand immediately flew to his wrist, covering the spot where the Mark would be. I'm not taking the Mark. The flapping of wings caught his attention, especially when he spotted his eagle owl among the ranks. The packages of sweets weren't in the talons' grasp, as was the norm, but a letter was in his beak. Draco caught the letter and broke the seal, pulling out the parchment tentatively. His father had written him a letter. A letter to stop the world, to cause the boy to regain control of his shaking form. He folded the letter up and rose from his seat, addressing Crabbe and Goyle curtly. "I won't be in class today. Pick up my assignments." And with that, he dashed off, letter clutched tightly in his hand.
I stumbled across her in the forest. I was crossing the river when I saw her limp, the water rushing over her body. I rushed over to save her, but she was already gone. Her eyes were hollow, staring up at the sky breaking through the trees. Her lips, parted slightly, were curled into a smile. She'd killed herself.. drowned herself in the river. It was as if she knew I were going to pass, and see her at the bottom of the river. It was so eerie. Her hair had pooled 'round her head, like a watered-down halo, and her dress was a darker shade of blue. I looked over the rest of her body, and noticed the red stains on the wrists of her sleeve. I lifted her arm and saw the dagger, saw the cuts. I knew I could do nothing, but I took the dagger anyway. I knew Father would want it.
"Mister Malfoy.. are you becoming like Potter the celebrity, and refusing to pay attention to me now?" Snape hovered over the younger man hawkishly, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to read the scrawlings that took place of Potions notes. Hurriedly, Draco covered the parchment with his arms, a blush creeping into his pallid cheeks. "S-so-sorry, Professor.. I'll pay attention now, I swear." Snape scowled, hating to have to punish a member of his House, and sighed reluctantly. His voice betrayed his emotions as he spoke, "Five points from Slytherin.." A pause, a sigh, and he continued. "And.. see me after class, Mister Malfoy." Meekly, Draco nodded, ignoring the snickers from the trio to his left. "And ten points from Gryffindor!" Ah, much better. Thank you, Snape.
--
"Draco.. I know it's hard on you, since your mother.. --" Draco's glare cut him off. "What she did doesn't affect me." An exasperated sigh from Snape followed, as the older man placed his head in his hands. "Draco, it does affect you.. it's affected your schoolwork remarkably. You've got to pull yourself together.. Maybe you should see someone.." Again, Draco shot a withering glare at the Potions master, his arms wrapping around his torso tightly. "Just because that selfish bitch" -- the word was spat out with venomous hatred that even took Snape by surprise -- "killed herself doesn't mean I'm going to do it too, or that I'm depressed, or anything of the sort. If anything I'm pissed off, Professor, and I've got a bloody good right to be, too!" Snape was silent for a few moments, letting his student's outburst sink in. "..very well then, Draco. But I hope to see an improvement in your work. You'll be getting an owl about your detention shortly.. once I decide what it should be. And it'll be with those Gryffindors, you know..."
Draco rose to leave, but the older man reached out, grabbing his shoulder. "I know about your father as well, Draco. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you're welcome to --" The younger Slytherin's gaze hardened, as cold and stony as the dungeon walls enclosing them. He's dead to me. "I appreciate your concern, Professor.. now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to eat something sometime this century." After he had carefully spat out his choice words, he rose and left for the Great Hall, cursing his namesake. Look at what you're putting me through.
"Bloody 'ell! Draco, not payin' attention?" Ron Weasley positively roared at the thought of Snape's favourite Slytherin in trouble with Snape himself. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, both noting that something was obviously troubling Draco. Neither had it in them to admit it, but deep down, they worried about the frail yet powerful leader of Slytherin House. (Harry had summed it up best once when he said, "He might be a prat, a lousy git, a tyrant, and a wanker, all rolled into one, but he's got his blue-moon moments." From there, Ron and Harry had proceeded to argue over Draco's every fault, from the scar just below his right temple to his short fused temper. Hermione wondered aloud how such adamant haters of Draco could know so much about him, which was answered with an exasperated "Sod off!")
"Do you think he's alright?" Hermione's quizzical statement mirrored her tone of voice, and Harry could offer but a shrug. Ron soured at her, muttering curses under his breath before offering his own response. "Look, 'Mione, no one really cares about Draco.. right, Harry?" Silence. "Well, Harry? Am I right?"
"It appears, Weasley, that your mouth has remained open for far too long." Ron's face grew pale, his freckles becoming dalmation spots upon his skin as he turned to face the owner of such a frigid drawl. Malfoy stood a step below them, resting against the stone railing of the stairs. Hermione reached for Ron's hand, giving it a hard squeeze, her own face paling to match the Slytherin's cream-coloured tone. Harry's eyes narrowed, green slits bright like unearthly lights set in his skull.
"Look, Malfoy...sod it. Ron didn't mean anything by what he said, did you, Ron?" Harry turned his head sharply, his glare softening a bit, replaced by a pleading look. Ron was slow on the uptake, however, his face regaining its colour and then some. "Of course I meant something, Harry! Why w-OW!" Pale eyes widened considerably, shifting over to Hermione; she'd just delivered a squeeze to his hand that could make a grown man fall to his knees. Pain being just what he needed to understand, Ron smiled meekly and nodded. "Right, Malfoy.. I was just joshin'."
"..right. I'll overlook this altercation with you, Weasel. Just remember that it's best to keep your mouth shut about affairs that're none of your concern. And be thankful you've got the Mudblood around to keep you calm, else I fear I'd have to rough you up." Draco's lips tightened into a thin half-smirk as he shoved past the trio. Hermione was biting her tongue, refraining from making any more "ferret" comments. Ron was nursing his hand, wondering where Hermione had picked up that kind of skill. Harry, however, had had entirely too much of Malfoy for the last five years, and apparently this encounter was the Bludger that broke the Beater's skull. "Malfoy, I've had enough of you picking on us just because you're the high and mighty Slytherin 'prince,' and I'm not going to take it anymore!" Draco smiled, although the smile was a typical Draco fashion - more of a cruel, sadistic smirk than anything. "Just what are you going to do to me, Potter? Sic your werewolf on me? How about that useless Giant you're always around?" Hermione had let go of Ron's hand; she went after Harry, who was slowly advancing on the slender, forked-tongue serpent of Slytherin House. "Harry, don't--" She reached for his shoulder, trying to hold him back, but he pulled out of her reach before she could get a grip. She slumped and sighed, Ron coming close to console her as Harry's fury was unleashed on the once-haughty Malfoy.
"You know, Malfoy, you've just reaffirmed my choice on the first day we were here. I've definitely sorted out who's good and who isn't, and it's obvious that you aren't.. you'll be just like your father, won't you? You know your father's got Aurors beating down the doors of your precious manor.. he's going to rot in Azkaban, and I don't doubt that you will, either!" Harry noticed the look of hurt cross Draco's face, but he continued. "I thought you'd changed at the beginning of term, Draco. Thought you were different. We all did.. obvious we were wrong. You'll always be that insufferable git, the impossible Slytherin with his head so far up his --" "HARRY!" Hermione came over to give him a swift cuff on the ear, causing a wince, and a lull in the onslaught of cutting words. Harry's hand came up to rub his ear, muttering curses of the Muggle sort in Hermione's general direction. Draco took the silence as a sign to say his piece.
"You know, I thought you'd be able to sympathize with me this year.. it's hard enough, with everyone expecting me to take the Mark and all." He sniffed, attempting to retain an air of regality, though his pride was obviously wounded. "But losing my parents's been bloody hard, Potter.. you know how that is." Harry swallowed hard, anger slipping away into the dank recesses of his mind. Malfoy's parents.. gone? The other two Gryffindors were suffering from the same reaction. Harry racked his brain, searching for something to say, but Draco had lost patience with the silence. He turned around and rushed back down the staircases, to the dungeons he called home for the rest of term. Harry was half-tempted to follow the boy, but thought better of it. Offering a shrug to his companions, he trudged towards Gryffindor Tower, silently wondering just what had happened to Draco Malfoy.