Title: Journeying: Chapter 3: After the Incident: Draco's POV
Summary: Draco's thoughts after the scene in the bathroom.
Notes: Light cussing.
Feedback: Yes please. If I don't know what was bad, it ain't ever gonna get better.
~After the Incident: Draco's POV~
Draco Malfoy slowly wound his way up the staircase, past the guardian portrait, and into the Slytherin common room. There was a green fire on one stone wall, giving off a weird light but no heat. Directly in front sat a green vinyl davenport. Towards the back of the room a few tables with chairs were strewn about for students to work. The last items of furniture were a couple of easy chairs designed for relaxing in. Draco was the only one in the room; all his housemates, even Crabbe and Goyle, had gone home for the holiday.
Draco sat in one of the overstuffed easy chairs and curled his body up. He'd fucked up. Royally. Ron, by now, would be telling Potter all about how Malfoy had hit on him in the bathroom. It would've been pretty hard to miss. And then, the inseparable friends would take their revenge on him. Ron's honor would have to be defended after all.
And once the holidays are over, they won't hesitate to tell the entire school that he, Draco Malfoy, had fallen for one Ron Weasley.
But he was just so goddamn lonely! Was it so hard to imagine that he cared about someone? That he wanted someone to care about him in turn?
The pale boy thought back on his own past. Growing up, he could have described his life as frigid. When he was younger, neither of his parents cared what he did, so long as he didn't get in trouble. As he came of age, his father had instructed his heir in the ways a Malfoy should behave. Any time he had shown an inkling of something contrary to what was being taught, he earned himself a slap across the face. The first few times he had gone, crying, to his mother for comfort. After saying that he deserved it, never even bothering to listen to the reason, she would go back to whatever she had been doing. It was never something that could be put on hold for a few minutes for her son.
Soon, Draco had learned to stop saying what he thought. He took on the sneering mannerisms of his father. His eyes turned from an ice blue fire to just plain ice. When he acted above the rest of the world, he didn't get hit. He closed his heart off to the world.
But, as time passed at Hogwarts, away from his father, he unfroze parts of himself. Parts he wished had stayed frozen. Because, damn, did it ever hurt. It was almost as if there had always been this little fire inside of him, just waiting for a few flames to be added, so that it could melt the ice.
The biggest flame of all had been Ron. The lean boy had a passion to match his fiery hair. Draco, after hitting puberty, had fallen hard and fast for him. Ron had an almost unconquerable spirit and was loyalty given physical form. Seeing Ron so quickly ready to defend his friends made Draco wish that there was someone who would do the same for him. Draco laughed bitterly. No, there was no one. The only people to talk willingly to him were the other Slytherins. And they cared only for their own person.
Draco let his eyes drift shut, wondering what it could have been like. He soon fell asleep curled up in the chair with tear tracks drying on his smooth cheeks.
Summary: Draco's thoughts after the scene in the bathroom.
Notes: Light cussing.
Feedback: Yes please. If I don't know what was bad, it ain't ever gonna get better.
~After the Incident: Draco's POV~
Draco Malfoy slowly wound his way up the staircase, past the guardian portrait, and into the Slytherin common room. There was a green fire on one stone wall, giving off a weird light but no heat. Directly in front sat a green vinyl davenport. Towards the back of the room a few tables with chairs were strewn about for students to work. The last items of furniture were a couple of easy chairs designed for relaxing in. Draco was the only one in the room; all his housemates, even Crabbe and Goyle, had gone home for the holiday.
Draco sat in one of the overstuffed easy chairs and curled his body up. He'd fucked up. Royally. Ron, by now, would be telling Potter all about how Malfoy had hit on him in the bathroom. It would've been pretty hard to miss. And then, the inseparable friends would take their revenge on him. Ron's honor would have to be defended after all.
And once the holidays are over, they won't hesitate to tell the entire school that he, Draco Malfoy, had fallen for one Ron Weasley.
But he was just so goddamn lonely! Was it so hard to imagine that he cared about someone? That he wanted someone to care about him in turn?
The pale boy thought back on his own past. Growing up, he could have described his life as frigid. When he was younger, neither of his parents cared what he did, so long as he didn't get in trouble. As he came of age, his father had instructed his heir in the ways a Malfoy should behave. Any time he had shown an inkling of something contrary to what was being taught, he earned himself a slap across the face. The first few times he had gone, crying, to his mother for comfort. After saying that he deserved it, never even bothering to listen to the reason, she would go back to whatever she had been doing. It was never something that could be put on hold for a few minutes for her son.
Soon, Draco had learned to stop saying what he thought. He took on the sneering mannerisms of his father. His eyes turned from an ice blue fire to just plain ice. When he acted above the rest of the world, he didn't get hit. He closed his heart off to the world.
But, as time passed at Hogwarts, away from his father, he unfroze parts of himself. Parts he wished had stayed frozen. Because, damn, did it ever hurt. It was almost as if there had always been this little fire inside of him, just waiting for a few flames to be added, so that it could melt the ice.
The biggest flame of all had been Ron. The lean boy had a passion to match his fiery hair. Draco, after hitting puberty, had fallen hard and fast for him. Ron had an almost unconquerable spirit and was loyalty given physical form. Seeing Ron so quickly ready to defend his friends made Draco wish that there was someone who would do the same for him. Draco laughed bitterly. No, there was no one. The only people to talk willingly to him were the other Slytherins. And they cared only for their own person.
Draco let his eyes drift shut, wondering what it could have been like. He soon fell asleep curled up in the chair with tear tracks drying on his smooth cheeks.