This chapter dedicated to all you who have mucked your way through my stretched metaphors and run-on sentences thus far, whether you've reviewed or not. You guys rock my waldo. (never mind 'bout that line)
The slash rises slowly... I find that in each chapter I am held from delivering what I promised, so I give up. It's coming... eventually.
'A Clockwork Neurosis'
Part Five: Should Be No Surprise
Begun: 08 Feb, '02 (yes, before part 4 was finished... x.x)
Finished: 28 Oct '02 (whoo boy....)
Posted: 28 Oct '02
[I don't tell my secrets anymore
It should be no surprise
That I don't tell my secrets anymore
Yeah from now on I only tell lies]
Jump, Little Children, 'Secrets'
He was antsy the next few days, nervous and even flighty as the guard around Potter doubled or more, a small clump of disillusioned students convinced in their typical mass mentality that what they were doing was for the greater good of the Boy who Saved Their World. It made his lip curl when he even though of it, how scarce months ago they had shunned him like he carried a rare skin-eating disease, convinced just as easily that he had murdered Cedric Diggory in cold blood and assisted in the rise of Voldemort once again. The dog never left his side, and rarely did Granger or Weasley.
So now he stared at a sheet of Arithmancy homework whose concept eluded him as easily as he had been grasping for mist in the dark; as fruitless a quest as had been his short-lived pursuit of Harry Potter. He was nestled into an armchair of deep green velvet, a fire crackled warmly a few feet in front of him, and the majority of his housemates had left him alone after his initial attack on Pansy. Now only Crabbe and Goyle watched over him from neighboring couches, and he was reminded uncomfortably of Harry's unwanted escort.
Yet he could not relax, as he hadn't been able to at all in the past few days, plagued by a constant nervous energy that caused him to fidget unnecessarily and absolutely destroyed his concentration. He threw uneasy glances, masked by their overlying enmity, at Potter every few minutes, convinced that anytime those green eyes would fix on him with sudden revelation, and Harry would realize what he had previously never bothered to puzzle through.
He was unable to shake the suspicion that he'd said too much the other day, lulled by Potter's vulnerability, his sudden, fragile outburst, demonstrating that the Harry he had so tortured these past four years still lurked, buried under layers and months of guilt and confusion. He'd felt a small thrill of victory at being the only one able to draw that Harry out, the only one able to peel through the brittle, self-inflicted shell.
And thus had come his frank admission, spilling forth from his lips in an epiphany that Draco himself had barely acknowledged and certainly Potter would be unable to figure through. He had dreaded that Potter would follow him, demand an explanation as was his wont, but he had been unexpectedly saved by the tardy arrival of Potter's Official Guard, the presidents of his fan club themselves, and that curiously intelligent dog. He suspected that Potter had told them nothing of Draco's badly needed assistance, for Weasley was throwing only the normal amount of glares and half-formed insults, and the dog paid him nearly no mind, as if he considered Draco not at all a threat.
His pride raised a small riot, demanding that he do something to earn the animal's suspicion, which he was fully capable as a Malfoy and as Draco himself of doing. 'Did the animal not know who he was?' his mind demanded absurdly, lending sentience to an animal that walked on four legs. Yet there was something strange about the dog - the way its gaze followed people or objects in a manner too speculatory for an animal's dopish curiosity.
For a breathless second he remembered their third year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; the werewolf who had taken such a liking to Potter. It wasn't as though Dumbledore would not risk the possibility of a werewolf loose among the students simply to protect Potter, but the dog was a constant, not the once-a-month phenomenon of a werewolf. Perhaps a half breed? It was a particularly vicious-looking animal, which had scared off some of Potter's most ardent admirers - that fourth-year Creevey and his idiot brother, for example - until most had been convinced of the thing's benevolence. Until threatened, of course.
That could explain the apparent intelligence in its gaze. It was usually best not to ask how a werewolf half-breed, whether half human or half dog, was created, but they were supposed to be highly skilled and loyal bodyguards. There had been quite a demand for them in the thirteenth century, until it had been discovered that many were made in, to put it lightly, unethical manners, and measures were taken against their unnatural creation. However, wouldn't it be just like Potter to have another rule broken for himself...
He looked up to realize that there was no one left in the common room; the fire was only a mass of orange embers and ashes, and he was quite cold. Closing his book on his unfinished homework, he resolved to put Potter and all things thus out of his head - at least until morning - and headed, finally, to bed. Tomorrow was a new day, and he could compensate for his previous lapse by being so vicious Potter and his ridiculous friends would wish it was first year again.
Short and stupid part because I got lost in it.... I shall regain my train of thought next part, I swear.
The slash rises slowly... I find that in each chapter I am held from delivering what I promised, so I give up. It's coming... eventually.
'A Clockwork Neurosis'
Part Five: Should Be No Surprise
Begun: 08 Feb, '02 (yes, before part 4 was finished... x.x)
Finished: 28 Oct '02 (whoo boy....)
Posted: 28 Oct '02
[I don't tell my secrets anymore
It should be no surprise
That I don't tell my secrets anymore
Yeah from now on I only tell lies]
Jump, Little Children, 'Secrets'
He was antsy the next few days, nervous and even flighty as the guard around Potter doubled or more, a small clump of disillusioned students convinced in their typical mass mentality that what they were doing was for the greater good of the Boy who Saved Their World. It made his lip curl when he even though of it, how scarce months ago they had shunned him like he carried a rare skin-eating disease, convinced just as easily that he had murdered Cedric Diggory in cold blood and assisted in the rise of Voldemort once again. The dog never left his side, and rarely did Granger or Weasley.
So now he stared at a sheet of Arithmancy homework whose concept eluded him as easily as he had been grasping for mist in the dark; as fruitless a quest as had been his short-lived pursuit of Harry Potter. He was nestled into an armchair of deep green velvet, a fire crackled warmly a few feet in front of him, and the majority of his housemates had left him alone after his initial attack on Pansy. Now only Crabbe and Goyle watched over him from neighboring couches, and he was reminded uncomfortably of Harry's unwanted escort.
Yet he could not relax, as he hadn't been able to at all in the past few days, plagued by a constant nervous energy that caused him to fidget unnecessarily and absolutely destroyed his concentration. He threw uneasy glances, masked by their overlying enmity, at Potter every few minutes, convinced that anytime those green eyes would fix on him with sudden revelation, and Harry would realize what he had previously never bothered to puzzle through.
He was unable to shake the suspicion that he'd said too much the other day, lulled by Potter's vulnerability, his sudden, fragile outburst, demonstrating that the Harry he had so tortured these past four years still lurked, buried under layers and months of guilt and confusion. He'd felt a small thrill of victory at being the only one able to draw that Harry out, the only one able to peel through the brittle, self-inflicted shell.
And thus had come his frank admission, spilling forth from his lips in an epiphany that Draco himself had barely acknowledged and certainly Potter would be unable to figure through. He had dreaded that Potter would follow him, demand an explanation as was his wont, but he had been unexpectedly saved by the tardy arrival of Potter's Official Guard, the presidents of his fan club themselves, and that curiously intelligent dog. He suspected that Potter had told them nothing of Draco's badly needed assistance, for Weasley was throwing only the normal amount of glares and half-formed insults, and the dog paid him nearly no mind, as if he considered Draco not at all a threat.
His pride raised a small riot, demanding that he do something to earn the animal's suspicion, which he was fully capable as a Malfoy and as Draco himself of doing. 'Did the animal not know who he was?' his mind demanded absurdly, lending sentience to an animal that walked on four legs. Yet there was something strange about the dog - the way its gaze followed people or objects in a manner too speculatory for an animal's dopish curiosity.
For a breathless second he remembered their third year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; the werewolf who had taken such a liking to Potter. It wasn't as though Dumbledore would not risk the possibility of a werewolf loose among the students simply to protect Potter, but the dog was a constant, not the once-a-month phenomenon of a werewolf. Perhaps a half breed? It was a particularly vicious-looking animal, which had scared off some of Potter's most ardent admirers - that fourth-year Creevey and his idiot brother, for example - until most had been convinced of the thing's benevolence. Until threatened, of course.
That could explain the apparent intelligence in its gaze. It was usually best not to ask how a werewolf half-breed, whether half human or half dog, was created, but they were supposed to be highly skilled and loyal bodyguards. There had been quite a demand for them in the thirteenth century, until it had been discovered that many were made in, to put it lightly, unethical manners, and measures were taken against their unnatural creation. However, wouldn't it be just like Potter to have another rule broken for himself...
He looked up to realize that there was no one left in the common room; the fire was only a mass of orange embers and ashes, and he was quite cold. Closing his book on his unfinished homework, he resolved to put Potter and all things thus out of his head - at least until morning - and headed, finally, to bed. Tomorrow was a new day, and he could compensate for his previous lapse by being so vicious Potter and his ridiculous friends would wish it was first year again.
Short and stupid part because I got lost in it.... I shall regain my train of thought next part, I swear.