Disclaimer: see chapter 1
A/N: This chapter's for Nicolii for putting up with my bull shite through the course of writing our LotR epic. Up for another colab, buddy? Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. It warms my lil' author's heart. Thanks guys.
Draco's lip curled, a snarl bearing a row of fine white teeth. His book! He needed to get it back. No-one could be allowed to see it! Especially not Potter. Never Potter. Draco paled slightly at the implication. Oh god, he'd never live it down if Harry found his book... and read it. He winced, mentally kicking himself yet again.
*What the hell was I thinking? Oh wait, I WASN'T!*
He could feel irritation turn his stomach into a mass of knots. He was distantly surprised to realise his pulse was racing away from him.
*Ooookay, reign in the panic Draco.*
Jeez, what was wrong with him? A small frown graced the bow of his lips as he touched the back of one pale hand to his flushed brow. The frown deepened as he realised just how high his temperature was.
*Breathe... just... breathe...*
Then, a thought struck him. Potter... Potter wouldn't read his... ~*journal*~ Potter was the good one, wasn't he? The yin to Draco's stormy yang. A small smirk threatened to appear as he realised... good guys never invade others privacy. That was more HIS style. Yes, Potter wouldn't read his book. He was completely certain... wasn't he? He growled again, pacing before the window of his room. He found himself unconsciously tracing the outline of the window, etched in moonlight on his floor, as he walked. His thoughts continually whirling through the same cycle, circling over and over... Finally, he forced himself to stop before his bed. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now. He'd have to return to claim the book the next morning, while everyone was at breakfast. Hopefully he'd find it waiting for him where he'd left it. Hopefully Potter hadn't seen it. Hopefully...
Harry made his way back to his dorm, carefully avoiding the route taken by Filch. As he walked, he found his gaze returning to the book in his hand. He could barely believe it. He must have made a mistake. After all, it had been very dark in the room, and the moon didn't quite provide enough light too see clearly by...
*Of course I was bloody mistaken. Draco Malfoy (and Harry couldn't ~*quite*~
contain the mental sneer) writes poetry? Ludicrous! I may as well have found
a Nimbus 2000 hidden away in Hermione's closet.*
Harry stopped, surprised to find his feet had carried him all the way to the Gryffindor common room with no conscious input from his brain. "Narfle Higgins" he stated softly. The Fat Lady glared disapprovingly at him as she swung open to admit him. Harry, caught up in the excitement of his find, didn't even notice, let alone care.
"Ron? Ron... are you awake?" Harry whispered to his apparently comatose friend. The loud snore that answered him suggested a negative. He frowned, briefly considering waking the other boy, intending to share the Malfoy Incident, but instead settled back on his bed. He looked again at the book he held.
*Should I...? Of course! This is too perfect! But... it's not right.*
He shouldn't be invading anyone's, even Malfoy's, privacy like this.
*Oh will you STOP being such a pussy? Malfoy wouldn't even give it a second
thought if it were the other way round and you know it!*
Still... he wasn't Malfoy. And he knew how he'd feel if Malfoy read his journal...
*Oh for crying out loud!*
Harry's brain, apparently sick of arguing with itself, had whipped the book open before he had a chance to think any further. He stared at the page in front of him, taking a while to process the information... On the left hand page was beautifully drawn ice statue, shades of blue and purple ink intertwined, etching out the form of an imposing woman, head held high. On the opposite page was the elaborately decorated title "The Ice Queen". Harry guiltily scanned the following page of verse, only to find himself drawn into the deftly woven words that seemed to flow and echo through his mind. The poem was about a beautiful glacial woman. A Queen with a heart made of ice... and yet her subject loved her and followed her loyally, trying not to shatter the frozen, yet fragile woman. It ripped him apart when her cool gaze threw contempt his way, yet he still strove to please her, to thaw that frosty shell and breath life into the living woman underneath. Harry sighed as he read. It was... beautiful. Draco had woven the words with the skilful touch of a master. Still, it took him a second to understand exactly WHAT was so moving about the poem. It was very good, yes. But it had feeling poured into it. It was personal in some way Harry couldn't fathom. Then understanding dawned...
*... Oh god. His mother.*
Malfoy was writing about his mother. That was... strange. Harry felt like he was intruding in Malfoy's head, but he couldn't put the book down. Guilt sending sharp pangs to Harry's conscience, he continued to read through the next couple of pages, slowly realizing that Malfoy only wrote about things that had significance to him, personal poetry about school, family, his life, how he felt... Harry knew that for the first time he was getting a glimpse behind the Malfoy Mask of cold contempt. He was seeing DRACO.
A/N: This chapter's for Nicolii for putting up with my bull shite through the course of writing our LotR epic. Up for another colab, buddy? Thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. It warms my lil' author's heart. Thanks guys.
Draco's lip curled, a snarl bearing a row of fine white teeth. His book! He needed to get it back. No-one could be allowed to see it! Especially not Potter. Never Potter. Draco paled slightly at the implication. Oh god, he'd never live it down if Harry found his book... and read it. He winced, mentally kicking himself yet again.
*What the hell was I thinking? Oh wait, I WASN'T!*
He could feel irritation turn his stomach into a mass of knots. He was distantly surprised to realise his pulse was racing away from him.
*Ooookay, reign in the panic Draco.*
Jeez, what was wrong with him? A small frown graced the bow of his lips as he touched the back of one pale hand to his flushed brow. The frown deepened as he realised just how high his temperature was.
*Breathe... just... breathe...*
Then, a thought struck him. Potter... Potter wouldn't read his... ~*journal*~ Potter was the good one, wasn't he? The yin to Draco's stormy yang. A small smirk threatened to appear as he realised... good guys never invade others privacy. That was more HIS style. Yes, Potter wouldn't read his book. He was completely certain... wasn't he? He growled again, pacing before the window of his room. He found himself unconsciously tracing the outline of the window, etched in moonlight on his floor, as he walked. His thoughts continually whirling through the same cycle, circling over and over... Finally, he forced himself to stop before his bed. Well, it was too late to do anything about it now. He'd have to return to claim the book the next morning, while everyone was at breakfast. Hopefully he'd find it waiting for him where he'd left it. Hopefully Potter hadn't seen it. Hopefully...
Harry made his way back to his dorm, carefully avoiding the route taken by Filch. As he walked, he found his gaze returning to the book in his hand. He could barely believe it. He must have made a mistake. After all, it had been very dark in the room, and the moon didn't quite provide enough light too see clearly by...
*Of course I was bloody mistaken. Draco Malfoy (and Harry couldn't ~*quite*~
contain the mental sneer) writes poetry? Ludicrous! I may as well have found
a Nimbus 2000 hidden away in Hermione's closet.*
Harry stopped, surprised to find his feet had carried him all the way to the Gryffindor common room with no conscious input from his brain. "Narfle Higgins" he stated softly. The Fat Lady glared disapprovingly at him as she swung open to admit him. Harry, caught up in the excitement of his find, didn't even notice, let alone care.
"Ron? Ron... are you awake?" Harry whispered to his apparently comatose friend. The loud snore that answered him suggested a negative. He frowned, briefly considering waking the other boy, intending to share the Malfoy Incident, but instead settled back on his bed. He looked again at the book he held.
*Should I...? Of course! This is too perfect! But... it's not right.*
He shouldn't be invading anyone's, even Malfoy's, privacy like this.
*Oh will you STOP being such a pussy? Malfoy wouldn't even give it a second
thought if it were the other way round and you know it!*
Still... he wasn't Malfoy. And he knew how he'd feel if Malfoy read his journal...
*Oh for crying out loud!*
Harry's brain, apparently sick of arguing with itself, had whipped the book open before he had a chance to think any further. He stared at the page in front of him, taking a while to process the information... On the left hand page was beautifully drawn ice statue, shades of blue and purple ink intertwined, etching out the form of an imposing woman, head held high. On the opposite page was the elaborately decorated title "The Ice Queen". Harry guiltily scanned the following page of verse, only to find himself drawn into the deftly woven words that seemed to flow and echo through his mind. The poem was about a beautiful glacial woman. A Queen with a heart made of ice... and yet her subject loved her and followed her loyally, trying not to shatter the frozen, yet fragile woman. It ripped him apart when her cool gaze threw contempt his way, yet he still strove to please her, to thaw that frosty shell and breath life into the living woman underneath. Harry sighed as he read. It was... beautiful. Draco had woven the words with the skilful touch of a master. Still, it took him a second to understand exactly WHAT was so moving about the poem. It was very good, yes. But it had feeling poured into it. It was personal in some way Harry couldn't fathom. Then understanding dawned...
*... Oh god. His mother.*
Malfoy was writing about his mother. That was... strange. Harry felt like he was intruding in Malfoy's head, but he couldn't put the book down. Guilt sending sharp pangs to Harry's conscience, he continued to read through the next couple of pages, slowly realizing that Malfoy only wrote about things that had significance to him, personal poetry about school, family, his life, how he felt... Harry knew that for the first time he was getting a glimpse behind the Malfoy Mask of cold contempt. He was seeing DRACO.