This chapter is specially dedicated to shadowofadoubt72, whom, without her wonderful reviews, I would never have the motivation to put this one up.
The next morning, Drusilla burst into the Great Hall, her hair mussed and her clothes rather untidily arranged. There was a strange look in her eyes, though, even as she sat down on the only available seat next to Harry--Ron and Hermione always insisted on sitting together--and put her bag down without even bothering with it too much.
"Guess what?" she said in a low voice, not waiting for any of them to address her and indicating that this was very clearly top secret. "I found out where my visions come from."
"Middle-Earth, isn't it?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food, sending little flecks of chewed up bread on the table. Hermione grimaced at him for his lack of table manners, then surreptitiously handing him a napkin.
"No." she shook her head. "I figure that the vision I had in the school corridor was something else altogether. The first vision was when I was close to a mirror. I was breathing on it."
"What's the point?" Harry asked curiously, looking up at her.
Drusilla cast a furtive look around and stood up, deciding that this was something she rather wanted to show them in private. "We've got half an hour to go before our first lesson of the day. I'll show it to you in Myrtle's bathroom."
"Oh, not again!" Ron moaned. He'd had had quite enough of girl toilets. Especially if there was a volatile, unstable ghost inside there who made it a hobby of hers to peep on Prefects bathing.
"Moaning Myrtle's in the second floor peeping on the Prefects." Drusilla sighed and tapped her foot. "It's perfectly safe."
"Come on, then." Harry decided for the rest of them, making to leave. "Let's go."
***
Draco couldn't help but scowl as he watched the Fabulous Foursome scuttle out of the Great Hall as if Dementors were after them. Drusilla did not seem to be particularly affected by his little talk yesterday, and somewhere down inside, he was furious.
Dammit, he had spent the whole of last night simply thinking about her and what he'd said and feeling totally wretched, and here she was, looking the same as usual. Looking even better, he had to add. Mussed and untidy, had she been making out with Potter, then? He had come in just a few minutes before her, anyway. His fist involuntarily clenched at the thought that the fucking Boy Who fucking Lived had his grubby hands all over her.
What'd you expect her to do? A little voice in the back of his mind said snidely. You were the one who pushed her away. So what if she decided to get on with life? Stop thinking about her, Malfoy. She doesn't mean anything to you now. She's just a devious slut, just like all the Slytherin whores.
This is my December
This is my time of the year
This is my December
This is all so clear
This is my December
This is my snow covered home
This is my December
This is me alone
He forced his hand to relax, and seethed with fury at the hold that she'd had over him. Was this some kind of spell she had cast on him? That he still could not get her beautiful, otherworldly face out of his thoughts? That he still remembered her fervent kisses, the loving, trusting gaze in her eyes, her soft, perfectly kissable lips? That he still felt a strange sense of warmth somewhere in his heart when he saw her enter? He slammed his fork on the table.
He hated this. It was like she had him on a leash. Everything in his body was screaming to go back to her, his mind was also doing the same thing, but screaming at him to hurt her. Hurt her as much as she was hurting him now. No one had ever made him feel like what he felt for her before. No one had made a Malfoy go around in circles before. Whatever it was that he had been afraid of earlier, it was coming true for him now.
He was truly in love. And he could not pull himself out of it. But he was a bloody Malfoy, for Merlin's sake! Malfoys were superior to anyone and everyone and did not fall in love.
Malfoys did not think obsessively about someone that they were supposed to hate. Malfoys did not love their enemy, did not need them as desperately as plants needed sunlight. Malfoys had no weaknesses. No, none at all….
"Draco?" Goyle waved a pudgy hand in front of his face, and he jumped a little. Just a little. Turning his anger onto the next most available target to get some kind of release from his internal frustration, he snarled.
"What?!"
His meatheaded friend looked taken aback at his sudden anger and faltered, not knowing what to say. "Just...just..."
"Just shut up, idiot." Draco snapped at him harshly, proceeding to tear into his breakfast with a renewed viciousness and trying to block out the feelings of regret and heartache and longing that filled him despite his initial anger at her. The Great Hall, though filled with people, seemed so cold and empty and meaningless now. Now that Drusilla was not in it. Now that she most probably was going out with the Famous Harry Potter and snogging him like she snogged him early in the mornings. A tight wrench in his heart made him clench his fork until his knuckles were white.
Damn his Malfoy pride. Damn his fear.
Damn her.
And I
Just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed
And I
Take back all the things I said
To make you feel like that
And I
Just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed
And I
Take back all the things I said to you
And I give it all away
Just to have somewhere to go to
Give it all away
To have someone to come home to
This is my December
These are my snow covered dreams
This is me pretending
This is all I need
Who she goes out with his hardly your problem anymore. Something reminded him coldly. And that was right. He did not give a damn about her; she wasn't that important anyway.
Right?
Wrong.
And I
Just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed
And I
Take back all the things I said
To make you feel like that
And I
Just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed
And I
Take back all the things I said to you
And I give it all away
Just to have somewhere to go to
Give it all away
To have someone to come home to
This is my December
This is my time of the year
This is my December
This is all so clear
And I give it all away
Just to have somewhere to go to
Give it all away
To have someone to come home to
***
"Here goes," Drusilla couldn't help a little twinge of nervousness as she filled a small bowl with water. She held it up with both hands and gently blew on it, hoping that she was not wrong about this. That the future she had seen this morning was real and not just the dregs of a dream she'd been having. Then she did not look in it, instead, glanced at them. "Anyone want to see your future?" Damn, this was coming out more confident than she thought.
"I'll look," Ron volunteered. He stepped to her and looked into the mirror, not really knowing what to expect. He stared into it for a long moment, and was beginning to think that it was getting a little stupid and raised his head.
Drusilla's eyes were intense--more intense than he'd ever seen her--and she whispered to him. "Look."
True enough, the surface of the water began to ripple, and the world seemed to melt away from him as the images in front of his eyes coalesced into sharp, moving pictures. His awareness of his surroundings faded away as he was pulled deeper in the spell.
Before him, he saw that he was in front of the Hospital Wing, looking down at Ginny, whose arm was in a cast. He sucked in a breath at the image. Then it rippled and changed to Flitwick's class, where the little Professor held out a piece of parchment that had an "A" scribbled on it, and another, of Neville accidentally bumping into him in Snape's Potions class and sending a deep purple flask of his tumble to the ground and shatter.
Then it all went black, and Ron looked up, breathing heavily. Drusilla was holding the bowl at arm's length, to ensure that he was the only one who was looking into it at any one time.
"Whoa." was all he managed to eke out. It was all so real. "Whoa."
Drusilla, for one, looked drained and leaned against the sink for support. "I know what it is you saw." she told him, taking the bowl and tipping its contents down into the sink. "I saw it in my mind, too."
"You mean-you mean that all will come true?" This was getting more and more unbelievable by the minute. Drusilla looked uncertain.
"I think so."
"What did you see?" Hermione pressed, dying to know.
Ron took a breath. "I saw Ginny in a cast, me getting an "A" in the latest Flitwick assignment, and Neville knocking over my flask." His eyes widened in horror as he remembered his sister. "Oh, no! Ginny! I can prevent it, right? Her getting injured?"
Drusilla nodded. "I guess so. I mean, I don't believe our futures are set in stone. Man, that one took a bit out of me." She put a hand to her head and winced.
"Are you quite all right?" Harry questioned, noting her faint weariness and moved toward her, as if worried that she might collapse any minute.
"Oh, I'm all right," She waved a little. "Just a little tired. Got to remember not to do too many visions."
"Wow, Dru." Ron was impressed. "You can make a living out of this!"
"Don't be stupid," Hermione chided in irritation at the same time Drusilla said, "Are you insane?"
"Come on," Ron muttered, remembering his sister. "Let's go and find Ginny before she gets into an accident."
"Let's hope we're not too late."
Even as they stepped into the corridor, Colin Creevey came rushing up to them, his face flushed and panting. "There you all are!" he huffed, quite obviously out of breath. "You've got to go and see Ginny, quickly! She tripped and fell down the stairs from the Gryffindor common room, and she's now getting treatment from Madam Pomfrey!"
Ron shot Drusilla an incredulous look, to find that she was just as surprised as he was.
"Wow." Hermione muttered.
Colin shot her a strange look before rushing down the corridor again.
"Come on," Ron tugged at his girlfriend, and they began heading towards the Hospital Wing.
***
Well, at least it wasn't that serious. Ginny had clearly tripped on a trick stair while she was reading, fell the wrong way, and fractured her wrist. That was all. And it took a few minutes of Madam Pomfrey's persuasion that she was all right did Ron actually leave her alone, as if he was afraid that she could get hurt again.
Ron kept shooting Drusilla both amazed and furtive looks, as if not knowing what to expect from her. Drusilla, for one, simply looked drawn and was uncharacteristically quiet. She did not even complain when Snape took off fifty points off them when they came late to his class. It did not take a genius to see that she was not disturbed by the visions earlier but by something else. Something else she had not the courage to tell any of her friends.
It was hell; the only table that was free was at Malfoy's table, where he was alone, for the first time.
It was very disturbing.
Absently, she glanced behind her to see Hermione and Ron slipping into the two seats quite a distance away from them, almost at the opposite side of the class. That meant that she had to sit with Harry. Well, at least that wasn't a big problem. Not compared to Malfoy. She felt him staring at her, and couldn't help but feel a little rattled. What the hell was he doing?
Judging by the lack of sounds coming from his direction, she confirmed that he was definitely watching her.
And so was Snape.
The Potions' Master's eyes glinted maliciously in his pale face as he glowered at the four of them before turning back to the board and snappishly writing down the instructions. He didn't even insult her this time, which was odd in itself. Normally, Snape reserved his harshest comments just for her, and the one day Drusilla thought she was prepared to handle it, none came.
Deciding to make the best of the situation, she took the ingredients from the table and proceeded to cut them up, doing what the rest of the class was doing now. But her fingers kept slipping, and she couldn't concentrate at all.
Not with Draco so close by.
She could almost feel him, feel his eyes on her… Harry was the only one blissfully unaware of the tension between the two of them, she supposed.
Forget it, she told herself wearily. Draco didn't want me. It's his choice. It hurt to think about it, and from then, she conscientiously tried not to. Besides, what good would it be? Both ways, it hurt. If, if she ever got with Draco Malfoy, Ron, Hermione, and Harry would kill her and possibly not be friends with her anymore.
Especially Harry. She blinked at the sudden, errant thought that breezed into her mind. For some odd reason or another, she particularly did not want to tell Harry about her and Draco. There was a strange feeling within her that told her that if she did, he would get hurt or something. Hurt for what she had no idea.
Maybe it was all for the best. Draco just wasn't worth it.
"Here, let me do it," Harry said quietly as he moved over to her and removed the knife slowly from her hand, his lips quirked in a tiny smile. She glanced down and was not very surprised to see that the daisy roots were chopped into largely uneven pieces. She grimaced, knowing all too well what was going to happen when Snape saw—
"Well, well, what have we here?" Snape's greasy voice wafted beside her as he took one look at the ruined ingredients. His jaw was set, and his beady eyes were cold. "What did I say about wasting precious ingredients, Fontaine? You come here late, don't pay attention to what I was saying at all, and spoil—"
"Please, sir." Harry spoke up softly, his dislike for the Potions Master evident even though his voice was polite. Well, as polite as it could get, anyway. "I was the one who did this, not—"
"Silence!" Snape snarled, his face turning purple when he saw that it was Harry who had stuck his nose in that silly girl's business. "Twenty points from Gryffindor because of you, Potter. For being an insufferable busybody."
There was a soft groan around the room, and Snape swung back to regard Drusilla, his eyes narrowed in profound distaste. "And you. I have a good mind to—"
"Professor Snape," Draco suddenly spoke up, his voice lazy. He did not look at her, instead, shoved his neatly cut pieces lackadaisically in her direction with an air of someone who was thoroughly bored. "If I might, I believe I was giving her the wrong instructions, and told her to chop them up unevenly so that the speed of reaction would be varied. I apologize."
Snape and the rest of the class looked taken aback at his sudden—and unexpected—behavior. Drusilla, for one, was gaping at him, open-mouthed.
His prized student had spoken, and Snape nodded, almost grudgingly. "See that you give her the right instructions the next time, Mr. Malfoy. She's clearly not nearly intelligent enough to think for herself." Then Snape seemed to remember something and swept out of the classroom.
At her side, Harry clenched his fists, and Drusilla briefly wondered if this would ever end. Snape was insulting her once more, and it was strange how she did not care so much now. She stared down at the nicely cut daisy roots that Draco had handed to her, not knowing what to think.
"Quit gaping at it, House Elf." Draco sneered, his voice cold and drawling as always. "And don't get me wrong. I just don't want to ruin my brain power by watching hopeless people the likes of you mess things up as always."
Before Drusilla had time to even react, Harry snarled, "Shut your pie hole, Malfoy. She's so much smarter than a hundred of you put together."
An unreadable expression flickered on his pale face for a moment, and he crossed his arms, the epitome of calmness. He'd always known exactly which buttons to push. "Ooh, look. Widdle Potty is protecting his widdle girlfriend who really belongs in the kitchens in Hogwarts rather than in the classes with us-"
He didn't finish, owing mainly to the fact that he was sprawled to the floor, his mouth bleeding from the fist Harry flung into it.
"Harry!" Drusilla exclaimed as she sprang on him and struggled to pull him back, with Seamus' and Dean's help, before he could do anything more drastic than he did just now. His eyes were filled with anger beyond anything Drusilla had ever seen in him before, and was mildly surprised that he was capable of such fury. Everyone had already gathered around them, the Slytherins on one side—Draco's side, of course—and the Gryffindors on the other. Even Ron and Hermione were there.
"Why, touched a nerve?" Draco was sneering now, casually wiping the blood off his mouth. His eyes glittered with contempt and he made a tsking sound, unruffled as ever. "Should've known you Gryffindors were so pathetic and uneducated." He gave a mock-sigh. "Mudbloods, overgrown servants, pathetic Muggle lovers …how much lower can you people sink?" he cast a particularly disdainful stare at Harry and Drusilla both. "I see you've both hit rock bottom. Famous Harry Potter with a servant, how amusing. How much did you pay her an hour?"
Harry saw a streak of dark brown slipping past him, and the next thing he saw was Drusilla giving Malfoy a tight slap across his cheek. "I am no whore, Malfoy!" she snarled, remembering all the insults he'd heaped on her. This was definitely the straw that broke the camel's back; she'd had had enough of being insulted by him. "I am so sick of your damnable attitude and your insults. Who the hell do you think you are? You think we've hit rock bottom? Look at yourself first!"
With that, she did something no one expected her to do. She whirled on her heel and stalked out of the classroom, leaving the Gryffindors and Draco to stare at her in shock and the Slytherins to glower after her in anger. After all, she had just insulted and attacked their so-called 'prince'.
One Slytherin boy, Mason Connor, made to go after her and make her pay for it, but was stopped by Draco. Mason stared at Draco in surprise as he glared at him. "Leave her alone."
*~*~*~*
Harry found Drusilla sitting all by herself beside the lake, watching the giant squid lazily swimming across the surface of the water and waving its tentacles. She looked to have been sitting there since Snape's Potions class, and it was nearing sunset now.
It was deathly cold, and he frowned, concerned. She might get pneumonia by simply sitting here like that. Automatically, he removed his own scarf and wrapped it snugly around her. She jumped a little when she felt his gentle touch, then relaxed when she saw that it was only him.
"You could get a cold sitting out here like this, you know." He told her softly, trying hard not to let his words tremble. It had always intrigued him; when did it all happen? When did he stop feeling for her as a friend and more as a lover? It had probably been within him ever since they met, or maybe it just hit him that Drusilla wasn't just a girl who was a friend, she was Drusilla.
She truly cared for him when no one did. He sighed inwardly, cursing his inability to tell her how he felt. Her friendship meant the world to him, and he didn't want to destroy it by telling her how he really felt. What if she did not feel the same? What if she started avoiding him when she found out? It was all so disturbing and confusing, and yet, he thought ironically, she still did not have a clue about what was going on. He'd been sure about his feelings that night when he'd almost kissed her, and it surprised him that she acted as if nothing happened. Either she really didn't know, or she was pretending not to. Either way, it was very discouraging.
"Thanks," she murmured, but made no move to get up. Harry sat himself down beside her, wanting to find out what was wrong. Her behavior had been very strange today. She'd even slapped Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. Not that he blamed her; he was close to killing the slimy git with his bare hands for the disgusting things he'd said about her if it had not been for Drusilla slapping him first and yelling at him, the first time he'd seen her lose her composure.
"Are you okay?" he queried when she made no attempt at conversation, letting his concern show for her. "If there's anything I can do…"
"It's nothing…" she hesitated, and Harry felt a flicker of hurt flash through him. She was always so bad at lying, and clearly, she did not trust him enough to speak her mind.
"I'm sure it's something. Don't lie to me, Dru." He paused, remembering the scene in Snape's Potions class earlier. Then he understood her hesitation. That encounter didn't deserve to be spoken out loud. "Is it about Malfoy?"
She started in surprise, and an unreadable look crossed her eyes for a moment. For a second there, he had an impression that she looked somewhat afraid. "What?"
"The fight."
She turned away and nodded. "For most part, yes. I didn't know he would say something like that." To me.
"He's slime, Dru." Harry said vehemently, feeling his blood boil as he remembered Malfoy's pointed, sneering face, and the malicious glint in his steely eyes when he insulted Drusilla's integrity… "Don't pay any heed to him, he's not worth it."
A pregnant pause. "I know." She put her hand to her forehead and sighed. "It's just that…oh, never mind." She couldn't very well say that she was in love with him, could she? Merlin knew what Harry would do. "It's freezing out here, want to go in?"
Harry was momentarily distracted when she slipped her hand through his. It was so warm and soft, and sent little tingles down his spine. She'd done this many times before, and it was funny how it felt so different now.
"Drusilla," Harry spoke up, unable to help certain heat from rising to his cheeks as he shifted, a little nervous. He had to get this out, and it was now or never. "Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me tomorrow?"
She shot him a strange look. "We always go to Hogsmeade together, Harry."
"No." he licked his lips nervously. How was he supposed to get this out? "I mean, only us."
Drusilla giggled. "For the past few months it was 'only us', silly. Ron and Hermione are bound to go off somewhere by themselves anyway."
She obviously did not get the hint.
Not wanting to delve into it anymore—and losing his courage with each passing minute—Harry had to convince himself that for the moment, this was enough.
It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Together, they made their way into the castle.
***
Even as they walked down the corridors leading towards the Gryffindor common room, Drusilla noted that Harry still hadn't let go of her hand, but dismissed it just as quickly. He was her best friend, and if he wanted to hold her hand it was really fine with her. And besides, she initiated it first. His hand was pleasantly warm in hers, allowing her a few precious minutes of total security. It was always like nothing could hurt her when he was around.
"At least classes are over for today," she said, relieved. No more of Draco today. If she had to see him one more time, she was going to go crazy. He always had that effect on her lately, and she hated it. He was a mistake, a huge mistake, so why was she still stuck on him?
Tell that to my heart. She thought bitterly. Nothing, absolutely nothing could change the fact that she still loved him, no matter what he did to her, no matter what kind of things she tried to do to forget him, to drive her out of her heart and mind. And maybe, just maybe, underneath all that, he knew and felt it too. She could see it in the fleeting moments of uncertainty and frustrated longing for her that his gray eyes sometimes gave away. But it was so faint that she had to wonder if she was seeing things.
Draco… her heart sighed in longing. Forbidden longing.
Draco! Her mind exclaimed in surprise as she caught sight of him strolling towards them. He'd apparently seen them in that exact same moment, taking in everything, from the joined hands to their happy expressions to what was obviously Harry's scarf snugly around her neck…
His slate gray eyes revealed his anger, though there was no change in his expression, his bored, aristocratic, closed-off expression.
Why is he angry? She wondered, feeling a familiar fluttering in her heart as she watched him come nearer and nearer. He was so beautiful, so devilishly handsome in that black Slytherin robes that billowed out from his slender, lithe form, accentuating his pale complexion and making his platinum hair stand out even more starkly in contrast with the dark corridor. Draco looked like an angel, fair and white, an angel that exuded the sensuality and delicious danger of the Devil.
Her heart pounded even harder in her chest at the sight of him. He had always seemed so arrogant, so damned sure of himself, so secure in the knowledge that he was superior to everyone else…she gritted her teeth as she remembered his particularly vicious insults to her that morning and the fact that she'd spent almost the whole day moping about him.
She hated him.
She hated him because she loved him.
Is it supposed to be this way? She wondered fleetingly. How can I love someone I hate so much? Why is the enemy so important to me? Why do I love him?
She squared her shoulders and met his dark eyes head on. She wanted to show him that she could hurt him as much as he hurt her; she understood the compromising situation she and Harry were in, and was determined to use it to her advantage, even though she felt bad for using Harry like that. To Draco's credit, he didn't even seem to acknowledge them even as they brushed past each other, barely touching.
No insults, no nothing.
It was simply the infliction of hurt on the two of them, the hidden, bittersweet ache that both felt so acutely in that moment, in that same place, doing no good to either of them, though neither would deign to admit it, resigning to their own private battles and struggles, wallowing in their own pain and their own secret realizations.
I love you.
I hate you.
I love you.
I fucking love you.
***