Creep – Chapter 2

            It was refreshing to laugh; we had been so serious, so business like this summer. Harry, Ron and I had been in the business of saving the world. We had no time for fun or laughter. It's a sad thought, really. We're only seventeen and no time for laughter. We have all the time in the world now. Horrible as it was, this summer was a success. We came out alive and Voldemort is no more. The remaining Death Eaters are leaderless and on the run from the Ministry of Magic. For the first time in six years, we're safe. I give myself a moment to simply enjoy this newfound sense of safety. My attention seizes on the faint music in the café. It's an older song, but I remember it.

I don't care if it hurts,
I want to have control.
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul.
I want you to notice,
when I'm not around.
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

            Ron looks so out of place in this Muggle café. Harry and I cannot help but laugh at him. He tries to look so nonchalant, but his eyes pop every now and then. We don't need to know what he is looking at; it's his expression that's hilarious. Our laughter is infectious and Ron always laughs with us. I'm not even sure if Ron is really so funny. We just need to laugh. I think that's what we fought for, although it will never be recorded that way. It's too poetic and illogical. Who would really fight for laughter?

            A shock of white in the corner of my eye answers that question. I pretend not to notice him; Harry and Ron would only make trouble. They don't know the truth yet and it isn't safe for him to be in a public scene. It's strange that he's sitting in a Muggle café, and then I realize that it's probably one of the safer places for him. Who would ever expect to find Draco Malfoy frequenting Muggle establishments? 

            "I still don't understand, 'Moine," Ron interrupts my wandering thoughts. "Why did Dumbledore owl you all that inside information? Harry and I owled him once and all we got was a howler from McGonagall telling us to keep our noses out."

            Oh, shit. What in the world could I say this time? Ron and Harry had believed me when I told them my information was from Dumbledore and never questioned why he would encourage us to seek out Voldemort and the Death Eaters on our own.

            "It's because I'm Head Girl this year." I know I'm smart, I know I can think fast, but I really don't know where that came from. It sounds plausible, though. Hopefully, they won't be mad at me when they find out the truth. Draco is a hero for what he's done, but he also deserves to live. Giving proof to the remaining Death Eaters that they boy many of them still think of as Voldemort's heir betrayed them… it might kill him. "It looked appropriate for him to be owling me and he always hid the information in talk about school duties and activities. If the Headmaster of Hogwarts were in frequent correspondence with The Boy Who Lived just as Voldemort was rising, the Death Eaters would know for sure that we were involved. In fact, -"

            "She's right, Ron." Harry cut me off. I suppose I was gearing up for a full-blown lecture. As awful as it is to lie to your best friends, at least they believe me. "Hermoine is Head Girl this year. This means that she gets all sorts of extra privileges…"

            "Don't you even think it, Harry Potter!" His sly smile made me laugh. "I will not show you two any favouritism, and I will take House Points if I have too."

            "Awe, but 'Moine!"

*****

            I could hear Weasley whining about Hermoine being Head Girl. I touched the Hogwarts Letter on my pocket, to reassure myself for the millionth time that it was still there. If she had problems taking points from Gryffindor, I certainly did not.  I wondered, again for the millionth time, why I was Head Boy this year. My grades were some of the highest in the school, but it wasn't just grades that made a Head Boy. I know I do not possess any of those foolish Gryffindor traits Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff seem so overly fond of. Perhaps this is Dumbledores' way of acknowledging what I had done this summer. Professor Snape and I had already received our congratulation and our medals, but still no one knew. We were secretly honoured as the world cheered the mighty Harry Potter. I know it was meant to keep me safe, is still meant to keep me safe, but it's hard not to be bitter. I was in just as much danger as he was. I worked just as hard as he ever did.  Their laughter interrupted my thoughts again. Stomaching their happiness is more than I can bear right now. They have every right to be happy and to laugh. I have every right to as well, I just can't. Who would I laugh with? My dead friends? My empty house? If there was a Slytherin House this year, I would be highly surprised. I threw my muggle money on the table and glanced once more at the Golden Trio. Harry and Ron had their heads together and judging from the motions they made with their hands, they were discussing Quidditch. Hermione must have felt my gaze. She turned and looked at me, a ghost of a smile on her face. She mouthed something and I couldn't make it out. My frown caused her to glance in alarm at her friends. They were in deep conversation and would not come up for air for some time yet. She smiled brightly at me, and this time I understood what she mouthed. Owl me. I nodded and left for Diagon Alley.

            My purchases for the year made and on their way to Malfoy Manor, I returned home. Thoughts of Hermione had been plaguing me all afternoon. We hadn't communicated since the death of Voldemort. I received one last message from her. The parchment was splotched with blood I can only assume was hers. Odd that she would write to me while still injured, but I knew she would not be able to Owl me unless the wounds were superficial. Two tiny words were the last I ever heard from her. We won. I didn't reply, there was no point. We were never meant to be friends, barely even associates at the best of times. It's true that war makes strange bedfellows. Now if only I could remember who said that. I was still deep in thought as to why Hermione wanted me to contact her. What could she possibly want from me when she had the two heroes at her beck and call? A tugging on my robe broke my thoughts. I nearly smacked myself, as Father couldn't possibly do it for me. Malfoys do not loose themselves in thought publicly and anywhere that was not the most secret of chambers was public.

            "Sirs," A House Elf. This one was covered in a garish purple pillowcase. "Messages came for you, Sirs."

            I smiled down at the unfortunate creature. They were all I had, after all and I was trying to turn a new leaf. Be as un-Malfoy as I could, if only to spite the memory of Father. Besides, I depended on the House Elves to take care of Mother. Now if only I could remember this Elf's name.

            "Messages?" I gave up the search for its name and instead focused on the lack of parchment in the creature's tiny hands. "Where have you put them?"

            "Your room, Sirs." The Elf quaked with joy that I had not hit him. They were still not used to the quasi-freedom I had granted them earlier this summer. I required their undying loyalty; otherwise Mother would end up in St. Mungo's. That was no place for anyone, much less my Mother. "Messages on your desk."

            "Thank you." My Father's voice thundered at me in the back of my mind. Malfoys are not kind to servants. House Elves are dirty scum and deserve no less than to be our slaves. I gave that voice the finger and crouched down beside the Elf. I looked him in the eye. "How has Mother been?"

            "Oh, Sirs!" The little thing had a positive fit. I finally understood the Muggle term happy dance. "Lady has been so good. Today, Lady has eaten all her breakfast and lunch. And we's painted today, Sirs. Lady and us made pretty pictures."

            I was overjoyed. Mother had wasted away for a month before I could convince her to keep any food down. Not only was she eating, but also she was keeping herself active. She might come out of this yet.

            "I will see her now." I stood and strode towards the staircase that would take me to the Master Suite.

            "Oh no!" The elf howled and jumped in front of me. I was sorely tempted to kick it, as I would have in year's prior. Oh no? That little parasite dares to tell me what I can and cannot do? "Sirs, you mustn't. Lady is sleeping. Nap time."

            Oh. I felt foolish, but luckily had not acted on my first instinct to see how far an Elf can fly. I hid my chagrin and veered my course slightly.

            "Of course. Let me know when she is awake and prepared to receive me." That sounded Lordly enough. I could change, but not that much. I was still Lord and Master of this house and that was how it would remain. No one makes a fool of a Malfoy. I strode up the stairs and disappeared into my personal apartments without waiting for the Elf to respond. I shut my chamber door and shuddered. Garish purple thing, it would have been a pleasure to see it fly through the air and splat face first into the heavy granite walls. Being good is much harder than the Golden Trio make it out to be.

*****

Authors Notes:             Ok, thank you to the people who reviewed me. I'm really thankful. It's good to know that I'm writing people in character, seeing as how I've never read the books and have only a slight idea of what their character really is.

I always hated song fics. Mostly because the ones I come across are tiny things where more than half the words are song lyrics. It's silly revolving a story entirely around a song. However, music rules my life and I'm sure it rules many lives. It's rather integral to society, I think. So I toss in a song every now and again when I think it's relevant. Thus far, I've only used one song (which made the rating go up. Bad language, bad!) which is, as I stated earlier, Creep by Radiohead. I'm not making any money off of its use, but let's promote it anyway. It's from a 1993 album called Pablo Honey. Give it a listen if you can, wicked album.

OK, review or flame as you please. Thank you all for reading my silly tale.