Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual
relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU
HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
you'll never know, dear
just how much I loved you
you'll probably think this was
just my big excuse
- ani di franco
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
The next morning I'm so hung-over I can barely sit up. It's Saturday, thank the gods.
I'm having difficulty remembering when, and how, I made it back to the dungeons. My clothes are still damp from the snow and I've slept with my cloak and boots on. I glare at the clock on the wall until it comes into focus -- 9:30 am. I still have an hour to make it to breakfast.
The mirror murmurs a soft tsk tsk as I step into view. My eyes are circled with dark patches and my hair hangs limp. At the corner of my mouth there is a trace of what looks suspiciously like vomit. Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth, Potter's voice mutters in my head.
"Shut up," I snarl to no one in particular. Scowling, I drag myself off to the Prefect's bathroom.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
More than a few heads turn as I stalk into the Great Hall half an hour later. I've hidden the bags under my eyes with a subtle illusion spell and my skin is glowing healthily as a result. I no longer gel my hair back in an oily imitation of my father, and today it hangs loosely around my face. I can feel my jeans clinging to my arse as I move and the feeling of eyes upon my body is exhilarating. My head is pounding from last night's binge, but they don't need to know that.
I slide into my usual territory and eye the array of foods. Bacon, eggs, porridge......better to reach for the safe option. I move in on a piece of plain toast.
"Draco, love, long night?" Pansy simpers across the table. Her tongue flicks through her teeth to catch the stray drop of butter on her lips before snaking away again. I resist the urge to shudder and instead glance away. Zabini is glowering darkly over his cereal and I feel a pang of guilt, but when he raises his head his nose looks no different to normal. Pomfrey has been working her magic once again.
The hostility hovering about me at the Slytherin table is no longer a surprise. My isolation has been an unspoken and deliberate process since the day I was elected Prefect. It was inevitable, really; pre-arranged friendships have short life spans. Still, even pretending to have friends is less lonely than admitting to none at all. Crabbe and Goyle will not so much as look up from their meals to greet me, now. It is evident they prefer to follow each other than a Malfoy. I would not hold it against them.
Chewing meticulously, I allow my eyes to follow their usual route across the room to the Gryffindor table. With fifteen minutes left of breakfast, the Happy Harry Gang have already finished and departed to attend to their.....Happy Harry Stuff. What can anybody possibly have to rush off to around here on a Saturday?
Whatever they do and I don't, obviously. That's what they rush off to.
Scraping my stool back, I stuff the last morsel of toast into my mouth and stand slowly. Giving the hall a final scan, my eyes meet Dumbledore's and I feel suddenly ill again. I had completely forgotten the meeting in a little over two hours. As I move towards the doorway nobody wishes me goodbye.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
My headache begins to fade with some food in my stomach and I feel more alert than I have been all week. I begin to construct a list in my mind of the places Potter and company are most likely to be.
Harry Hunting is my most recent and bizarre obsession. Going for days without speaking to anyone can become murderously boring, and watching others socialise is strangely addictive. It is with a delirious mix of curiosity and hatred that I spy on the small group of Griffyndors going about their daily business. I have myself convinced it is for purely scientific purposes. Not to mention absolutely normal. After all, we are all voyeurs at heart.
I begin with a visual search of the endlessly white grounds, noting that the groundskeeper's hut is dark and closed up. Then I check the massive library for any bushy-haired bookworms, followed by the Kitchens where Weasley can too often be found gorging himself. The Astronomy Tower is empty, as is the Entrance Hall, but it is as I am moving back towards the Great Hall that I hear a distinctly Granger-like argument echoing down the right-hand staircase.
"If you would stop pulling faces and listen up for once, Ron, then maybe you wouldn't be in this situation!"
I ascend the staircase slowly, considering the hiding places I already know of.
"Oh, so now this is an opportunity for the great bloody Hermione to prove what an adept student she is, is it? Please, please, never mind that this is about me!"
I run my hand along the smooth banister and eye off the dark alcove behind a statue.
"Bloody hell, Ron, stop being so self-pitying and useless, and go and do something about it for once!"
I know there's a classroom around here somewhere. If I could just sneak through the door...
"Easy enough for you to say, fucking spock."
"Ron, you come back here!"
"Get stuf--"
He stops mid-sentence at the top of the stairs to stare at me. I am crouched halfway down the staircase, the guilt written all over my face.
"Right there, Malfoy?" It is an effort to steel myself against the danger in his eyes as I stand up.
"Just fixing my boot," I mutter lamely and move past him as swiftly as I can.
"Bleeding faggot," he says sharply behind me.
There is no pause between the welling anger in my chest and the moment I turn and jump on him. We tumble down the stairs heavily, but somehow I don't notice the sharp pain in my head. He turns effortlessly as we hit the stone floor and swings his fist into my jaw. Ignoring the blood trailing from my mouth, I concentrate all of my strength upwards and throw him off me so hard he skids across the floor. Leaping over and straddling his torso with my legs, we wrestle against the hard stone before I free one hand and smash my fist into his face. My arm swings again and again, pounding his skull like a punching bag, until I realise he is limp in my grip. Pulling myself away, it occurs to me that he has been limp for some time. His face is unrecognisable.
Oh no.
Somebody is screaming behind me. I turn to look at Granger just as McGonagall comes running down the stairs. My fists are covered in blood.
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
you'll never know, dear
just how much I loved you
you'll probably think this was
just my big excuse
- ani di franco
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
The next morning I'm so hung-over I can barely sit up. It's Saturday, thank the gods.
I'm having difficulty remembering when, and how, I made it back to the dungeons. My clothes are still damp from the snow and I've slept with my cloak and boots on. I glare at the clock on the wall until it comes into focus -- 9:30 am. I still have an hour to make it to breakfast.
The mirror murmurs a soft tsk tsk as I step into view. My eyes are circled with dark patches and my hair hangs limp. At the corner of my mouth there is a trace of what looks suspiciously like vomit. Smooth, Malfoy, really smooth, Potter's voice mutters in my head.
"Shut up," I snarl to no one in particular. Scowling, I drag myself off to the Prefect's bathroom.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
More than a few heads turn as I stalk into the Great Hall half an hour later. I've hidden the bags under my eyes with a subtle illusion spell and my skin is glowing healthily as a result. I no longer gel my hair back in an oily imitation of my father, and today it hangs loosely around my face. I can feel my jeans clinging to my arse as I move and the feeling of eyes upon my body is exhilarating. My head is pounding from last night's binge, but they don't need to know that.
I slide into my usual territory and eye the array of foods. Bacon, eggs, porridge......better to reach for the safe option. I move in on a piece of plain toast.
"Draco, love, long night?" Pansy simpers across the table. Her tongue flicks through her teeth to catch the stray drop of butter on her lips before snaking away again. I resist the urge to shudder and instead glance away. Zabini is glowering darkly over his cereal and I feel a pang of guilt, but when he raises his head his nose looks no different to normal. Pomfrey has been working her magic once again.
The hostility hovering about me at the Slytherin table is no longer a surprise. My isolation has been an unspoken and deliberate process since the day I was elected Prefect. It was inevitable, really; pre-arranged friendships have short life spans. Still, even pretending to have friends is less lonely than admitting to none at all. Crabbe and Goyle will not so much as look up from their meals to greet me, now. It is evident they prefer to follow each other than a Malfoy. I would not hold it against them.
Chewing meticulously, I allow my eyes to follow their usual route across the room to the Gryffindor table. With fifteen minutes left of breakfast, the Happy Harry Gang have already finished and departed to attend to their.....Happy Harry Stuff. What can anybody possibly have to rush off to around here on a Saturday?
Whatever they do and I don't, obviously. That's what they rush off to.
Scraping my stool back, I stuff the last morsel of toast into my mouth and stand slowly. Giving the hall a final scan, my eyes meet Dumbledore's and I feel suddenly ill again. I had completely forgotten the meeting in a little over two hours. As I move towards the doorway nobody wishes me goodbye.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
My headache begins to fade with some food in my stomach and I feel more alert than I have been all week. I begin to construct a list in my mind of the places Potter and company are most likely to be.
Harry Hunting is my most recent and bizarre obsession. Going for days without speaking to anyone can become murderously boring, and watching others socialise is strangely addictive. It is with a delirious mix of curiosity and hatred that I spy on the small group of Griffyndors going about their daily business. I have myself convinced it is for purely scientific purposes. Not to mention absolutely normal. After all, we are all voyeurs at heart.
I begin with a visual search of the endlessly white grounds, noting that the groundskeeper's hut is dark and closed up. Then I check the massive library for any bushy-haired bookworms, followed by the Kitchens where Weasley can too often be found gorging himself. The Astronomy Tower is empty, as is the Entrance Hall, but it is as I am moving back towards the Great Hall that I hear a distinctly Granger-like argument echoing down the right-hand staircase.
"If you would stop pulling faces and listen up for once, Ron, then maybe you wouldn't be in this situation!"
I ascend the staircase slowly, considering the hiding places I already know of.
"Oh, so now this is an opportunity for the great bloody Hermione to prove what an adept student she is, is it? Please, please, never mind that this is about me!"
I run my hand along the smooth banister and eye off the dark alcove behind a statue.
"Bloody hell, Ron, stop being so self-pitying and useless, and go and do something about it for once!"
I know there's a classroom around here somewhere. If I could just sneak through the door...
"Easy enough for you to say, fucking spock."
"Ron, you come back here!"
"Get stuf--"
He stops mid-sentence at the top of the stairs to stare at me. I am crouched halfway down the staircase, the guilt written all over my face.
"Right there, Malfoy?" It is an effort to steel myself against the danger in his eyes as I stand up.
"Just fixing my boot," I mutter lamely and move past him as swiftly as I can.
"Bleeding faggot," he says sharply behind me.
There is no pause between the welling anger in my chest and the moment I turn and jump on him. We tumble down the stairs heavily, but somehow I don't notice the sharp pain in my head. He turns effortlessly as we hit the stone floor and swings his fist into my jaw. Ignoring the blood trailing from my mouth, I concentrate all of my strength upwards and throw him off me so hard he skids across the floor. Leaping over and straddling his torso with my legs, we wrestle against the hard stone before I free one hand and smash my fist into his face. My arm swings again and again, pounding his skull like a punching bag, until I realise he is limp in my grip. Pulling myself away, it occurs to me that he has been limp for some time. His face is unrecognisable.
Oh no.
Somebody is screaming behind me. I turn to look at Granger just as McGonagall comes running down the stairs. My fists are covered in blood.