Forgetting Draco Malfoy
Chapter Four: A Familiar Face
A fiction by:
Maura Belle
Author's Notes: I don't own Harry Potter or Draco Malfoy. Believe me, if I did, you'd know.
The next morning, the saxophone sounded, clear and ever present as always. The song was the same, and one of Draco's favorites, but today, he noticed, as did the passersby, that the melody was softer, lighter, and was weighted down with sadness. What Draco was upset about, no one asked, and the boy himself made no movement to inquire or search in his mind why his pace today was slower. He marked it off as another bout of depression, which he had tackled quite a few times in his day.
He had nothing to be upset about. He was lucky; luckier than anyone else could have been before him. He had survived—survived some horrible accident, which had killed both his parents, assuming, and he had found himself a new home; a good home. He was in a good town, with good people.
He had survived.
That wasn't the most important. He could have survived and wished he hadn't. He could be in the most horrible place in the world, where everyone was so nice and kind and continued to be even though they hadn't known what sort of actions he had committed previously or where he had come from. At least he wasn't in the kind of place that just took in strangers like him without question, fed him, clothed him, and kept him for five years. He was proud of himself for being led someplace where everyone asked questions and tried to find out where his real parents were, or what in the world his past was like.
Draco's eyes were opened suddenly, and he realized that he had been standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a saxophone case in his hand for a while now. How long had it been since he'd played? How long had it been since he'd cared?
Five years? Five years? Was it five years already? For all he knew, all he had lived was five, long, cold, lonely years, and through five winters he had wanted to take off his shoes and march barefoot in the snow—to leave as he'd arrived—to stand on the mat and wave good-bye, and watch as they let him kindly pass, for they would certainly just let him go about on his own. He would find an overturned car or a burnt-down house or an abandoned one that showed signs of robbery or struggle. He'd giggle at the sight of blood and just be happy he knew what happened. He'd pick up his mother's coin purse and his father's hat and take her pearls from around her neck and dash off with his wallet. He'd cry for joy when he'd read his real last name. He'd pull their bodies off to a softer spot in the snow. He'd dig with his fingers and his nails would chip and fall and his fingers would turn a horrible blue before he would ever reach the depth he'd want. He would dig and dig and dig until he reached the center of the earth, and he'd pull the bodies down with him.
Then with a laugh, he'd look up and realize he himself had no way of getting out.
He would look at his mother, dressed in her best dress and he'd dust off the dirt from her hair as he'd lay down beside her. Unceremoniously, he would straight the jacket that was to keep her warm on their winter drive through the country, or as she ran from their house as it burned, or as she stepped out into the frozen garden to encounter a thief in want of her jewelry.
He would arrange his father's muscles so that he looked as proud as he probably did when Draco came into the world. He'd fit the dead flower stalk back into his breast pocket and straighten his neatly combed hair.
And then, trying to imagine himself in something other than the dirt encrusted clothes he wore, and picturing himself in a wonderful suit as he had arrived in, he would take his place in between them. He wouldn't picture them fighting or her throwing dishes at him or him striking her. He would imagine her sitting, combing her blonde hair, taking in her beautiful image in the hallway mirror. He would imagine him opening the giant, wrought iron gates to their home while telling him he had much business to attend to, and that it was all for his future.
He would sit and let the snow cover them, and not even want to brush it from his face. He'd listen as the search parties and the dogs went out, looking for him aimlessly, hopelessly, and by then, he would be shivering under his snowy blanket.
Father, protect me, he'd think, believing with all his heart that he was heard. He'd find he can't turn his head, his neck was too frozen and stiff, and his eyelids wouldn't open themselves. He'd be sleepy and drowsy, and then, he'd stop thinking altogether, and admit that it was time for him to stop living that sort of dream life in Diomede and start being where he ought to be.
Someone take me home, he thought, hoping his most sincere wishes would reach someone that could.
\*/ ~ \*/ ~ \*/
Ginny was having the time of her life. While she watched Hermione relive her Muggle childhood, she herself, became immersed in the crowds and the clarity that the wizarding world had, though in different colors. She could see the way people interacted here was much friendlier, the sort of attitude she'd seen her parents display towards others. She realized that the people in this town were mostly old-fashioned, and that that was the term for it.
She was a prize to the boys, and was treated rather politely by them when she visited the school with her friends. To the girls, she was a new member of the group, and was often invited to stay over at someone's house for the upcoming weekend. Though Ginny declined every offer made to her, and the rules had a firm sticking in her head, she never managed to feel upset in this sort of place.
What could bother her?
And then, just when she thought life was better than it ever had been before, it got better. It's not exactly what'd you call typical for a teenaged girl to believe that her most humiliating moment was also her best, but that is exactly what Ginny thought as she stepped down from the school steps on the Thursday afternoon. School had just let out, and she had just finished chatting with a new friend as she stood at the door, watching her go. A few other crowds and cliques of people came out, laughing and chattering happily and making their weekend plans that would ultimately start tomorrow.
Finally, Ginny gave up her observations of the Muggle school, as she had been assigned, and started to walk off. She had not noticed that she had finished walking down the steps and was now at the great brick wall that divided the school from the street, just as she did not notice the crack in the sidewalk, or the little chip of stone that caused her to trip.
It seemed to take forever for her to fall, and when she finally thought she'd reach the ground and be able to cry, partly from humiliation, but mostly from the injuries she knew she was about to suffer, she found that she wasn't staring at the ground at all, or even at blood or a cut, or anything even remotely painful, save her savior's tight grip on her arm.
Ginny's eyes were still closed as he spoke.
"Well, that was certainly a close call, there, wasn't it?" His voice was calm and smooth, as though he hadn't been fazed by what he even said.
Ginny opened her eyes wide, as she was still in shock, and more than a little frightened.
"Hey, miss? Are you gonna be alright?"
She shook her head fiercely and gripped the arm that was gripping her and then suddenly gasped. She looked up and was met with a dark gaze stranger than any that she had ever come across. It wasn't his expression or anything about his eyes that really bothered her, but it was more the way he was looking at her—a way she was sure she was mirroring back to him. Really, it wasn't the fall that made her feel so humiliated. It was the amount of time they took, sitting there on the pavement in front of that brick wall… just staring at each other. To Ginny, it was an eternity that seemed to stretch much longer than needed, and she couldn't help but think that she had felt that fluttering in her stomach somewhere before.
She knew she had never been this nervous or excited around Harry, or any other boy at Hogwarts, and it was just her luck that when she finally met a guy who made her flutter the way she did, he had to be a Muggle, and it had to be three days before they left for home.
"I.. I…" Ginny began to stutter, trying to think of a way to break the silence and stop the procession of students that kept walking past them with their quizzical gazes. "I… I have to go—" She released her grip on his arm, but he kept his. Now they were both on their knees, halfway to a standing position.
He suddenly seemed to realize his mistake, and he let her sleeve go. "I'm sorry, I just… I thought you looked… I thought we might've… met before."
"It's alright," Ginny breathed, and leapt up off the ground so quickly that for a moment she had to lay a hand on the brick wall and steady herself. Her eyes blacked out and she began to feel a little dizzy. She waited for her nerves to calm, and while she did so, realized that the boy may have just tried to pick her up! 'Have we met before' was one of those dangerous pickup lines that her mother had told her to always be careful of. Another was 'what's your sign' and both always led to hazardous situations that good girls, such as Ginny herself, should not become involved in. If he was trying to get a date, he was doing an awful job of it. He seemed more confused than he did confident. When she regained her sight and was able to steady herself, he was standing in front of her, and at his full height, she realized he was comfortably taller than she.
"Are you sure you're… alright?" He looked at her skeptically. "I don't normally do this, but, uh," The boy donned a look of frustrated nervousness as he tried to spit the words out. "… can I walk you back?"
Ginny was shocked to find she was actually considering it. She refused the boy's offer politely, or at least as politely as one could without getting him disappointed, and found she made up some really awkward excuse. Embarrassed at having to turn him down (for reasons she could not fathom) she began to dash off, walking as quickly as possible, and making sure to avoid any more cracks in the sidewalk.
Lane walked up to his best friend, as he had been casually standing on the side watching the entire thing play out. "Ouch! Draco! Denied!" He gave him a tender punch in the shoulder, and Draco shot him a glare that might have ended his life had someone not stopped him.
It was the redheaded girl. She had run back to him and grabbed his arm and was now in the process of dragging him off.
"Draco? Hi, I'm Ginny. Nice to meet you. Walk me back."
Draco could not suppress the surprise that immediately befell his expression, and as he turned to see Lane and Hector giving him four great thumbs up.
"It just goes to show," Hector said, giving Draco an even bigger smile, "That you always introduce yourself to a lady."
"It's polite!" Lane announced, and the two of them walked off to go roll some houses.
****
Snape took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, as he took in all that Patty had said through her blubbering. He rested his eyes, tired from focusing on her and asking her questions all night through, and looked around the room at her "Uncle Brown," who scuttled about everywhere with a limp, resulting from a pain in his right leg. He carried a cane here and there, but obviously preferred to go without it, and every time he tried to stand straighter, he would gasp and grip his right leg. This was quickly followed by a soft string of whispered curses as he would blame his pain on the couch or the table or whatever he had bumped into, and then he would quickly mutter "Sorry, sorry about that, forgive me, I'm sorry."
Despite his entirely slow manner and his occasional fits, the man got around rather well and ended up doing a lot of housework while Pansy was telling her story. She had to stop her crying and explaining quite a few times, however, since Uncle Brown could never really do anything right and didn't seem to know how anything worked, with the exception of the light switch.
What made Snape more curious than ever was a little observation he made every time this man would bump into something, he would seem to be tempted to reach into his left jacket pocket. Every time, this man restrained himself, but not quickly enough for Snape to ignore it.
The Headmaster's head lowered and he closed his eyes in deep thought. When he opened them again, Pansy was sitting a little straighter in her chair and was reapplying her makeup.
"Thank you, Pansy. You've been a great help to all of us," But she only looked at him and sniffled, as though she were going to start crying again. But Snape already had a headache so he tried to smile at her. "I'm very proud of you, Pansy. You're a very brave girl."
"B… but," She began again, "What am I supposed to do? I've missed five years of schooling, Professor! I'll never catch up! I can't go back! I just can't!" She pulled out a tissue from a nearby box, held it up to her nose, and made a sound, which reminded Snape sorely of the bus's breaking down. "I'm just," She began to mutter, fresh tears streaming, "… so tired. I followed him here and since I showed up, he's paid me no mind at all! He doesn't care for anyone in this town! He just stays with them out of his own shame, you know!"
Snape unconsciously leaned forward in his chair, his interest piqued and showed. "And… what is Draco ashamed of?"
Pansy scoffed and curled her fists around her tissue so much that the skin on her palms cracked and dripped blood, as though to demonstrate just how upset she really was. "Every pureblood's pride:" She spat, "He thinks he's better than them."
"And he's ashamed," Snape finished, finally, and decided not to act just yet on Pansy's information. He told her that he would wait until he knew more about how Draco arrived and his current status with the people of the town. If they were too attached to him, if they saw him as a youthful prize and had invested in him too much already, they would have a hard time letting go of the boy, but what scared the Headmaster the most was the thought that Draco may not want to leave.
Pansy eventually ended up crying herself to sleep, after admitting it wouldn't be the first time she would not feel rest because of Draco Malfoy. As her sobs began to slowly quiet, Joseph waved his hand toward the door.
"You can let yourself out," He said to Snape, not bothering to hide the spite in his town as he turned his back on the Headmaster and proceeded down the hall. When Snape had first seen this man outside his home, he had brilliant control and endurance, and managed his pain so well that no one would suspect anything. He managed to walk rather normally, and made the cleverest excuses for carrying around the occasional cane, but when at home, he lost his strength and became lazy with his walk, and so his limp had become quite evident to anyone near him. He hobbled about freely, still able to get from place to place, but not without his share of difficulty.
And so if Pansy had been listening from upstairs, still awake, she would have suspected nothing, for she would have thought that Snape was only talking about her Uncle's handicap when he turned to face him from the door.
"And you," Snape responded coolly, "can drop the act."
Coming to a dead halt in the hallway, Joseph turned around slowly, and for the first time in five years, really smiled.
\ * / ~ \ * / ~ \ * /
Hermione and Ron were walking together down Diomede's streets, enjoying the calm of the cool spring day and looking through shop windows together, debating on whether or not they should buy some Muggle items for Mr. Weasley's collection. Harry trailed slowly behind, trying not to get too involved in their conversation, as he didn't want to intrude, but staying close enough that they didn't say anything about his being left out. Harry didn't mind it too much, as he was rather used to being ignored, but once he'd had a taste of what friendship could be, he found that he was beginning to miss it as he turned more and more into that third wheel. He watched them interact with a small twinge of jealousy as the couple before him turned their jokes and comments into excuses to hold the other's hand or to snake an arm around the top of their shoulders. Hermione and Ron had never really officially dated in their school years, and the ironical thing about that was the reason. Their fears were being realized and Harry was left out, but it seemed in their happiness they didn't notice.
They snuck off places with or without checking to see if Harry had enough company to keep him calm, they whispered little things to each other about where they would meet when they thought he wasn't listening, but the worst of these, were their attempts to play matchmakers between him and Cho.
In their third and fourth years, he and Cho had dated, but towards the end of the fourth, she started to talk to that Cedric Diggory more, going along with the rest of the school's opinion about him being "the Real Champion." She played Harry until she lost interest in him, and eventually started to date Cedric. She left Harry for him. And then he died.
She hadn't spoken to Harry since the tragic event, but he was almost sure he was being blamed for it. Harry marked his fourth year as the worst year of his life, and left it at that to move on. He had no intentions of getting back with Cho or with anyone for that matter. He was rather concentrating on his future with the Ministry as an Auror, and the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord.
But Hermione and Ron's minds were focused on much more trivial things, such as romance, and at that notion, Harry scoffed.
In fact, it was right in mid-scoff when Harry happened to look to his left and see Ginny. Ginny was walking along the sidewalk, gripping the arm of… of…
"Aaauu….. uuggh…. Eeee…." He could not force out the words, so the dumbfounded Harry merely yanked Ron over to his side. Hermione, now glum and very disappointed, looked over to where the boys were staring…. And she saw nothing.
"What was it?" She asked, and received two very cold stares from some very red faces. "What?"
"It… was…. I… What… How… No… NO!" Ron lost all sanity and collapsed against Hermione, an astonished expression on his otherwise blank face.
Harry did his equal share of mumbling and then found a word he rather liked and stuck with it all the way back to the Inn. "Why…. Why…. Why?"
***********
Draco began his walk towards the Inn, but when they were nearly there, was diverted by the tugging of the arm on his that led him down a different road.
"I'm not in the Inn," Ginny admitted, "There wasn't enough room for everybody, so this kind old woman offered us rooms in her home. All we had to do was dust everything off a little."
Draco merely nodded, sensing that she was uncomfortable and talking would help her deal with things that were currently swarming her thoughts. "She's a really a nice old bird. I haven't met any older person with such a good temper or a dance teacher. When we arrived, she was doing the Fox Trot with this young Spanish man and laughing her head clear off! He wasn't really all that bad looking, either, but I don't suppose she could date him. They've got to be sixty years apart. She just calls him Mr. Instructor because I don't suppose she can remember his name, but she is… Her name is… Phelps? No, wait, it started with a T. Am I rambling? I feel like I'm rambling and that maybe I'm intimidating you with all my talking. Oh! I can't believe I did it again. See, this is why I don't have a boyfriend, I talk too much and I overanalyze and I'm such a head case that no one will bother with me!!"
As Ginny breathed, Draco sort of smirked. "It's Tata Phillips, though a lot of the kids have gotten into this habit of calling her Tootsie. She thinks it's a compliment, saying that she's sweet, but really, a lot of the little boys say it because she has 'rolls.'" He paused a moment on the long, deserted dirt road to think. "Actually, I'd say she's in pretty good shape for her age." All of this had been said as he kept a pretty clear eye on the road before them, not looking at her, though he could feel her gaze on him, analyzing him just as she said she might. But presently, his head turned and he met her warm gaze with a surprisingly colder, harsher stare, one that was rather uncharacteristic of the way he'd presented himself thus far.
"And I don't mind the rambling."
For a moment, Ginny took him in, and they kept their eyes on each other as they walked, eventually having to stop for fear they might run into something. She studied him as though he was behind glass, feeling as though she could look all she wanted, but she'd never be able to figure it out.
"You're him, aren't you?"
Draco frowned, and a curious expression rushed over his features rather suddenly. "Who?"
"Draco. I mean, how many parents would name their son Draco? There can't be a lot of you in the world."
There was a pause as she looked to her feet and began to think, muttering things and counting on her fingers as though making calculations of his history. Then she looked up, and all reason or logic that she might have been prepared to voice fell, and she felt compelled to say something out of context, as she almost always did.
"You look just like him," She mumbled, as though she didn't want him to catch it. Silently, she thought of the way he would always greet her in the hallway, and then the way he'd been forced to ignore her if there was a crowd around. He gave her no special attention in public, probably because of her brothers. Ron had always been a little too overprotective, but on the occasions when she actually was alone, when she was late for class or had lagged behind on purpose, just to see him, he would always snatch her away to a little corner, if only to ask where she was going, and it was nice just to talk to him. Was she talking to him now?
"Draco?"
The boy looked at her and wondered just how insane this girl could be. She had obviously tripped over a few many cracks in the sidewalk in her day. "Hm?"
"AHA!"
Draco jumped back a bit, as she had released her hold on his arm to point an accusing finger. "No one would answer that quickly unless it was their real name. Draco is your real name! I found you!"
Her arm began to sink slowly until it found its former place by her side, and she just continued to smile at him. Draco was caught off-guard. What was she talking about? He had no idea what this girl thought she knew about him, but as he had his own thoughts to tend to, he wasn't prepared for what she did next.
She hugged him.
Draco felt an insuppressible need to hug her back, wanting to believe that he just felt sorry for the girl. She began to cry into his shoulder, and as she did, he gave himself some time to try to clear his mind. Had she found him? Did she know where he had been before? Not realizing what he was doing, his grip on the girl had tightened as he pulled her into a clearer embrace and his face had buried into her hair as though he had done these actions before, as he felt comfortable doing them. His previous nervousness and uncertainty had faded and he was left with a sense of confidence, which he nearly swore was familiar. At the same time, however, he felt sort of smug and proud of himself, and though he pushed away this pride easily, he wondered where it had come from.
As he thought, her sobs began to subside, and she only stayed in the hug, not for consolation, but for her own comfort. "I've missed this."
\ * / ~ \ * / ~ \ * /
Josef sat at the desk in his little gas station/mini mart, depressed at the direction his life had taken him in the last few years. He'd been unlucky from the day he graduated, and it hadn't left him just yet. His cousin, Joseph, stepped through the door casually, ignoring the bell's ringing. His hand was nervously twitching inside his pocket, and as a subconscious reflex, Josef's hand went to his own.
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed them," Brown was breathing heavily, and wincing as though he was in pain. He must have run here, Josef thought. But that was insanity! He couldn't have run on his bad leg! It was impossible. Josef popped out of his seat and quickly pushed it over on its whining wheels towards the staggering man. As he sat, the pain was relieved from his injury, but his breathing had yet to slow.
"I've noticed," Josef admitted. "Who couldn't?" He hoped that conversation would take his friend's mind off his pain. He kneeled down so they were eye to eye. "What's going on?"
Joseph Brown didn't answer.
"C'mon, tell me, Joseph."
But as he had just caught his breath, a fear rose in his eyes.
"No one's here, you can spit it out."
He stuttered and hesitated; both panic and dread finding comfortable places in his ever-tightening throat and chest.
"REM—"
In the fastest movement of his life, Joseph Brown had covered his cousin's mouth with his own hand, though his other was still lodged in his pocket. "It was the Parkinson girl," He began, "Pansy. She spilled everything to Snape. He knows."
The hand slipped from Josef's mouth, and he was able to speak again. "What… exactly did she say?"
"Everything she knew about Draco. That boy's in trouble…. Josef."
"So, nothing about us then?"
Joseph's nervousness returned, and sensing this and his hesitation to speak, Josef eyed him suspiciously, before letting out a string of curses that were hardly called for.
"She knew?!"
"No! No, she wasn't smart enough to figure it out! It was him."
"What?!"
"It was my limp. It gave it away—I, I just…I forgot—Snape used to be a Death Eater. He was probably present when You-Know-Who gave it to me." A grim atmosphere befell the station as both men sat, pondering things. They were so intent on figuring it out, and so wrapped up in their own thoughts, that they didn't ever catch the sound of uneasy breathing coming from two boys in the storage closet, who muffled their panic attacks only by the toilet paper they had been preparing to smuggle out.
****
I know, I know. It will just never end. But at least summer has given me some more time to write and that's a plus, right? My deepest apologies to all who were waiting for this fic. It's got to have been, what, three years since I last updated? Oh well. I had this serious case of writer's block when I finished my last chapter, and I just could not figure out where to go from there. In fact, this chapter alone might've taken me like a week to finish just because of my incredible perfectionist quality. But aside from that, I know where I'm going with this now, and it's not just an intro anymore—this is the real thing! It's actually moving! Plot! I've got a plot! Stay tuned. I maybe be updating as soon as I get some reviews. Too much to ask? I dunno, fellas, I think you can make it. (haha)
Peace, love, and all that jazz,
Maura Belle
