Broken
By Angel Of Music
Author's Note: Since the fifth book is coming out in a matter of days, and the first few chapters of this story are only using the information from books One-Four, I have decided to add spoilers at the beginning of each chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience! Happy "Order of the Phoenix" reading!! -Angel Of Music (Elana)
Chapter Three: And So It Unravels
Touched with moonlight, Hogwarts Castle lay soundlessly, basking in the aphotic evening. Its gallant peaks stood, bold against the dimly lit sky, beautiful and mysterious. Little stirred, for it was past midnight, and the brightness of the stars had died. Even the forbidden forest seemed clear of intrusion. It was black, cold, and piercing, and the only refuge he could find was the minimal warmth that was flowing sleepily from the moonlight. Silence. It was a feat that spoke so loudly that its voice was inaudible; a voice that was so needy no one person could hear it. Comfort, however, flowed through his veins when he was engulfed in silence, and it was enough. Even if it only cleared his thoughts momentarily, the constricting silence was enough. But he knew, he knew within the very core of his stone heart, that the unpronounced sounds would be annihilated soon enough; swallowed by the massive roar of war. There was no doubt this was true.
Wind ruffled the hair of the pondering boy, who stood silently upon a balcony, staring placidly into the blank evening. Gorgeous, really, it was; serene. Gray. Mysterious. It had a faint resemblance of himself. He ran a hand through his wind-toyed locks, his grim expression not daring to once shift. His solemn platinum eyes fitted upon the canopy of trees before him as the dew-ridden air played against his blanched cheeks, dutifully painting them rose. The silence reminded him of his never-dying pain. Provoked him to feel the hurt that he usually felt once more. The piercing voyage of anguish traveled throughout his limbs, his fingers, his stomach- his heart; his immobile, onyx heart. That was his emotion; the only emotion he had inside of his self. That very preceding statement was the attitude that he had wanted to release for so many years. Someday it would reveal itself; there was no doubt about that.
His astronomy tower privileges had been taken away, the rogues. For this he nearly began to despise his preferred professor, and without overly good reasoning, he admitted. He had found a small balcony off of one of the classrooms in the third floor corridor. It was a small place, adorned in Romanesque pedestals, and which had a strong odor of black rose petals. In Draco Malfoy's opinion, he had found the next best place. It seemed, however, that the scents reminded him strongly of his childhood, and for this, his rating of the balcony dropped dramatically.
He had never really been what was expected of a child. He never played, jumped, or sang. The morbid infant merely sat in his room for hours, his bleak, small figure silhouetted against the large, luminous walls, staring into the atmosphere. But Draco Malfoy was not a normal child. In fact, he was far from. The boy had secrets that no one could possibly know, for if they did, something would go wrong. Terribly wrong. For it was this boy who saw things. Not natural things, but horrifying, gruesome, and inhumane things. And he could do nothing to stop these horror-provoking fantasies in his mind. They were incessant- never-ending, fiendish creatures that ran throughout his thoughts like wildfire. And since the moment he was born he was able to visualize these strange, mystifying, terrifying day-dreams. Every moment he felt himself slipping away into his world of thought, and he fought his hardest to stop this from occurring. Over the years he had mastered the art of avoiding his devilish nightmares, but some, which had their relevance, always shone though. And the problem was, the only way to halt the visions was to perish, and if he did, the world would most likely perish with him.
Tired of the night, he retreated back into the classroom, and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, finally draping it over his arm. His pale skin hit the moonlight that shone through the glass in a prepossessing uplift, and as he drew himself away from it, Draco Malfoy disappeared into the writhing darkness that was his life.
* * *
Draco hardly had time to notice his bacon early next morning, when an enormous great-horned owl fluttered down next to him. Curious to see who had sent him a letter, he hurriedly untied the parchment and unfolded it.
Dear Master Draco Malfoy,
It read.
Due to your helpfulness in the past, I have seen what you are capable of. Although I know you must have enough to worry about, what with school, I will make this brief and to the point. Using your "talent," shall we call it? You have successfully shown us that your visions are reliable. The ministry, and in saying this I refer specifically to myself, would be most certainly grateful if you could lend us more of your information. Since we have it at our disposal, I believe it would be a waste of an opportunity not to ask you. Please send us word as soon as you get my owl.
Sincerely,
Cornelius Fudge, Minister Of Magic
"Rubbish." The boy mumbled under his breath. "They couldn't have gotten this far without me." He shut his eyes, bringing a thumb to his temples and massaging them roughly.
"What was that?" Asked Goyle, chunks of chewed sausage falling from his lips as he spoke. The blonde shook his head at the boy's burdened demeanor.
"Nothing." He responded sharply, feeding the owl before him a bit of bacon, then sending it on its way. Yes, he would help the ministry, but it meant once again defying his father. But then again, he had been able to do it almost his entire life, and there was no true reason to stop at that moment.
"You going to eat that?" Questioned Crabbe from his other side, motioning toward the scrap of bacon that the owl had left. Raising his eyebrows, Draco raised his hand towards the food particles.
"No, by all means, take it." He breathed sarcastically, rolling his chrome eyes. Pausing, he added, "If that was up a troll's nose, would you still eat it?" Crabbe pursed his lips in thought.
"Yeah, if I was hungry 'nuff. Why, wouldn't you?" Suddenly more interested in the toast on his plate, Draco shot Crabbe a nasty look and flung a slab of butter onto the bread, bringing it to his mouth and taking a crisp bite out of it.
"Bah, cold." He spat, spewing pieces of bread upon the table. "Don't these house elves make anything right? The food here is so mediocre."
"Nothing like you get at home." Pointed Goyle. "Your mum makes a mean steak." Nodding, the blonde shook his head, at a void for appetite.
"I'm going back up to the common room." He said sharply, briskly turning his head and departing. He swept through the hallways quickly, gliding down the stone stairs and belting into the dungeons. A fire crackled solemnly before the abandoned common room, illuminating the jade-adorned furniture with its forlorn light. Draco slowly sat down in an emerald couch before the fire, resting his head upon his palm. And suddenly, his eyelids, in a burst of fatigue, fluttered shut.
* * *
"Lucius, no!" The strong scent of flames hurtled through the air. Terrifying screams darted through his ears, faces flashed their horror-struck expressions. Children were crying for their mothers. Eruptions were emblazoning the sky. Laughter; terrible, cruel laughter, was echoing through the black night, ringing across the valley. A man was howling away, his raven hair dancing across his cheeks as his hysterics heightened. His wand was outstretched at an erratic, chrome-haired man who stood shivering, merely staring off into the hellish distance. The man was not moving, but standing plastered to the spot, a grim smile playing on his lips. A second man, shorter, yet thin, stood behind the first, beckoning him forth, away from the cackling demon. "You must come!" He shouted, his hand frantically waving at the blonde. "Please, Lucius, come! You cannot let him win!" But the man still stood, simply staring at the fiend, the smirk still shot upon his face.
"If he wants me, he may have me, Severus. Fate will choose my destiny, haven't you learned that by now? Not after all I've taught you?" The laugher grew louder, its levity completely diminished.
"You're smarter then that, just step towards me, don't let him triumph!"
"Why shouldn't I? I've got nothing to live for!"
"Are you saying I'm not worth your life, Lucius Malfoy? After all we've been through? Step forward, please, don't just do it for me, but for yourself. Don't make a choice either of us will regret. I love you."
"No. You love my son." And with this, an overpowerment of cackling burst forth, growing louder and more echoed until... the scene bust forth in a swirl of green light and Draco Malfoy awoke, panting audibly upon his bed. He immediately sat up, running a palm through his damp hair. He'd had another vision...a vision of his father this time...tugging a sweating hand across his perspirated brow, he sighed a bit to himself and stood to inform Fudge of his strange dream.
It hadn't been a while since Draco had last had a vision. They were constant; what seemed like never-ending epiphanies, queer and mysterious. They were frightening almost, because they were usually accurate. What had his father meant by, 'You love my son?' and what did Snape have anything to do with his family? Confusion was mounting in his body; bold and fresh as a morning's sun, and it ached. Pain was engulfed in every limb in his body, as it always had been after he'd had one of his strange revelations. He stepped down the stairs, deep in thought, and entered the common room.
Delirious as he was, he was still conscious that as he flew down the stairwell, he hit into something rather impliable. Looking up to see what he had struck, he coughed as his vision met with Severus Snape's. *You love my son...*
"Good afternoon," Muttered Draco, oblivious as to why the professor had taken a sudden interest in the Slytherin common room. The man responded with a stout nod of his head, followed by a brief exhale. "What are you doing here?" He asked after a moment, his curiosity taking the better of him.
"Last time I checked, Mister Malfoy, I was the head of Slytherin house, am I wrong?"
"No, professor." He grunted, bothered that his teacher had been so broad. "I mean, you usually aren't in-"
"Hogsmeade weekend." The raven-haired man cut off, glaring at the boy. "Posting the notice." Suddenly aware that Snape's hand had been upon the bulletin board the entire time, Draco stifled a chuckle at his own stupidity. "Have you got a problem with that?"
"No, sir, I'm just- just a bit side-tracked today, that seems to be all." Suddenly a quick pang of concern spread across Snape's face, then died just as quickly. The worry resembled, almost perfectly, the same expression that the man had on in his vision. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Draco said quickly, "Good day, professor." Again Snape bowed his head as the blonde rushed past.
The owlry, a dark, dreary place, welcomed him with a barricade of hoots as he entered the room. He lethargically made his way over to his large eagle owl, Calconess, and stood before her. "Got a job for you." He whispered slowly, running a palm quickly over the raptor's thick, glossy feathers. With this, he drew forth a small roll of parchment and a quill from his robes, and wrote the following note.
Minister Fudge,
I've had another vision, though I am unsure of it's meaning. It was strange- quite strange- and I'm sure you'd like to hear of it. Return my post as quickly as you can.
Master Draco S. Malfoy.
With a final narrowing of his eyes, he folded the note in two and tied it to the owl's leg, throwing it out into the afternoon air.
* * *
Black, curious, snooping eyes blared at him from every angle of the room. As usual, as it happened every time he'd try to spend time in the common room, the greater portion of the female population was staring at him thoughtfully. Whispers followed the gazes, which littered the room with audible comments, most of which glorified Draco Malfoy beyond what he truly deserved.
"Those eyes, those beautiful silver eyes! Like unicorn tail, they are!"
"And that luscious, milky complexion! So pale and blanched! Perfectly mysterious."
"Have you seen the way he moves? It's incredibly graceful." These whispers surrounded Draco nearly everywhere he went- he was used to it by now. They usually came from the younger female population, for Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls had learned long ago that fawning over Draco Malfoy was a waste of time. Pansy and Draco had been a pair for a few weeks, until Draco declared he found her boring, and the two were not very warm with one another ever since. However, Pansy had still not completely given up on the boy, and every so often she would conveniently drop her quill right next to his chair, on purpose, and when he was nearby, she would state that she was simply too weak to carry all of her tedious texts. Draco was more intelligent than that, though, and Pansy's weak attempts to attract the boy's attention usually resulted in a vast disappointment for her. Draco shook off the buttered comments of the girls about him, deciding suddenly that, since he was to meet with Fudge later that day, he should clean his wrists up. He stood, feeling for the flask that had been strung around his chest, and made his way up the winding stairs towards the boy's dormitory.
Opening the door, he made his way towards his four poster and sat, drawing the steel bottle off of his neck and placing it on the rich, forest sheets. Opening it, he reached for the bottle. Apparently his hands we oscillating, for when they hit the flask to pick it up, it slid easily from his fingertips and crashed upon the ground, the liquid spraying everywhere and immediately vanishing into the emerald carpet. "Shit!" Draco proclaimed to himself, standing violently. Making his way towards the bathroom, he grabbed for a washcloth- or something to clean up the mess- finally snatching his night robes and flinging them onto the spot where the potion had spilled. "That's odd.." he began, for the area was completely dry, as if nothing had touched it. Shrugging, he decided it best to go and get more of the potion from Snape. Sighing, he placed his hand upon the doorknob and exited the dormitory.
Snape was scribbling something on parchment when Draco entered, which he quickly folded and shoved beneath his desk when he noticed the boy's arrival. Draco couldn't help but notice that Snape's expression seemed to fall upon his recognition of the boy. "Excuse me sir," he began after a short, uncomfortable pause. "But I've dropped my healing potion, and as I've got a meeting with the minister in the afternoon-" Snape looked annoyed.
"You should knock first, Master Malfoy, you know that."
"I'm sorry, professor, the door was open." The man rolled his eyes.
"Come into my quarters, I'll make you a second batch. Be more careful with it next time, I'm not really in a place to be making you potions left and right. I'm doing this out of my own will, and if you keep messing with it, the will is going to diminish." Draco nodded in acknowledgement. As Snape stood and turned toward the door in which lead to his room, Draco could not help but ask something that had been on his mind for the past few days.
"Professor, two days ago, I had another vision. It wasn't like the rest. Something in it quite bothered me. It involved you. You and my father." The man's eyes, which had been cast downward, flicked toward Draco, their dark, cold, stoic beams focused on the boy's face. Snape was one of the few people, aside from Dumbledore, Fudge, and his father, that knew of the visions Draco experienced. Dumbledore felt it best that the head of the boy's house knew about them, since Draco might be gone from the common room at times when he visited Fudge. Snape had taken the news without the slightest change of expression, just a curt nod of understanding and a narrowing of his eyes. "I don't know what it meant," he started once more as the silence began to envelope the two wizards.
"And- and you're seeing Fudge about this vision?" For the first time that Draco had ever seen, Snape had an emotion in him beside anger- nerve. Almost a hint or terror. "Fudge isn't intelligent enough to swallow a vision like that into his mind...if you can't figure it out, I'm sure the minister won't be able to. What was it like, anyway?"
"I'm not sure, really. Very dark. Lots of fire. Rage, laughter, crying- it was odd. My father was offering himself to Voldemort, I think, and you- you said something funny, something strange."
"What did- what did I say?" He coughed, almost as if not wanting to hear the response.
"That you, eh, loved him. That you loved my father. Then he said that you loved me. He said, 'you love my son.'" Snape looked incredibly taken aback, as if someone had brought a boulder crashing into his stomach- like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. He held his breath for a moment, and then exhaling slowly, he stuttered,
"It probably meant nothing." Snape pivoted quickly- almost too quickly in Draco's opinion- and entered his dank stone quarters. The boy followed after him, lost in his own thought. "Don't let Fudge fool you into some strange theory. It was an extraneous vision, I can tell you that right now."
"But it involved Lord Voldemort. Nothing can be extraneous if it entails the dark lord. That is why I'm helping Fudge- because my visions show the future! The world would be in total devastation by now if it weren't for these subconscious thoughts I have!" Draco cried, sounding more angry than he intended. "I'm not saying you aren't correct, professor, that this meant very little, but I really must run it by Fudge."
"You're too righteous to be your father's son." Snape snapped suddenly, rage visibly building in his midnight pupils.
"That may be, sir." Draco began, attempting to calm himself, as well as Snape, down. "Because if my father found out I was doing this, I'd be mince meat pie by now." He paused, his throat suddenly tighter than before. Growing shaky, he began softly, "I- I never wanted to join Voldemort. Although I've never said it to my father, he knows it. And now that I've joined with him, I find it harder to betray my father. We have this- this unspoken bond. I know I despise him, and his morals, but he's my father. He would kill me if he found out that I've been giving my visions to Fudge; that I've been telling Voldemort of visions I've never really had, simply to throw them off track. But I don't know- I still have a hard time defying him." The room was so silent, the sound of cauldrons bubbling in the next room sounded like foghorns, but Draco, taking little notice of this, rubbed his eyes violently with clenched fists. Both wizards stared at one another when Draco brought his hands downward. The boy suddenly felt something he'd never felt before when around his potions professor- something that danced in his chest like butterflies in a garden. And with this he began feeling slightly nautilus, until he shut his eyes and doubled over, his strange new emotions burning within his stomach like an epidemic. He felt sea-sick, and then suddenly, it all stopped, and he stood, folded nearly in two, clutching his chest. Standing shakily, he blinked, focusing on the unchanged expression of Snape. "I'm alright." He began sharply after a moment.
"Master Malfoy, I believe it's time for your departure, with or without the potion. I'll drop it by later this evening, before you depart. I think you'd better sleep some. It'd do you well." Nodding slowly, Draco turned to exit. But before he reached the door, he stopped for a moment.
"Professor?" He asked softly. "You won't tell my father about any of this, will you?" There was almost a full minute of silence, until Draco felt a trembling hand rest on his shoulder. Startled, he flung around to face Snape, their noses just inches apart. Draco could feel his professor's warm breath embracing his own face. They simply started at one another, without the discomfort that Draco usually experienced around the man. Snape's eyes fluttered closed, but Draco's remained cemented open. Unfamiliar emotions course through his veins like wildfire, spreading everywhere throughout his body, warming him slightly. His mind was usually everywhere, but in that moment, every thought in his brain was focused on Snape. It was like hell and heaven struck together as one, beautiful, merciful, yet frightening and dark. Every emotion Draco had ever known (which were little) had exploded in his chest, singed his thoughts and his actions. He could do nothing but stand, nothing but stare- until Snape's eyes flashed open and he stated gruffly,
"I won't tell."
* * *
By Angel Of Music
Author's Note: Since the fifth book is coming out in a matter of days, and the first few chapters of this story are only using the information from books One-Four, I have decided to add spoilers at the beginning of each chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience! Happy "Order of the Phoenix" reading!! -Angel Of Music (Elana)
Chapter Three: And So It Unravels
Touched with moonlight, Hogwarts Castle lay soundlessly, basking in the aphotic evening. Its gallant peaks stood, bold against the dimly lit sky, beautiful and mysterious. Little stirred, for it was past midnight, and the brightness of the stars had died. Even the forbidden forest seemed clear of intrusion. It was black, cold, and piercing, and the only refuge he could find was the minimal warmth that was flowing sleepily from the moonlight. Silence. It was a feat that spoke so loudly that its voice was inaudible; a voice that was so needy no one person could hear it. Comfort, however, flowed through his veins when he was engulfed in silence, and it was enough. Even if it only cleared his thoughts momentarily, the constricting silence was enough. But he knew, he knew within the very core of his stone heart, that the unpronounced sounds would be annihilated soon enough; swallowed by the massive roar of war. There was no doubt this was true.
Wind ruffled the hair of the pondering boy, who stood silently upon a balcony, staring placidly into the blank evening. Gorgeous, really, it was; serene. Gray. Mysterious. It had a faint resemblance of himself. He ran a hand through his wind-toyed locks, his grim expression not daring to once shift. His solemn platinum eyes fitted upon the canopy of trees before him as the dew-ridden air played against his blanched cheeks, dutifully painting them rose. The silence reminded him of his never-dying pain. Provoked him to feel the hurt that he usually felt once more. The piercing voyage of anguish traveled throughout his limbs, his fingers, his stomach- his heart; his immobile, onyx heart. That was his emotion; the only emotion he had inside of his self. That very preceding statement was the attitude that he had wanted to release for so many years. Someday it would reveal itself; there was no doubt about that.
His astronomy tower privileges had been taken away, the rogues. For this he nearly began to despise his preferred professor, and without overly good reasoning, he admitted. He had found a small balcony off of one of the classrooms in the third floor corridor. It was a small place, adorned in Romanesque pedestals, and which had a strong odor of black rose petals. In Draco Malfoy's opinion, he had found the next best place. It seemed, however, that the scents reminded him strongly of his childhood, and for this, his rating of the balcony dropped dramatically.
He had never really been what was expected of a child. He never played, jumped, or sang. The morbid infant merely sat in his room for hours, his bleak, small figure silhouetted against the large, luminous walls, staring into the atmosphere. But Draco Malfoy was not a normal child. In fact, he was far from. The boy had secrets that no one could possibly know, for if they did, something would go wrong. Terribly wrong. For it was this boy who saw things. Not natural things, but horrifying, gruesome, and inhumane things. And he could do nothing to stop these horror-provoking fantasies in his mind. They were incessant- never-ending, fiendish creatures that ran throughout his thoughts like wildfire. And since the moment he was born he was able to visualize these strange, mystifying, terrifying day-dreams. Every moment he felt himself slipping away into his world of thought, and he fought his hardest to stop this from occurring. Over the years he had mastered the art of avoiding his devilish nightmares, but some, which had their relevance, always shone though. And the problem was, the only way to halt the visions was to perish, and if he did, the world would most likely perish with him.
Tired of the night, he retreated back into the classroom, and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, finally draping it over his arm. His pale skin hit the moonlight that shone through the glass in a prepossessing uplift, and as he drew himself away from it, Draco Malfoy disappeared into the writhing darkness that was his life.
* * *
Draco hardly had time to notice his bacon early next morning, when an enormous great-horned owl fluttered down next to him. Curious to see who had sent him a letter, he hurriedly untied the parchment and unfolded it.
Dear Master Draco Malfoy,
It read.
Due to your helpfulness in the past, I have seen what you are capable of. Although I know you must have enough to worry about, what with school, I will make this brief and to the point. Using your "talent," shall we call it? You have successfully shown us that your visions are reliable. The ministry, and in saying this I refer specifically to myself, would be most certainly grateful if you could lend us more of your information. Since we have it at our disposal, I believe it would be a waste of an opportunity not to ask you. Please send us word as soon as you get my owl.
Sincerely,
Cornelius Fudge, Minister Of Magic
"Rubbish." The boy mumbled under his breath. "They couldn't have gotten this far without me." He shut his eyes, bringing a thumb to his temples and massaging them roughly.
"What was that?" Asked Goyle, chunks of chewed sausage falling from his lips as he spoke. The blonde shook his head at the boy's burdened demeanor.
"Nothing." He responded sharply, feeding the owl before him a bit of bacon, then sending it on its way. Yes, he would help the ministry, but it meant once again defying his father. But then again, he had been able to do it almost his entire life, and there was no true reason to stop at that moment.
"You going to eat that?" Questioned Crabbe from his other side, motioning toward the scrap of bacon that the owl had left. Raising his eyebrows, Draco raised his hand towards the food particles.
"No, by all means, take it." He breathed sarcastically, rolling his chrome eyes. Pausing, he added, "If that was up a troll's nose, would you still eat it?" Crabbe pursed his lips in thought.
"Yeah, if I was hungry 'nuff. Why, wouldn't you?" Suddenly more interested in the toast on his plate, Draco shot Crabbe a nasty look and flung a slab of butter onto the bread, bringing it to his mouth and taking a crisp bite out of it.
"Bah, cold." He spat, spewing pieces of bread upon the table. "Don't these house elves make anything right? The food here is so mediocre."
"Nothing like you get at home." Pointed Goyle. "Your mum makes a mean steak." Nodding, the blonde shook his head, at a void for appetite.
"I'm going back up to the common room." He said sharply, briskly turning his head and departing. He swept through the hallways quickly, gliding down the stone stairs and belting into the dungeons. A fire crackled solemnly before the abandoned common room, illuminating the jade-adorned furniture with its forlorn light. Draco slowly sat down in an emerald couch before the fire, resting his head upon his palm. And suddenly, his eyelids, in a burst of fatigue, fluttered shut.
* * *
"Lucius, no!" The strong scent of flames hurtled through the air. Terrifying screams darted through his ears, faces flashed their horror-struck expressions. Children were crying for their mothers. Eruptions were emblazoning the sky. Laughter; terrible, cruel laughter, was echoing through the black night, ringing across the valley. A man was howling away, his raven hair dancing across his cheeks as his hysterics heightened. His wand was outstretched at an erratic, chrome-haired man who stood shivering, merely staring off into the hellish distance. The man was not moving, but standing plastered to the spot, a grim smile playing on his lips. A second man, shorter, yet thin, stood behind the first, beckoning him forth, away from the cackling demon. "You must come!" He shouted, his hand frantically waving at the blonde. "Please, Lucius, come! You cannot let him win!" But the man still stood, simply staring at the fiend, the smirk still shot upon his face.
"If he wants me, he may have me, Severus. Fate will choose my destiny, haven't you learned that by now? Not after all I've taught you?" The laugher grew louder, its levity completely diminished.
"You're smarter then that, just step towards me, don't let him triumph!"
"Why shouldn't I? I've got nothing to live for!"
"Are you saying I'm not worth your life, Lucius Malfoy? After all we've been through? Step forward, please, don't just do it for me, but for yourself. Don't make a choice either of us will regret. I love you."
"No. You love my son." And with this, an overpowerment of cackling burst forth, growing louder and more echoed until... the scene bust forth in a swirl of green light and Draco Malfoy awoke, panting audibly upon his bed. He immediately sat up, running a palm through his damp hair. He'd had another vision...a vision of his father this time...tugging a sweating hand across his perspirated brow, he sighed a bit to himself and stood to inform Fudge of his strange dream.
It hadn't been a while since Draco had last had a vision. They were constant; what seemed like never-ending epiphanies, queer and mysterious. They were frightening almost, because they were usually accurate. What had his father meant by, 'You love my son?' and what did Snape have anything to do with his family? Confusion was mounting in his body; bold and fresh as a morning's sun, and it ached. Pain was engulfed in every limb in his body, as it always had been after he'd had one of his strange revelations. He stepped down the stairs, deep in thought, and entered the common room.
Delirious as he was, he was still conscious that as he flew down the stairwell, he hit into something rather impliable. Looking up to see what he had struck, he coughed as his vision met with Severus Snape's. *You love my son...*
"Good afternoon," Muttered Draco, oblivious as to why the professor had taken a sudden interest in the Slytherin common room. The man responded with a stout nod of his head, followed by a brief exhale. "What are you doing here?" He asked after a moment, his curiosity taking the better of him.
"Last time I checked, Mister Malfoy, I was the head of Slytherin house, am I wrong?"
"No, professor." He grunted, bothered that his teacher had been so broad. "I mean, you usually aren't in-"
"Hogsmeade weekend." The raven-haired man cut off, glaring at the boy. "Posting the notice." Suddenly aware that Snape's hand had been upon the bulletin board the entire time, Draco stifled a chuckle at his own stupidity. "Have you got a problem with that?"
"No, sir, I'm just- just a bit side-tracked today, that seems to be all." Suddenly a quick pang of concern spread across Snape's face, then died just as quickly. The worry resembled, almost perfectly, the same expression that the man had on in his vision. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Draco said quickly, "Good day, professor." Again Snape bowed his head as the blonde rushed past.
The owlry, a dark, dreary place, welcomed him with a barricade of hoots as he entered the room. He lethargically made his way over to his large eagle owl, Calconess, and stood before her. "Got a job for you." He whispered slowly, running a palm quickly over the raptor's thick, glossy feathers. With this, he drew forth a small roll of parchment and a quill from his robes, and wrote the following note.
Minister Fudge,
I've had another vision, though I am unsure of it's meaning. It was strange- quite strange- and I'm sure you'd like to hear of it. Return my post as quickly as you can.
Master Draco S. Malfoy.
With a final narrowing of his eyes, he folded the note in two and tied it to the owl's leg, throwing it out into the afternoon air.
* * *
Black, curious, snooping eyes blared at him from every angle of the room. As usual, as it happened every time he'd try to spend time in the common room, the greater portion of the female population was staring at him thoughtfully. Whispers followed the gazes, which littered the room with audible comments, most of which glorified Draco Malfoy beyond what he truly deserved.
"Those eyes, those beautiful silver eyes! Like unicorn tail, they are!"
"And that luscious, milky complexion! So pale and blanched! Perfectly mysterious."
"Have you seen the way he moves? It's incredibly graceful." These whispers surrounded Draco nearly everywhere he went- he was used to it by now. They usually came from the younger female population, for Pansy and her group of Slytherin girls had learned long ago that fawning over Draco Malfoy was a waste of time. Pansy and Draco had been a pair for a few weeks, until Draco declared he found her boring, and the two were not very warm with one another ever since. However, Pansy had still not completely given up on the boy, and every so often she would conveniently drop her quill right next to his chair, on purpose, and when he was nearby, she would state that she was simply too weak to carry all of her tedious texts. Draco was more intelligent than that, though, and Pansy's weak attempts to attract the boy's attention usually resulted in a vast disappointment for her. Draco shook off the buttered comments of the girls about him, deciding suddenly that, since he was to meet with Fudge later that day, he should clean his wrists up. He stood, feeling for the flask that had been strung around his chest, and made his way up the winding stairs towards the boy's dormitory.
Opening the door, he made his way towards his four poster and sat, drawing the steel bottle off of his neck and placing it on the rich, forest sheets. Opening it, he reached for the bottle. Apparently his hands we oscillating, for when they hit the flask to pick it up, it slid easily from his fingertips and crashed upon the ground, the liquid spraying everywhere and immediately vanishing into the emerald carpet. "Shit!" Draco proclaimed to himself, standing violently. Making his way towards the bathroom, he grabbed for a washcloth- or something to clean up the mess- finally snatching his night robes and flinging them onto the spot where the potion had spilled. "That's odd.." he began, for the area was completely dry, as if nothing had touched it. Shrugging, he decided it best to go and get more of the potion from Snape. Sighing, he placed his hand upon the doorknob and exited the dormitory.
Snape was scribbling something on parchment when Draco entered, which he quickly folded and shoved beneath his desk when he noticed the boy's arrival. Draco couldn't help but notice that Snape's expression seemed to fall upon his recognition of the boy. "Excuse me sir," he began after a short, uncomfortable pause. "But I've dropped my healing potion, and as I've got a meeting with the minister in the afternoon-" Snape looked annoyed.
"You should knock first, Master Malfoy, you know that."
"I'm sorry, professor, the door was open." The man rolled his eyes.
"Come into my quarters, I'll make you a second batch. Be more careful with it next time, I'm not really in a place to be making you potions left and right. I'm doing this out of my own will, and if you keep messing with it, the will is going to diminish." Draco nodded in acknowledgement. As Snape stood and turned toward the door in which lead to his room, Draco could not help but ask something that had been on his mind for the past few days.
"Professor, two days ago, I had another vision. It wasn't like the rest. Something in it quite bothered me. It involved you. You and my father." The man's eyes, which had been cast downward, flicked toward Draco, their dark, cold, stoic beams focused on the boy's face. Snape was one of the few people, aside from Dumbledore, Fudge, and his father, that knew of the visions Draco experienced. Dumbledore felt it best that the head of the boy's house knew about them, since Draco might be gone from the common room at times when he visited Fudge. Snape had taken the news without the slightest change of expression, just a curt nod of understanding and a narrowing of his eyes. "I don't know what it meant," he started once more as the silence began to envelope the two wizards.
"And- and you're seeing Fudge about this vision?" For the first time that Draco had ever seen, Snape had an emotion in him beside anger- nerve. Almost a hint or terror. "Fudge isn't intelligent enough to swallow a vision like that into his mind...if you can't figure it out, I'm sure the minister won't be able to. What was it like, anyway?"
"I'm not sure, really. Very dark. Lots of fire. Rage, laughter, crying- it was odd. My father was offering himself to Voldemort, I think, and you- you said something funny, something strange."
"What did- what did I say?" He coughed, almost as if not wanting to hear the response.
"That you, eh, loved him. That you loved my father. Then he said that you loved me. He said, 'you love my son.'" Snape looked incredibly taken aback, as if someone had brought a boulder crashing into his stomach- like he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him. He held his breath for a moment, and then exhaling slowly, he stuttered,
"It probably meant nothing." Snape pivoted quickly- almost too quickly in Draco's opinion- and entered his dank stone quarters. The boy followed after him, lost in his own thought. "Don't let Fudge fool you into some strange theory. It was an extraneous vision, I can tell you that right now."
"But it involved Lord Voldemort. Nothing can be extraneous if it entails the dark lord. That is why I'm helping Fudge- because my visions show the future! The world would be in total devastation by now if it weren't for these subconscious thoughts I have!" Draco cried, sounding more angry than he intended. "I'm not saying you aren't correct, professor, that this meant very little, but I really must run it by Fudge."
"You're too righteous to be your father's son." Snape snapped suddenly, rage visibly building in his midnight pupils.
"That may be, sir." Draco began, attempting to calm himself, as well as Snape, down. "Because if my father found out I was doing this, I'd be mince meat pie by now." He paused, his throat suddenly tighter than before. Growing shaky, he began softly, "I- I never wanted to join Voldemort. Although I've never said it to my father, he knows it. And now that I've joined with him, I find it harder to betray my father. We have this- this unspoken bond. I know I despise him, and his morals, but he's my father. He would kill me if he found out that I've been giving my visions to Fudge; that I've been telling Voldemort of visions I've never really had, simply to throw them off track. But I don't know- I still have a hard time defying him." The room was so silent, the sound of cauldrons bubbling in the next room sounded like foghorns, but Draco, taking little notice of this, rubbed his eyes violently with clenched fists. Both wizards stared at one another when Draco brought his hands downward. The boy suddenly felt something he'd never felt before when around his potions professor- something that danced in his chest like butterflies in a garden. And with this he began feeling slightly nautilus, until he shut his eyes and doubled over, his strange new emotions burning within his stomach like an epidemic. He felt sea-sick, and then suddenly, it all stopped, and he stood, folded nearly in two, clutching his chest. Standing shakily, he blinked, focusing on the unchanged expression of Snape. "I'm alright." He began sharply after a moment.
"Master Malfoy, I believe it's time for your departure, with or without the potion. I'll drop it by later this evening, before you depart. I think you'd better sleep some. It'd do you well." Nodding slowly, Draco turned to exit. But before he reached the door, he stopped for a moment.
"Professor?" He asked softly. "You won't tell my father about any of this, will you?" There was almost a full minute of silence, until Draco felt a trembling hand rest on his shoulder. Startled, he flung around to face Snape, their noses just inches apart. Draco could feel his professor's warm breath embracing his own face. They simply started at one another, without the discomfort that Draco usually experienced around the man. Snape's eyes fluttered closed, but Draco's remained cemented open. Unfamiliar emotions course through his veins like wildfire, spreading everywhere throughout his body, warming him slightly. His mind was usually everywhere, but in that moment, every thought in his brain was focused on Snape. It was like hell and heaven struck together as one, beautiful, merciful, yet frightening and dark. Every emotion Draco had ever known (which were little) had exploded in his chest, singed his thoughts and his actions. He could do nothing but stand, nothing but stare- until Snape's eyes flashed open and he stated gruffly,
"I won't tell."
* * *