"Malfoy!" he exclaimed, his emerald eyes widening at the sight of me with a
knife to my arm. "What the hell...." He seemed not to have words to ask me
what I was so obviously up to. He ceased talking, instead gazing at the
pink marks on my arm, my hand still holding the knife inches away from the
sliced wrist, ready to strike the soft flesh.
I gazed at him, too, for a moment. Our eyes locked: emerald to gray. Realizing what I was doing, the energy that was flowing between us, I broke the contact. I snapped my pocketknife shut and slid it into an empty pocket in my midnight black robes that contrasted so shockingly to my parchment- like skin. I stood, matching Harry's height to the inch.
"Potter." I said his name calmly, no icy glare, no traditional Malfoy smirk, my voice giving no evidence to the fact that my worst enemy had entered my compartment, without permission, and saw me trying to commit suicide.
His eyes were still wide, and he made no move indicating whether he was staying to talk, or leaving in horror, off to tell his Weasel and Mudblood friends what he had just seen.
After a moment of intense silent, so heavy on my shoulders, I spoke.
"Potter, what do you need?" My voice had a hint of annoyance in it, my outward appearance betraying my inner feelings. Surprising myself, I wanted Potter to stay. I didn't know why, or what in Merlin's beard we would talk about, I just wanted to continue studying his face. He had stayed thin over the summer, but tanned and was obviously much stronger than me. Eyes dull, as I said. No flecks of light, no merriment, just...dead. We both had something to hide, but we also had something we needed to share.
Finally, he spoke. "Malfoy, what were you doing?"
I turned to gaze out the window, watching the hills of the countryside of England roll past at lightening speed. "Nothing." I replied. This time, my voice was icy, again betraying the fact that the one thing that I wanted was for Potter to stay. I was in desperate need of someone to talk to, to listen to, even just look at.
I again turned to face him. "Why?" I asked simply. He seemed surprised at my genuine curiosity. I remembered how the last four years with him had been a slew of lies, insults, injuries, and malicious glares. How I had thought up the idea for the "Potter stinks" badges during the Triwizard Tournament, and how I had sportingly worn one faithfully every day to class. How I had secretly hoped that he would be murdered during our second year.
He shrugged. "I don't know, Malfoy, I was looking for an empty compartment and then I found you in this one.... that surprised me, yeah, but imagine how I felt when I found you with a knife to arm. Imagine, Malfoy."
I nodded gravely, eyes downcast, doing what he asked, imagining if I walked into a compartment to find a fellow student about to kill himself or herself. About to slice open their skin and let themselves bleed to death. I may have had a cold Slytherin heart, but my conscience just wouldn't have let that happen.
I was about to open my mouth, ask why he was looking for an empty compartment, why he needed solitude.
He was out of the sliding glass door and halfway down the hallway before I had the chance to ask. I opened the door, surprised, and watched his back for a second until he turned a corner to head to the boys loo.
I turned and sat down again, chin in hands. What had I just done?
I had let Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, my apparent worst enemy, into my compartment. I had had a brief conversation with him. I had not yelled, cursed, spit, or attacked him. I had simply listened, replied, gazed into his green eyes..
I was everything opposite of what a Malfoy should act like. We were taught to hate, curse, murder our enemies. Show no sympathy, no mercy. We were a higher class than anyone. No one was better than us. Not even God.
To add to the fact that I didn't want to kill Potter, I was gay. Something strictly forbidden in our family line. It didn't produce heirs, and that's all we Malfoys cared about. Procreating. Making more evil, white faced, silver haired little bastards to join Voldemort and kill innocent people.
God, I hated my family.
I had realized I was gay over the summer. It wasn't the rape from my father. It wasn't my string of disgusting girlfriends, slobbering all over me and fairly begging for sex.
I had been thinking about it - something I did a lot that summer - and I realized. The reason I didn't like the girls I dated because I wasn't interested in them. Other blokes would have liked them; they had nice boobs, great bodies, shiny hair, good teeth, tonnes of money, powerful fathers. They were great in bed. But I didn't want that. I didn't want glossed lips whispering in my ear about how sexy I was. I didn't want the scent of perfume lingering in my nose as I walked back up to my dormitory after a midnight stroll around the lake.
I wanted blokes.
I needed that musky smell of sweat after he played in a long Quidditch game and before he hopped into the showers. The feel of arms, tan and muscular, encircling my thin waist. A husky voice whispering in my ear.
Nothing else. No skirts, matching lipstick, mascara, and a bra lingering in my bed sheets.
A Quidditch body, dark hair, green eyes..
I sighed and drew my knees up to my chin, again gazing out the window at the rushing scene before me. I could never find someone so perfect. No one to meet my standards.
I desperately wanted companionship.
Wait, I thought.
Harry had gone....where?
The sliding glass door was closed behind me before you could say "Hogwarts."
I gazed at him, too, for a moment. Our eyes locked: emerald to gray. Realizing what I was doing, the energy that was flowing between us, I broke the contact. I snapped my pocketknife shut and slid it into an empty pocket in my midnight black robes that contrasted so shockingly to my parchment- like skin. I stood, matching Harry's height to the inch.
"Potter." I said his name calmly, no icy glare, no traditional Malfoy smirk, my voice giving no evidence to the fact that my worst enemy had entered my compartment, without permission, and saw me trying to commit suicide.
His eyes were still wide, and he made no move indicating whether he was staying to talk, or leaving in horror, off to tell his Weasel and Mudblood friends what he had just seen.
After a moment of intense silent, so heavy on my shoulders, I spoke.
"Potter, what do you need?" My voice had a hint of annoyance in it, my outward appearance betraying my inner feelings. Surprising myself, I wanted Potter to stay. I didn't know why, or what in Merlin's beard we would talk about, I just wanted to continue studying his face. He had stayed thin over the summer, but tanned and was obviously much stronger than me. Eyes dull, as I said. No flecks of light, no merriment, just...dead. We both had something to hide, but we also had something we needed to share.
Finally, he spoke. "Malfoy, what were you doing?"
I turned to gaze out the window, watching the hills of the countryside of England roll past at lightening speed. "Nothing." I replied. This time, my voice was icy, again betraying the fact that the one thing that I wanted was for Potter to stay. I was in desperate need of someone to talk to, to listen to, even just look at.
I again turned to face him. "Why?" I asked simply. He seemed surprised at my genuine curiosity. I remembered how the last four years with him had been a slew of lies, insults, injuries, and malicious glares. How I had thought up the idea for the "Potter stinks" badges during the Triwizard Tournament, and how I had sportingly worn one faithfully every day to class. How I had secretly hoped that he would be murdered during our second year.
He shrugged. "I don't know, Malfoy, I was looking for an empty compartment and then I found you in this one.... that surprised me, yeah, but imagine how I felt when I found you with a knife to arm. Imagine, Malfoy."
I nodded gravely, eyes downcast, doing what he asked, imagining if I walked into a compartment to find a fellow student about to kill himself or herself. About to slice open their skin and let themselves bleed to death. I may have had a cold Slytherin heart, but my conscience just wouldn't have let that happen.
I was about to open my mouth, ask why he was looking for an empty compartment, why he needed solitude.
He was out of the sliding glass door and halfway down the hallway before I had the chance to ask. I opened the door, surprised, and watched his back for a second until he turned a corner to head to the boys loo.
I turned and sat down again, chin in hands. What had I just done?
I had let Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, my apparent worst enemy, into my compartment. I had had a brief conversation with him. I had not yelled, cursed, spit, or attacked him. I had simply listened, replied, gazed into his green eyes..
I was everything opposite of what a Malfoy should act like. We were taught to hate, curse, murder our enemies. Show no sympathy, no mercy. We were a higher class than anyone. No one was better than us. Not even God.
To add to the fact that I didn't want to kill Potter, I was gay. Something strictly forbidden in our family line. It didn't produce heirs, and that's all we Malfoys cared about. Procreating. Making more evil, white faced, silver haired little bastards to join Voldemort and kill innocent people.
God, I hated my family.
I had realized I was gay over the summer. It wasn't the rape from my father. It wasn't my string of disgusting girlfriends, slobbering all over me and fairly begging for sex.
I had been thinking about it - something I did a lot that summer - and I realized. The reason I didn't like the girls I dated because I wasn't interested in them. Other blokes would have liked them; they had nice boobs, great bodies, shiny hair, good teeth, tonnes of money, powerful fathers. They were great in bed. But I didn't want that. I didn't want glossed lips whispering in my ear about how sexy I was. I didn't want the scent of perfume lingering in my nose as I walked back up to my dormitory after a midnight stroll around the lake.
I wanted blokes.
I needed that musky smell of sweat after he played in a long Quidditch game and before he hopped into the showers. The feel of arms, tan and muscular, encircling my thin waist. A husky voice whispering in my ear.
Nothing else. No skirts, matching lipstick, mascara, and a bra lingering in my bed sheets.
A Quidditch body, dark hair, green eyes..
I sighed and drew my knees up to my chin, again gazing out the window at the rushing scene before me. I could never find someone so perfect. No one to meet my standards.
I desperately wanted companionship.
Wait, I thought.
Harry had gone....where?
The sliding glass door was closed behind me before you could say "Hogwarts."