(A/N: Well, I've been slow even though school has been out since the 21st.
So, without further ado, here it is: more! I'm not quite sure yet if I
like this chapter. I'm not satisfied with any of my writing, really, but
I'm not liking this chapter at all because my descriptions seem badly
written. Well, anyway, read on. It also got a bit long.)
Chapter Eight
When I awoke the next morning, a wide alloy of feelings was pulsing through my veins. The most prominent feeling was telling me suffocate myself with my pillow at that very instant. What was I thinking the previous night? All the thoughts running through my mind were telling me what a dumb lout I had been in thinking about this girl for even a second.
Through the course of events during the Masquerade, I had forgotten my number one priority of the evening: to scam Potter and company. Not a single person was having a painful time, because I had used up all my time flirting with a girl. Not only that, but a girl that I didn't know the identity of!
What was happening to me? Was I softening up? No! I couldn't do that. I had just let my feelings fun away with me, that was all. It was nothing; I would force the thoughts out of my head. Yes, that was what I would do.
But I couldn't! As I got dressed for the weekend, it was all I could think of. My mind was fixed on the shape of her slim body, and the beautiful amber color f her brown eyes, like freshly polished wood they had shone at me, reflecting my not quite real reflection. And the way she smelled, and spoke, and looked at me.
I sauntered down the steps to the Slytherin Common Room, absolutely grinning from ear to ear. Several Second years got out of my way; they knew what usually happened when I was grinning. But this was not a grin; it was a smile. A smile. What?! I never smiled!
A first year cleared the large green sofa, and I let my body fall softly on it, propping up my legs on the armrest, and leaning back. Crabbe and Goyle had not failed to be sitting stupidly across from me, as always. They were looking at me with a face full of confusion. They had gone to the ball as boulders. At least that's what I think they were. Well, they were easy to pick out of the crowd, as they were some of the biggest people there.
"Tell us what you dressed up as, Draco!" Crabbe said at once. Wow, a full sentence. I was impressed. But not quite impressed enough of his ability to string words together for a sentence to tell him who I had gone as. Not having quite enough intellect to pester me any longer, Goyle decided to voice who had won the costume contest.
"Did you hear?" He asked, keeping things simple. "Eloise Midgen won the contest. She was a goblin."
"Really," I drawled lazily. "So she didn't have to dress up at all? Just wore her face as a mask, did she?" Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at my remark. I wasn't sure that they understood it, but they had grasped enough of it to know that they should laugh. Or else.
"Malfoy!" Thundered a furious voice as the entrance to the common room opened. I rolled my eyes and looked up. Warrington, the new Slytherin Quidditch captain, was soon standing over me, looking murderous. I kept my cool. "You overslept! Practice started two hours ago! And here you are sitting on the couch?"
"Yes," I said, mentally kicking myself for sleeping in, all on account of not getting any sleep because of the girl. "But later I have projection of giving my Millennium a good polishing, I do think too many practices will start to have an affect upon it! And I have to keep it in top condition for games, Captain."
Captain Warrington looked irritated, but all the same, he was looking forward to the prospect of the whole team getting new brooms next year. The only way to do that was to be kind to me, so I put in a good word with father. Everything in the situation favored me. It feels good to take advantage of the narrow minded.
"Then do it properly, Malfoy," he muttered, shaking his head, turning furiously away, heading up to his own dorm. If I had been truthful with myself, I needed the practice with the upcoming match. In a week's time, we were playing Gryffindor, our greatest rivals. The previous times I played Potter, I had met defeat. This time I would not.
I sighed deeply, and closed my eyes. A warm feeling took over my body, and though I had just come from a long lie-in, I felt sleep coming on. Against the will of my own body, I tried to open my eyes, without success. The heavy feeling that kept my eyes from opening soon was dominating my whole body.
A new feeling grabbed my innards, as I was unable to move, and found myself spiraling down what seemed to be a long, black drop. With a lurch, I felt the hot putrid taste of vomit in my throat; I couldn't open my mouth to hurl. I just kept falling down, and down, and down.
Until my body hit what I guess was a floor. Pain crept up my sides, and I moaned, regaining all movement and vocal capabilities. The first thing I did with my newly regained movements was to roll over, and released the hot and putrid vomit from my throat. It was disgusting, and I was fully comforted that I could see nothing.
As my muscles regained their own control, very slowly, they brought my body to an upright sitting position. The room of total darkness, or wherever I was, was starting to spin, and my head suddenly felt very light on my shoulders, and the sick feeling in my stomach lurched. More vomit joined the pool beside me.
My vocal capabilities were returned, I discovered, as I gave a long low moan and clutched my middle section. I didn't have a chance to execute any other painful movements, for I was moving again. This time, I was not circling down, but was flying gradually in a parallel direction. It was as if there was no gravity.
But not for long. I could feel myself falling again, and the sick feeling was returning to me. I was temporarily paralyzed for another moment, when I felt the ground, or whatever it was, coming closer and closer to me. Movement returned to me, and I screamed loudly, wrenching my eyes shut and expecting the worst.
But it wasn't the worst. It was as if I had landed on thousands of pillows, except that the ground was solid. The sickness in my middle left me, and I felt no tingling pain in my limbs. I quickly stood up, so the floor could not engulf me again, wondering if standing made a difference.
Dim lights flickered on, and for the first time, I saw my surroundings. There was not much to see; just an old kitchen table with two chairs placed at it, facing across from each other, along with a vase of shriveled flowers. The walls were a pastel color, with no paintings or any decorations whatsoever. I turned around, and found that the surroundings changed completely.
No longer were the walls pastel, but they were black. As soon as I laid eyes upon it, I felt a certain coldness, as if my soul had left my body, making me feel cold. I shivered, my eyes resting upon a skeleton that lay at my feet. But at the end of the hall, dimly illuminated by a flickering yellow light, there was a door.
I screamed. There was something about it that made me feel even colder than I had been before. My breath came in raspy segments instead of the usual smooth flow of breathing. I had to force my brain to tell me to breath, otherwise I would have suffocated. But even as I tried, it was as if the air were suffocating me as well.
I heard another scream; it was the scream of a child, innocent and defenseless. A cruel sense of wonder flickered on inside my blackened heart, telling me I should laugh. But deep down, and far away, a distant voice was telling me to help. Telling me to go towards the door.
Panic ensued. I didn't have but the faintest idea of what I should do. My heartbeat was rapidly increasing, and there was very little time before there was no air left for me to breathe. I was sucking what little life remained in the dampness. But what could I do?
Yes, what could I do? There seemed to be no feasible actions for the situation. Basing my actions on this thought, I gave up. I didn't care if I lived, or if I died. It was too hard. Too hard to stay awake. With a gasp, I took in the remaining oxygen, and let my heart beat as it willed.
It was too late, anyway.
~*~
"Malfoy!" A sharp voice cut into my dreams, popping the unhappy bubble. My eyes opened corollary, and I was looking up not at darkness, but at the face of a beautiful girl, with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. I tried to move. She was sitting on me, so I wrenched forward and threw her off me.
"Hello, Celeste," I said unenthusiastically. Celeste was looking quite calm as she picked herself off the floor, standing up and dusting off her green weekend robes. I could tell something was irking her, and that something involved me. But as my mind was half full with the terrifying images of my dream, there was no room in my brain to process what she could be thinking.
"Care telling me what you went to the Masquerade as?" She said smoothly. There was no way I was telling her! Why was she even asking about it? I smirked at her. She, however, remained so calm that a slight panic arose inside of my chest. "Or I'll tell the whole of Hogwarts, especially Potter and company that you were having such a bad dream," she paused to snicker at me. "That you wet yourself!"
I could feel the color draining from my face as I looked down at my pants. My heart skipped a beat or two as I saw the front of my pants. They were almost sopping wet, and I had been so preoccupied with other thoughts that I had not noticed until that fateful moment.
Celeste's face lit up as more color drained from mine. I couldn't believe it! The dream had scared me so much that I had wet my pants. Now I had one of two options, I could tell Celeste who I was, or let her tell the whole school I had a nightmare and wet myself.
"I didn't go to the ball," I said slowly. I pretended to look ashamed at myself. An idea came to me. I grinned. "I spent the whole evening stalking you, with your date." I shook my head, and waved a finger like an upset parent. "And if I were you, I wouldn't want the whole school to know that you were in the rose garden with Seamus Finnigan."
It was Celeste's turn to look shocked. Her mouth formed a circle of surprise. Truthfully, I had no idea which one of her many prospective victims she had taken with her to the rose garden, and I had a sneaking suspicion that she did not have the slightest clue, either. But if it was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor, that would be the ultimate shame; worse than wetting your pants.
Balling up her fists, she shot me one last look before turning out of the room, in a rage. "Oh, and by the way," she said, as if trying to sound nice all of a sudden. "I poured water down your front to give you a scare." I laughed. She didn't want me to tell the house of Slytherin what she had been doing on the night of the Masquerade ball. If I were her, I wouldn't either. Fooling around with a potential Gryffindor? That, my friend, would be a terror worse than my dream.
~*~
Through seven more nights of fitful sleep, the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match had arrived. I was not quite sure what I had dreamt of that night, be it one of two recurring dreams. One dream was pleasant; the other was far from it. I hoped it had been the dream where I replayed the moment of the kiss with the mystery girl (I think I'll call her Juliet, making myself still Romeo), for good luck. It was the closest thing to a good-luck-kiss I would be getting that day.
One could feel the tension in the Great Hall between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables as breakfast was eaten. I myself was sending morbid looks across the hall to Potter, grinning maliciously and letting my eyes sparkle at the prospect of beating him on my Millennium.
The rest of the day rolled slowly on, until the very moment I stood in front of the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, wearing my green robes, and tightly gripping my Millennium as if I were holding on for dear life. I was paying no attention at all to Warrington's pre-game talk, until he addressed me personally.
"You will have no problem, correct?" He said, narrowing his bushy eyebrows at me. For Warrington, his face was always his game face. I nodded, unable to speak. I feared that if I spoke, my insides would proceed out my mouth and land on the ground at my feet. It was how I felt at the moment.
We took our warm-up laps, and the feeling of anxiety suddenly disappeared to another part of my body. There was something about shooting through the air at high speeds that made you forget all your troubles, and cleared your mind at the moment. God, I loved flying.
As we stood on the ground, preparing for takeoff, I looked across the field at Harry Potter, who was looking at his feet as if his insides were about to spill all over. I knew how he felt, but I'd never admit that I felt sympathetic at that current moment. Hell, why was I even admitting it to myself?
But all thoughts escaped my head as the whistle sounded. I jetted into the air, and felt the wind play with my hair, which was never slicked back for Quidditch matches, as it got messed up anyway. But at least the trouble that bestowed Potter did not bestow me; my hair was usually neat, unlike his.
I sneered, and looked down at Potter, who was making rounds around the field, cheering Gryffindor on. I pursed my lips. It was a typical dirty match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The disgusting Weasley twins were beating furiously at the Bludgers, while our beaters beat furiously at the Gryffindor Chasers with their clubs. It was rather entertaining to whoosh through the air to keep my eyes open for the small ball of gold that might pass by my head.
"Sure you can keep up, Potter?" I shouted at Potter, who I had swept by, nearly knocking him off his broom with the speeds I whipped by with. Potter gripped his Firebolt firmly, and pursed his lips at me. I could tell his brain was trying to process a witty comeback.
"Does this broom have an eye to see the Snitch with, Malfoy?" He said, wrinkling his nose at me. I sneered at him.
"Perhaps your broom should come equipped with glasses!" I said. From the hidden pocket in my robes, I withdrew my wand so that it was visible to only Potter and I. "Since you'll be needing new ones!" I smirked. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
And with that, Potter's glasses began to levitate slowly above his head. He shot into the air after them, but over guessed the distance, and I let go of my wand, tucking it back into my pocket. His glasses began a rapid decline towards the ground.
"HARRY POTTER HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!" I heard Lee Jordan's magnified voice boomed across the stadium, as Potter went into a speedy dive to recover his falling glasses. I smirked, and pretended to follow him. I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled when Potter made a recovery of his glasses, and I hung low in the air, waiting for the Snitch. "NO, HE'S JUST CATCHING HIS GLASSES!"
It was at that moment that I saw a glint of something gold in Potter's glasses, which he had hastily shoved on his face. My heart leaped, and I looked down. My wristwatch was gold. That was all. It was a flash of my wristwatch. That was all. I took a deep breath.
It was in that very brief period of time that I closed my eyes to take a breath when I heard a distinct buzzing sound, and the whoosh of robes to my left, when I gasped sharply, and whirled my broom in the other direction. My mind was completely oblivious to what Lee Jordan was shouting.
Potter was not feinting. He was accelerating towards the Snitch as fast as his broom would take him, and was going at a decent rate; after all, the Firebolt was still a World-Class broom. But my broom was faster. It was faster, but Potter had a head start. Was it enough for me to overcome?
Potter just couldn't go fast enough, and soon we were neck-in-neck, with our arms stretched out, accelerating at high speeds, fifty or more feet above the ground, in hot pursuit of a golden ball with wings. My arms happened to be longer than Potter's and that put me at a slight advantage. At least it would have had not he scooted forward, and tried to knock my hand out of the way.
I slammed him back, and we both cascaded in opposite directions, torn between knocking each other off our brooms and catching the Snitch. A hatred like no other filled my chest at that moment, and I felt myself wanting to scream. Everything that angered me was suddenly let out; father, Potter, Pansy, Celeste, Circe, the dream, myself.
We both stopped swatting at each other, and reached out hands out. I felt my fingers make contact with a cold metal, and pulled sharply in my direction, feeling excitement pulse through my veins. I had finally beaten Potter!
Or so I thought.
As I tugged on the golden ball, an opposing force had done so at that exact moment. Despite the time and place, my jaw found time to drop as I looked over at Potter, who was looking at me with confusing, and keeping a tight grip on the Snitch. The whole stadium had fallen silent. Not even Lee Jordan dared to voice his comments.
I sent a hard glare in the general direction of Potter, and in return, he narrowed his rather busy eyebrows at me. One could feel the tension in the air, and it was waaaaay too thick to be cut with an ordinary knife. In fact, it was so thick that neither Potter nor I heard Madam Hooch blowing on her whistle until she was right in our angry faces.
We both landed smoothly on the ground, and were forced by Madam Hooch to let the Snitch free from our iron grips. The crowd was craning down towards us, as the teams of both Slytherin and Gryffindor alike stood on the field with their brooms in hand. The sun was shining brightly down upon us as we looked with confusion to Madam Hooch, who seemed to have reached a verdict.
I heard her magnify her voice, ("Sonorous!") and then she turned toward the crowd without first consulting the athletes, and said, "THE SCORES ARE CURRENTLY TIED AT FIFTY, AS YOU CAN SEE!" She paused, and the crowd murmured an agreement. "AND DUE TO SOME VERY UNUSUAL CIRCUMSTANCES WE HAVE REACHED A VERDICT THAT ONE HUNDRED FIFTY POINTS SHALL BE AWARDED TO BOTH GRYFFINDOR AND SYTHERIN FOR THE CAPTURE OF THE SNITCH, AS THERE IS NO WAY TO BREAK THE TIE BETWEEN THE TWO SEEKERS."
I stared at her. That meant.
"GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN ARE TIED AT TWO HUNDRED POINTS APIECE, AND THIS GAME ENDS IN A TIE. THE QINNER OF THE HOUSE CUP THIS YEAR WILL BE THE TEAM THAT HAS MET THE LEAST NUMBER OF DEFEATS, OR IF THE RECORDS REMAIN CONSTANT, THE WINNER WILL BE BASED UPON POINTS SCORED THIS SEASON."
I balled my left fist; my right hand curled around the Millennium, and I bit my lip in a rage. I was willing to bet that father would find a way to set this right. I should have won. But why? Why should I have won, and not Potter? There was nothing I did that he did not, except use my cunning diversionary tactics.
"CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH TEAMS!" Madam Hooch finished. I could tell that she looked quite downtrodden that Slytherin had tied with Gryffindor and that Gryffindor had not been able to take the win, as we had a way of playing dirty, which she seemed to deem unfair in school Quidditch.
The time in the shower was a very quiet time. After dressing myself in silence, I took hold of my Millennium, and pushed open the doors angrily. We tied! How could we tie! I had vowed to myself that I would beat Potter, yet we tied. Tied! I decided not to confront father, who had probably left to take out my mistakes out on mother anyhow, and winged to the left.
"Good game, Mister Malfoy," said a smooth voice to my immediate right. I jumped when I saw Circe standing against the wall, with her hair in her face and her arms crossed. "You're full of surprises, lately." She grinned, and her face lit up. A strange tingling feeling was unleashed inside of me. "It took me ages to find out who you were at that Masquerade." She smiled. "But there are very few rich enough to purchase such beautiful fabric."
My heart dropped to my feet. What if someone else thought of this? "And I loved your eyes, Malfoy," she added. "That's what befuddled me the most." She pondered aloud. "Instead of steely gray, you let them shine as a warm light blue." I grinned. I had rather liked the eyes, if I did say so myself.
"Well, I-"
"Excuse me," someone muttered, dropping to the floor to pick up a load of books that had fallen at my feet. I looked down and glanced bushy brown hair and a thin feminine figure scooping up a load of books and hastily shoving them into a black school bag. "Sorry."
It was the Mudblood, Granger. I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Circe. She was grinning at me. I suddenly came to the conclusion that I did not understand women. Granger was scuttling off with her head bowed, and Circe was grinning for no apparent reason.
I blinked, and felt myself wanting to scream again. I caught a glimpse of the dark corridor with the door at the end, and this time, instead of the child screaming, I head a woman's scream, shrill and painful, piercing the imaginary air.
If not for Circe, I would have collapsed on the spot.
"You're two steps closer to your inner self," she said, touching me on the shoulder and brining me back to reality. My eyes shot open, and I let out a gasping breath. "You're closer than you even think you are."
(A/N: Sorry; it was long, again! I didn't intend for it to be, but I just keep getting carried away. Anyway, I have been VERY busy lately. I found time to type this at night, lol. I still don't think I'm satisfied with it, especially the Quidditch part. My writing royally sucks there, but oh well. Try and make sense of everything here! I dropped a LOT of hints at what is to come. Try and think of one of the spoilers that J.K. released for book five! I stole one of her ideas, and added my own twist, Mwahahaha! Well, tell me what you think of this chapter.)
Chapter Eight
When I awoke the next morning, a wide alloy of feelings was pulsing through my veins. The most prominent feeling was telling me suffocate myself with my pillow at that very instant. What was I thinking the previous night? All the thoughts running through my mind were telling me what a dumb lout I had been in thinking about this girl for even a second.
Through the course of events during the Masquerade, I had forgotten my number one priority of the evening: to scam Potter and company. Not a single person was having a painful time, because I had used up all my time flirting with a girl. Not only that, but a girl that I didn't know the identity of!
What was happening to me? Was I softening up? No! I couldn't do that. I had just let my feelings fun away with me, that was all. It was nothing; I would force the thoughts out of my head. Yes, that was what I would do.
But I couldn't! As I got dressed for the weekend, it was all I could think of. My mind was fixed on the shape of her slim body, and the beautiful amber color f her brown eyes, like freshly polished wood they had shone at me, reflecting my not quite real reflection. And the way she smelled, and spoke, and looked at me.
I sauntered down the steps to the Slytherin Common Room, absolutely grinning from ear to ear. Several Second years got out of my way; they knew what usually happened when I was grinning. But this was not a grin; it was a smile. A smile. What?! I never smiled!
A first year cleared the large green sofa, and I let my body fall softly on it, propping up my legs on the armrest, and leaning back. Crabbe and Goyle had not failed to be sitting stupidly across from me, as always. They were looking at me with a face full of confusion. They had gone to the ball as boulders. At least that's what I think they were. Well, they were easy to pick out of the crowd, as they were some of the biggest people there.
"Tell us what you dressed up as, Draco!" Crabbe said at once. Wow, a full sentence. I was impressed. But not quite impressed enough of his ability to string words together for a sentence to tell him who I had gone as. Not having quite enough intellect to pester me any longer, Goyle decided to voice who had won the costume contest.
"Did you hear?" He asked, keeping things simple. "Eloise Midgen won the contest. She was a goblin."
"Really," I drawled lazily. "So she didn't have to dress up at all? Just wore her face as a mask, did she?" Crabbe and Goyle guffawed at my remark. I wasn't sure that they understood it, but they had grasped enough of it to know that they should laugh. Or else.
"Malfoy!" Thundered a furious voice as the entrance to the common room opened. I rolled my eyes and looked up. Warrington, the new Slytherin Quidditch captain, was soon standing over me, looking murderous. I kept my cool. "You overslept! Practice started two hours ago! And here you are sitting on the couch?"
"Yes," I said, mentally kicking myself for sleeping in, all on account of not getting any sleep because of the girl. "But later I have projection of giving my Millennium a good polishing, I do think too many practices will start to have an affect upon it! And I have to keep it in top condition for games, Captain."
Captain Warrington looked irritated, but all the same, he was looking forward to the prospect of the whole team getting new brooms next year. The only way to do that was to be kind to me, so I put in a good word with father. Everything in the situation favored me. It feels good to take advantage of the narrow minded.
"Then do it properly, Malfoy," he muttered, shaking his head, turning furiously away, heading up to his own dorm. If I had been truthful with myself, I needed the practice with the upcoming match. In a week's time, we were playing Gryffindor, our greatest rivals. The previous times I played Potter, I had met defeat. This time I would not.
I sighed deeply, and closed my eyes. A warm feeling took over my body, and though I had just come from a long lie-in, I felt sleep coming on. Against the will of my own body, I tried to open my eyes, without success. The heavy feeling that kept my eyes from opening soon was dominating my whole body.
A new feeling grabbed my innards, as I was unable to move, and found myself spiraling down what seemed to be a long, black drop. With a lurch, I felt the hot putrid taste of vomit in my throat; I couldn't open my mouth to hurl. I just kept falling down, and down, and down.
Until my body hit what I guess was a floor. Pain crept up my sides, and I moaned, regaining all movement and vocal capabilities. The first thing I did with my newly regained movements was to roll over, and released the hot and putrid vomit from my throat. It was disgusting, and I was fully comforted that I could see nothing.
As my muscles regained their own control, very slowly, they brought my body to an upright sitting position. The room of total darkness, or wherever I was, was starting to spin, and my head suddenly felt very light on my shoulders, and the sick feeling in my stomach lurched. More vomit joined the pool beside me.
My vocal capabilities were returned, I discovered, as I gave a long low moan and clutched my middle section. I didn't have a chance to execute any other painful movements, for I was moving again. This time, I was not circling down, but was flying gradually in a parallel direction. It was as if there was no gravity.
But not for long. I could feel myself falling again, and the sick feeling was returning to me. I was temporarily paralyzed for another moment, when I felt the ground, or whatever it was, coming closer and closer to me. Movement returned to me, and I screamed loudly, wrenching my eyes shut and expecting the worst.
But it wasn't the worst. It was as if I had landed on thousands of pillows, except that the ground was solid. The sickness in my middle left me, and I felt no tingling pain in my limbs. I quickly stood up, so the floor could not engulf me again, wondering if standing made a difference.
Dim lights flickered on, and for the first time, I saw my surroundings. There was not much to see; just an old kitchen table with two chairs placed at it, facing across from each other, along with a vase of shriveled flowers. The walls were a pastel color, with no paintings or any decorations whatsoever. I turned around, and found that the surroundings changed completely.
No longer were the walls pastel, but they were black. As soon as I laid eyes upon it, I felt a certain coldness, as if my soul had left my body, making me feel cold. I shivered, my eyes resting upon a skeleton that lay at my feet. But at the end of the hall, dimly illuminated by a flickering yellow light, there was a door.
I screamed. There was something about it that made me feel even colder than I had been before. My breath came in raspy segments instead of the usual smooth flow of breathing. I had to force my brain to tell me to breath, otherwise I would have suffocated. But even as I tried, it was as if the air were suffocating me as well.
I heard another scream; it was the scream of a child, innocent and defenseless. A cruel sense of wonder flickered on inside my blackened heart, telling me I should laugh. But deep down, and far away, a distant voice was telling me to help. Telling me to go towards the door.
Panic ensued. I didn't have but the faintest idea of what I should do. My heartbeat was rapidly increasing, and there was very little time before there was no air left for me to breathe. I was sucking what little life remained in the dampness. But what could I do?
Yes, what could I do? There seemed to be no feasible actions for the situation. Basing my actions on this thought, I gave up. I didn't care if I lived, or if I died. It was too hard. Too hard to stay awake. With a gasp, I took in the remaining oxygen, and let my heart beat as it willed.
It was too late, anyway.
~*~
"Malfoy!" A sharp voice cut into my dreams, popping the unhappy bubble. My eyes opened corollary, and I was looking up not at darkness, but at the face of a beautiful girl, with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. I tried to move. She was sitting on me, so I wrenched forward and threw her off me.
"Hello, Celeste," I said unenthusiastically. Celeste was looking quite calm as she picked herself off the floor, standing up and dusting off her green weekend robes. I could tell something was irking her, and that something involved me. But as my mind was half full with the terrifying images of my dream, there was no room in my brain to process what she could be thinking.
"Care telling me what you went to the Masquerade as?" She said smoothly. There was no way I was telling her! Why was she even asking about it? I smirked at her. She, however, remained so calm that a slight panic arose inside of my chest. "Or I'll tell the whole of Hogwarts, especially Potter and company that you were having such a bad dream," she paused to snicker at me. "That you wet yourself!"
I could feel the color draining from my face as I looked down at my pants. My heart skipped a beat or two as I saw the front of my pants. They were almost sopping wet, and I had been so preoccupied with other thoughts that I had not noticed until that fateful moment.
Celeste's face lit up as more color drained from mine. I couldn't believe it! The dream had scared me so much that I had wet my pants. Now I had one of two options, I could tell Celeste who I was, or let her tell the whole school I had a nightmare and wet myself.
"I didn't go to the ball," I said slowly. I pretended to look ashamed at myself. An idea came to me. I grinned. "I spent the whole evening stalking you, with your date." I shook my head, and waved a finger like an upset parent. "And if I were you, I wouldn't want the whole school to know that you were in the rose garden with Seamus Finnigan."
It was Celeste's turn to look shocked. Her mouth formed a circle of surprise. Truthfully, I had no idea which one of her many prospective victims she had taken with her to the rose garden, and I had a sneaking suspicion that she did not have the slightest clue, either. But if it was Seamus Finnigan, a Gryffindor, that would be the ultimate shame; worse than wetting your pants.
Balling up her fists, she shot me one last look before turning out of the room, in a rage. "Oh, and by the way," she said, as if trying to sound nice all of a sudden. "I poured water down your front to give you a scare." I laughed. She didn't want me to tell the house of Slytherin what she had been doing on the night of the Masquerade ball. If I were her, I wouldn't either. Fooling around with a potential Gryffindor? That, my friend, would be a terror worse than my dream.
~*~
Through seven more nights of fitful sleep, the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match had arrived. I was not quite sure what I had dreamt of that night, be it one of two recurring dreams. One dream was pleasant; the other was far from it. I hoped it had been the dream where I replayed the moment of the kiss with the mystery girl (I think I'll call her Juliet, making myself still Romeo), for good luck. It was the closest thing to a good-luck-kiss I would be getting that day.
One could feel the tension in the Great Hall between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables as breakfast was eaten. I myself was sending morbid looks across the hall to Potter, grinning maliciously and letting my eyes sparkle at the prospect of beating him on my Millennium.
The rest of the day rolled slowly on, until the very moment I stood in front of the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team, wearing my green robes, and tightly gripping my Millennium as if I were holding on for dear life. I was paying no attention at all to Warrington's pre-game talk, until he addressed me personally.
"You will have no problem, correct?" He said, narrowing his bushy eyebrows at me. For Warrington, his face was always his game face. I nodded, unable to speak. I feared that if I spoke, my insides would proceed out my mouth and land on the ground at my feet. It was how I felt at the moment.
We took our warm-up laps, and the feeling of anxiety suddenly disappeared to another part of my body. There was something about shooting through the air at high speeds that made you forget all your troubles, and cleared your mind at the moment. God, I loved flying.
As we stood on the ground, preparing for takeoff, I looked across the field at Harry Potter, who was looking at his feet as if his insides were about to spill all over. I knew how he felt, but I'd never admit that I felt sympathetic at that current moment. Hell, why was I even admitting it to myself?
But all thoughts escaped my head as the whistle sounded. I jetted into the air, and felt the wind play with my hair, which was never slicked back for Quidditch matches, as it got messed up anyway. But at least the trouble that bestowed Potter did not bestow me; my hair was usually neat, unlike his.
I sneered, and looked down at Potter, who was making rounds around the field, cheering Gryffindor on. I pursed my lips. It was a typical dirty match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. The disgusting Weasley twins were beating furiously at the Bludgers, while our beaters beat furiously at the Gryffindor Chasers with their clubs. It was rather entertaining to whoosh through the air to keep my eyes open for the small ball of gold that might pass by my head.
"Sure you can keep up, Potter?" I shouted at Potter, who I had swept by, nearly knocking him off his broom with the speeds I whipped by with. Potter gripped his Firebolt firmly, and pursed his lips at me. I could tell his brain was trying to process a witty comeback.
"Does this broom have an eye to see the Snitch with, Malfoy?" He said, wrinkling his nose at me. I sneered at him.
"Perhaps your broom should come equipped with glasses!" I said. From the hidden pocket in my robes, I withdrew my wand so that it was visible to only Potter and I. "Since you'll be needing new ones!" I smirked. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
And with that, Potter's glasses began to levitate slowly above his head. He shot into the air after them, but over guessed the distance, and I let go of my wand, tucking it back into my pocket. His glasses began a rapid decline towards the ground.
"HARRY POTTER HAS SEEN THE SNITCH!" I heard Lee Jordan's magnified voice boomed across the stadium, as Potter went into a speedy dive to recover his falling glasses. I smirked, and pretended to follow him. I bit my lip so hard it nearly bled when Potter made a recovery of his glasses, and I hung low in the air, waiting for the Snitch. "NO, HE'S JUST CATCHING HIS GLASSES!"
It was at that moment that I saw a glint of something gold in Potter's glasses, which he had hastily shoved on his face. My heart leaped, and I looked down. My wristwatch was gold. That was all. It was a flash of my wristwatch. That was all. I took a deep breath.
It was in that very brief period of time that I closed my eyes to take a breath when I heard a distinct buzzing sound, and the whoosh of robes to my left, when I gasped sharply, and whirled my broom in the other direction. My mind was completely oblivious to what Lee Jordan was shouting.
Potter was not feinting. He was accelerating towards the Snitch as fast as his broom would take him, and was going at a decent rate; after all, the Firebolt was still a World-Class broom. But my broom was faster. It was faster, but Potter had a head start. Was it enough for me to overcome?
Potter just couldn't go fast enough, and soon we were neck-in-neck, with our arms stretched out, accelerating at high speeds, fifty or more feet above the ground, in hot pursuit of a golden ball with wings. My arms happened to be longer than Potter's and that put me at a slight advantage. At least it would have had not he scooted forward, and tried to knock my hand out of the way.
I slammed him back, and we both cascaded in opposite directions, torn between knocking each other off our brooms and catching the Snitch. A hatred like no other filled my chest at that moment, and I felt myself wanting to scream. Everything that angered me was suddenly let out; father, Potter, Pansy, Celeste, Circe, the dream, myself.
We both stopped swatting at each other, and reached out hands out. I felt my fingers make contact with a cold metal, and pulled sharply in my direction, feeling excitement pulse through my veins. I had finally beaten Potter!
Or so I thought.
As I tugged on the golden ball, an opposing force had done so at that exact moment. Despite the time and place, my jaw found time to drop as I looked over at Potter, who was looking at me with confusing, and keeping a tight grip on the Snitch. The whole stadium had fallen silent. Not even Lee Jordan dared to voice his comments.
I sent a hard glare in the general direction of Potter, and in return, he narrowed his rather busy eyebrows at me. One could feel the tension in the air, and it was waaaaay too thick to be cut with an ordinary knife. In fact, it was so thick that neither Potter nor I heard Madam Hooch blowing on her whistle until she was right in our angry faces.
We both landed smoothly on the ground, and were forced by Madam Hooch to let the Snitch free from our iron grips. The crowd was craning down towards us, as the teams of both Slytherin and Gryffindor alike stood on the field with their brooms in hand. The sun was shining brightly down upon us as we looked with confusion to Madam Hooch, who seemed to have reached a verdict.
I heard her magnify her voice, ("Sonorous!") and then she turned toward the crowd without first consulting the athletes, and said, "THE SCORES ARE CURRENTLY TIED AT FIFTY, AS YOU CAN SEE!" She paused, and the crowd murmured an agreement. "AND DUE TO SOME VERY UNUSUAL CIRCUMSTANCES WE HAVE REACHED A VERDICT THAT ONE HUNDRED FIFTY POINTS SHALL BE AWARDED TO BOTH GRYFFINDOR AND SYTHERIN FOR THE CAPTURE OF THE SNITCH, AS THERE IS NO WAY TO BREAK THE TIE BETWEEN THE TWO SEEKERS."
I stared at her. That meant.
"GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN ARE TIED AT TWO HUNDRED POINTS APIECE, AND THIS GAME ENDS IN A TIE. THE QINNER OF THE HOUSE CUP THIS YEAR WILL BE THE TEAM THAT HAS MET THE LEAST NUMBER OF DEFEATS, OR IF THE RECORDS REMAIN CONSTANT, THE WINNER WILL BE BASED UPON POINTS SCORED THIS SEASON."
I balled my left fist; my right hand curled around the Millennium, and I bit my lip in a rage. I was willing to bet that father would find a way to set this right. I should have won. But why? Why should I have won, and not Potter? There was nothing I did that he did not, except use my cunning diversionary tactics.
"CONGRATULATIONS TO BOTH TEAMS!" Madam Hooch finished. I could tell that she looked quite downtrodden that Slytherin had tied with Gryffindor and that Gryffindor had not been able to take the win, as we had a way of playing dirty, which she seemed to deem unfair in school Quidditch.
The time in the shower was a very quiet time. After dressing myself in silence, I took hold of my Millennium, and pushed open the doors angrily. We tied! How could we tie! I had vowed to myself that I would beat Potter, yet we tied. Tied! I decided not to confront father, who had probably left to take out my mistakes out on mother anyhow, and winged to the left.
"Good game, Mister Malfoy," said a smooth voice to my immediate right. I jumped when I saw Circe standing against the wall, with her hair in her face and her arms crossed. "You're full of surprises, lately." She grinned, and her face lit up. A strange tingling feeling was unleashed inside of me. "It took me ages to find out who you were at that Masquerade." She smiled. "But there are very few rich enough to purchase such beautiful fabric."
My heart dropped to my feet. What if someone else thought of this? "And I loved your eyes, Malfoy," she added. "That's what befuddled me the most." She pondered aloud. "Instead of steely gray, you let them shine as a warm light blue." I grinned. I had rather liked the eyes, if I did say so myself.
"Well, I-"
"Excuse me," someone muttered, dropping to the floor to pick up a load of books that had fallen at my feet. I looked down and glanced bushy brown hair and a thin feminine figure scooping up a load of books and hastily shoving them into a black school bag. "Sorry."
It was the Mudblood, Granger. I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Circe. She was grinning at me. I suddenly came to the conclusion that I did not understand women. Granger was scuttling off with her head bowed, and Circe was grinning for no apparent reason.
I blinked, and felt myself wanting to scream again. I caught a glimpse of the dark corridor with the door at the end, and this time, instead of the child screaming, I head a woman's scream, shrill and painful, piercing the imaginary air.
If not for Circe, I would have collapsed on the spot.
"You're two steps closer to your inner self," she said, touching me on the shoulder and brining me back to reality. My eyes shot open, and I let out a gasping breath. "You're closer than you even think you are."
(A/N: Sorry; it was long, again! I didn't intend for it to be, but I just keep getting carried away. Anyway, I have been VERY busy lately. I found time to type this at night, lol. I still don't think I'm satisfied with it, especially the Quidditch part. My writing royally sucks there, but oh well. Try and make sense of everything here! I dropped a LOT of hints at what is to come. Try and think of one of the spoilers that J.K. released for book five! I stole one of her ideas, and added my own twist, Mwahahaha! Well, tell me what you think of this chapter.)