Draco Malfoy nearly grimaced when the small, cold hand came to rest upon his shoulder. Idly, he wondered if she was some sort of cold-blooded reptile, a snake perhaps? Or maybe blood was not what ran through her veins.
Of course his pale impassive face did not betray any hint of disgust, but he braced himself for what was to come.
"Drakie dear," purred the sickeningly sweet voice, cloying like the dried syrup, "Dance with me."
"Don't call me that." He snapped, twisting his shoulder out from beneath her claw-like grasp.
Pansy Parkinson pouted, wondering what was wrong with 'her' Draco.
She sat down next to him, purposefully letting her thigh rub against his. It was a trick that always worked with silly teenage boys and their uncontrollable hormones. However, all she received was an icy stare and an equally cold and harsh, "Leave. Me. Alone."
"My, my, is the Dragon upset? Perhaps a more private 'dance' back in the Common Room will cheer him up…" she murmured into his ear in what she thought was a seductive manner.
Unfortunately, it only served to irritate him further.
Not deigning to respond to her sickening proposal, he rose and strode out of the Great Hall, leaving her angry and speechless.
***
The moon was high in the vast blackness of the night sky, throwing the Hogwart's grounds into a balance of bright, illuminated earth interspersed with the darkest of shadows. Draco sat on the steps with his back against the heavy wooden door, staring across the expanse of new spring grass and moonlit lake. The cool night air felt wonderful against his skin and he savored it for a moment before letting out the breath that he had been holding all night. Slowly and deliberately, he traced the grooves that had been worn into the ancient stones.
Tomorrow was his birthday.
Who am I kidding? It's more of a deathday.
Yes, a lovely deathday, complete with the obligatory Death Eaters and Dark Lord. And of course, it wouldn't be a proper party without a present from his dear father and so-called friends, in the form of a mark scorched upon the inside of his forearm, binding him eternally to serve his father's master.
Yes, just what I've always wanted. And lucky me, one size fits all.
He sighed. He had always known that it was his destiny. In fact, he had embraced the idea of becoming one of the most powerful and fearsome men in the world.
Until now.
It was the eve of his initiation ceremony, and he was simply nervous…right? But Draco knew it was more than that. His unraveling had begun even before he had arrived at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was on the Hogwart's Express, his very first meeting with one, Harry James Potter, that it began. That fateful day had changed his world forever, though he had certainly not been aware of it at the time. All that he had felt was the blind rage that he, Draco Malfoy, had just been rejected by a little Muggle-loving freak. He had wanted to make the miserable git's life a living hell because no one insulted a Malfoy and got away unscathed -- his father had taught him that.
So he did everything in his power to get Harry Potter and the Gryffindor Dream Team in trouble. He baited the quick-tempered Weasley, insulted the bookish Mudblood, and tormented the others. Potter, ever the noble Gryffindor, would try his best to ignore whatever scathing comments Draco threw his way while secretly seething inside. Weasley would invariably lash back violently, which often backfired. Literally. And Granger would attempt to hold back the rabid redhead, endeavoring to look unaffected, only to melt into a puddle of tears when she thought no one was watching.
So damn predictable, yet each time he saw the hurt on their faces, he couldn't help but enjoy it. He derived an almost unhealthy amount of pleasure in tormenting them, but it wasn't until much later that he understood the true reason for this.
It was the night the Dark Lord punished his father that led him to conclude that father did not 'know best.'
He was disgusted with the groveling. Malfoys were not made to grovel at the feet of others.
He was disgusted with the blind obedience.
And most of all, he was disgusted that he had let himself become his fathers little puppet.
He realized that all those years, he was jealous, yes, jealous of Harry Potter. Not for his "amazing" Quidditch skills or "dashing" looks, but for his independence. Harry Potter made his own choices. Lucius Malfoy made Draco's.
Draco's finger came to a halt as the groove he had been tracing slipped over the edge of the step. Sighing, he lifted his arm and placed it upon his knee, propping his head up in his hands in a posture mirroring that of Rodan's Thinker. As he closed his eyes, a sudden, almost absurd thought hit him.
Tonight was his last night truly alive and he had wasted it at a silly ball with a simpering pug-faced girl whom he detested. He nearly laughed.
What a series of mistakes his life had been.
And now he was way past redemption. He had already dug himself a nice toasty little pit in hell and it was too late to regret or repent. Not that he was repentant, for that would require a heart, and Malfoy's had no hearts.
Yet he heard the pounding of blood in his ears, a resonating thump for each beat, each contraction. It took him a few seconds to realize that what he was hearing was not from within.
It was the sound of footsteps.
Author's Note: First off, sorry bout the slow update! Flooded with Calc, PSAT scores, regionals and whatnot. Second, thank you very much for the reviews! They were very helpful and I'm glad my vision of Ginny is the same as yours! Great minds think alike ;) Anyways, Winter Break's coming up so hopefully I can find some time to write.
~Flange