Truth in the Eyes of an Enemy
Disclaimer- You know I don't own it, Warner Bros. J.K. the Magnificent does. It is her great creation, not yours, and if you don't see that, I'll sic my Niffler on your merchandise-made-possible, shiny, insulting Rolexes. Grr and nee to you! Now go away.
Chapter Two:
Discussions, Decisions, and Debates of the Mind
The next day might have dawned fresh and bright for someone in a slightly better situation than Draco was. They might have opened their eyes and greeted it with warmth in their hearts and a smile on their face. Probably in the Gryffindor dorms, Draco thought as the sun rose bitterly for him, its sharp rays striking his eyes and forcing him to wake from a sleep with no peace. At least it was some relative rest, though. Draco sat up with a groan and noticed he'd fallen asleep in his clothes; his nice, clean, pressed, expensive clothes. The kind he always wore but his father would be angry if he knew they got sullied by a night of fitful wrinkling and staleness. Heaving himself out of the four poster bed through the dark emerald curtains and away from the side where the sun shone in the charmed window (the Slytherin dorm rooms were underground), trying to torture him. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and pulled another perfect, slightly aromatic uniform out of his chest of drawers.
After washing up and getting changed, pinning his prefect badge to his robes, brushing his teeth and applying liberal amounts of gel to his hair, Draco left out his other uniform to be taken and cleaned by the elves, gave a menacing glare at the other seventh year boys currently in the dorm and left the room to go upstairs. Breakfast was waiting hot and tasty in the Great Hall for those cheerful students, ready for a smashing first day of the year, but Draco wasn't hungry at all after the previous night, and the thought of food only worsened the nauseated feeling he'd been carrying in his stomach since that memory assaulted him in the Hogwarts express. Staying only to collect his schedule from a tight-lipped Professor McGonagall, Draco decided to leave before Goose could arrive to talk his ear off and bombard him with millions of questions.
In the hall he just happened to see a slim figure with bright red hair also walking along, her bag slung over her shoulder in a casual manner. Draco sped up, anxious to talk to her before class started. There had to be a reasonable explanation for those visions he'd experienced seemingly every time he looked her in the eye. She would know. She had to know. He hoped she was only causing it, though, and not seeing the visions as well as him. That had the potential chance of completely ruining the plan he'd been calculating for her and then there would be no purpose at all left to attending school this year. With a glance over her shoulder and a quickened pace, Draco knew Weasley had noticed he was after her. No need to hide now, then, he decided, walking faster. She started to run and turned hastily down a corridor, obviously hoping to lose him, but he appeared around the corner into the same corridor, close at her heels. Anger rushing through his veins with a sudden powerful capacity, Draco no longer cared about being attractive or polite in her eyes. He didn't care about her at all. He just wanted to know what had happened to him. Why was he being forced to see these things again? A rush of vengeful strength suddenly filled him as he overtook her. It was coming from his left arm and with no control over himself, he pinned Weasley to the wall, his hand clutching a fistful of her black robes. His teeth were clenched in fury, but despite himself, he tried to catch his breath. It was coming in short, ragged gasps. He stood away from her, his hand still holding her by the neck of her robes, and was looking resolutely in the opposite direction, trying to calm down. Weasley looked at the back of his head as she tried to capture her own breath, a puzzled expression on her face. Draco furrowed his brow and swallowed roughly, staring down the hallway instead of at his captive.
"Let me go," she whispered, trying to pry his fingers away from her robes and throat.
"No," he responded firmly, still looking away. "I want to know something." He didn't know how to possibly frame a question of the magnitude he had been spending vigorous cerebration on with any sort of tact. Then again, he hadn't stopped her to discuss it in the most diplomatic fashion, either.
"Well, I wasn't to know something first," she declared boldly. "Why won't you even look at me?"
"Because every time I do I'm faced with visions that aren't the most pleasant for me. Why is that, Weasley? Have I done something to upset you, so you decided to curse me? Please, at least let me know so I can be sure I'm not losing my mind." He finally straightened up and stared at the ceiling in aggravation. But Weasley wasn't answering his question.
The only noise he could make out from her was a soft sob and a pathetic sniffle. Startled, Draco turned to her. She was crying as silently as possible, tears streaming down her face. One landed on Draco's hand. He immediately removed a monogrammed handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it in front of her. She took it with a shaky hand and dabbed her eyes. Dangerous eyes, thought Draco somberly.
"I don't know why it happened, but it was only when I wasn't expecting it. I didn't know you would glance at me on the train. I didn't know you would turn around in the hall last night. I don't know what to do," she told him, shaking her head helplessly. Draco gave an unstable sigh, his worst fears were concluding truthfully.
"So…so y-you saw those memories, Weasley? You saw them?" He demanded loudly. She broke into another fit of sobbing.
"Those were memories?" she asked in stunned disbelief, her hands covering her face in an alarmed disgrace.
"Hey!" shouted someone who was running down the corridor. It was Weasley's older brother. He reached her and Draco in no time at all, it seemed, and without delay took Draco's hand away from his sister, looking infuriated and rather like a very protective dog.
"What were you doing? Tell me what you were doing, you mangy ferret! This'll teach you not to mess with my sister."
"Ron!" Weasley yelled, trying to him off. She looked highly disconcerted at her brother's actions, but he had already pounced on Draco, arms flailing everywhere as he punched every part of the Slytherin where Draco couldn't protect himself.
"Stop it!" she pleaded screechingly, finally gaining her bearings and dragging her brother away from Draco. She stared down at him, not with loathing, mock, contempt, rage, shock, or any of the other looks that the Weasleys usually bestowed upon him. No, her gaze was a fearful, piercing one, that penetrated his guard farther than anyone, including his father, had ever done.
"Why should I?" he demanded incredulously, clenching his fists and glaring down at the cowering, pale boy.
"Just go. C'mon, Ron, I'm fine, let's go." Weasley left with her bodyguard and no backward glance. Draco stood and leaned against the wall, wiping a drop of blood from his mouth, and watched them go with acute observation. The larger Weasley had long, determined strides and was shooting questions at his sister. She, on the other hand, also took long steps, but she appeared a bit more hesitant in them. She bit her lip and answered the interrogation with an expression that showed signs of laborious concentration. So she was lying, or at least tactfully refraining from divulging the ghastly truth that she, of all people, was watching Draco's most worrisome and difficult memories. Than at least she wasn't against him, he decided, picking up his bag and dusting his robes off. The floors were filthy. What careless elves they had at Hogwarts. Draco made his way off to class, glowering at anyone who walked past and refusing to talk to anyone who approached him.
Transfiguration was especially difficult that day: trying to transform an elephant into an ivory necklace was (as he saw it) quite unnecessary in life and required an exorbitant amount of power behind the spell; power fueled by the energy Draco did not have. Study of Ancient Runes was easy but monotonous and double History of Magic classes gave him more time than he needed or wanted to spend thinking about the situation at hand and how he would have to deal with it the whole year. A terrible first day of school with the sound of Weasley's questions and cries echoing through his mind again and again did nothing but cause another pounding headache, knocking on his skull as though it was taunting him, teasing him and cackling with a malevolent grin. Draco gave into the exhaustion and trudged into the Great Hall for supper, several people looking at him strangely, not expecting the usually snobbish and overly confident Malfoy to appear deflated and drained. Goose remarked that he looked rather peaky when he sat down, so Draco ate as much as he could, despite the constant sick feeling he had.
*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~~*
As the next few weeks passed, Draco regained his air of confidence and the smirk he had stopped wearing was back on his face. He was attempting very fervently to stay as far away from Ginny Weasley as possible for many reasons at this point, some of which included:
1) If he was seen by her brother, Granger, or Potter anywhere in the vicinity of a corridor where she was, he was liable to end up in the Hospital Wing for several days recovering from bat bogey jinxes.
2) He was, to put it frankly, freaked out by the fact that Weasley had admitted in her fit of tears that she couldn't control this strange, mind-reading magic. It would not look very good for his reputation or his family if he suddenly dropped to the floor in unexpected visions and revealed some vital secret of the Dark Lord, or even worse, if he went mad.
3) He had scared Weasley out of her wits telling her what she was actually seeing was portions of things that had really happened to him, whether he wanted them to happen or not.
So, in conclusion, Draco let go of the original idea he had come up with on the train, though it still tempted him. It would end up being much too complicated, coaxing Weasley into falling in love with him and his…dark history that she now knew about. Instead, he decided to focus on his father's commands. Not that any had come yet, though. That was starting to worry him. Lucius said that he needed Draco at Hogwarts that year, but so far there was no letter from him. No demands, plans, tests of his loyalty were coming to confront him, and that disturbed him more than the expected letters themselves. Draco sighed and tried once again to concentrate on his Rune translation. He, even after being distracted for several minutes (read: about half an hour), finished his assignment before the class was over and a shrill ring of the bell told students they could leave. Professor Aeramayik gave the remainder of the potion instructions they were translating for homework. He strode up to the front of the class with his bag and dispensed his paper on the Professor's desk. The door had almost closed on his way out when he heard the teacher call him back inside.
"Yes, Professor?" He asked in his most fetching voice, though inside he was tired and just wanted to have lunch. These headaches were becoming worse daily, and always came back whenever he happened upon a spur of hope. It dampened his prospects of learning anything worthwhile during seventh year. His N.E.W.T. grades would probably be in the bottom of the class. He hadn't slept in days and blamed it on anxiety in class, but that wasn't the source of his problem, and Draco knew that quite well. He was merely denying it. Denial was such an easy device to use whenever guilt or fear was involved. It was probably what got him through the first six years of school.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you aware that you have an incredible gift for translating runes? You are in the Advanced N.E.W.T. preparatory course and this is the-" she paused to check her grade scroll, "fourteenth interpretation you have turned in early. There isn't a thing wrong with that, of course," she went on, seeing the puzzled frown on Draco's face, "You are very talented."
Needless to say, Draco was quite surprised to hear that he was actually getting good grades in a class. He'd just been doing his work without a thought to what effect it would have on him. Draco blinked, trying to absorb this information.
"Mr. Malfoy? Did you hear me?" Professor Aeramayik asked good-naturedly, snapping Draco from his thoughts.
"Oh, yes. Excuse me. Thank you, I'm glad to hear that I'm doing well."
"Well? That's a harsh understatement of yourself, Mr. Malfoy, you're much too modest. Why, Professor Dumbledore even told me he wanted to see you," she said matter-of-factly, pursing her lips as if it was a delicious treat she had just confided in him. Draco could feel himself blanching.
"H-he needs to see me?" He asked just to make sure he hadn't mistaken what she said and what he heard.
"Yes, yes, Mr. Malfoy!"
"When?"
Draco's mind was racing. Dumbledore was near psychic, he would see right through him; maybe he could try to put it off until the headmaster forgot. He was old…it could be possible?
"Today, of course. As soon as I told him how well you were doing he said he wanted to see you immediately after class was over. Off you go!" She finished, shoving him gently out the door and closing it behind him with a bang! that suggested finality. Who was he kidding? Dumbledore would not forget that he had asked Draco to come to his office. He wasn't the most low-key, non-descript student in school anyway. Draco walked in a numb, fearful sort of confusion to Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle stood guard at the door with a toothy grin and blank, slanting eyes. Draco didn't know the password. It was fortunate that McGonagall passed at that particular time, too, because Draco caught a glance of Weasley, who had just turned down the corridor.
"Erm, Professor McGonagall, could you tell me what the password is? Dumbledore said he wanted to see-" But she cut him off with a glare that obviously displayed her beliefs of his complete dishonesty and idiocy.
"I am perfectly aware of what Professor Dumbledore said. The password is Puking Pastilles." She looked quite miffed indeed by the headmaster's choice of passwords. Draco had heard these terms by some of the more contemptible members of his house, something about skipping classes. That was certainly not an honorable thing to do, so Draco refrained at all costs from being lazy about schoolwork. Lucius had always told him he needed all the instruction possible to overcome the stupidity he was born with. McGonagall looked at him with a strange expression. Oh yes, he'd been staring at her without meaning to. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you just going to stand there, or are you going to make use of the password I've given you?"
"Sorry. I, of course I'll use the password." How was it that McGonagall could make anyone feel like a half-wit convicted criminal? He turned around and muttered the password to the stone gargoyle, who sprang away and Draco stepped forward onto the moving staircase, looking behind him to see his professor shake her head as if to say "a hopeless case" and march off down the corridor. When he reached the headmaster's door, he hesitated. He closed his eyes, silently wishing to be anywhere else (though perhaps not in his father's study), swallowed hard, and with an immense effort, managed to knock on the door ever so lightly. His headache pounded harder in his head, trying to get him to turn around and leave, telling him Dumbledore was not there. The Dark Lord didn't want him there, whatever was going on. He finally did turn around with a sigh of relief and just when he was about to run down the steps, the door creaked open with an ancient sound and Dumbledore gave him an amused perusal through his half-moon spectacles. Oh, how Draco had learned to hate that expression, as Lucius always complained of its scrutiny, pretending to be full of integrity, innocence and amiability. It was not candid, but only the result of endless practice of an old wizard with cheap tricks to finding out what his friends and acquaintances really think. Draco hardened his expression and tried to appear neutral.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you in a hurry? You were going to depart so soon! Please, come in and take a seat."
Draco was steered by his headmaster into the office and sat nervously in one of the chairs that he would have noticed were comfortable if he hadn't had any problem with being there. He looked around at the several strange devices in the curious office, trying to avoid the twinkling blue eyes and piercing gaze of its owner. Dumbledore seemed to know everything about Draco; perhaps more than he knew himself, he could read him like a book. Must be a pretty pathetic story, Draco couldn't help thinking.
"Lemon drop?" he offered graciously.
"No, thank you," Draco replied, seriously disapproving any sort of muggle candy. It would be like eating poison.
"Very well, then. Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" He was right after all. The great professor knew there was something wrong with Draco.
"No, I'm fine," he said as calmly as possible. He was used to lying through his teeth, this kind of thing was a casual and frequent occurrence, but in front of Dumbledore he felt like he had no skill in it at all. He gave a small smirk meant to look like an innocent, honest smile. Dumbledore nodded complacently. They sat for several minutes without a sound, it was getting to be rather tense and Draco started to wonder if he should leave. He rose tentatively from the chair.
"Professor Dumbledore, is there anything else you need from me, or…"
"Ah, there she is," he said, interrupting him. Draco turned around curiously to lock eyes with Weasley once again, not expecting the memory that came with it.
Lucius leaned across his thick oak desk to look Draco in the eye. He was trying to stare at the floor but it wasn't working too well. His father raised a platinum eyebrow and clenched his teeth in exasperation. He was certainly bordering on the precipice of anger, considering Draco's recent rebellious behavior.
"I said do you understand me?" he repeated, a cold note resounding throughout the already frigid room. How he could keep it like this in the summer was beyond Draco's comprehension. He would explain to his father one more time. Maybe he would finally understand. Just one last time, he forced himself, as his insides seemed to vanish with a shudder.
"No. I want to learn Dark Arts like everyone else. Why won't you let me?" Draco looked up to face his father but his attention was drawn to what was behind Lucius. It was a handsome and shining mirror with a large, ornate, gold-gilded frame. His jaw and eye, he could see in its flawless reflection, were still badly bruised; a nasty purple spot was reaching all the way across the left side of his face. Left in Latin meant sinister, though that wasn't what his motive was when getting the bruise. He had tried to escape the house by climbing out of his window into an old tree whose branch didn't happen to be very secure, or alive for that matter. After that he figured there must be a simpler, easier way of getting away from the Manor.
Lucius looked away with slight annoyance and gave an impatient sigh; his tenacious nature ran like hot steel into his silver eyes as he got up and stepped out from behind the desk. He held Draco's chin firmly in his pale hand. Turning his son's face upward to look at him he replied with a domineering authority.
"You have no right to ask why I'm keeping you at Hogwarts. You will serve a purpose; therefore you will obey my orders and remain there. Don't you want to serve the Dark Lord in any way you can? I would hope so…otherwise I don't think your future has much hope in it." He said each word slowly and distinctly making sure Draco caught every word. All he could think of, though, was how much he wanted to say "I don't think my future ever had much hope in it," but he didn't. He gave a hesitant nod, closing his eyes, and suddenly found himself back in Dumbledore's office. He was still looking at Weasley; sweat was pouring down his face uncontrollably and he was out of breath, panting heavily. Weasley seemed horrified once again, though the memory had been mild; short and mostly verbal. She closed her eyes and held her fists tightly to her sides, biting her lip nervously. Dumbledore stared hard at Draco and then at Weasley with equal interest.
"Please, sit down," he beckoned to them, gesturing to two chairs in the room. They both sat, sinking into the comfortable seats with a lack of energy and Weasley with a mumbled and grateful 'thanks'. By means of exploring the office (each looking in the other direction) Draco and Weasley avoided each other's eyes. The headmaster remained on his feet and merely seemed to be in deep cerebration, noiselessly pacing for about fifteen minutes. Draco, in his quest to avert his eyes from those of the other persons in the room, found an attraction in the ancient sorting hat who was watching their appointment cautiously, in the old portraits of former headmasters snoozing away, in the proud red and gold plumed phoenix on his perch in the corner, and in the sleek, strong sword that bore the name Godric Gryffindor and had dark rubies set in its simple yet elegant hilt.
"May I ask what just occurred?" he asked abruptly, shaking Draco from his concentration. He asked this with no force in his voice but a severe, demanding expression on his face. Draco had never seen the twinkle, that taunting twinkle leave the face of Albus Dumbledore before, but today it did, and somehow it awoke a feeling in him that wanted to be loyal to him. He wanted to leave the side of his father and the Death Eaters and join this solemn man in a hunt for a monster that had ruined the lives of all in the wizarding world. The reminding strike of his migraine brought him back to the cruel reality. There was no right and wrong. There was just gray and grayer. Draco knew what he was doing and so he ignored the question. He tried with futility to rub the deep shadows from his eyes, the shadows that had been developed carefully, nurtured by his lack of sleep, the tossing and turning he was going through every night. It was all he could do to go to school; it seemed he would never have a moment of happiness again. Weasley was nearby, crying in a silent manner; only her sniffling could be heard. But it was she who finally mustered up enough courage to answer his question.
"Professor, I don't understand it, but I keep reading Malfoy's memories. I don't mean to do it, really, but it's almost every time I see him. This has never happened before, really, and it only happens with him. No one else."
Draco didn't like the way she was emphasizing that he was the only one. It made him sound like a criminal; a con artist who had somehow tricked her against her will into reading what he remembered. He'd rather not remember it himself, why would he want anyone else to be faced with such things? His thoughts were interrupted by Dumbledore sitting down in his rickety tall chair. He seemed slightly confused and that supernatural appearance he'd held only a moment before had suddenly melted away to reveal a tired old man, just trying to figure it all out.
"Is this true?" he asked Draco gravely.
"I believe so," said Draco in a voice that seemed much too deep to be his own.
Dumbledore sighed wearily. Giving them a long look through his spectacles, he took his bag of lemon drops and offered one to Weasley.
"Thank you," she whispered, placing the translucent yellow candy in her mouth. She was wiping her tears away with her sleeve. He felt so guilty. There was no rhyme or reason for it, either. He wasn't causing it. At least, he did not believe he was causing it. He rubbed his left arm in a compulsive sort of way, glancing over at Weasley again. She was looking at the headmaster with the most trusting, hopeful expression he'd ever seen. It was as if she knew he was going to win over the Dark Lord. She had no long-lasting fear, only a fleeting emotion that seized her at times when she happened to be out of Dumbledore's sight. She would give her life for him, Draco realized with a strange feeling in his chest. She would die so that this old man, her mentor, would live on.
"I'm sorry. I've never seen the like to this before. Has it been happening at all years prior to this, for either of you?"
They both shook their heads slowly, Weasley giving an almost silent slurping on her lemon drop.
"Do you think you might be able to wait it out for a few weeks and see if it vanishes, then?"
"We could try," Weasley answered with her usual, courageous air.
"Why not," Draco added sardonically, trying to appear coolly calm.
"Good. We'll have to see about that, then, won't we? Right now, though, I must ask you both for a very important favor." What had happened? Just a moment ago it seemed this was the top of his agenda and now, suddenly, it meant nothing more than a stray breeze flowing through the window.
"It will aid the Order to a great degree," he added, looking significantly at Weasley with a grandfatherly affection in his now softened eyes. No one had ever looked at Draco in such a way, let alone his headmaster. Weasley seemed honored by this consideration and a smile almost graced her lips before she pulled it away in concern. What was the Order? He'd heard his father speak about it before in a horrible connotation, though Dumbledore wasn't treating it this way. The context was similar in both discussions, though. Draco was afraid to ask what it was, but he knew he had to. His headache just got worse thinking about it.
"What's that?" he managed to say.
"The Order?"
"Yes."
"I will be honest with you, Mr. Malfoy. The Order of the Phoenix is a group of wizards fighting against the forces of Voldemort," Dumbledore paused as Draco flinched, "and his Death Eaters. If you help, it will provide vital information to the Order. Can you accept that? Will you help?" He looked at him with discerning blue eyes and must have descried a faint note of vigorously repressed panic in Draco's face. He couldn't stand waiting for Dumbledore to tell him he knew exactly what he was thinking, to tell him he knew exactly what was going on.
"No! I can't help you. I'd literally be destroying myself." Draco didn't intend to reply so coldly; it just came out that way. Then again, maybe he didn't care. Dumbledore didn't care about playing tricks with him, why should he suffer compunction over being frank? Draco got up from his chair and crossed the room to the desk of his elderly, wise headmaster with something both daring and excessively stupid to do. He didn't know whether it was to spite him, his father, or the Dark Lord, but without hesitation he pulled down the sleeve of his black robes to expose the Dark Mark, engraved boldly on his left arm. Dumbledore stared at him, not at the mark, with something reminding Draco of pity.
"Do you want that life?" he asked Draco genuinely. He spun around and walked away from the old man, not knowing what to say. Weasley recoiled in her chair as if he was about to attack her. Suddenly words came to him.
"Well I don't really have a choice, do I? You'll kill me if I say yes, he'll kill me if I say no…it's just what happened; I followed my father's orders so I could survive. That's the philosophy I live by now. I just want to survive and that's the only life I had to choose. It was either this life…or no life." Draco stopped his drastic pacing in front of a table covered in silver contraptions.
"But I'd rather be killed by you. It would hurt a lot more if he killed me."
That was the most truthful answer he'd ever given anyone before, perhaps because he just couldn't find the effort to care anymore. There wasn't any sleep to look forward to; he never slept as his migraines kept him awake. There wasn't any food that could please his appetite; every time he ate he felt sick. Classes were dull and uninteresting and only Snape and Aeramayik didn't loathe him because of his family. The one thing that kept him going was the prospect of getting away from his present life once graduation was over. Weasley had been a hopeful idea at one point, but obviously that was not going to work out. The question Dumbledore was posing for him now could possibly turn all that hope (not much) upside down…but possibly all the dread, too. It was a risk to his future, his beliefs, and his life, Why not, though? He had hit rock bottom and if there was any rope to pull him out, whether sturdy or not, it was a rope and he'd take it.
"I'll help," he said resignedly, sitting down and covering his pale face with his unsteady hands, "as long as you don't mind making an exception for one death eater."
"You're the second," Dumbledore said kindly, smiling at him. Draco looked up at him and suddenly felt a surge of gratefulness for a potentially beneficial offer instead of the Dark Lord's grip, powered by pain and fear.
"This is what I need you to do, Mr. Malfoy. I need your translating skills to decipher some documents, as I've heard you are the best Rune student in school. So I don't think it will pose too difficult a challenge for you." He turned to face Weasley, who looked relatively relieved, and continued. "Ginny, I have been told you are one of the most advanced students in transfiguration at the moment. I was wondering if you'd mind turning the coded documents into a readable form for Mr. Malfoy to translate. As they are, I believe it would be rather impossible…" he gave a secretive smile that neither Draco nor Weasley understood, but they both nodded silently, waiting for more instructions.
"Please meet at the Whomping Willow tomorrow evening at seven o'clock. There will be someone there to escort you to the place where the objects are being kept safe. Madame Pince has consented to having several books there also for your reference. Thank you for your help. You may go." He cast a discerning look after Draco as he got up to leave.
Draco got up shuddering from the strange outburst of emotions he had and hastily left the office. Weasley followed him at almost the same speed, not talking but keeping up. They walked through corridors quickly and quietly together, not without sneaking curious glance at one another. When Draco finally turned down another hall to go to his common room, he could hear Weasley stop. He could feel her staring at his back. He stopped, too, and turned around, his headache worsening. She was gazing intently at him, a restrained expression on her face.
"Yes?" he growled. She backed away slightly, as if he was right there, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.
"Excuse me; I'm in a bit of a mood. What did you want to say?"
She found her voice once again. "Malfoy, I wanted to apologize. I know you don't need this and I just wanted to say…I'm sorry. I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again."
"You could just leave me alone. Then it wouldn't happen again," he muttered rather harshly. At that, he spun on his heel and walked off to the Slytherin common room.
~Evyfleur