Sorry to make all of you wait so long hopefully this slightly bigger update will appease you my somewhat faithful readers.
Chapter 7: Disillusionment is the Rudest Form of Awakening
The morning came, and after it another. The days were getting noticeably lighter though the snow showed no signs of a speedy retreat and the frosty weather held. In school, things progressed as usual, but Draco was frustrated. He chalked it up to some side effect of an unrequited love, yet as hard as he tried he could not focus on the damn Mudblood. She was boring and overly correcting, a perfect Madonna when he longed for flaws. An unappealing opposite, yet his perverse nature made him want something to which she was intrinsically connected, something he sensed connection to only through her. She was taken, that one window to this unknown thing that haunted him was shuttered and so the scene he had witnessed up in the trophy room still held him afflicted.
Since that one time he had been observing her more and more, at first he held little interest in her comings and goings, and merely gathered what snippets of news he could pick up from casual conversations with his fellow house mates. But as he became more and more drawn to the damn girl, he had felt it was his duty to know more about her, and her friends. It was a bore, but there was always the added perk that he now was in the position to lean more about Potter's movements at the same time. The Weasley, he had almost discounted as an attractive appendage to Granger but nothing of any consequence. As he watched them more he began to feel an odd form of jealousy towards the pair, which, like his feeling for Granger he could not entirely place. Nevertheless he rejoiced in it, taking it as I sign that he was truly smitten with the Mudblood.
Despite all this effort he felt a quite kind of worry settle upon him; as if it were all, in some way, an elaborate lie. It would creep down on him as he became bored watching her at dinner, or in class. The worst wave came when he felt nothing when she flashed an ankle in plain view on the stairs. So what, he had told himself, but the sense of duplicity hung around his interest in the pair.
In an effort to offset the horrid feeling he had taken to writing long soppy poems, and mope around as he assumed was proper from for one smitten. He watched their activities, and memorized their schedules. When they were together, when they were apart, when they were with Potter, and when they had free time. Draco could admit that he had always been one to fixate on a thing, but after weeks and weeks it was becoming a down right bore, nevertheless he clung to this love with all his might.
One day when the snow was melting and the mud was again thick like that day he had cursed the Mudblood, the Slytherins and Gryffindors again met in the field; Draco this time at the forefront. There had been many of these little spats since that encounter where he had tried out that new curse. Since the Incident, he had always regarded them not only as a test of wit, but also as a chance to show his metal. Normally he felt the rush of adrenaline, the moment the first mean words were thrown was a delicious forbidden pleasure spiced with danger, and he usually remained in this heightened state for some time after their conclusion. This time however he perceived the Gryffindors approaching from across the field with an uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm. It had been building he noticed, he no longer felt a thrill when he watched the Mudblood for reaction.
Pansy stood at his side Crabbe and Goyle flanking him a little behind, Zabini no were to be seen-slimy bastard, and the rest following in a gaggle behind. The Dream Team heading the Gryffindors, they approached each other. Around him, Draco could feel the tension mount in expectation of a great clash worthy of Greek titans; he however merely wanted to get it over and get to class. Pansy glanced up at him, with a worried look, for a moment he was deadly afraid that he looked the coward. Coward he was, but he still had to save face. Steeling himself he prepared for the confrontation. He would no doubt lead off.
The two groups at last faced each other like opposing armies ready for battle. As much as he didn't want to, he felt pressed on by the weight behind him and on all sides. He looked over at the Mudblood, he loved her, he would love her, and he would be normal. For a brief flash he wondered why such confrontations were necessary in this matter. How did conflict in any way relate to love, did he do this to impress her? He shrugged it off.
"Excuse me Potter, we need to get to class." This seemed to be the best way to start. It had been superficially defamatory, but the accompanying sneer he knew from experience was enough to provoke at least some reaction. There was always the hope they would give-up and just let him pass.
"Who do you think you are? If you and what to get past us all you have to do is walk around." This was from the Mudblood. It had been so commonplace a thing to say that he felt like giving up right then and there, and just listen to her. He wondered fleetingly whither she would appreciate such a gesture. Probably not. He was not going to make a fool of himself for anyone anyway. Fatalistically he embarked on the only course of action open. There was no help for it now.
"This…" He tapped his foot on the stone path on which the two parties were standing "is a path. That…" He pointed to the sloppy puddles that riddled the grass. "is mud, as a Mudblood it is you who should feel perfectly at home waking in it." It was, he reflected, not a nice thing to say, for the past weeks he had refrained from attacking her, keeping to Potter, you don't insult loved ones, most of the time. Now however he was too much annoyed by the whole need to waste energy on confrontation to care. It was her fault anyway.
"See here you pompous shrimp!" This was from Weasley as he put a protective arm around the Mudblood. Draco might have been bored dangling after the girl but again that jealousy spasmed in him. After all this was over he wanted desperately to take himself off to the dungeons and think it all through. She was not in any way his, he really wasn't even sure whither he even wanted her to be, nevertheless here again was this jealousy. He had to think.
"See what?" he demanded with a sneer. "I can see nothing but a dirty little obstruction, that needs to be removed" The boy's jaw worked. Draco had to commend himself on the ability to goad peoplem, but at the moment it was the last thing he wanted to do. He wanted out.
"D-don't talk about her like that" Weasley was apparently so enraged that he had taken to stuttering and blustering. An endearing fault and that was just fine, as long as he didn't get violent. Now however he needed desperately to extricate himself from the situation as fast as possible with no loss of face in front of his house. The task was daunting.
"I'll talk however I like." he said with a flippant glance around his entourage. "This thing thinks he has the right to tell me what I may and may not do." They laughed with scornful unease, baiting the fight. Potter had laid a restraining hand on the bloody tomato head and was looking as uncomfortable as Draco felt. Potter always could get away with just being himself, damn him.
"Look Ron." He said lowly. "Let's just go." There was a pause as everyone seemed not to know in which direction they should proceed. Then Potter stepped forwarded.
"I suggest that unless you want this to get physical and let everyone to see what a coward you really are, that you stand down. Your goons can't prevent me from giving you one good black at least, There is nowhere to run so just stand down." Potter whispered this, glaring coldly at Draco. He felt himself step back involuntarily. Potter was too close, standing only a foot away his fists clenched. Potter entering that sacred personal barrier. Draco had at times wanted to feel what it was like to be in such close proximity to him, but now he found he didn't care for it one bit. Inwardly fuming he whispered back in the same ominous voice.
"Back off Potter, let me pass." He felt like a rat, trapped in a corner, but he was not going to back down to Potter. Clenching his own fists he stepped forward walking past the other boy, bumping him viciously in the shoulder as he pushed past. The Gryffindors stood still for a second then shuffled to onside, glaring at him as he sidled on. The Mudblood and Weasley had followed Potter and now the enemy camps were back on the move, jostling each other on the narrow path. Luckily no one fell, he had to be thankful for that at least. There would be no fight today. Nevertheless his blood seethed, he felt somehow betrayed.
Pansy drew level with him, jabbering about how scary it had been and how amazingly he had stood up to Potter.
"…She should really be made to walk in the mud. I can't stand that Granger… thinks she is all that…. with her pauper boyfriend… I hear they shag each other every night, so much for being Miss Chastity." Pansy prattled on maliciously, Draco adding little, he just wanted the day to end.
***
His encounter with the Dream Team had left Draco feeling embittered and exhausted. He had crawled though the remainder of his classes, with no enthusiasm at all, plagued by different concerns. A million thoughts seemed to form and reform inside his head. He needed to sit and reevaluate everything. He did not however, get the chance and it was making him incredibly irritable.
He snapped at Goyle for treading on a quill he had dropped on purpose just as the fool was walking to take his seat, and when Pansy wouldn't shut up he had finally snapped; saying that she should have been a Hufflepuff for all the brains she possessed. She'd been nagging him, she deserved it, nosy bitch. She had not taken it well, but had stood by him, sniffling and saying it was "her duty to be supportive." He had continued to insult her. She had stuck by him doggedly the rest of the day to his utmost annoyance, smiling at everything he said and obviously trying her best to make him feel better.
He had eventually yelled at her, and told her that she that she was a clinging little slut, in fort of a bunch of Slytherin fourth years. She had finally run off tears in her eyes. He had not seen her since, but when at last he had retired to his dorm, Zabini had told him with a cold look that "Pansy was crying in the bathroom and would not come out." He was by then in such a foul mood that he had merely sneered and said that it was what she deserved. Zabini had not looked in the least impressed and had left the room. God how he hated honorable villains, they always got the girl, at least for a time.
He flopped down on his own bed, closing the curtains. No one would disturb him till dinner, Merlin help anyone who did. Talking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly trying to be rational and compose himself to though. He couldn't do it. His mind drew a blank; nothing. He wanted to get all this sorted out and now, now that he had made everyone mad at him so as to be left alone, there was nothing. Nothing. He felt anger rise in him. Frustrated he shifted irritably on his bed, messing the beautifully made bed. The house elves better have it remade before he got back from dinner. Damn house elves only cleaned up once a day, thanks to Potter and his damn friends.
"Ah FUCK it!" Clenching his hands into fists; he slammed then down on the bed. The side of his hands stung painfully. Damn that Potter, making him look like a fool, and the Mudblood for driving him crazy, and then Pansy being such a moron as not to realize that he just Did Not Need Her. That he never would never ever need her like she wanted. He got up pushed by his rage, it was choking him, and he felt a tightness behind his eyes. He just wanted it all to go the hell away.
"It's not fair, IT'S NOT FUCKING FAIR." he screamed not caring who heard. What was unfair he didn't know, but he just needed to scream. No one, absolutely no one better come in; he would… he would kill them if then even dared to touch the door. Something dripped off his chin. No one was coming in, not to see him like this. Something creaked.
Draco was suddenly gripped by an irrational fear, he glanced at the door, then slowly around the room. No one. Nothing. Silence. "arrrrr- aAAHHHHHhhhhh" he screamed letting his voice go until there was no more air left in his body, and he collapsed back into the bed. They better not come in, they damn well better not. He was sobbing. Wet streams down his face, and his noes was running, his hair in his eyes and some trailed in the snot that ran from his nose. He felt like a kid; out of control, lost, not knowing what to do. Not knowing what was so wrong. He let the sobs rack him until they too ran dry and coarse, his stomach hurt, whimpering he reached for the glass of water that was always on the nightstand.
I had little bubbles lining the sides. He watched them from his sprawled position on the bed, cheek meshed into the bed spread. Reaching out a shaking hand to it and then pausing to tap the side, watching in child like wonderment when a tiny pocket of air freed itself, flying up to the surface. He wished he could too, he felt buried in emotions he could not quite understand. He had hurt Pansy that didn't matter so much but what if she left him, never talked to him again. He knew he was gay, and yet he wanted Granger, or at least he though he did. He was jealous of Weasley, and what was worse; nobody gave a damn.
Picking up the glass, he brought it to his lips, trying to drink it sideways, letting most of the water dribble onto the sheets in creating a damp puddle that he couldn't lie on. The water was warm, but he gulped it down anyway, wanting to dispel the horrible acidic gnawing in his stomach. He would not think, not right now, he was too hungry. Turning so as to avoid the wet patch on the pillow, he curled himself into a ball and tried to think of pure white snow.
***
It was dark when he opened his eyes, someone must have put out the lamps. He lay still, his stomach making unpleasant gurgles. Draco felt sick. He had to eat, and hoped beyond anything that he had not slept though dinner. His face felt tight with tear stains, and he wondered if his eyes were still red. He considered emerging, no not yet it was too humiliating; he must have been herd by every Slytherin in the house. His cheeks burned. He definitely didn't want to show his face anywhere out side this room until next week. Dinner could bloody well wait.
Relaxing he stared into the darkness above his head were he knew the heavy green bed curtains would hang. Despite what the shame he felt a little better, but no closer to finding answers to the questions that had irked him earlier. He felt strangely clam and content, and even hungry as he was all he could think to do was stare contentedly into nothing, not bugged by any thought.
He must have stayed like this for some time. It was completely quiet. It could have been days that he lay there for, Draco didn't know, nor did he care to. Though some small cynical part of his brain interrupted quietly to remind him, that he was grossly overstating his case and it was probably one a few minuets, after all, his thoughts reminded him, you could not entirely shut off your brain for any length of time. He was just about to contradict himself when the door creaked open and wearily foot steps entered. There was the glow of a lamp that brightened the fringe of the heavy bed curtains, then the tentative treads began to approach Draco's bed and a hand hesitantly lifted the curtain aside.
Draco blinked, his eyes aching at the sudden increase in light, blearily he looked up. It was Goyle, his face full of pudgy worry, looking down at him holding a tremulous lamp. "I- I'm sorry for the the… quill. I…" He faltered, trailing off into unintelligible mumbles. "We d-didn't mean to make you mad…" For all Goyle was a mountain he had always seemed to live in some degree of fear, concerning Draco. Now his great stupid voice was shaking along with the lamp he held. Pushing tangled hair form his eye Draco looked up at Goyle disoriented by the sudden shuddering light.
"Don't be an idiot, it was only a quill." A pause, then with more of a snap in his voice
"Goyle, you don't stand there, shaking like a bloody pudding, what do you what?" the boy didn't respond immediately but seemed to be collecting his limited wits. Opening his mouth he was about to start when irritation prompted Draco to speak again
"For all the magic of Merlin, put the bloody lamp down, you're shaking so badly your going to set something on fire." It again appeared that Goyle had lost the tentative grip on the subject of his communication. Turning he followed Draco's advice and placed the lamp on a side table.
Fumbling for his wand Draco, tied the drapes back with a flick and stared at Goyle. He must look horrible Draco thought annoyed, and here was this damn buffoon coming in and disturbing him before he had had a chance to wash his face.
"Goyle" He said pettishly after a moment more of the bigger boy's stammering. "Why are you here?" He reflected that though this was in Goyle's dorm too, hopefully the idiot would never think to say so unless Zabini told him to. The arrogant bastard, disturbing other peoples friends.
"Supper… we wondered if you wanted any… it was Crabbe's idea" he added hastily.
"Oh is that all." Good, he hadn't missed it after all. "What time is it?" he asked not remembering his own watch. Goyle struggled with his sleeve in his haste to uncover his.
"Nearly seven." He answered sounding more confident.
"I'll be up as soon as I'm ready, and I better not find that you great pigs have eaten everything." Draco had flung his legs over the side of the bed and was rummaging in his trunk for a fresh robe. Goyle stood hesitating for a moment, swaying his great bulk nervously from side to side before slipping back out the door. Getting up Draco pushed himself off the bed and sliding on to the floor. It felt odd walking again, as if his legs weren't used to it. Making his way over to the ancient stone basin that served as a handy in room washstand, Draco wiped his face, squinting at his reflection in the semi-dark. Satisfied, he moved back across the room, not bothering to change his robes. Supper would just have to take him as he came.
The light in the great hall when at last he made it there after what felt like ages of dark dingy passages blinded him, hurting his eyes. He caught sight of her across the room, but pointedly ignored her as he crossed to his seat eyes smarting. She won't care either way, she was much to sensible to mind even if she had noticed. Weasley on the other hand might have cared more had he noticed.
He had taken his usually place, trying his best to be civil and repair the damage of his days mood over a meal of bangers and mash. They all seemed all too willing to cooperate, it irked him slightly that none of them bothered to check his childish behavior. It made him what to stomp and thrash until they had to. He escaped as soon as possible, lousing the other Slytherins in the crowd as they left the great hall.
Ahead of him the stair case rose.
***
I don't know when I've used so many italics. It's disgusting. But somehow it's just not Draco without them.
No reviewing made easy for this chapter; I'm too tired. Maybe I'll add one later. The story's being bitchy. I've left it to long and now it doesn't want to flow properly for me.
Please review and tell me what you think. Personally this chapter felt way too wordy. I think my style is changing. Commentary is much appreciated. Come on I worked hard… please.