Behind Blue Eyes
by Miaka Kennyuuki
(Song Fic) Slash - Draco/Harry PG-13
Summary: Draco contemplates how his life has been lived, and the one reason he wishes to change.
(But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be. I have hours only lonely my love is vengence that's never free)
"Behind Blue Eyes", Limp Bizkit
*Draco's POV*
History of Magic, the one time during school when I can be myself simply for the fact that I need not speak. In History Professor Binns does all the speaking, and everyone else is left to entertain themselves how they will. But you may not talk. One thing Binns can do well, is spot disruption in a classroom. No fighting for me.
It was Double History of Magic. With Gryffindor of course. Dumbledore must have a death wish for his students. The old coot seemed to be in his own little world, where Gryffindors and Slytherins only had a small rivalry, and no one was hurt in the process. Didn't that old fool remember fifth year, when everything went out of hand and the rivalry almost caused bloodshed? Some members of both Houses would murder members of the other simply on principal, or grievances done to their families. I knew for a fact that Dean Thomas's sister Marisa, a first year, was harassed to the point of tears by some third year Slytherins, and Thomas would not hesitate to use a few Unforgivables.
Back to the subject at hand, though. History. A time of relaxation for me. With the absence of words comes the clarity of self. It was, apparently, the same thoughts of many. I could see the Weasel in the back, drawing pictures, mostly caricatures of Snape. Though I hated that git's guts to the point of a sickness, the Weasel had serious talent. He even had his own comic that circled Hogwarts, named 'Diffendo', a sort of spin off of an advanced unlocking spell, meant to portray the split personalities of several Professors and students. I'd have to say I found the one about Professor Sprout quite funny. It was obvious the Weasel's future wasn't entirely in Quidditch.
The mudblood, Granger, sat beside the Weasel, scribbling furiously. But it wasn't notes, oh no, she had her Verbatim Quill[1] for that. No, it was a song. There was a rumor going around that Granger wrote songs and turned them into spells when she had time. She was still as scholarly as first year, but now she had a side job. Their were also rumors that Thalia Firedancer, the newest singer on the Wizarding Broadcasting Network, was in truth either Granger herself with a quick magical make over, or singing Grangers songs. Seemed Granger was a bit more interesting than I'd figured her to be.
To the front of Granger was my true interest, Harry Potter. The Boy-Who- Lived was a bit of an obsession of mine. Ever since that brief meeting in the robe shop, I analysed him to death, trying to figure out that special something about him that drew people. I wanted that special something. I envied it. And by the time I was fourteen, I wanted to make it my own.
Potter sat there, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment like Granger. But he wasn't writing songs, or drawing pictures. He was actually taking notes, writing down, in shorthand, whatever Professor Binns uttered about the Witch Trials of the 1800s. Secretly, as I had discovered all on my own, Potter was a bit of a scholar.
It happened like this. I was heading for the Great Hall for lunch, but I suddenly heard rain coming down outside, and veered off toward the Entrance Hall doors. Everyone was at lunch, and I didn't want to miss my chance to dance in the rain. On my way out, I spotted someone enter the deserted store room near the entrance to the dungeons. I went to investigate, and what should I see, but Potter, slipping through the door and settling on a persian rug he conjured. Gryffindor's Golden Boy pulled out a large textbook with gold lettering, and settled down to read. I performed a quick cat's eyes spell, and read the title. 'Advanced History of the Goblin Rebellion, And Many Boring Pages About The Goblin Who Led It', were embossed boldly.
Why was Potter reading such a long, boring book? I had been made to read it when I was nine, so I wouldn't be behind in class, and it had taken me three years to absorb it all, and here I see Potter enjoying it like nothing I've ever seen. Not even Granger went at a book like that. It was at that moment that all my illusions of Potter crumbled, and the feelings began. Strange feelings I didn't understand, couldn't explain except to equate them to other emotions and times when such feelings paralleled, in my mind.
What I now felt for Potter wasn't like the bitter taste of rejection I had harbored for so long. It was more like how I felt after a good, hot cup of cocoa, or a particularly exhilerating Quidditch match. It was the comfortable feeling of having a warm blanket on a cold winter night, or enjoying a cup of cold apple juice with my pancakes. It was the lightness my heart took when I completed a task perfectly, or the weightlessness I felt when I sang to the stars some nights. It was my love of dragons, my foundness of the unknown, my secret self that I hid from the world.
I felt all this simply after watching Potter read an insanely large book. What did this all mean? I didn't know. But I planned to figure it out. Did I mention that Malfoys never failed?
***TBC***
[1] Verbatim Quill- It's like a Quick Quotes Quill, only the Quick Quotes writes shorthand, the Verbatim writes every word as said, exactly.
(Song Fic) Slash - Draco/Harry PG-13
Summary: Draco contemplates how his life has been lived, and the one reason he wishes to change.
(But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be. I have hours only lonely my love is vengence that's never free)
"Behind Blue Eyes", Limp Bizkit
*Draco's POV*
History of Magic, the one time during school when I can be myself simply for the fact that I need not speak. In History Professor Binns does all the speaking, and everyone else is left to entertain themselves how they will. But you may not talk. One thing Binns can do well, is spot disruption in a classroom. No fighting for me.
It was Double History of Magic. With Gryffindor of course. Dumbledore must have a death wish for his students. The old coot seemed to be in his own little world, where Gryffindors and Slytherins only had a small rivalry, and no one was hurt in the process. Didn't that old fool remember fifth year, when everything went out of hand and the rivalry almost caused bloodshed? Some members of both Houses would murder members of the other simply on principal, or grievances done to their families. I knew for a fact that Dean Thomas's sister Marisa, a first year, was harassed to the point of tears by some third year Slytherins, and Thomas would not hesitate to use a few Unforgivables.
Back to the subject at hand, though. History. A time of relaxation for me. With the absence of words comes the clarity of self. It was, apparently, the same thoughts of many. I could see the Weasel in the back, drawing pictures, mostly caricatures of Snape. Though I hated that git's guts to the point of a sickness, the Weasel had serious talent. He even had his own comic that circled Hogwarts, named 'Diffendo', a sort of spin off of an advanced unlocking spell, meant to portray the split personalities of several Professors and students. I'd have to say I found the one about Professor Sprout quite funny. It was obvious the Weasel's future wasn't entirely in Quidditch.
The mudblood, Granger, sat beside the Weasel, scribbling furiously. But it wasn't notes, oh no, she had her Verbatim Quill[1] for that. No, it was a song. There was a rumor going around that Granger wrote songs and turned them into spells when she had time. She was still as scholarly as first year, but now she had a side job. Their were also rumors that Thalia Firedancer, the newest singer on the Wizarding Broadcasting Network, was in truth either Granger herself with a quick magical make over, or singing Grangers songs. Seemed Granger was a bit more interesting than I'd figured her to be.
To the front of Granger was my true interest, Harry Potter. The Boy-Who- Lived was a bit of an obsession of mine. Ever since that brief meeting in the robe shop, I analysed him to death, trying to figure out that special something about him that drew people. I wanted that special something. I envied it. And by the time I was fourteen, I wanted to make it my own.
Potter sat there, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment like Granger. But he wasn't writing songs, or drawing pictures. He was actually taking notes, writing down, in shorthand, whatever Professor Binns uttered about the Witch Trials of the 1800s. Secretly, as I had discovered all on my own, Potter was a bit of a scholar.
It happened like this. I was heading for the Great Hall for lunch, but I suddenly heard rain coming down outside, and veered off toward the Entrance Hall doors. Everyone was at lunch, and I didn't want to miss my chance to dance in the rain. On my way out, I spotted someone enter the deserted store room near the entrance to the dungeons. I went to investigate, and what should I see, but Potter, slipping through the door and settling on a persian rug he conjured. Gryffindor's Golden Boy pulled out a large textbook with gold lettering, and settled down to read. I performed a quick cat's eyes spell, and read the title. 'Advanced History of the Goblin Rebellion, And Many Boring Pages About The Goblin Who Led It', were embossed boldly.
Why was Potter reading such a long, boring book? I had been made to read it when I was nine, so I wouldn't be behind in class, and it had taken me three years to absorb it all, and here I see Potter enjoying it like nothing I've ever seen. Not even Granger went at a book like that. It was at that moment that all my illusions of Potter crumbled, and the feelings began. Strange feelings I didn't understand, couldn't explain except to equate them to other emotions and times when such feelings paralleled, in my mind.
What I now felt for Potter wasn't like the bitter taste of rejection I had harbored for so long. It was more like how I felt after a good, hot cup of cocoa, or a particularly exhilerating Quidditch match. It was the comfortable feeling of having a warm blanket on a cold winter night, or enjoying a cup of cold apple juice with my pancakes. It was the lightness my heart took when I completed a task perfectly, or the weightlessness I felt when I sang to the stars some nights. It was my love of dragons, my foundness of the unknown, my secret self that I hid from the world.
I felt all this simply after watching Potter read an insanely large book. What did this all mean? I didn't know. But I planned to figure it out. Did I mention that Malfoys never failed?
***TBC***
[1] Verbatim Quill- It's like a Quick Quotes Quill, only the Quick Quotes writes shorthand, the Verbatim writes every word as said, exactly.
