Thank you Catmint and Mourningdove for your wonderful reviews, I really,
really appreciate them :D
I think I should mention that I don't own any characters etc. in Harry Potter, not that any of you are stupid enough to think I do, hehehe.
I'm not too sure about this chapter...I don't think it's quite true to Draco's character, so I may decide to change it later, I would value your opinion. Thanks.
Draco awoke the next day to find the evening, autumn sun pouring through his translucent green curtains. He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut again and rolled over, covering his head under the duvet, wondering, even in his sleepy state, how he got into bed. A few moments later he emerged, facing away from the window, and opened his eyes. He looked at the clock on his bed side table. A quarter to six. "Jesus, I slept a long time..." Draco thought, before hauling himself up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper lying on the table in front of the clock. He picked the scrap of parchment up and read the untidy, slanted script upon it.
Draco,
It's about 10 in the morning, I came up here 'cause you didn't show up for breakfast, hope you don't mind. You look pretty wiped to me, and you didn't wake up when I got you off the floor and put you on your bed (sorry mate, but I draw the line at putting you in your jim-jams and kissing you good night)...so I figure you should sleep for a while. See you at dinner,
Blaise
Draco laughed slightly and then noticed that there was another scrap of parchment on the table, beside where the other one had been. He picked it up and saw the same writing as was on the previous note.
Jesus, you sleep for a long time. It's now about 3pm. I contemplated the thought that you might be dead, but I just checked and you're breathing just fine, so not worries...I daresay you didn't remember, but you said we'd go out on the Quidditch pitch today for some pre-season practice, so if you fancy waking up anytime, let me know. I think you've slept for long enough now, by the way, but I tried waking you and I can't. If you stop breathing or anything, I swear I'll call Snape...you have been warned. If you're not up by dinner, I will not hesitate to use force. Be afraid.
Draco laughed again at the insane ramblings of his friend and began to lift himself out of bed, just as there was a faint knock and his door opened. It was Blaise.
"Man, Draco, you've been asleep all bloody day," he said, "I was starting to get worried."
"You'll make a wonderful mother, one day, do you know that?" Draco replied, mockingly.
Blaise responded by hurling a pillow at him.
"God I need a shower, these clothes feel horrible..." said Draco, ripping off his t-shirt.
"Yeah, sorry about that, like I said in the note, I'm fine with tucking you in, but I refuse to put you in your jammies," said Blaise with a smirk.
"Shut up," said Draco, but smiled slightly all the same.
"So," Blaise began, "what's wrong with you?"
"What do you mean, what's wrong with me, I'm fine," answered Draco, looking slightly dubious.
"Oh yeah? When have you ever slept until six in the evening before?" asked Blaise.
"Last time I took that," Draco replied, signalling to the cup on the floor by his bed and the dark patch around it which was all that was left of what it once held.
"What is that?" said Blaise, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Henbane," answered Draco, and, seeing Blaise open his mouth to speak, "no it isn't illegal, well not exactly..."
Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, "Oh yeah? Then why did we have to sneak off down that dodgy alley to get it?"
"Because, firstly, it's only allowed prescribed by Mungo's, and second, I don't think the Higher Power known as Snape would be all too happy about it, do you? And Mal doesn't want everyone seeing anyway, he only gets it for me as a special favour, he's not really meant to have it and he doesn't want too many people knowing," Draco explained.
"Fair enough...but isn't it-" Blaise began.
"Would you shut up with the lectures?" Draco said, starting to sound annoyed.
Blaise stared at the foot of Draco's bed.
"Stop worrying about me okay? Really, man, I'm bloody fine," Draco said, sounding exasperated.
It was then that Draco reached for a glass of water on his bedside table and Blaise saw the fading cuts on the underside of his pale arm.
**********
That night, at close to midnight, Draco could be found sitting before the fire in the common room, writing with vigour in his book. The rest of the prefects were in bed, as far as he was aware, and so he prepared himself for an undisturbed night alone. He wouldn't be going to sleep; he slept little under normal circumstances, but he had not awoken until six hours previously and so was expecting to be awake most of the night.
He was thinking as he wrote,(and cut deep, vertical lines down his forearm), about his upcoming initiation into the circle of deatheaters. It was getting closer by the day, Draco could hardly stand the thought of it, it was like a tonne-weight, pressing on his chest, stopping him breathing.
His hands began to shake as he thought of it and he stopped writing, because his script was becoming nearly illegible.
He stood up and walked in front of the fire, the intense heat felt strange on his cold hands. The warmth threatened to make him feel even more suffocated, so he moved over to the window and leant out, looking down onto the grass below, seeing the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The night air was cool and refreshing. He took several deep breaths and felt the weight begin to leave his chest, his hands stopped shaking, and the oppressive heat left his body.
He turned back around with the intention of going back to writing, but was stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure standing by the sofa, staring down at the open book he had left there. His eyes opened wide and he flung himself forwards to shut it. The girl standing there jumped in surprise as the thing she has been staring at was snatched away so swiftly. She looked up and met livid, dark grey eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" he said, and now she looked closer, his eyes weren't so much angry as ...scared.
"I...I'm sorry..." she stuttered, "I, I didn't realise..."
"What did you read?" Draco asked her quietly, as she sat down on the sofa, one elbow on the arm rest and her head in one hand.
He sat down at the other side of the seat, one leg resting on the other, the book clutched to his chest, staring intently at the girl.
"Nothing...I...well..."
"Please, don't lie to me," he said, and, for the first time ever, he looked almost hurt.
She was too taken aback to speak at once, but, finally, after what seemed like an age of staring, wide eyed and open mouthed at him, she cleared her throat and spoke in a somewhat broken voice.
"All...alright, I, I did see something," she began, hesitantly, "I saw something about the deatheaters, and an initiation ceremony and...and blood stains..."
Her eyes flashed to the scars across Draco's arm, and the fresh, slightly bleeding cuts that he had made with a penknife in a fit of despair and adrenaline only minutes before.
She looked at him, with an expression he had never seen from her before...
"Stop it," he said, sharply.
"Stop what, I didn't do anything," she said, sounding confused.
"Pity," he spat, "the worst thing you can do to someone is pity them, and you're doing it to me right now."
"Actually," she said, sounding a little hurt, "I don't pity you, I happen to agree with you."
And when he looked at her in questioning, she continued, "That to pity is the worst thing you can do. If you feel sorry for someone, it implies that you feel there is something wrong with them or their life which deserves your sympathy. It doesn't help anyone's situation, it just makes them feel worse."
He looked at her with a calculating expression, trying to work out whether she was being serious or not. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that she must be...the look in her eye was not pity...it was...a sort of...understanding?
"No way," thought Draco, "how could she, of all people, understand me...no one does."
The truth was, she did not, even to a slight extent understand him, she had not been through the same tortures he had, although she had been through tortures of a kind. And he had, once again, mistaken her expression. It was not pity, or understanding, but acceptance. Acceptance that she could not judge, nor could she understand.
"So," she said, tentatively, "what is that?"
She was referring to the book, still held tightly to Draco's chest. He looked down at it then said, "Just a book that I write in sometimes..." he muttered.
"Judging by the fact that it's well over half full, it isn't only sometimes", she thought to herself.
He sat there, silently, for a while, watching the fire, and feeling her gaze on him. "Why am I even putting up with her being here?" he asked himself.
A moment later he answered, "Because she knows now...and she hasn't flipped yet...and...and...I don't mind her company."
Draco felt a odd sensation, at this realisation.
They sat for a while, on the sofa, in front on the fire, the female basking in the warmth of the fire, and the male enjoying the cool breeze from the window.
Eventually he spoke, "So, why were you out of bed so late any way? What happened to being little miss perfect?"
"Firstly, I never was 'little miss perfect'," Draco smirked at this, "and secondly, I was just out for a walk in the grounds, felt like some night time air..."
"I know the feeling..." he muttered, remembering the constricted feeling in his chest, and the relief at the cool fresh air.
"You know, Draco, I'm starting to worry about you," she said, looking at him and making him nervous for a moment, "you haven't thrown one damn insult yet, and I was expecting you to tell me to 'piss off' the moment you saw me."
"Yeah well, I haven't quite summoned up the energy yet, sorry, would you prefer it if I did?"
"It would stop me feeling so bloody uncomfortable, I suppose," she said with a slight smile, showing perfectly white, straight teeth.
"I'm not in the mood," he said, smiling as well.
He was still thinking about his father, the deatheaters, his doomed life...but, for a moment, in that small common room, with a relaxing breeze, a warm fire and an attractive female...it didn't seem like much could harm him at that moment. He shifted slightly on the seat and felt the edge of a cushion press against some ancient bruise. That made him remember. He could be harmed. Seriously harmed. "But not right now", he thought, "so just enjoy being relaxed, without drugs, without sex, without cutting..."
So there he sat, becoming more relaxed by the second, getting over the fact that he was sitting in such close proximity to one of his most loathed enemies.
Eventually, both fell asleep, sitting there in front of the fire. Morning came and the other pupils began to emerge from the dormitories. They were both still deep in slumber when Harry rushed down the stairs heading to the bathroom. He was almost at the door, when he did a double take.
He walked closer to them, to check what he was seeing was real. When he had determined that it was, he was not the least bit pleased. However, he was even more confused, and walked in to the bathroom that morning, his head buzzing with questions.
Just as Harry closed the door, Draco woke up and began to yawn and stretch. His hand came into contact with something that felt suspiciously like another person, he opened his eyes fully and realised he had his hand on Hermione's leg. He quickly withdrew it, smiled slightly and slowly dragged himself up stairs.
I think I should mention that I don't own any characters etc. in Harry Potter, not that any of you are stupid enough to think I do, hehehe.
I'm not too sure about this chapter...I don't think it's quite true to Draco's character, so I may decide to change it later, I would value your opinion. Thanks.
Draco awoke the next day to find the evening, autumn sun pouring through his translucent green curtains. He groaned, squeezed his eyes shut again and rolled over, covering his head under the duvet, wondering, even in his sleepy state, how he got into bed. A few moments later he emerged, facing away from the window, and opened his eyes. He looked at the clock on his bed side table. A quarter to six. "Jesus, I slept a long time..." Draco thought, before hauling himself up on his elbow and rubbing his eyes. It was then that he noticed a piece of paper lying on the table in front of the clock. He picked the scrap of parchment up and read the untidy, slanted script upon it.
Draco,
It's about 10 in the morning, I came up here 'cause you didn't show up for breakfast, hope you don't mind. You look pretty wiped to me, and you didn't wake up when I got you off the floor and put you on your bed (sorry mate, but I draw the line at putting you in your jim-jams and kissing you good night)...so I figure you should sleep for a while. See you at dinner,
Blaise
Draco laughed slightly and then noticed that there was another scrap of parchment on the table, beside where the other one had been. He picked it up and saw the same writing as was on the previous note.
Jesus, you sleep for a long time. It's now about 3pm. I contemplated the thought that you might be dead, but I just checked and you're breathing just fine, so not worries...I daresay you didn't remember, but you said we'd go out on the Quidditch pitch today for some pre-season practice, so if you fancy waking up anytime, let me know. I think you've slept for long enough now, by the way, but I tried waking you and I can't. If you stop breathing or anything, I swear I'll call Snape...you have been warned. If you're not up by dinner, I will not hesitate to use force. Be afraid.
Draco laughed again at the insane ramblings of his friend and began to lift himself out of bed, just as there was a faint knock and his door opened. It was Blaise.
"Man, Draco, you've been asleep all bloody day," he said, "I was starting to get worried."
"You'll make a wonderful mother, one day, do you know that?" Draco replied, mockingly.
Blaise responded by hurling a pillow at him.
"God I need a shower, these clothes feel horrible..." said Draco, ripping off his t-shirt.
"Yeah, sorry about that, like I said in the note, I'm fine with tucking you in, but I refuse to put you in your jammies," said Blaise with a smirk.
"Shut up," said Draco, but smiled slightly all the same.
"So," Blaise began, "what's wrong with you?"
"What do you mean, what's wrong with me, I'm fine," answered Draco, looking slightly dubious.
"Oh yeah? When have you ever slept until six in the evening before?" asked Blaise.
"Last time I took that," Draco replied, signalling to the cup on the floor by his bed and the dark patch around it which was all that was left of what it once held.
"What is that?" said Blaise, eyeing it suspiciously.
"Henbane," answered Draco, and, seeing Blaise open his mouth to speak, "no it isn't illegal, well not exactly..."
Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, "Oh yeah? Then why did we have to sneak off down that dodgy alley to get it?"
"Because, firstly, it's only allowed prescribed by Mungo's, and second, I don't think the Higher Power known as Snape would be all too happy about it, do you? And Mal doesn't want everyone seeing anyway, he only gets it for me as a special favour, he's not really meant to have it and he doesn't want too many people knowing," Draco explained.
"Fair enough...but isn't it-" Blaise began.
"Would you shut up with the lectures?" Draco said, starting to sound annoyed.
Blaise stared at the foot of Draco's bed.
"Stop worrying about me okay? Really, man, I'm bloody fine," Draco said, sounding exasperated.
It was then that Draco reached for a glass of water on his bedside table and Blaise saw the fading cuts on the underside of his pale arm.
**********
That night, at close to midnight, Draco could be found sitting before the fire in the common room, writing with vigour in his book. The rest of the prefects were in bed, as far as he was aware, and so he prepared himself for an undisturbed night alone. He wouldn't be going to sleep; he slept little under normal circumstances, but he had not awoken until six hours previously and so was expecting to be awake most of the night.
He was thinking as he wrote,(and cut deep, vertical lines down his forearm), about his upcoming initiation into the circle of deatheaters. It was getting closer by the day, Draco could hardly stand the thought of it, it was like a tonne-weight, pressing on his chest, stopping him breathing.
His hands began to shake as he thought of it and he stopped writing, because his script was becoming nearly illegible.
He stood up and walked in front of the fire, the intense heat felt strange on his cold hands. The warmth threatened to make him feel even more suffocated, so he moved over to the window and leant out, looking down onto the grass below, seeing the Quidditch pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The night air was cool and refreshing. He took several deep breaths and felt the weight begin to leave his chest, his hands stopped shaking, and the oppressive heat left his body.
He turned back around with the intention of going back to writing, but was stopped in his tracks when he saw a figure standing by the sofa, staring down at the open book he had left there. His eyes opened wide and he flung himself forwards to shut it. The girl standing there jumped in surprise as the thing she has been staring at was snatched away so swiftly. She looked up and met livid, dark grey eyes.
"What do you think you're doing?" he said, and now she looked closer, his eyes weren't so much angry as ...scared.
"I...I'm sorry..." she stuttered, "I, I didn't realise..."
"What did you read?" Draco asked her quietly, as she sat down on the sofa, one elbow on the arm rest and her head in one hand.
He sat down at the other side of the seat, one leg resting on the other, the book clutched to his chest, staring intently at the girl.
"Nothing...I...well..."
"Please, don't lie to me," he said, and, for the first time ever, he looked almost hurt.
She was too taken aback to speak at once, but, finally, after what seemed like an age of staring, wide eyed and open mouthed at him, she cleared her throat and spoke in a somewhat broken voice.
"All...alright, I, I did see something," she began, hesitantly, "I saw something about the deatheaters, and an initiation ceremony and...and blood stains..."
Her eyes flashed to the scars across Draco's arm, and the fresh, slightly bleeding cuts that he had made with a penknife in a fit of despair and adrenaline only minutes before.
She looked at him, with an expression he had never seen from her before...
"Stop it," he said, sharply.
"Stop what, I didn't do anything," she said, sounding confused.
"Pity," he spat, "the worst thing you can do to someone is pity them, and you're doing it to me right now."
"Actually," she said, sounding a little hurt, "I don't pity you, I happen to agree with you."
And when he looked at her in questioning, she continued, "That to pity is the worst thing you can do. If you feel sorry for someone, it implies that you feel there is something wrong with them or their life which deserves your sympathy. It doesn't help anyone's situation, it just makes them feel worse."
He looked at her with a calculating expression, trying to work out whether she was being serious or not. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that she must be...the look in her eye was not pity...it was...a sort of...understanding?
"No way," thought Draco, "how could she, of all people, understand me...no one does."
The truth was, she did not, even to a slight extent understand him, she had not been through the same tortures he had, although she had been through tortures of a kind. And he had, once again, mistaken her expression. It was not pity, or understanding, but acceptance. Acceptance that she could not judge, nor could she understand.
"So," she said, tentatively, "what is that?"
She was referring to the book, still held tightly to Draco's chest. He looked down at it then said, "Just a book that I write in sometimes..." he muttered.
"Judging by the fact that it's well over half full, it isn't only sometimes", she thought to herself.
He sat there, silently, for a while, watching the fire, and feeling her gaze on him. "Why am I even putting up with her being here?" he asked himself.
A moment later he answered, "Because she knows now...and she hasn't flipped yet...and...and...I don't mind her company."
Draco felt a odd sensation, at this realisation.
They sat for a while, on the sofa, in front on the fire, the female basking in the warmth of the fire, and the male enjoying the cool breeze from the window.
Eventually he spoke, "So, why were you out of bed so late any way? What happened to being little miss perfect?"
"Firstly, I never was 'little miss perfect'," Draco smirked at this, "and secondly, I was just out for a walk in the grounds, felt like some night time air..."
"I know the feeling..." he muttered, remembering the constricted feeling in his chest, and the relief at the cool fresh air.
"You know, Draco, I'm starting to worry about you," she said, looking at him and making him nervous for a moment, "you haven't thrown one damn insult yet, and I was expecting you to tell me to 'piss off' the moment you saw me."
"Yeah well, I haven't quite summoned up the energy yet, sorry, would you prefer it if I did?"
"It would stop me feeling so bloody uncomfortable, I suppose," she said with a slight smile, showing perfectly white, straight teeth.
"I'm not in the mood," he said, smiling as well.
He was still thinking about his father, the deatheaters, his doomed life...but, for a moment, in that small common room, with a relaxing breeze, a warm fire and an attractive female...it didn't seem like much could harm him at that moment. He shifted slightly on the seat and felt the edge of a cushion press against some ancient bruise. That made him remember. He could be harmed. Seriously harmed. "But not right now", he thought, "so just enjoy being relaxed, without drugs, without sex, without cutting..."
So there he sat, becoming more relaxed by the second, getting over the fact that he was sitting in such close proximity to one of his most loathed enemies.
Eventually, both fell asleep, sitting there in front of the fire. Morning came and the other pupils began to emerge from the dormitories. They were both still deep in slumber when Harry rushed down the stairs heading to the bathroom. He was almost at the door, when he did a double take.
He walked closer to them, to check what he was seeing was real. When he had determined that it was, he was not the least bit pleased. However, he was even more confused, and walked in to the bathroom that morning, his head buzzing with questions.
Just as Harry closed the door, Draco woke up and began to yawn and stretch. His hand came into contact with something that felt suspiciously like another person, he opened his eyes fully and realised he had his hand on Hermione's leg. He quickly withdrew it, smiled slightly and slowly dragged himself up stairs.