Ok...new chapter, sorry it took a while. The next chapter will occur on the
same day as this one...but I split it up for some reason. It will be posted
soon hopefully, and will be much shorter than this one. Hope you enjoy it.
I don't own any of these characters, (the phrase, "well duh," springs to mind...)
Thank you Catmint and elanorevenstar for your lovely reviews. smiles
Anyhoo, hope this chapter was worth the wait.
Hermione awoke fifteen minutes later to find Harry tapping her on the shoulder. She groaned and rolled over, forgetting that she was lying on the sofa. She caught herself just in time and swung her feet onto the floor.
"Hermione, you'd better hurry up, it's nearly 8 o'clock," said Harry, choosing to wait until she was more awake to mention the Malfoy incident.
She leapt to her feet, dashed up the staircase and appeared seconds later, carrying her robes and a towel, and ran into the vacant bathroom.
Two weeks passed and Draco and Hermione's night time meetings happened several times. They both pretended it was accidental, but there was something a little too coincidental in the way they managed to keep meeting late at night in the common room when everyone else was sleeping.
One Saturday, half way through October, just over two weeks after their first meeting, was the first Quidditch match of the season; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
Both teams had been practicing hard for several weeks before hand and each were very confident of victory. Slytherin being particularly keen to beat Gryffindor as they had not won a match against them in so long, which was very damaging to their pride.
Draco awoke to a bright morning, blustery and clear with a golden sun in the sky, tinting the lake and the forest with bronze. He could see the hoops on the Quidditch pitch glinting gold, and the grass around shining with dew.
The day seemed somewhat...deceptive to him, if he had to think of a word. Everything looked beautiful in the sunlight, warm and safe. But he knew that when he stepped out side it would be bitter cold. The wind would whip his face raw, the icy cold would bite at his hands. There was an odd feel to the day, he thought as he pushed himself from his bed, like the weather, the landscape, the atmosphere around him, everything, was trying to lure him into a false sense of security, with it's beautiful, glowing exterior, he was sure that everything was not what it seemed.
He pulled on his Quidditch robes and headed down the stairs. There was no one in the common room, but a few sounds of life could be heard from above. Draco looked at the clock and realised that he had half an hour to wait until breakfast. He sunk down on one of the comfortable chairs, after pulling a book entitled "Ancient Alchemists and their Discoveries," and began to read, only partially paying attention to the words on the page.
Eventually, when he had become thoroughly bored with reading of Paracelus, he turned to the clock and decided it was almost a reasonable time for breakfast.
By now, several people had arrived in the common room and some had already left for the great hall. Harry sped down the stairs several minutes later at around nine o'clock, ran immediately up the girl stair case and emerged several minutes later dragging a very tousled-looking Hermione by the wrist.
"Good luck today, Draco," she said, as she rushed past. He simply raised an eyebrow and imagined how displeased Potter would be that she had said that.
After a few more minutes he followed them down to the Great Hall and took his now usual seat next to Blaise at the very end of the table. They were both wearing their green Quidditch robes, eating a little slower and talking a little less than usual. They sat in the Great Hall until around a quarter past ten, when they went back to their separate dormitories to prepare for the match in their own ways.
Draco sat on his bed, his head in his hands, thinking about the match ahead. His feeling about the day, the deceiving, slightly unnatural atmosphere, was still strong and it made him uncomfortable.
"...Jesus I'm being melodramatic..." he thought.
He scratched his nails down his arms, clutching and tearing at his skin, drawing blood, shaking with anxiety. He barely knew why he was so nervous about the match; he could win, he knew he could. He was confident.
So what on earth was making him panic?
Thirty minutes later he was standing before his team in the Slytherin changing rooms, 5 minutes before the match.
"Right," he said, "Just win"
End of pep talk.
They flew out to the sound of their names being called over loud cheers, and plenty boo's.
After a few seconds of scanning the stands around him, Draco found what he knew was the source of his dread of the day. His father sat high up in the stands next to Snape, looking haughtily down on the people below him. He caught Draco's eye and gave him a threatening sneer.
Draco took a deep breath and stared straight back, his face indifferent. After several moments he realised that he should be hunting for the snitch, as Potter was doing, instead of hovering, transfixed by the monster of his nightmares, which had appeared, once again, very real.
He swiftly turned his broom around and noted that the score was now 10-0 to Slytherin. He sped toward the opposite end of the pitch and hovered close to the Gryffindor goal posts, watching, searching, his eyes roving for a glint of gold.
The match continued, he and Potter circling above the game, like eagles hunting for prey, hidden in the grass below. The rest of the Slytherins were playing very well, preventing the Gryffindors from scoring, and attacking brilliantly. An hour later the score was 50-30. they could win this...but the game was going slowly, Draco needed to catch the snitch soon before his team got tired and the Gryffindors could catch up. Another thirty minutes passed and six more goals were scored...
Then, he saw it, at the other end of the pitch, hovering high above the goal posts. He headed after it, hoping Potter wouldn't notice. But he did. He darted upwards towards it, just as it began to dart downwards and forwards, in the opposite direction to which Draco and Harry were travelling. They both brought their brooms to a grinding halt and turned around at light-speed. They began to race, Harry lower to the ground, Draco high above, the snitch far ahead and somewhere in between. The gap between them was becoming less and less, they were closing in on it. Draco was concentrating so hard on getting to it, but, out of the corner of his eye he saw his Lucius and Snape in the stands. He couldn't help but turn his head slightly and look at the expression on Lucius' face. In the split second he looked, it turned from anticipation to disgust. Draco turned his eyes back. Harry's fingers closed around the snitch. "Shit," he thought.
He heard the commentary over the roar of the ecstatic Gryffindors, announcing 200-90 to Gryffindor...they had been so close to winning...
"And it was my fault we lost...if only I had concentrated for one more moment...I thought I had it won...but no, father had to be there, as always, watching, judging..." Draco's train of though ceased as he hit the ground.
Gryffindors were running on to the pitch, leaping on potter and his friends, shouting and yelling. They were giving Draco a headache, all he wanted was to get off the pitch, away from the disappointed stares of the Slytherins, and his father.
He slipped away into the changing rooms, closely followed by his team mates, all of whom were looking annoyed and avoiding speaking to him. He sighed to himself, it was only the first game of the season and already he'd lessened their chances of winning the cup.
"Why do I always screw things up? I could have, should have, won that...but I didn't, there's always something stopping me, and it's always the same bloody thing," he thought as he pulled off his robes.
Draco couldn't quite bring himself to head back up to the castle just yet, it was only just past 2 o'clock and dinner wouldn't be for a few hours. Plus, he wasn't all too keen to bring forward the moment when he would have to confront Lucius.
He exited the changing rooms with rest of his team mates, but did not follow them back towards the doors to the castle. Instead he headed for the lake, where he hoped he would be slightly sheltered from the biting wind. The surface of the lake was glowing brilliantly in the orange sun and the leaves of the trees bordering the water were swaying violently, making the branches look like long, threatening arms. Draco's feeling of unease had increased since the morning, although now he had a reason for it, it was, strangely enough, not so worrying.
He wandered down to a willow tree on the back and pushed aside it's trailing branches. The sat down on the cold. Slightly damp grass and leant against the trunk of the tree, his back to the castle. The branches formed a green curtain all around him, hiding him from view. The bright sun pierced the leafy wall and lit up ground around him. It was cold where he was sitting, but Draco wasn't bothered by it, it was refreshing and helped to clear his mind.
Every now and then a strong gust of wind blew back the veil of leaves and he caught a glimpse of the blazing sun, tinting the world bronze as it sank ever lower in the west. "It must be nearly 6 o'clock..." thought Draco as he sat in the twilight. The sun was now a red rim on the horizon, casting ruby rays across the darkening earth. He sighed and lifted himself up off the cold ground. He pulled back the draping leaves and stepped out into the open, breathing deeply and stretching, like a cat, awakening after several hours in pleasant dreams in it's favourite sun spot.
He padded lightly back up towards the castle, dwelling once again on thoughts of the match and his father, which had left him whilst he sat under the tree.
A few minutes later he arrived before the oak front doors, without, as he had been lost in his thoughts, knowing how he had gotten there. He heaved them open and made his way across the empty entrance hall to the Great Hall, his steps echoing around the vast chamber. The doors of the hall were open and, as he approached them, he saw Snape hurry down from the teacher's table towards him. Draco began to walk towards the Slytherin table, but was met by his head of house before he got there.
He looked not a little infuriated with Draco and spoke in sharp, clipped tones.
"Your father is waiting in my office Draco he wishes to have a-" he sneered slightly "chat with you. I don't think it would be wise to keep him waiting any longer," he finished, turn on his heel and returned to the other end of the hall.
Draco sighed and turned in the opposite direction. Snape clearly knew that his father was in a bad mood, knew that he was going to be in big trouble...but did he care? Like hell he did. Draco may have been his favourite student, but he was still furious that he had lost the match.
Draco descended the stairs to the dungeon and the air grew colder. He was sure that it was colder than usual. "It must be the presence of my dear father..." Draco thought, sarcastically.
He arrived at Snape's office and knocked. "Yes?" said his father's cold voice.
He reached out for the handle and turned it, his sweaty hand slipping against the cold metal.
He push the door open and stepped into the room, closing it behind him.
"Professor Snape said you wanted to see me, father," Draco stated as the door clicked shut, sealing him in the room.
"Yes, well I actually wanted to see you several hours ago, but, unfortunately for both me and you, although probably more for you, you decided to disappear for four hours, so I have had to wait around here, whilst there are a million other very important things I could have been doing," Lucius said, his voice was low and cold and wreathed in fury, in Draco's experience, when his father spoke in this way he was much more angry than when he shouted. Draco did not answer straight away, but directed his eyes towards the floor. Eventually he spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, I just went for a walk around the grounds."
"Avoiding me, are you Draco?" Lucius said, silkily, "And I thought you would have wanted to see your father, after being away for so many weeks."
Draco had no reply to this, except to inwardly seethe over the cruel sarcasm in this statement.
"So, know that you've finally decided to show your face, we should get on with why I've been waiting here for four hours, shouldn't we?" he smiled, sardonically. "First things first, I would like to congratulate you on your performance today, Draco," his voice was becoming increasingly sweeter and Draco knew that he was very close to exploding, "I honestly never would have believed that you could disappoint me any more, apparently I was wrong. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Draco hesitated, then said in a barely audible voice, "We nearly won...I just got distracted...I'm sorry," he finished, weakly.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, "You're sorry...sorry for what exactly?" he began, softly, Could it be, for being a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy? Or for disappointing me yet again? Or for not caring that I have devoted my entire life for the past 17 years to bringing you up, and still you cannot do one bloody thing right!" he yelled, looking livid, and gripped Draco's face by his jaw and slapped him hard.
Lucius released him and turned his back.
Draco wanted to ask why he cared so much? Why it was so important? Why couldn't he just be proud of him for playing a good game, for becoming captain of the Quidditch team, for becoming a prefect and for doing everything his father had ever asked of him to the best of his abilities? But it wouldn't matter what he said, Lucius would always find something to get at him about, it didn't matter what, and answering back would only give him another reason.
He rubbed his cheek and stared at the floor. Without warning, Lucius swung around and struck Draco across the face with the cane he held in his hand. A red weal emerged from his eye to his mouth and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He lifted his head up and stared at his father. Lucius responded by hitting him the stomach with the silver-serpent, causing him to double over and drop to his knees. Lucius stood above him and looked down, Draco lifted his head and looked his father in the eye. Lucius raised and eyebrow and said, "I do hope I'm getting through to you boy," then struck him several times across his back. Draco groaned but did not flinch or cry out.
He ceased the blows and Draco knelt, motionless on the floor.
"There was one more thing that I heard from your friends, Vincent and Gregory, which, I have to be honest Draco, I'm not the least bit pleased about," Lucius said, icily, Draco looked up at him, trying to think what he could have done wrong now, and Lucius continued, "That Zabini boy, they say you've been seeing a lot of him, sitting with him at dinner, inviting him to your common room and such, they say they've hardly seen you in months. I wont allow it Draco, I have already made my feelings quite clear about that boy, you may as well become best friends with that Mudblood Granger if you're going to be friends with him. Understood? You are not to speak to him again, we don't want him putting any dangerous ideas into your pretty little head, do we?" he finished, striking Draco across the back of his head with the cane.
"So," said Lucius in a business-like manner, "now we have that over, there is something else I wish to speak with you about. And get up, you pathetic child."
Draco knelt up and pushed himself to his feet. He put a hand out and leant against the desk to his left. Lucius began to pace up and down in front of him.
"As you should be aware, you're 17th birthday is in two weeks time," Draco gritted his teeth; he knew what was coming, "you shall return home on Friday, your birthday, and your initiation shall take place the next day, on Halloween."
He relinquished his pacing and stopped and looked at Draco, who was doing his best to hide his pain.
"You are to be on your best behaviour, I want no arguments, no insolence, you are to be polite and obedient, am I perfectly clear?" Lucius said, threateningly.
"Yes, sir," said Draco, stiffly, resisting the temptation to salute.
"Do not disappoint me again, Draco, I cannot afford for you to mess this up and undo all that I have done to get this great opportunity for you, be warned, mistakes will not be tolerated," Lucius said, walking imposingly towards Draco.
Draco breathed heavily, desperately wanting to say something, but instead he simply nodded.
"Good, well I'm a very busy man, Draco, and you need to be at the feast. He walked over to the door, opened it and signalled for him to leave.
Draco moved away from the desk and walked tentatively over to the door, wincing slightly as he walked. Lucius glowered at him and he removed any sign of pain from his face. As Draco stepped out of the door his father said, "Draco, you're bleeding, clean your face before you go to the feast."
"Yes, father," Draco muttered and wiped away blood from the corner of his mouth. There were marks on his face, and, although they could not be seen, on his back, so he reached into his bag and drew out a small vial of concealing potion and drank a small sip. His injuries instantly disappeared, but the pain did not. Lucius nodded and continued to walk. Both reached the entrance hall and Draco turned away into the Great Hall for the feast, and his father, having ensured that Draco had not gone elsewhere, returned to Snape's office in order to use the fire to return him home.
As Draco walked into the Great hall, he was greeted by a mass of smug faces at the Gryffindor table, and annoyed ones at the Slytherin table. He sat down at the end closest to the door, next to Blaise. He alone seemed to be please to see Draco, and smiled as he sat down, and poured him a glass of pumpkin juice. The meal was already in session, so Draco's arrival had been more inconspicuous than he had hoped. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, so he buttered himself a few slices of bread and was content.
"Where did you disappear to after the match? I thought you were following us back to the castle?" Blaise asked, after a few moments.
"I just went down to the lake, then my father wanted to talk to me, you know..." he muttered, trailing off into incoherence at the end.
Blaise nodded, understanding, almost entirely. He knew that Draco, along with most of the rest of his house, were expected to join the Deatheaters at 17 or 18 years old. He himself was glad that his family, however much they got on his nerves, were not Deatheaters and neither was he expected to be. He often wondered how on earth he ended up in Slytherin, but then again, he did possess many of Salazar's favoured qualities and was a pureblood.
Out of all the members of his house, it was Draco he pitied the least. The rest were following blindly in their parents' footsteps, and not even considering that there was the slightest possibility it could be wrong. No, out of all of them Draco was defiantly one of the best off, for he had the sense to think for himself, and although he may have viewed this as somewhat of a curse, Blaise thought it was a gift, even if it did result in harsh consequences for Draco, he was sure Azkaban, where the rest would end up, would be much worse. If only Draco had the sense to do something about his fate, instead of accepting a doomed life.
He wondered if Draco did wish that he was blissfully ignorant, like the rest of the Slytherins, to the fact that following Voldemort was defiantly not the right way to go. It would certainly be much easier for him...he wouldn't have to worry about right or wrong, about displeasing his father, about standing up for himself... But in Blaise's opinion, understanding was always preferable to ignorance, and, although he did not know it, Draco was grateful for his open mind, even if it did cause him problems he didn't need.
"You alright, Draco? You're really quiet..." Blaise asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine just thinking..." he trailed off.
"So what did Lucius say?" asked Blaise.
"What?"
"Well...you're thinking a hell of a lot...and you don't look too happy. So what happened?"
Draco heaved a sigh and said, "Oh, you know, the usual...he threw a hissy-fit 'cause I didn't win the match," he look apologetically at Blaise, who smiled, and continued, "he threatened me for a while, "informed" me of my initiation, threatened me some more...oh and he told me I'm not allowed to talk to you again,"
"Ah...well you'd better shut up then mate," said Blaise, half serious, half mocking.
"Don't be thick, I spent five years hardly talking to you 'cause I listened to my father, I'm not doing it any more, I don't care what he does to me, it's not like he can make things much worse," Draco signed, speaking the last part, mainly to himself, sounding hopeless.
He was thinking about what would happen in two weeks time again...the beginning of the end...or maybe it could just be...the end...
I don't own any of these characters, (the phrase, "well duh," springs to mind...)
Thank you Catmint and elanorevenstar for your lovely reviews. smiles
Anyhoo, hope this chapter was worth the wait.
Hermione awoke fifteen minutes later to find Harry tapping her on the shoulder. She groaned and rolled over, forgetting that she was lying on the sofa. She caught herself just in time and swung her feet onto the floor.
"Hermione, you'd better hurry up, it's nearly 8 o'clock," said Harry, choosing to wait until she was more awake to mention the Malfoy incident.
She leapt to her feet, dashed up the staircase and appeared seconds later, carrying her robes and a towel, and ran into the vacant bathroom.
Two weeks passed and Draco and Hermione's night time meetings happened several times. They both pretended it was accidental, but there was something a little too coincidental in the way they managed to keep meeting late at night in the common room when everyone else was sleeping.
One Saturday, half way through October, just over two weeks after their first meeting, was the first Quidditch match of the season; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
Both teams had been practicing hard for several weeks before hand and each were very confident of victory. Slytherin being particularly keen to beat Gryffindor as they had not won a match against them in so long, which was very damaging to their pride.
Draco awoke to a bright morning, blustery and clear with a golden sun in the sky, tinting the lake and the forest with bronze. He could see the hoops on the Quidditch pitch glinting gold, and the grass around shining with dew.
The day seemed somewhat...deceptive to him, if he had to think of a word. Everything looked beautiful in the sunlight, warm and safe. But he knew that when he stepped out side it would be bitter cold. The wind would whip his face raw, the icy cold would bite at his hands. There was an odd feel to the day, he thought as he pushed himself from his bed, like the weather, the landscape, the atmosphere around him, everything, was trying to lure him into a false sense of security, with it's beautiful, glowing exterior, he was sure that everything was not what it seemed.
He pulled on his Quidditch robes and headed down the stairs. There was no one in the common room, but a few sounds of life could be heard from above. Draco looked at the clock and realised that he had half an hour to wait until breakfast. He sunk down on one of the comfortable chairs, after pulling a book entitled "Ancient Alchemists and their Discoveries," and began to read, only partially paying attention to the words on the page.
Eventually, when he had become thoroughly bored with reading of Paracelus, he turned to the clock and decided it was almost a reasonable time for breakfast.
By now, several people had arrived in the common room and some had already left for the great hall. Harry sped down the stairs several minutes later at around nine o'clock, ran immediately up the girl stair case and emerged several minutes later dragging a very tousled-looking Hermione by the wrist.
"Good luck today, Draco," she said, as she rushed past. He simply raised an eyebrow and imagined how displeased Potter would be that she had said that.
After a few more minutes he followed them down to the Great Hall and took his now usual seat next to Blaise at the very end of the table. They were both wearing their green Quidditch robes, eating a little slower and talking a little less than usual. They sat in the Great Hall until around a quarter past ten, when they went back to their separate dormitories to prepare for the match in their own ways.
Draco sat on his bed, his head in his hands, thinking about the match ahead. His feeling about the day, the deceiving, slightly unnatural atmosphere, was still strong and it made him uncomfortable.
"...Jesus I'm being melodramatic..." he thought.
He scratched his nails down his arms, clutching and tearing at his skin, drawing blood, shaking with anxiety. He barely knew why he was so nervous about the match; he could win, he knew he could. He was confident.
So what on earth was making him panic?
Thirty minutes later he was standing before his team in the Slytherin changing rooms, 5 minutes before the match.
"Right," he said, "Just win"
End of pep talk.
They flew out to the sound of their names being called over loud cheers, and plenty boo's.
After a few seconds of scanning the stands around him, Draco found what he knew was the source of his dread of the day. His father sat high up in the stands next to Snape, looking haughtily down on the people below him. He caught Draco's eye and gave him a threatening sneer.
Draco took a deep breath and stared straight back, his face indifferent. After several moments he realised that he should be hunting for the snitch, as Potter was doing, instead of hovering, transfixed by the monster of his nightmares, which had appeared, once again, very real.
He swiftly turned his broom around and noted that the score was now 10-0 to Slytherin. He sped toward the opposite end of the pitch and hovered close to the Gryffindor goal posts, watching, searching, his eyes roving for a glint of gold.
The match continued, he and Potter circling above the game, like eagles hunting for prey, hidden in the grass below. The rest of the Slytherins were playing very well, preventing the Gryffindors from scoring, and attacking brilliantly. An hour later the score was 50-30. they could win this...but the game was going slowly, Draco needed to catch the snitch soon before his team got tired and the Gryffindors could catch up. Another thirty minutes passed and six more goals were scored...
Then, he saw it, at the other end of the pitch, hovering high above the goal posts. He headed after it, hoping Potter wouldn't notice. But he did. He darted upwards towards it, just as it began to dart downwards and forwards, in the opposite direction to which Draco and Harry were travelling. They both brought their brooms to a grinding halt and turned around at light-speed. They began to race, Harry lower to the ground, Draco high above, the snitch far ahead and somewhere in between. The gap between them was becoming less and less, they were closing in on it. Draco was concentrating so hard on getting to it, but, out of the corner of his eye he saw his Lucius and Snape in the stands. He couldn't help but turn his head slightly and look at the expression on Lucius' face. In the split second he looked, it turned from anticipation to disgust. Draco turned his eyes back. Harry's fingers closed around the snitch. "Shit," he thought.
He heard the commentary over the roar of the ecstatic Gryffindors, announcing 200-90 to Gryffindor...they had been so close to winning...
"And it was my fault we lost...if only I had concentrated for one more moment...I thought I had it won...but no, father had to be there, as always, watching, judging..." Draco's train of though ceased as he hit the ground.
Gryffindors were running on to the pitch, leaping on potter and his friends, shouting and yelling. They were giving Draco a headache, all he wanted was to get off the pitch, away from the disappointed stares of the Slytherins, and his father.
He slipped away into the changing rooms, closely followed by his team mates, all of whom were looking annoyed and avoiding speaking to him. He sighed to himself, it was only the first game of the season and already he'd lessened their chances of winning the cup.
"Why do I always screw things up? I could have, should have, won that...but I didn't, there's always something stopping me, and it's always the same bloody thing," he thought as he pulled off his robes.
Draco couldn't quite bring himself to head back up to the castle just yet, it was only just past 2 o'clock and dinner wouldn't be for a few hours. Plus, he wasn't all too keen to bring forward the moment when he would have to confront Lucius.
He exited the changing rooms with rest of his team mates, but did not follow them back towards the doors to the castle. Instead he headed for the lake, where he hoped he would be slightly sheltered from the biting wind. The surface of the lake was glowing brilliantly in the orange sun and the leaves of the trees bordering the water were swaying violently, making the branches look like long, threatening arms. Draco's feeling of unease had increased since the morning, although now he had a reason for it, it was, strangely enough, not so worrying.
He wandered down to a willow tree on the back and pushed aside it's trailing branches. The sat down on the cold. Slightly damp grass and leant against the trunk of the tree, his back to the castle. The branches formed a green curtain all around him, hiding him from view. The bright sun pierced the leafy wall and lit up ground around him. It was cold where he was sitting, but Draco wasn't bothered by it, it was refreshing and helped to clear his mind.
Every now and then a strong gust of wind blew back the veil of leaves and he caught a glimpse of the blazing sun, tinting the world bronze as it sank ever lower in the west. "It must be nearly 6 o'clock..." thought Draco as he sat in the twilight. The sun was now a red rim on the horizon, casting ruby rays across the darkening earth. He sighed and lifted himself up off the cold ground. He pulled back the draping leaves and stepped out into the open, breathing deeply and stretching, like a cat, awakening after several hours in pleasant dreams in it's favourite sun spot.
He padded lightly back up towards the castle, dwelling once again on thoughts of the match and his father, which had left him whilst he sat under the tree.
A few minutes later he arrived before the oak front doors, without, as he had been lost in his thoughts, knowing how he had gotten there. He heaved them open and made his way across the empty entrance hall to the Great Hall, his steps echoing around the vast chamber. The doors of the hall were open and, as he approached them, he saw Snape hurry down from the teacher's table towards him. Draco began to walk towards the Slytherin table, but was met by his head of house before he got there.
He looked not a little infuriated with Draco and spoke in sharp, clipped tones.
"Your father is waiting in my office Draco he wishes to have a-" he sneered slightly "chat with you. I don't think it would be wise to keep him waiting any longer," he finished, turn on his heel and returned to the other end of the hall.
Draco sighed and turned in the opposite direction. Snape clearly knew that his father was in a bad mood, knew that he was going to be in big trouble...but did he care? Like hell he did. Draco may have been his favourite student, but he was still furious that he had lost the match.
Draco descended the stairs to the dungeon and the air grew colder. He was sure that it was colder than usual. "It must be the presence of my dear father..." Draco thought, sarcastically.
He arrived at Snape's office and knocked. "Yes?" said his father's cold voice.
He reached out for the handle and turned it, his sweaty hand slipping against the cold metal.
He push the door open and stepped into the room, closing it behind him.
"Professor Snape said you wanted to see me, father," Draco stated as the door clicked shut, sealing him in the room.
"Yes, well I actually wanted to see you several hours ago, but, unfortunately for both me and you, although probably more for you, you decided to disappear for four hours, so I have had to wait around here, whilst there are a million other very important things I could have been doing," Lucius said, his voice was low and cold and wreathed in fury, in Draco's experience, when his father spoke in this way he was much more angry than when he shouted. Draco did not answer straight away, but directed his eyes towards the floor. Eventually he spoke quietly, "I'm sorry, I just went for a walk around the grounds."
"Avoiding me, are you Draco?" Lucius said, silkily, "And I thought you would have wanted to see your father, after being away for so many weeks."
Draco had no reply to this, except to inwardly seethe over the cruel sarcasm in this statement.
"So, know that you've finally decided to show your face, we should get on with why I've been waiting here for four hours, shouldn't we?" he smiled, sardonically. "First things first, I would like to congratulate you on your performance today, Draco," his voice was becoming increasingly sweeter and Draco knew that he was very close to exploding, "I honestly never would have believed that you could disappoint me any more, apparently I was wrong. What do you have to say for yourself?"
Draco hesitated, then said in a barely audible voice, "We nearly won...I just got distracted...I'm sorry," he finished, weakly.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, "You're sorry...sorry for what exactly?" he began, softly, Could it be, for being a pathetic excuse for a Malfoy? Or for disappointing me yet again? Or for not caring that I have devoted my entire life for the past 17 years to bringing you up, and still you cannot do one bloody thing right!" he yelled, looking livid, and gripped Draco's face by his jaw and slapped him hard.
Lucius released him and turned his back.
Draco wanted to ask why he cared so much? Why it was so important? Why couldn't he just be proud of him for playing a good game, for becoming captain of the Quidditch team, for becoming a prefect and for doing everything his father had ever asked of him to the best of his abilities? But it wouldn't matter what he said, Lucius would always find something to get at him about, it didn't matter what, and answering back would only give him another reason.
He rubbed his cheek and stared at the floor. Without warning, Lucius swung around and struck Draco across the face with the cane he held in his hand. A red weal emerged from his eye to his mouth and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He lifted his head up and stared at his father. Lucius responded by hitting him the stomach with the silver-serpent, causing him to double over and drop to his knees. Lucius stood above him and looked down, Draco lifted his head and looked his father in the eye. Lucius raised and eyebrow and said, "I do hope I'm getting through to you boy," then struck him several times across his back. Draco groaned but did not flinch or cry out.
He ceased the blows and Draco knelt, motionless on the floor.
"There was one more thing that I heard from your friends, Vincent and Gregory, which, I have to be honest Draco, I'm not the least bit pleased about," Lucius said, icily, Draco looked up at him, trying to think what he could have done wrong now, and Lucius continued, "That Zabini boy, they say you've been seeing a lot of him, sitting with him at dinner, inviting him to your common room and such, they say they've hardly seen you in months. I wont allow it Draco, I have already made my feelings quite clear about that boy, you may as well become best friends with that Mudblood Granger if you're going to be friends with him. Understood? You are not to speak to him again, we don't want him putting any dangerous ideas into your pretty little head, do we?" he finished, striking Draco across the back of his head with the cane.
"So," said Lucius in a business-like manner, "now we have that over, there is something else I wish to speak with you about. And get up, you pathetic child."
Draco knelt up and pushed himself to his feet. He put a hand out and leant against the desk to his left. Lucius began to pace up and down in front of him.
"As you should be aware, you're 17th birthday is in two weeks time," Draco gritted his teeth; he knew what was coming, "you shall return home on Friday, your birthday, and your initiation shall take place the next day, on Halloween."
He relinquished his pacing and stopped and looked at Draco, who was doing his best to hide his pain.
"You are to be on your best behaviour, I want no arguments, no insolence, you are to be polite and obedient, am I perfectly clear?" Lucius said, threateningly.
"Yes, sir," said Draco, stiffly, resisting the temptation to salute.
"Do not disappoint me again, Draco, I cannot afford for you to mess this up and undo all that I have done to get this great opportunity for you, be warned, mistakes will not be tolerated," Lucius said, walking imposingly towards Draco.
Draco breathed heavily, desperately wanting to say something, but instead he simply nodded.
"Good, well I'm a very busy man, Draco, and you need to be at the feast. He walked over to the door, opened it and signalled for him to leave.
Draco moved away from the desk and walked tentatively over to the door, wincing slightly as he walked. Lucius glowered at him and he removed any sign of pain from his face. As Draco stepped out of the door his father said, "Draco, you're bleeding, clean your face before you go to the feast."
"Yes, father," Draco muttered and wiped away blood from the corner of his mouth. There were marks on his face, and, although they could not be seen, on his back, so he reached into his bag and drew out a small vial of concealing potion and drank a small sip. His injuries instantly disappeared, but the pain did not. Lucius nodded and continued to walk. Both reached the entrance hall and Draco turned away into the Great Hall for the feast, and his father, having ensured that Draco had not gone elsewhere, returned to Snape's office in order to use the fire to return him home.
As Draco walked into the Great hall, he was greeted by a mass of smug faces at the Gryffindor table, and annoyed ones at the Slytherin table. He sat down at the end closest to the door, next to Blaise. He alone seemed to be please to see Draco, and smiled as he sat down, and poured him a glass of pumpkin juice. The meal was already in session, so Draco's arrival had been more inconspicuous than he had hoped. He wasn't feeling particularly hungry, so he buttered himself a few slices of bread and was content.
"Where did you disappear to after the match? I thought you were following us back to the castle?" Blaise asked, after a few moments.
"I just went down to the lake, then my father wanted to talk to me, you know..." he muttered, trailing off into incoherence at the end.
Blaise nodded, understanding, almost entirely. He knew that Draco, along with most of the rest of his house, were expected to join the Deatheaters at 17 or 18 years old. He himself was glad that his family, however much they got on his nerves, were not Deatheaters and neither was he expected to be. He often wondered how on earth he ended up in Slytherin, but then again, he did possess many of Salazar's favoured qualities and was a pureblood.
Out of all the members of his house, it was Draco he pitied the least. The rest were following blindly in their parents' footsteps, and not even considering that there was the slightest possibility it could be wrong. No, out of all of them Draco was defiantly one of the best off, for he had the sense to think for himself, and although he may have viewed this as somewhat of a curse, Blaise thought it was a gift, even if it did result in harsh consequences for Draco, he was sure Azkaban, where the rest would end up, would be much worse. If only Draco had the sense to do something about his fate, instead of accepting a doomed life.
He wondered if Draco did wish that he was blissfully ignorant, like the rest of the Slytherins, to the fact that following Voldemort was defiantly not the right way to go. It would certainly be much easier for him...he wouldn't have to worry about right or wrong, about displeasing his father, about standing up for himself... But in Blaise's opinion, understanding was always preferable to ignorance, and, although he did not know it, Draco was grateful for his open mind, even if it did cause him problems he didn't need.
"You alright, Draco? You're really quiet..." Blaise asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine just thinking..." he trailed off.
"So what did Lucius say?" asked Blaise.
"What?"
"Well...you're thinking a hell of a lot...and you don't look too happy. So what happened?"
Draco heaved a sigh and said, "Oh, you know, the usual...he threw a hissy-fit 'cause I didn't win the match," he look apologetically at Blaise, who smiled, and continued, "he threatened me for a while, "informed" me of my initiation, threatened me some more...oh and he told me I'm not allowed to talk to you again,"
"Ah...well you'd better shut up then mate," said Blaise, half serious, half mocking.
"Don't be thick, I spent five years hardly talking to you 'cause I listened to my father, I'm not doing it any more, I don't care what he does to me, it's not like he can make things much worse," Draco signed, speaking the last part, mainly to himself, sounding hopeless.
He was thinking about what would happen in two weeks time again...the beginning of the end...or maybe it could just be...the end...