The next installment of...SYSTEM REQUIREMENTS!
Thank you for reading this far...
I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN FOREVER! I've been really busy…sorry…
Dedicated to RENT…we're not gonna pay…we're not gonna pay…
Chapter 3: Someone to Fall Back On
Draco left the hospital wing the following day, and made it to his potions class on time. Too damn bad that his class was with Gryffindor, so he would have to take Potter's pathetic whining for two consecutive hours. When Malfoy arrived, there was one seat left; next to Hermione Granger and two seats away from Harry Potter. Granger seemed strangely happy as Draco took his seat, glaring at no one in particular all the while.
Snape merely raised his eyebrows at his favorite student and greeted the class with his usual iciness. He began a rather long and dull lecture about some dangerous ingredient, Malfoy didn't know which one; he wasn't really listening. His mind drifted from topic to topic, and just as he was drifting off into sleep, Snape's shrill voice startled him, and he jumped in his seat. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and shook her head.
"Potter, I don't find this the proper time to be taking a nap. Perhaps you would like to stay after class and sleep then?" Asked Snape, mocking Harry with his words. Malfoy looked across at Potter, who had an I-really-don't-care-what-you're-saying look on his face. The Slytherin's heart pounded in his chest. He stared, unblinking, at the Gryffindor's profile. His hair was windswept and messy, but not an ugly messy, more like an attractive untidiness. His emerald eyes sparkled behind the thick frames of his glasses, and his pink lips were slightly parted.
A tingling feeling spread through his body and he hit his knees on his desk, making a loud banging sound. Draco silently cursed, his face flushing red as every person turned to look at him. The teen looked back at Harry, who was staring at him. Draco felt the other's eyes boring into him and he turned away from everyone, hiding his embarrassment. What was wrong with him? How could he ever dare to think of 'attractive' and 'Harry Potter' in the same sentence? Harry Potter was the ugliest, and the worst person he had ever known, and he desperately wanted to keep it that way. Sweeping up his books and things in one arm, Malfoy stomped out of the room, tuning out any voices that may have came from it.
'I can't believe that happened! What the hell's wrong with me!' Draco thought as he swept through the halls, shoving aside any first-year that crossed his path. He had no idea where he was going, or where he might end up, and frankly he didn't care. Anywhere that Harry Potter wasn't. Yet he couldn't get the image out of his mind. He didn't know who to go to, who to confess his problem to. He didn't have anyone that he could talk to freely, someone he could burst out his emotions. He was basically alone in the world. He had no one to guide him, no one to care for him more than anyone else. He yearned to have someone that was devoted to him, someone to always be able to fall back on, no matter what. But he didn't deserve that. Somewhere deep down he knew he didn't deserve for someone to love him.
As mentioned above, he had no clue where he was headed, and before he was done wallowing in his own sorrow, he smashed head on into a painting. Draco stumbled back and fell on his bum, looking up to see that stupid, ugly fat lady that guarded the Gryffindor common rooms.
"Dear heavens, a Slytherin! I say, a Slytherin is trying to manipulate me into giving out the password!" She squealed, though none of the other paintings paid her any mind, and the corridor was deserted of any Hogwarts students or staff. Malfoy turned around and sprinted all the way back to the Slytherin common room, horrified that that was where he had ended up.
Over the weekend, Draco was not his usual self. He didn't once go outside and play in the new fallen snow. He never threw ice balls at an unlucky passerby. He never dumped a load of the cold white stuff into Pansy Parkinson's bed, as he usually liked to do. Crabbe and Goyle, sensing that he was in a terrible mood, avoided him at all costs.
As he sat in the dormitory room next to the windowsill, the only one to disturb him was stupid Pansy Parkinson, the one that seemed so desperately in love with him. And she seemed to have fooled herself into thinking that Malfoy liked her back. "Dear Draco, why are you cooped up in this dormitory all by yourself?" She asked, standing behind him, and started to caress his silky blonde hair.
He closed his eyes, and sighed. He imagined that the one behind him was not Pansy. He imagined that same gentle hand, accept larger, and the one behind him wearing glasses. There was an unusual scar on his forehead...
No. He stood up abruptly, turning around and glaring at her. "Why the hell are you in the boys' dormitories, wench!"
She shied back, looking hurt, but then resumed in her delusions. "Draco, it's alright, I'm here to help you...what's wrong?" Pansy seemed to think that he actually believed this bullshit. They both knew she was only there for one reason...
The Slytherin girl rushed up and put her arms around him. He reacted violently, pushing her against the wall. Pansy took this gesture the absolute wrong way. "Okay, Draco, take me...I'm ready now..." She closed her eyes, preparing for...
"You...sicken me..." Malfoy backed away in disgust. But then, suddenly, Pansy Parkinson was gone, and there was Harry Potter against the wall, waiting for him, his cheeks slightly flushed and his eyes shinning. "Agh! STOP IT!" He shouted, turning around and covering his face. "Leave! Get out! GET OUT!"
"You're pathetic, Draco Malfoy," She hissed, turning on her heel and stomping out of the room. Draco crumpled to the ground, burying his head in the musty carpet. Everything hit him in a burst of emotion and he cried for the second time that week, although this time he was outright wailing, and if you were out in the hall you could have heard him. He choked on air, trying to gulp it in, and yet he couldn't stop. The carpet was wet with his tears before he had finished, curled in a ball and trembling. He sniffed, grabbing a pillow and holding it tight against him, though it provided little comfort.
He hated himself.
Harry stretched, arching his back and throwing his arms in the air. It was Sunday morning. He had finished all of his homework the night before and he was ready for a day full of relaxation.
Hermione had different plans. With Ron visiting Mrs. Wesley, who was sick, Hermione wanted to take advantage of the time and do a little "research".
"But Hermione," Harry whined, "I'm done with all my homework!"
"Not that kind of research, you dolt! We're finding out today whether Malfoy likes you or not, though I already have my own suspicions."
The pair was walking swiftly down the hall after having just finished breakfast. They walked out onto the open grounds, Hermione leading and Harry following. After what seemed like ages of walking, The Gryffindor girl abruptly sat down in the grass, as they were passing an oak tree. Harry, taking a moment to realize that she stopped, backed up and popped a squat next to her.
Hermione was unable to leave this problem alone. She had a dilemma in front of her, one that she was sure that she could solve, and she was incapable of setting it aside. Hermione narrowed her eyes in concentration, not speaking a word.
Harry did the same, pretending to think...He couldn't concentrate on any sort of plan. Before long, Harry was lying in the cool, damp grass, and his lovely daydream started with Malfoy pressing Harry against a wall, and then his lips...
"I've got it!" Hermione shouted, her body jolting alive, and she stood up, almost prancing with excitement. "It's perfect!"
This was not how Harry wanted his daydream to end, but he reluctantly stood up next to her and expected her to explain the plan to him. Instead, she simply turned on her heel and power-walked up to the castle, without looking over her shoulder once to see if Harry was coming. Harry jogged after her, puzzled, but not apprehensive.
When they got to the castle, Hermione finally turned around. "Harry, stop following me!" She said.
Harry was so confused he couldn't think of anything to say. "Huh?" He muttered dumbly.
She sighed, giggling to herself. "Oh, well, you can't come with me. I know you're going through Malfoy withdrawal, but this is strictly between me and him. So go away and don't go anywhere near the Library until I come with you. I would suggest going to play Quittich with Fred and George...?" Hermione pointed toward the Quittich field.
"Fine..." Harry sighed, "But first tell me what you're going to say."
"No way! I'll tell you how everything goes after I'm done. And you're gonna owe me after this!" Hermione disappeared into the castle without another word.
Harry grumbled and obediently went to go play Quittich with Fred and George, who were mysteriously already at the Quittich field, just as Hermione had said.
Hermione grinned to herself, rather pleased as she swiftly walked toward the library. She was beginning to find this romance stuff pretty interesting, and with her new intrigue, she had surprised herself.
Malfoy was there, as she had thought, sitting at a table in the back. His arms were folded under his head, and he seemed asleep. Hermione silently tip-toed over to the bookshelves, smiling, and grabbed an armful of random books. She cautiously approached the snoozing Slytherin, and then dropped the books on the table in front of him with a heavy "thunk!"
"Agh, holy shit!" He sat up and started as he saw Hermione there in front of him. "What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?"
She invited herself to sit down, and took out a parchment, quill, and ink. Then she smiled smugly. Hermione could have (and did) thought up a gazillion and one ways to find out if Malfoy felt any attraction to Harry, but she found this way would have the same result, and would take half the time. It seemed simple enough from the outside, but what no one knew was that, while shuffling about the library, Miss Granger had invoked a truth spell upon the unsuspecting victim.
"So," she began, "Are you attracted to Harry Potter?"
Harry trudged up to the Quittich field, in no mood to play Quittich. He only saw one Weasley on the field, darting through the hoops. He wondered where the other was, but decided to get changed in the locker room first.
As he entered, Harry sighed, welcoming the roof over his head. He put his hand on the door handle and...
"Fred..."
Harry jolted back, staring at the closed wooden door, appalled. He debated whether or not to enter, leaning on the choice that had NOTHING to do with entering the room. And then with a sick, twisted fascination of wanting to know who it was, Harry opened the door with a burst of confidence that disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes.
There, on the floor, was Fred. His back was turned and he was frozen in place. A few feet away was a boy that Harry didn't recognize, looking as if he had just bounced back, away from Fred. He stared in complete fear at Harry.
Harry stared in complete shock. Not only was Fred Weasley shaking with nervousness (which he never did), but he was shaking with nervousness, and with another man. Not only was Fred shaking with nervousness and with another man, but he was shaking with nervousness and with another man on the disgusting gym locker floor. They could have controlled themselves until they got up to the castle.
Fred spun around and his eyes widened. He looked helpless, and opened and closed his mouth a few times, finally deciding it would be best to leave it closed. The other boy, a year older than Harry, sat and stared as if he had just seen a ghost.
And then as the boy looked over to Fred, complete and utter loyalty, devotion, and maybe love, crossed his face. Harry felt a little jealously rise in him. How had Fred found this forbidden love and why couldn't Harry find it?
"You git," Harry muttered, and Fred looked hurt and embarrassed. "How could you have gotten it before I have?" the boy who lived asked, smiling.
Fred was taken aback, and gave a nervous little laugh. Harry, still feeling a little strange, decided to leave. "Ehrm, well, I'm leaving now...see you around..." And he turned around, rushing into the cold air.
"Harry, wait," Fred called. Harry looked over his shoulder. "Not a word to George, okay? He'll have my head..." Harry nodded. "Thanks."
Harry shuddered on his way up to the castle, attempting to not think of what he had just seen. He sighed, looking up at the sky, and wondered if that would someday happen to him and Draco. Being so in love, so in need of one person. A wave of depression swept over him. "So this is what it's like to be lovesick, I guess..." the Gryffindor muttered to himself.
&&&&
"Say what?" Malfoy asked, stunned.
Hermione sighed. "I said, are you or are you not attracted to Harry Potter?"
Malfoy twitched, a sign that the truth spell was going into affect. "I hate Harry Potter. B-but...also...I'm also attracted to him. Though I can't admit it to myself, I'm painfully in love with him." It seemed as if someone else were speaking. Malfoy bore a kind of far away look, and his left hand twitched again.
Hermione smiled. Despite her loathing the Slytherin, even Hermione found this very sweet. "Tell me more," she said kindly.
"W-well...he's just so...so...perfect, I guess. Every time I look at him. His hair, it's really messy. I've never seen it combed before. But he's so full of himself, and he's never nice to me, but I'm never nice to him. I know he could never feel the same way about me." He smiled, in spite of himself, and looked Hermione directly in the eyes. "I don't know whether to kill him, or kiss him."
Awww! It was so sweet and romantic. She couldn't believe what he was saying! Underneath all the slime, Malfoy was really a very sweet and sensitive boy. But now she sounded like a drunken school counselor, so she just continued with the questions.
"Would you ever consider telling Harry how you feel?"
"No."
"Alright, so what would you do if he told you that he loved you?"
"He would never fucking do that,"
Someone to Fall Back On / END
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