A Change of Scenery

Draco stared at the poster in front of him. It was of a basically naked woman as he thought who was washing a car, with her lips pursed and her breasts practically falling out of her top. Theodore found it when he was on holiday in the States. His cousin had given it to him, and he wouldn't stop going on about it since they saw each other on the train. While Malfoy could see the appeal, it didn't stop him from pulling the curtains around the bed to give the woman some privacy.

Once he did, he loosened the tie around his neck. He had spent no more than ten minutes at the party and didn't even touch the fire whiskey – something that surprised him. He couldn't get himself to enjoy the party. Not when…

He flopped back onto his back, staring at his ceiling. He was getting jealous. Merlin, a Malfoy, never gets jealous. Why would he? He had everything that he needed. Other people would be jealous of him. But as the bass of the music travelled upstairs, vibrating his bed, he couldn't help but let envy flow through him. They were living in ignorant bliss. Malfoy wished he could go back to that time. The last time he felt like that was the last day of third year, before he went home and everything came crashing down. That was when he realised that not everything was as it seemed. He wished he didn't know about anything. He wished he was one of the people downstairs where their biggest problem would be the hangover they'll get tomorrow morning.

Not everyone thinks like that, a voice told him.

Ila.

Draco groaned at his last memory of her. What was he thinking! His stupid hands, his stupid brain, his stupid feelings!

He told himself – no, he promised himself that his feelings wouldn't come. He told himself that they weren't true and that he was only a teenager. But the longer he spent around Ila…

He couldn't control it.

…

He didn't like her. He was sure he didn't like her. What was there to like about her? She's annoying, and she's impulsive. She doesn't think about anything. She nearly killed herself during the Quidditch match. There was a jolt in his stomach whenever he thought about it. He couldn't see her for a few weeks after that. There was too much guilt that racked through his brain, telling him that he should've been more persuasive. He should've never even let her go up that far. He should've saved her.

Not to mention, she practically hates him. She can't get over the idea that he can change. He is changing…He's trying. While it's true that she boxes people with one defining personality, he wasn't doing much to change that idea either. If anything, he was probably confusing her.

You need to apologise, that voice told him. How else is she supposed to know?

But a Malfoy never apologises.

Malfoys also have a history for the Dark. What's your point?

No.

He doesn't like her. There's nothing to like about her, so what's the point in apologising to her. He isn't changing for her, and so he doesn't need to say anything to her. He hated – he strongly disliked her.

A memory sprung to the surface the moment he thought about disliking her as if his body even rejected the thought. Even his body knew he was lying.

It was the day after the Quidditch match. Her glasses stood on his bedside table. He listened to the rain patter against his window as he watched her glasses. He needed to give them back soon.

But he couldn't. There were too many things going on. He couldn't just go up to her and give them to her.

But she needs to see. Surely that would be worse than her knowing you were the one that fixed her glasses?

A moment passed.

Yes, he thought.

The rational side of his brain finally took over, and he found himself getting up from his bed. He was the first out of his roommates to do so. He tried his best to get ready as quietly as possible. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he found Blaise sitting at his bed, the glasses in his hands.

Panic swept him up. He felt like he was going to throw up. Shit! Blaise – no one was supposed to see that.

"Since when did you get glasses?" Blaise asked quietly, as to not wake up the rest of the boys.

"Er…since the summer," Malfoy lied as best as he could. "It was – it was after the Cup Final, I realised I couldn't see anything." Malfoy snatched the glasses out of Blaise's hands and put them on. Merlin was the girl blind. He felt like he could see everything too well to the point where everything was blurry.

Blaise narrowed his eyes for a moment as Malfoy waited for him to buy his story.

"They look a lot like Potter's," he said. Blaise thought he could get a reaction from his friend.

Malfoy shrugged. "Why do you think I never wear them in front of you lot?"

Not wanting the conversation to continue, Malfoy grabbed his coat and headed out of the common room. He quickly took off his glasses. He could finally see!

Just as he made it to the door, someone stopped him. Someone he wasn't in the mood to see.

"Hi Drakie," Parkinson purred. She got in between Draco and the door and smiled up at him. He stared deadpanned at her.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's your nickname," she said.

"No one calls me that," Draco replied. "Now move!"

Parkinson tutted, tilting her head to the side like a confused pug. "What happened between us?"

Malfoy scrunched his brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Parkinson placed her hands on his chest, fiddling with the lapels on his jacket. "You were so nice to me before, and now all you do is shout at me!"

Malfoy closed his eyes momentarily. She was doing it. That thing where her voice gets higher and her eyes get wider, and she acts like she's an innocent child that hasn't done anything wrong. "Parkinson, get off me."

She smiled and shook her head.

"Fine," he sighed. "Do you want to know what's happened? I fucking hate you, Parkinson. You're like a fucking mosquito that won't take the hint to leave me alone even when I've made it explicitly clear I don't want you around, ok?"

"Draco, I haven't done anything - "

"You have. You just don't realise," Draco said. "You're a bitch to anyone who isn't you. You act as if you're better than everyone else. You made fun of a woman who was dead, not to mention all the times you go on and on and on about Potter. We get it. You hate her. But what makes you think I care?"

"But – but you've always hated her. You'd always agree with me - "

"For fuck's sake, am I not allowed to change?" he said, his voice rising in volume.

Parkinson's hands dropped to her sides. She was no longer the innocent child.

"Some hypocrite you are," Parkinson snorted. "Telling me all those things when you were like that only a few months ago! You hated Potter, and now all of a sudden, you're kissing her arse? Do you have a crush on her or something? And yes, you are allowed to change. But don't do it for her - "

"Do you want me to do it for you?" Malfoy asked. "Do you want to be the person that makes me change into a better person? Have you met yourself, Parkinson? I'd chose Potter over you any day. She's a better person than you'll ever be anyway. Now get out of my way!"

Parkinson didn't say anything. She moved to the side, and Draco left the common room.

When he got to the grounds, it was only then done he unclench his fists. Little crescent-shaped marks engraved his skin. The rain dampened his hair. He waved his wand, casting a spell so that the rain wouldn't get him wet.

He didn't know why the Quidditch grounds was his first option. It was like he was under the Imperious Curse, and someone was directing him towards there. Towards Ila.

He saw her lying on the grass. At first, he was slightly concerned – who wouldn't be when they see someone lying on the ground as it's raining – but the closer he got, he could see her chest moving up and down, ever so gently. His palms were starting to get sweaty. He hadn't actually prepared himself for what he was going to say. What could he really say?

What would she say? She'd probably try to ask millions of questions – none of which he was in the mood for. It was too late to prepare anything. He stood above her. For a while, he didn't say anything. Instead, he watched her. Her eyes were closed. Her arms were spread out. Her hands were pushing down to feel the earth beneath her. A wave of guilt winded him. Just the night before, she nearly died.

And now here she was…

You should've been there for her. You should've tried harder. But you never do.

For the first time, Ila looked calm. He wondered what she was thinking about. What made her like this. Maybe he should ask her that.

What brings you peace?

Something tells me, you want her to answer you, a voice told him.

"You've got mud on your face."

She didn't.

Ila immediately opened her eyes. Her big brown ones were staring in shock at Malfoy's. She looked almost like an...

Stop it, he reminded himself. Ila got up to her feet as quickly as possible.

As the weeks went by after that interaction, more guilt wove around him. It got tighter until one day, it just snapped. Draco had seen Ila getting cornered by a bunch sixth year Ravenclaws. He found himself frozen, unable to do anything. Thoughts upon thoughts entered his mind, reasons telling him why he should and shouldn't do something. If he went, it would end up going around that Draco Malfoy saved Ila Potter. He knew it would get back to his father one way or another. And while he wanted to piss him off…something told him that perhaps his father would use that. Use their supposed relationship to lure Potter. Lure her to…

So instead, later that day, he found himself walking through an empty corridor to get back to his common room when he saw those same Ravenclaws again. He found that he can't quite remember what happened. It was like he had put Potter's glasses on again.

Draco got up from his bed and entered the bathroom. He looked in the mirror and asked himself a question that he had meant to ask since that happened.

"Does that mean anything?"

In the reflection stood two Malfoy's behind him. One was leaning against the wall, checking his hair out, while the other stood up straight, his back against the wall. It looked like his hands were glued to his side.

"Of course it does," the Draco that was fixing his hair said. "We have never done anything like that before. We've never stood up for someone to the point where we blackout and fight a bunch of guys like that, have we? No. The only time we have was for her. We clearly like her, but you can't bring yourself to admit it because of" – he stopped playing with his hair and pointed his finger to the Draco standing next to him – "a certain someone."

"I hope you're not talking about me," the second Draco said stiffly.

"You're the whole reason we're having confused about our feelings," the first one said. "Every time I tell him that he likes her, you come and…ruin those feelings over with facts and logic."

"I'm not ruining anything. And it is true. He doesn't like her. He clearly has something else going on, and he's just taking it out on her. He thinks that he likes her, but he doesn't. He hates her."

The first Malfoy raised a brow at him and with his arms, akimbo said, "He doesn't hate her."

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn't."

"Yes, he does."

"No, he - "

"Shut up!" Draco yelled. The two Malfoys looked at him before vanishing into thin air. Even his own mind doesn't know if he actually likes her.

He doesn't like her.

But…

He remembered how she looked on the ground. How peaceful she looked. How calm she was. How her hair fanned out like a halo. How beaut –

Draco's hands covered his mouth.

What is he thinking?

He needs a distraction.

Draco left his room and headed downstairs. With each step, the thump of the bass got louder and louder until he couldn't quite tell if it was the music or his heart that was beating so hard. He elbowed past the crowd of people that was blocking the way; some were trying to hold onto him, trying to make him stay. But he pushed past them and headed towards the girls' dorms. Luckily, the Slytherins weren't too bothered about boys and girls heading into each other's dorms, so Malfoy easily made it up the steps. He walked past the first, second and third-year dorms and stopped in front of the fourth. Parkinson had to be here.

Knowing Parkinson, she was more than likely drunk, and Drunk Parkinson hates Potter with a passion. But did he really want to use her as a distraction? Draco would rather hear about all the bad things Potter's done than think about…

Draco rested his head against the door before turning the doorknob ever so slowly, giving him time to back out just in case he changed his mind. Not to mention, there was an excellent chance he could see Blaise and Daphne together – something that wasn't on his list of things that he ever wanted to see. Through the sliver, Draco could barely see the room. He pushed the door slightly more, only to stop.

Once Ila was finished with the bathroom, she walked out, making sure no one was in the dorms in the time she went. She was going to walk out when something had caught her eye. Parkinson's bed was the closest to the door.

Ron had managed to get a clump of Goyle and Crabbe's hair, but he never managed to get Parkinson's. Ila silently stepped towards the bed and rummaged through her drawers, looking for a hairbrush. The first drawer was filled with paper, pens, stuff she needed for school. When Ila tried to the second drawer, it wouldn't open. Rolling her eyes, she tried the third. It was filled with sweets from Honeydukes. While Ila was tempted to take one of them, she knew that she only had a matter of time before someone – preferably not Parkinson or her friends – came into the room and saw her. Taking her wand out, she pointed it at the second drawer.

"What was it – oh, Alohomora!" she whispered. With a bright flash, the second drawer had sprung out. She took it out, spilling the contents of the drawer onto Parkinson's bed. Makeup, nail polish, various bits and bobs, a diary – ah, there was her hair…

Ila's eyes trailed over to the leather-bound diary.

She has gotten the hair that she needed to put in the potion, so…

Snatching a few hairs from the brush, she quickly replaced everything in the drawer exactly how it was, apart from the diary. Taking her wand once more, she poked at it. Nothing happened.

Thinking that was enough, Ila touched the diary. She hadn't even placed a fingertip when she felt a sharp pain in between her two fingers. She looked to see a papercut on the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

"Weird," Ila said, observing her fingers before another sting came from her other hand. Another paper cut, in the same place as it was on her right hand. As soon as she saw the other cut, there was another. And another. And another. Ila yelped at the pain of thousands of small papers cuts wounding her skin, all in between her fingers. She couldn't move them because they would stretch out, hurting her more. Keeping her hands as floppy as possible, Ila picked the diary up and moved it inside the drawer, thankful that she had placed everything else before she went to touch the diary. She grabbed the few pieces of hair and her wand before pushing open the door and getting the hell out of there. She didn't see the grey eyes following her, who watched as the diary cursed her.

Ila tucked her hands into her chest as she pushed through the dancing crowd to find her friends. She checked every corner until she reached the one closest to the door to find Hermione sitting there, reading her book.

"Oh – sorry," Ila muttered when she bumped into someone and knocked over their drinks. Getting no reaction, Ila quickly turned around and found Viktor Krum, fire whiskey down his shirt, staring in the direction of Hermione. He was smiling.

Slightly weirded out, Ila turned back around and made her way to Hermione.

"Ready to leave?" Hermione asked as Ila took the seat next to her. "What happened to your hands?"

"Parkinson's diary," Ila said. "Where's Ron?"

Hermione pointed to the middle of the dance floor. Ila gasped.

Ron was dancing wildly – to be honest, Ila had never seen Ron dance ever. Everyone surrounding him was watching him and was too drunk to make fun of him; rather, they were cheering him on. He seemed to be loving it.

"Since when could he dance?" Ila said as Ron did a backflip before going into a handstand. "Or move like that?"

"Ron was complaining about the party to Fred, who didn't want to hear about it, so he sent a Dancing Feet spell, and he hasn't stopped since," Hermione said lazily.

"Isn't he a bit tired?" she asked.

Hermione shrugged. "He's having fun, isn't he?" Ila looked at Hermione. "Oh alright, fine" – she took her wand and waved it – "Finite!"

Ron stopped momentarily before his legs wobbled and gave way, making him collapse onto the floor. The crowd booed, and their attention went somewhere else. Ron crawled his way to his two friends. He laid on the floor, breathing heavily.

"Took…you long enough," Ron said breathlessly to Hermione.

"I could send up there again," Hermione threatened. Ron groaned before sticking an arm up in the air.

"Help me up!"

Ron, Ila and Hermione spent the rest of their Halloween night struggling to get up the stairs, all the way to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione now had to fix Ron's legs and Ila's hands as they listened to Ila's story by the time they did reach the common room. Once they were done and just as they were about to head off, Ila remembered –

"Oh yeah, I forgot about this," Ila said before digging into her pockets and revealing a few strands of Parkinson's hair. "Tomorrow morning?"

The two friends nodded.