CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

[Black Flies]

DRACO

For the first time in the past couple of days, Draco is at peace. There's no buzzing where there usually would be stress eating him alive. No one was right next to him glorifying murder or spitting insults right into his ear. Everything had just turned off for a little bit and it was nice.

He was sitting on top of his tower, an unusual addition to the architecture of Hogwarts. He had discovered it by accident in his second year when trying a way to escape his goons to take a breather. Draco genuinely had no idea how the spot wasn't already taken by dozens of students. It was well hidden (you had to pull a brick in the wall on the third floor behind the tapestry of Sir Elwin) but not enough that it would escape the notice of centuries of Hogwarts students. The magic had to be insanely complex because the tower easily had to be one of the tallest in all of the grounds but was invisible if trying to find it from the outside. It was small though; roughly only four meters in diameter all around and took countless flights of stairs to get all the way to the top. It was peaked with large white granite pillars, each inscribed with elegant runes, that held up a domed glass roof. Draco had since then made the very peak of it practically his second room at Hogwarts. There were boobytraps, hexes, and wards he set every year so if anyone else suddenly got the wrong idea they would whimper away with their tails between their legs. Literally.

Draco guessed that was sort of selfish but you snooze you lose, right? Besides, most of his prized possessions were up here as he couldn't trust the other Slytherin's availability to them. There were dark green comforters and pillows scattered over the floor and the posh divans from where he's dragged them up from the dorm over the years and a couple of candy wrappers when he's forgotten to take them back down. There was an entire bookshelf dedicated to muggle literature he was steadily making his way through and hoped to finish before he left Hogwarts, or in his case, killed for treason against the Dark Lord. Or his father.

All of his musical instruments had been dragged up as well. There was a piano in the corner covered in sheet music followed by an elegant black and gold violin sitting propped up on its leg. The bow for it was in desperate need to be rehaired. He had refused to even touch it since his fourth year and was going through his identity crisis. He never even wanted to learn it; his father had forced him into lessons when he was six. He'd had a tantrum for hours because of it. The piano lessons were different because although it was a tradition for Blacks to learn, his mother had given him the choice. It was the first time he'd ever been given control over his life. The most important thing out of everything in the room though was the dingy, oak muggle guitar. One of his most prized possessions. He'd traded a muggle street artist his entire pouch of galleons for it when he was fourteen and on vacation. He picked it up knowing his parents would be furious if they found out in a rebellious funk like the way a normal teenager would smoke or drink.

Harry was probably one of them. He had heard Theo go on a rant about 'the bloody scarface' getting promoted to Gryffindor team captain. Draco's team had unanimously agreed to kick him from the position of seeker this year. He could find himself caring less honestly. He had too much stuff to worry about anyway.

He looked down on the book on his lap. The cover read 'Terminal Curses and Their Effect'. There wasn't an index, causing Draco to read the entire book. So far there had only been mention of visible effects. Random vomiting and dizzy spells were common side effects which made filtering everything else out hard. He had to have gone through at least a third of the library already. What he needed was something from the restricted section, yet without a note, he had no other way of getting past the security enhancements. There would be no way his teachers would ever even consider it either with a tainted last name such as Malfoy.

Draco glanced back at the guitar. He hadn't touched it since he'd come back to school. There was an uncertain, looming darkness around it that warded him away. It was too tangled up in his inner turmoil now. It was a perfect representation of the two wars inside his head. One that his father's opinion shouldn't matter after everything he's done and was the spark of rebellion that led him to learn in the first place. The darker part of him doubted his defiance, that his father really was looking out for the best of him and it was his fault he couldn't be the son that he wanted. Was it crazy to believe in both things equally at once?

Somehow his father had somehow dragged one of his favorite things down into the pits with him and he didn't even know it existed. Draco could taste the irony bubbling at his lips in a laugh.

Draco looked down at the curse swirling on his forearm and grimaced in disgust. His father was a horrible person. His opinions shouldn't matter. But then again, why did Draco's own? He was a horrible person as well and making the exception for himself would only prove his point further.

Maybe… just maybe he might be wrong about that though. Draco knew what he was doing was wrong. He didn't want to watch people be tortured in front of him, or murder muggles, or serve at the Dark Lord's right-hand man. His father did and lost his sanity a long time ago because of it. Harry's words come swimming back to him.

"What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are."

Draco knew he was a bad person and chose to make sure he was punished because of it. That's where he and his father separated. He would do anything to avoid getting what he deserved like the coward he was, or because he simply thought he did not deserve it (which made his stomach turn). It was kind of a fucked up way to look at it, but the logicality of it was clearer than anything else lately.

His knowing he deserved it was the only barrier between the two and it was thin. He didn't know if that scared or relieved him.

Out of the window, the Gryffindor team was finally heading back inside and Draco toyed with his lip. With a quick flick of his wand, he was able to realize it was nearing six; nearly when he was supposed to meet up with the brunet and fix his stomach. The guilt he had been feeling all day towards the argument took root.

Harry deserved, and needed, to be helped and their responsibility just so happened to land on him. It wasn't Harry's fault he got hit, nor was it that the spells took so much energy and magic out of the caster. He had unknowingly helped him out of his cult of a home only to repay him by abandoning when he needed it most.

Draco lets out a frustrated groan and rubs his eyes until stars swarm his vision. He couldn't take it anymore. Everything inside his head was too much and too little.

Draco throws the book he was reading back into his school bag, only faintly cringing at the sound of parchment crumbling underneath it. It was a long shot but perhaps Harry was feeling the same way. He could only hope that he would show up at the broom cupboard they had reserved.

Draco pulled up the door from the ground and headed down the twisted stairs that were in a perfect spiral like a child's slinky toy pulled from each end. They went straight to the bottom of the tower, nearly ten flights of stairs standing alone without any other rooms. He mumbled something unintelligible under his breath before hiking the bad up his shoulder and continuing down.

Exiting the tower was usually an easy matter. The third floor was usually saved for storage, leaving for a usually barren corridor to sneak in-and-out of. So when turning the corner to be met with a large figure blocking his way, he was caught off guard and the usual defense of sneering slipped away. A meaty hand grabs his upper forearm and pulls.

"Hiding, 'Alfoy?"

Draco looks up at the large builds of Vincent and Gregory. They both had the stupid grins on their faces they still hadn't grown out of that showed they were up to something. An ugly sneer that disfigured their already disfigured faces and a taunting raise of eyebrows that showed more confidence in their magic than near-squibs should. He almost made a smartass remark about it before remembering that harming him with magic probably wasn't the intent.

Draco rips his arm free and quickly, but casually, reaches for the wand in his robes. He learned that trick from his father disgustingly. Never let them know your actual emotions or intent was. Intimidate them, but don't let them know you're doing that purposely. If there was one thing he could do it was that. Hiding his fear came naturally to him.

"From you?"

"Yeah," Vincent responds dumbly, not sensing the sarcasm. "Who else?"

Gregory, the smarter of the two, elbows his partner in the ribs. He shoots the wand in Draco's hand a glare before looking up and into Draco's teasing eyes.

Suddenly blinding pain exploded from his face as he was expelled back towards the ground. His head hit the ground with a powerful bang, sending an extra wave of pain from the opposite direction. Pain sears through his head better than a branding iron. Without meaning to his body curls into something fetal, something primeval, and all the while the pain resonates.

His vision is dazed. A shaky hand reached upwards where red crimson was leaking from both his nostrils. He had no doubt the back of his head was receiving the same treatment.

"Levicorpus!"

Draco's entire body was suddenly pulled up into the air by imaginary strings. They dangled him upside in the air like he was a broken toy puppet. He felt his entire face went red entirely for different reasons than the blood rushing to his head.

The button off his robe came undone and slipped off his arms onto the floor. Draco at that moment was never more glad he had learned to luck his shirts in or else his embarrassment would be even worse.

"Let me down you dimwitted twit!"

"Aw, who are you gonna go to Malfoy! Daddy? You gonna go tell your daddy on us? You can't, can you? He's in a little bit of a problem now, isn't he?"

Draco shot him a murderous glare as his throat began to close in panic. Did they know? How could his father's treatment have gotten out? Their fathers worked along with his but- this was insane- he couldn't have told. That was crazy. Even Lucius wasn't that crazy-

"Wittle problem with the Ministry, I heard. Was such a pathetic follower the Dark Lord left him to rot. You the same, poofter? Has he got enough of you yet as well? Father told me you ran away before you could give you your first mission." Crabbe laughs haughtily like he's done something to be proud of, like it's his jinx he was stuck under.

"Yeah?" Draco taunts breathlessly. He wasn't going to give in just yet; their pride was one of the most valuable assets a Slytherin could own. "And I heard you couldn't wipe your own arse until you were eleven Crabbe if we're going off rumors. Something tells me you wouldn't enjoy that one going around again."

His face went red. Draco couldn't help compare him to the fresh newts they used in Potions.

Vincent took his chance to shake his wand violently and tossing Draco around like a game of hacky sack, a few times which made Draco exceedingly close to banging his head back on the floor. He could have guessed they were trying to knock him out.

"I bet he's lying about having the mark!"

"Oh, why the sudden change in heart? I thought we were just having fun."

A punch to the gut silences him.

"Check his arm! I bet he's lying! He doesn't even have the guts."

Crabbe goes for his shirt sleeve and Draco panics. He begins thrashes around wildly, like a toddler having a tantrum. Sporadic attacks; his last option. They couldn't see it though, even if his reaction was a dead giveaway to their answer. The mark was the worst part of him scribbled out on his arm for everyone to see.

"Get off him you toesuckers!" A voice suddenly yells out. "Everte Statum!"

Crabbe and Goyle soar backward with a comical look of surprise written on their faces. Both of them hit the floor with large thunks and Draco would have said something smartass about Karma being a bitch if it wasn't for the fact he fell down in a pathetic clump himself. He grabbed at his arm quickly making sure they were before grabbing for his robes.

Draco doesn't think he's ever been happier to see that bob cut of black hair. Pansy's running down the hall glaring like hell itself. Her wands pointed directly at the two idiots on the floor and Draco had no doubt she was probably constraining herself from doing something she'll regret.

The boys start scrambling up to grab their wands and run away. Draco thought that was at least one thing they had right. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of the girl's vicious jinxes.

"Oh, you're not getting away that easy! Tarantallegra! Redactum Skullus!"

Draco wished he had a camera to take a picture of the glorious moment. Both of their heads shrunk to the size of bludgers as their feet began to tap dance to an inaudible song. Their faces quickly became a dark, heavy red and they swung their fist around dramatically.

"Let- let us go!"

"Hm, let me think. No." She smirks. "I've been itching to do this since first year. Unfortunately, I think Draco here reserves that right."

She turned her back to them and faced Draco. He was still sitting there wide-eyed with amusement watching the two harassers dance pathetically. She bent down where her face was only centimeters away from his own. Draco's wand is wiggled in front of his face with a malicious, cunning smirk against her cherry red lips.

"How about we give them some payback?"