You know the feeling,
You don't quite fit,
Everything's just a little off-kilter
You try to blend in, to be just another -
But it doesn't work, people know.
You're a stranger in a strange land
Just like me.
Not quite round, not quite square.
You don't sand easy, do you?
You don't fit in, you stick up like a rusty nail.
And, sometimes when the moon's just right
Your feet start to get that funny itch,
That urge to strike out, to do it alone
To walk out, and just keep walking.
To tread the lonely, winding road
Until that day when you find home.
It was truth, in a sense, though Draco Malfoy knew that the Gryffindors would find it laughable. Hermione Granger really did stand out, though more for her intelligence than for being... different. Yes, she was a Muggleborn, but, and here was the really sad part, one could almost forget that. Draco was pretty sure he did forget that, whenever she pulled her wand on him (which, granted, was seldom). Suddenly all his brain could tell him was that there was one really angry witch, and that he was in a lot of trouble.
Still, it would sound silly and a bit trite to write down, but somehow Draco knew that ... home was where she was. Somehow. He just - wasn't there. Yet.
Draco shook his head. Definitely a sentiment too maudlin to record. Still, it was a bone-deep truth.
Draco Malfoy lay sprawled in his common room, half-lying on a Slytherin green couch, basking the way a lion would. No one trod near him - he'd sit up if he fancied a chat, and people had long since learned it Wasn't Worth bothering Malfoy when he didn't Want to be bothered. Instead, he listened, keeping track of subtle Slytherin currents as they swirled around him. Maegwen had a new date, and it wasn't a Slytherin - her friends were trying to capture his name from her lips. Guesses had proved futile, so it was down to insults.
Todd and Bran were arguing again, just like their namesakes. Perhaps, at some point, they'd figure out how to cooperate, and make a formidable team. Draco didnt' think it likely. Vince and Greg were busy attempting to play chess (they didn't play with the normal rules, so it made things interesting). Draco didn't sit up when the chessboard exploded, pieces flying everywhere. Apparently, they had just achieved "bombarda."
Caradoc swaggered in, his walk just a slight tiff off his usual arrogance. Draco's ears pricked as the older boy strode towards Leigh, "Almost fell over some stupid mudblood today."
Leigh tittered in response, the affectation setting Draco's nerves on edge, as it always did when Pansy used that trick. "Shouldn't they have swept them out of the school by now?"
"What do you expect when the cleaner's a scrub?" Caradoc said in his dire attempt at humor. "So, there I was, descending into the dungeons after Charms, and I almost stumbled against that filth." Caradoc smiled, as if his illhumor was vanishing. "She flattened herself against the wall, and sent ink spattering everywhere."
Leigh wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "I bet it was that third year... the one in red and gold."
Caradoc smiled back at her, and said, "Of course - who else would be in the dungeon at that time of day? I was so spattered with ink that I slipped back to change, and that's why I didn't meet you before lunch."
"Of course it wasn't your fault, that stupid girl needs to learn to watch where she's walking." Leigh said with false good humor. Draco would bet that she'd make him pay before the next Hogsmeade weekend - but for now, she'd pretend that she'd forgiven him.
More importantly... it was very odd to hear about Hermione being in the dungeon. During the last period before lunch. Draco Malfoy was certain she was in his Arithmancy class then (she had asked a very complex, and difficult question, that quite derailed the professor for over half the classperiod, leaving the slower students to scramble to understand the reading by themselves. Draco would have admired the cleverness, had it been intentional.)
[a/n: Tuesday, folks! I particularly like this poem, as it's not sappy at all. Leave a review?]