I drift like a leaf on the breeze

Hither and yon, up and below

Zephyrs are my roads,

and Santa Anas my flight

And yet, however far I go,

I look for you -

I would know you anywhere

Anywhen, even as the darkness fades

Even as the sun glares into my blinding eyes

Someday, soon or far, I will find you.

And maybe then you'll see me true.

Till then I hide,

Wolf in sheep's clothing,

Chicken in a fox's blind.

Draco ground his teeth to dust, as he smoothly walked to Potions Class. He'd never, ever had such a burning desire to get there. Sanctuary, if a perilous and tricky one. He had to hope that truce would hold. He... figured it stood a good chance. Chances were, Potter wouldn't even understand the question. And, if the Gods were good, Granger wouldn't either. If the gods weren't... well, he'd deal with that when it came down the pike. Kayaking up the river with out a paddle was for chumps.

He was there first, of course he was, and laying out everything for his two potions took surprisingly little time, particularly when Zambini came in and took to the whole preparation like a duck to water.

Potter was there next, looking much calmer than Draco had seen him earlier in the day - which, even though expected, was quite a good sign. "Malfoy." He greeted Draco, and then said, "Zambini" in the same "I don't really care" voice.

Calm. Calm like a breeze on the water, calm like a still pool, calm like the endless ocean, stretching and encompassing... everything. Calm like the sky, like his own silver eyes. It was a chant that Draco knew well, and one that he repeated over and over again. Finally, when his world seemed stable enough to listen, he looked up and over at Potter, "Potter," he asked, still mostly looking down at his work, as he continued to chop.

"Yeah, Malfoy?" Potter asked in that deliberately uncouth manner of his. Couldn't even say a single syllable properly.

Calm, like ice. Calm like meters of snow. Calm as the infinity of deep space.

"Has Weasley ever called me the next Dark Lord?" Malfoy asked, his eyes intent, but his face impassive. He felt lucky that Granger wasn't here, just yet - she might not even hear about this, and then her curiosity wouldn't even have the chance of being roused.

Potter's brow furrowed, undoubtedly recalling Weasel's earlier taunt of Malfoy being a "Junior Death Eater, bound for Azkaban just like his Aunt."

"No." Potter said, looking down again.

Draco Malfoy clung to a semblance of normalcy, trying - through nerveless hands, to continue to cut the roots. He knew what that meant. Ron Weasley had a temper the likes of multiple other Gryffindors, and when he was upset, he was prone to exaggeration. Calling Draco a Dark-Lord-In-Training, or somesuch, would have been the natural, the normal thing for him to do.

It hadn't even crossed Ron Weasley's mind.

Dark Lord Voldemort wasn't really dead, that was what that meant!

And somehow Ron Weasley, of all people, knew about it. Now, Draco too. He had to wonder - did Potter know? Draco didn't think there were many possibilities where Weasel would know and Potter would not - and all of those revolved around deliberately keeping Potter ignorant, for reasons unknown.

Draco fought to keep everything under wraps, all the emotions that were suddenly churning in his guts like an uneasy, upset stomach. Granger came in and he hardly looked at her, didn't bother reading what she'd written.

Draco blew up his potion in class, it bubbled over and started to eat through the table before Snape burst into the room, vanishing it. Snape said, "That will be a zero, Malfoy. Though you are welcome to make it up when you and the table have stabilized." Draco left the room quickly, not before hearing Potter mutter, "Teacher's pet." Draco fought back the urge to pummel Potter, or at least to say, "At least I chose a competent teacher." Neither were productive avenues.

Once the door to the potions classroom had closed, Draco Malfoy set off at a run. He had intended to run until all his emotions were drained, but as he ascended the stairs towards the Astronomy tower, he felt a distinctive chill encircle his neck. Slowing, he turned and followed where it led.

[a/n: And... now for something a little darker. I've been saving up some darker poems for this bit, so I may manage to post a bit faster.

Were you expecting this? What do you think Draco will do? Leave a review!]