"Draco." She ignored the voice, opting instead to turn on her side, away from her mother, hugging her silken pillow to her chest. She was going to stain it with her tears, wasn't she?
"Draco," Narcissa repeated. Part of her wanted to turn to her mother and cry, to wrap her arms around Narcissa's waist and let the sobs go. Instead, she resolutely ignored the urge, along with her mother.
She could imagine the way Narcissa was standing. She imagined that her arms were crossed slightly, by her waist, not her chest. Her eyes would be worried, slightly watery, her shoulders hunched ever-so-slightly. Draco had seen her like that before, recently, when they found out that Lucius had volunteered the Manor for the Dark Lord. She had been vulnerable, devastated, and it hurt to see her like that. Narcissa was the strongest person Draco knew.
It was sort of an apology to offer the Manor, Draco supposed, for fucking up so bad during her fifth year, though she didn't know what had happened. She wasn't privy to all the details, and it only made her more anxious than relieved that her father believed they were back in the Dark Lord's good graces. The Dark Lord had let Lucius serve time in Azkaban for what happened—had let his Death Eaters get caught and tried without interfering. Something wasn't right, and she knew there had to be something to balance the wrong Lucius committed. Something was going to be taken from them—and she was right.
"Your father didn't want this to happen, Draco." Silence. Draco could hear her mother's breathing before her light footsteps carried her to the bedroom door. "I'm here when you're ready," she finished, softly. The door opened as she left, before it was shut moments later. Draco could imagine that if someone had been listening, which someone probably was, they wouldn't have been able to hear the slight shake in her mother's voice. It was only slight—undetectable.
Draco didn't know how she could ever live up to her mother. Would she ever even get the chance?
~xXx~
Harry didn't think that he was an obsessive person. Hermione implied something of the sort every once in a while, and especially recently, with Malfoy acting strangely. He didn't think it was unreasonable to track her whereabouts, despite both Hermione and Ron telling him to lay off it. But how could he? Something was going on, and he needed to know what. He told himself that it wasn't obsessive or a complete invasion of privacy as he lay in bed at one in the morning, eyes glued to the map in his hands. It was the only way he could do it, otherwise he'd be overwhelmed with guilt.
Where did you go . . . ? There wasn't much Harry could think of to explain how Malfoy kept disappearing from the Marauder's Map. The map never lied. . . so how could she just leave Hogwarts without anyone finding out or getting caught, at the very least? Harry's eyes scanned the map, trying to find Malfoy again after yet another night of nightmares, the curtains drawn around his bed and tip of his wand alight. It was very late, or perhaps early morning. Either way, his eyes were heavy and itching for sleep. He was about to do so when a sudden movement on the map drew his eyes to a certain corridor—the 7th floor corridor.
Harry's eyes widened as he realized how Malfoy had been, supposedly, leaving the castle almost every night. She wasn't. She was using the Room of Requirement. It made sense, finally, how her name kept disappearing from the map. The Marauders had never known about the Room of Requirement.
Excited, exhaustion leaving him, he jumped out of bed and threw on his robes over his pajamas, not really thinking everything through before quickly leaving the dorm and going towards the 7th floor. He paused every few minutes to look at the Map, avoiding Filch and Snape walking around the halls. He didn't think much of what he was doing—he didn't think much of what he was going to do either. All he knew was that he felt compelled to go to her.
He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but it wasn't what he would've expected. He pushed it away and focused on catching Malfoy doing something she shouldn't be doing.
When he arrived at the Room of Requirement, he actually did find her doing something she shouldn't be doing. She was crying. She must've been upset enough to accidentally leave the door cracked open to the room. Malfoy . . . didn't cry. It wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to just be his enemy, who was above all feelings except hatred for him and pride in her name. If there was anything else, it was cowardice and fear—which Harry could remember on multiple occasions.
But sadness? Stress? Or whatever the hell was causing her to actually cry?
That was not right. It wasn't Malfoy.
He found himself wishing for the Malfoy he was used to, who threw hexes and jeered faster than Harry could mutter an insult under his breath. He shook his head, wondering where that thought came from and pushing it aside. He had to be stupid to wish for that kind of conflict.
He realized that he'd been standing outside the door she'd left open, and the Gryffindor inside him wanted nothing more than to burst in the room, wand at the ready, but he thought better of it. It wasn't smart to go waving wands at a girl who, on a regular day, could probably snap said wand in half with only slight hesitation. An upset Malfoy might snap his other wand too, just for good measure. He swallowed, raising his palm to lay flat against the door, and pushed it open slightly, so he could see her. It was thankfully silent as he opened it.
The room was large and rectangular. It looked like what might've been her bedroom in Malfoy Manor. There were bookshelves lining two of the four walls, a large fire going on the right of the room. Malfoy was laying in a silver and green bed, silken sheets draped over herself, body shaking from her sobs. She seemed a lot smaller than he remembered her being.
Harry felt uncomfortable and, strangely, his heart ached for her. He wanted to help, but didn't know how, and all he knew was that he'd never want to see Malfoy like this again.
So, instead of bursting in like he thought he was going to, he gently closed the door and briskly walked back to bed, a sick feeling in his stomach as he went.
~xXx~
"So," Pansy started purposefully. "How're things going with Blaise?" Pansy's hands folded under her chin as she excitedly leaned forward to get the newest developments from Theo's pursuit of Blaise. Theo snarled at her from his place across from her on his bed, book in hand.
"Say that a little louder, I don't think all of Hogwarts heard you," he bit at her. Draco raised her eyebrows slightly from where she watched a safe distance away from the pair . . . so, Blaise's bed, on the opposite side of the room. Someone was touchy. It wasn't like Blaise was even at Hogwarts.
"Sensitive subject, eh?" Pansy asked awkwardly nodding and grimacing, acting like she stupidly stumbled into that line of conversation and didn't know how to back out of it. She was very clearly just trying to tease Theo. Draco's eyebrows raised even more, and she very quickly diverted her attention to the ceiling when his eyes narrowed at Pansy.
"It's not any of your business what I do, or what Blaise does. Frankly, if he and I were holding hands and skipping around Hogwarts between classes, I still wouldn't want to talk to you about how things are going with Blaise." Draco bit back a smile, scratching her neck and sharing a discrete, amused glance with Pansy, just waiting for her to say something to Theo . . . she cleared her throat and said:
"D'you think about doing that often, Theo?" Draco coughed back a laugh as Theo threw a pillow at Pansy, blushing furiously and spluttering protests all the while.
Draco laughed, and picked up a pillow to hit Theo with, and laughed some more. He hit her back with his own pillow, not able to resist getting her back for it. Pansy came up from behind, hoping to catch her off guard, but she was prepared. Ultimately, Pansy would win, but Draco could enjoy thinking that, just for a minute, she was on top of the world, their laughter mixing with the thumps of pillows and her own heartbeat.
~xXx~
Harry debated telling Ron about his discovery. While he knew he could tell Ron almost anything, Harry figured that he shouldn't share that. It felt like it was bad, almost, to spread that to someone else when it was clearly not meant to be seen by anyone at all. Still, Harry felt like he should do something about it. He didn't know what made him think that, but he couldn't get his mind off of it.
Why was he even concerned about her? He still believed that she was a Death Eater, and still had reason to believe it. He shouldn't be worried about her in the slightest—she was still Malfoy. She was the same person who had been out to get him every single year since they'd met. So why was he even still thinking about it? She was Malfoy! He couldn't seem to make himself understand that there was absolutely no reason to go make sure she was okay. There was absolutely no reason to think that she was anything other than the girl who antagonized him for years.
It seemed like, the more he kept telling himself that, the less he believed it.
"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione's question and her grip on his arm startled him out of his thoughts. He realized he'd been staring at his plate for some amount of time, and that he'd probably accidentally ignored everything Ron and Hermione had been saying to him.
"Yeah, why?" He tried to seem like there was nothing on his mind. He just zoned out, was all.
"You seem lost in your thoughts," she replied, expression slightly less worried now that he'd actually replied to her.
"Not really. I just zoned out a bit," Harry said, blushing and trying to play it off as embarrassment, even though he knew it was probably all over his face that he was lying. Thankfully, Hermione just gave him a skeptical look for a second before accepting it. He was glad she didn't push him like she usually did. He gave her a smile and told her he really was fine before she started glancing at him all throughout breakfast with that skeptical expression of hers. As he met her eye, he couldn't help but glance past her head and watch Malfoy playing with her food, looking tired, but smiling in amusement as Nott waved his hands wildly. It looked like he was scolding her or something, and Harry couldn't help the small smile on his lips at the picture they made.
The smile fell from his face when Malfoy's eyes flicked up to meet his, without any contempt on her face once she saw him. She quickly looked back down at her plate, lifting her chin a little as if to look down her nose at her food, red tinting her pale cheeks.
Harry cocked his head to the side, confused. Malfoy, blushing? He didn't even do anything to make her blush, as far as he was aware. She looked . . . embarrassed, not angry, like he thought she was at first. He furrowed his eyebrows and went back to eating, shaking his head. He didn't understand Malfoy, but he was determined to start trying. There was something different about her, and he needed to know what it was.
He promised himself he'd figure it out before the end of Christmas break. He wanted to figure her out. His jaw set in resolve as he thought about it, thinking through exactly what he was going to do to make it happen.
A/N: Hope you liked this chapter. Siriusly, I would appreciate reviews. If you've stuck around for a while, you'll notice the changes this is undergoing. Much-needed changes. So it's the start of something new for Boys, and it'll be a lot more serious than it originally was.
Fact: The biggest struggle writing Draco and Harry as enemies is remembering to write "Malfoy" and "Potter" when they refer to one another in their heads.