Desperate Love (2)

In his haste to escape, Draco knocked over several people in the way, all of whom staggered back uneasily under his cold stare. His mind was in such a mess that he could not think at all. Walking out of the castle, across the green field and broad Quidditch pitch, he did not stop until Hagrid's shabby hut stood before him.

Malfoys were traditionally egoistic and Draco had never regarded himself as selfless, but it had also never occurred to him that in a moment he should harbor such a perilous thought that how good it would be without her.

Even without her, you still cannot escape away ... Draco, you know it. She knows nothing and it's never her fault ... Oh, what have I done ...

Closing his eyes, inhaling deeply and emptying his mind, Draco employed Occlumency, trying to suppress all those confused emotions and thoughts. He was grateful that Aunt Bellatrix had taught him Occlumency, although her intention was to prevent him from leaking anything to Dumbledore or upsetting her dear Lord's great cause.

She said he should feel honored, had he sacrificed his life for the task. Maybe the only people who cared for his well-being were his parents, among whom his father was jailed in Azakaban, under the excruciation of the Dementors.

Draco opened his eyes, finding a steel-blue monster crouching in front of Hagrid's hut. A hippogriff – and a rather familiar one – it was Buckbeak, the one that had broken his arm. Memory spinning in his mind, Draco stared into the monster's yellow eyes and bowed low to it. Buckbeak snorted and then lowered its head to him.

"Don't bear a grudge, do you?" He walked over, stretching his hand and patting it on the beak. Buckbeak seemed to like his scent, squinting and staffing its large head into his embrace. He pursed his lips in disgust, but allowed it to probe its beak into his sleeve nonetheless. He then sat down behind a giant pumpkin, leaning against the beast's sturdy, steel-blue-feathers-covering body.

Father said the beast was sentenced to death. Since it is still alive, there is no question who saved it. The Gryffindor trio always go snooping about. Certainly they came up with some weird scheme and freed this monster for their giant half-blood friend.

Draco raised one hand, touching his left cheek. He still remembered clearly the time when Hermione slapped him because of Buckbeak. She had hit him really hard, and the slap left his face raw for several days. It was the first and only slap he had got in his life, and so caught off guard was he that he forgot to strike back.

When he was thirteen years old, he thought the trio were the most odious people in the world: Scarhead Potter was always stealing the show; Weasel was a pathetic sidekick; and even that insufferable know-it-all dared to think little of him, not realizing that she herself was an inferior Mudblood.

He was so ignorant at the time. He took great delight in finding fault with them, not noticing his intention had varied over the course. Like some falling-in-love idiots, he tried to gain the girl's attention by causing trouble. Each time he saw that beautiful eyes glaring at him in anger or sometimes even in tears, a wave of satisfaction overwhelmed him.

Growing up completely spoiled, he paid no attention to how his words and action had hurt her, nor did he understand his own feelings – he would not even have thought it that way. On occasions when he might have sensed something, he would dismiss it as ridiculous. How was it possible that the Malfoy heir, the noble pureblood, should care for a mudblood?

Only when it was too late that the chilling truth dawned on him. At the Yule Ball of the fourth year, when he stood among the clamorous crowds he saw her descending the staircase, periwinkle-blue dress robe outlining her slender body, hair twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head, and on her lips dancing a nervous, timid, yet strikingly sweet smile. At each of her step, his heart beat faster; he was dumbfounded. When she walked into the Great Hall, arm in Krum's elbow, Draco found in desperation that he was so envious – burning with jealousy. He could not help but watch her swing and spin on the dancing floor, like a glistening butterfly. He also did not fail to notice when she was chatting heartily with Krum, how her smile was more dazzling than the enchanted chandelier. That night as he held his own partner in his arms, he moved just along mechanically, like a dancing machine manipulated by Parkinson to swirl round and round. He could not even remember how on earth he survived the Ball and retired to his bed.

In the following semester, he tried even harder to jeer, to scoff, and to tease maliciously, making every effort to have her and anyone around her suffer. He was eager to see her looking at him with loathing, as if this would kill the feeling that should never have existed, and yet every time he received this look, he saw on his bleeding heart the enlarged wound that had deepened over the past four years to the point of being beyond healing. Every insult, every provocation, and every "mudblood". He was so scared, praying in despair that the instant impulsion would somehow vanish, but it never happened. All was in vain.

She dated with Krum; She cried secretly over the quarrel with Weasley; She was depicted by the newspaper as an ambitious slut; She became the Champion's dearest treasure and was locked under the lake ... Smart, valiant, kind, loyal, she was the pure flower that blossomed in a world distinct from his own. The light radiated from her tantalized him. It was frightening that Draco Malfoy should have observed anyone so meticulously, should have felt sorry for a foe, and should have worried about a mudblood restlessly. These were the signs that he could not turn a blind eye to. The clearer he was, the more frantic he was. He could never approach her – He pained to accept the ruthless reality.

It was until the Christmas in the fifth year that he could bare no more. After the Christmas dinner, holding his father's hand, his mother declared proudly to her cousin Bellatrix that the Malfoys were conventionally most loyal – they had an undying love for their lover that would never wear away over time; callous as they might be, they valued the family over all things. At this, Lucius Malfoy flashed an unbelievably warm smile to his wife; Draco stilled on the sofa, his heart withering.

He swore that it was the worst news he had ever heard. He collapsed in defeat, only frustration and anguish remaining in him. He was in a dangerous situation: Should anyone discover his secret crush, his reputation would deteriorate in the pureblood society, his relatives might murder him in disgrace, and above all the Dark Lord might capture her, killing her as a deterrence or using her as a hostage.

He fell in love with a girl whom he was forbidden to love and who would never love him back. She despised him, hated him, and perhaps would never forgive him all over her life, a result caused by he himself step by step. Now all he could do was forcing himself to preserve an impertinent attitude every time he met her, which was the only protection he could provide her, the last esteem he could save for himself, and the price he had to pay for his arrogance in the previous fifteen years of his life.

Buckbeak hummed softly and rubbed its warm head against his face. Draco found in surprise a trail of cold wetness on his left cheek. Light grey eyes staring into round orange ones, he stroked the rich feathers on its neck and then stood up.

"Goodbye, Buckbeak."

The beast also rose, nodding in a haughtily majestic manner. Draco smiled a little, and walked slowly towards the castle. It was a bright afternoon, and the Quidditch pitch was filled with people. Potter was wearing Quidditch Captain's robes and was shouting at the crowds. Perhaps he was recruiting new players. Weasley was hovering in the highest hoop, wearing a hilarious Keeper hat, his whole body curled up in a ball. Even from faraway his face was still as pronouncedly pale as that of an inferi.

Two of the trio were there, then of course ... Searching in the stands, Draco berated himself for this wayward behavior as he stood still, watching her cheer enthusiastically for Weasley.

That was all he could ask for.

Shifting his gaze away, Draco turned around, finding Snape standing before him for Merlin knew how long, his dark eyes peering through his black hair, as he examined Draco impassively.