A/N: Just so you know before you get confused, this fanfic is based LOOSELY around the events of HBP. LOOSELY here means some of the Half-Blood Prince's spells are used, Harry is the Quidditch captain of Gryffindor (although I have tweaked the team roster a bit), and Draco does act oddly (although it's not because he has to kill Dumbledore), etc. LOOSELY also means I have excluded a lot and put some things that happen in HBP into other years. I've tried to make my changes as easy to follow as possible. Enough rambling... enjoy!
Chapter 2: Invasions
"Oh, and look, the so-called Slytherin Prince and his two bodyguards have come to join the party," I said sarcastically.
He smirked, as if sharing some joke with the inner reaches of his mind. "You know, they don't call me the Slytherin Prince for nothing."
"Really? Then why do you need-"
"Crabbe and Goyle aren't my bodyguards," he said slowly, predicting what I was planning to insult him about.
"Then what are they? Your personal servants?"
"You know, Finchley, I always knew you were thick, but even I didn't think you'd never heard of friends before. But I guess I should have known, since you haven't got any yourself."
"Yeah, because, you know, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are just stuffed dummies I decided I wanted to bring on the train."
"Doesn't seem quite like something that's beneath you..." he muttered under his breath.
I laughed humorlessly. "Just shut the fuck up, Malfoy. You seriously need to FUCK. OFF. No one likes you. Not even your little lap dog, Parkinson! You must know that already - or maybe you're even more blind than I thought. The other Slytherins only want to hang out with you because," I put on a high baby voice, "they're afraid you'll go tell Daddy if they're mean to you!" The whole point was to get Malfoy angry, and then maybe he'd leave me alone - but his reaction seemed so unlike him, completely differing from what I had expected.
He winced slightly, as if in pain, or remembering some unpleasant memory, and then sighed. His fists clenched, and a reflection of events long passed glinted in his shockingly blue eyes. "I-," he whispered, frowning before he continued and sighing for the second time. As he looked up to glare at me once more, the anger I had initially expected finally bubbled to the surface, evident in every spat word, every hateful movement. "How dare you insult me like that, you FILTHY, EMBARRASSING excuse for a Slytherin!" Every word was exaggerated, allowing Malfoy's wish for me to spontaneously combust become excruciatingly apparent.
With that, he whipped out his long hawthorn wand and pointed it straight between my eyes. The compartment wasn't very large, so if I wanted, I could easily reach out and swat it away with my hand. But where was the fun in that?
Something about Malfoy's position and expression triggered a once-buried memory, one of a time way back in first year - the initial reason for my animosity towards Draco and for his towards me.
I remember, like it was yesterday, being terrified of the Sorting - mostly terrified I would be sent home, told I really wasn't a wizard, that I didn't belong at Hogwarts. Even with my pureblood ancestry, I couldn't help but be exceedingly anxious as to which House I would be Sorted into. With thoughts of rejection by the wizarding world and by my friends and family dancing mutinously through my head, I had been Sorted into Slytherin. Ultimately, I was glad I had - from the opening description the Hat gave us, it sounded as if that was exactly where I belonged. Something about it appealed to me more than any of the other Houses, and immediately after I half-walked, half-stumbled to the Slytherin corner of the room, I felt like I fit in, for once in my life.
I had sat down at the long, seemingly ancient Slytherin table, a content, untroubled half-smile on my face, and introduced myself to anyone who cared enough. One of those, apparently, had been Draco. Of course, I hadn't hated him yet - that was the first time I'd ever met him.
"I'm Draco Malfoy. You're Shae Finchley?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah," I answered.
"Welcome to Slytherin," he said, and smiled.
For a few weeks, our friendship progressed steadily. We walked to classes together, making fun of all passing students (being sure that they couldn't hear us, of course - we were only first years, after all, and the older students would probably be able to beat the pulp out of us), we snuck out at night to steal some extra sweets from the kitchens, we tested out curses on some of the meeker first years, and even managed to play a few pranks on some unwary Gryffindors - namely Potty, the Weasel, and the Mudblood (although, over time, I became friends with those three after falling out with Draco).
Put simply, Draco and I were getting along very well. He had seemed to be one of the only ones who could accept who I was, and I was the only one Draco could talk to without being afraid of what I would say. He was almost more than I could ever ask for in a friend.
So, one brisk winter day, I had been waiting for Draco in the common room - he still hadn't gotten up, even though I was sure he knew we had Transfiguration first hour, and we couldn't afford to be late again, or McGonagall would surely use the Killing Curse on us, no matter how long it got her locked up in Azkaban. Impatient and exasperated, I practically flew up to the boys' dormitories, not caring about the invasion of privacy I was undoubtedly committing. Draco, as I had suspected but could not explain the reasoning behind, was still sleeping. At once, I was intrigued by a tattered-looking black book sitting on a small, narrow desk next to Draco's bed. Now, I cringe at the memory, knowing that if I hadn't looked at that book, we would probably still be friends. Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of me, and I grabbed the book cautiously, not wanting to make any loud noises that would wake him up.
The cover was stained and torn, but I felt like it was of a much greater value than its shabbiness suggested, and that no matter how abused it got, it would still be of the same worth. I flipped to the first page, seeing drawings of strange symbols and gruesome pictures I deeply regretted setting my eyes upon. A few pages later, actual writing appeared - notes or descriptions of some sort. At first, I didn't believe Draco had written these - the objects, things, beasts, whatever was being focused on seemed far too obscure and professionally studied to have come from a first year Hogwarts student. I scanned the book up until the writing and sketches finished after a couple pages, and saw a signature at the end - 'Draco Malfoy'. Something about this strange diary gave me the impression that if a teacher had set eyes upon it, it would've been immediately confiscated and Draco would've gotten quite a few detentions to boot. I flipped a few more pages. Here was some kind of strange poem. I read a few words and felt as if I had just been Confunded - at least, I imagined that was how it must feel to be Confunded. I couldn't seem to process any of the phrases, although I could read each word normally. Imagine a time while you're reading, but concentrating on something else completely different at the same time. Your mind can still understand the words, even though you're not taking any of the information in. And then, when you snap out of your reverie, you realize you've read through several paragraphs, but don't remember any of it, and have to read it all over again. It felt kind of like that. It didn't make sense in the slightest, so I decided not to dwell on it. Draco had probably put a spell on the diary to prevent anyone from comprehending it.
My fingers were in the process of turning the next page, when just then, Draco rose out of an apparently deep slumber and faced me with what could only be described as a highly potent death glare. Words failed me at that moment; I didn't think (and still don't think) even the greatest of writers could describe how angry he looked just then. I could easily imagine red hot smoke pouring out of his ears as he took in the fact that I was encroaching on something that was obviously not meant to be encroached on. He threw off the sheets, and snatched it out of my hand.
"Rictusempra!" he screamed loudly, knocking me clear out of the room and through the door. I landed with a thud on the other side, stunned. Draco burst through the room with his book in his hand. He pointed his wand at my throat. "Touch this book, or ever go near it again, and I'll kill you. Literally."
I had to admit, I was scared. Even 11-year-old Draco frightened me with his ferociousness and utter rage. I scrambled to Transfiguration as fast as I possibly could.
Weeks passed, and neither of us had spoken to one another since that day. I gave it my best effort to try and apologize, make up for what I did, anything to set things right again. At first, I periodically approached him myself, figuring that doing it in person would probably be the best way to ask for forgiveness. All Draco did was turn his back, ignore me, and begin talking to someone else, as if I wasn't even there. When I confronted him alone, he looked at me with glazed-over eyes, not really looking at me, probably off in his own little realm.
Next, I tried getting some of my other friends to talk to him for me. Really, that only made things worse. I got the feeling that Draco thought it cowardly of me not to confront him myself, even though he barely reacted when I did. I continually got more desperate - I was determined not to lose my best friend over something that I didn't even understand. I sent anonymous owls begging him to realize that I was sorry, bought him tiny little gifts that I thought might soften his anger, and taped notes with little sad faces in them on some of his belongings when he wasn't looking. Anything and everything one could possibly think of, I tried, and it all amounted to absolutely nothing.
Eventually, my anger at Draco not caring that I wanted to be friends again became too much to stand, and I abruptly severed every single tie I had to him. If he wanted to be on his own, then so be it.
After that, Draco and I were worst enemies.
Now, on the train, I was reminded of that experience, no matter how much I wanted to forget it. I gulped the dry air and drew out my own wand slowly from my jeans pocket.
"Can't you wait until school until you start fighting? For goodness sake, put your wands down!" Hermione cautioned.
"You think I'm going to listen to a filthy Mudblood like you? Guess again, Granger," Malfoy said with a sneer.
Attempting to catch him off guard, I shouted, "Stupefy!"
My plan failed. Draco and I shouted the incantation at the exact same time, neither of us able to gain the upper hand.
Our curses met in midair and seemed to mingle and swirl around each other, doing an odd sort of dance - strange, but weirdly beautiful at the same time. This lasted but a few seconds after the curses shot off towards Draco and I respectively, hitting us both square in the chests.
I was knocked back into the window, realizing painfully just how cold and unwelcoming it was. Draco, on the other hand, was pushed back into the door, rattling the frame and nearly cracking the glass because of the sheer force that he hit it with. Hermione rushed to my attention, while Harry and Ron sat dumbly, not really knowing how much aid they could provide and mostly just trying not to laugh at Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused - obviously they couldn't do anything without a direct order from Draco. Suddenly my vision grew spotted, red lines cutting across it like those on a candy cane. I looked across the way, and saw Malfoy looking dazed, as if he could barely see either.
The next thing I knew, I was out cold.
When I woke up, everything was white. The walls, the ceiling, the curtains, the sheets... the sheets? "Where the hell am I?" I muttered sleepily, not expecting an answer.
"We're in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, completely alone, because we both passed out at the same time on the Hogwarts Express." a voice spoke quietly to my left, with just a touch of annoyance.
My head snapped towards the altogether-too-familiar voice, my eyes falling on a blonde-haired Draco Malfoy lying in the bed next to me, looking at me with one icy blue eye, his left hand rubbing his forehead. My brain took a second to process the situation, but I sighed angrily when I realized what had happened. Acting on impulse, I edged closer to the right, putting instinctive difference between Draco and I.
"Did we miss the feast?" I asked.
"Obviously."
"Fuck."
"We've been here for a while. It's one A.M."
"Fuck."
"Madame Pomfrey set up these beds for us, went down to the feast, and then left us in here alone."
"Fuck."
"God, Finchley, I thought you had more than a one-word vocabulary."
"Oh, shut the hell up."
The corners of his mouth turned up in that trademark smirk, and he shook his head subtly.
"Where are our robes and trunks and stuff?" I asked him, looking around the room.
"In the corner over there." he said, nodding in the general direction of our things.
With almost anyone, I would have said thank you, but with Malfoy, that was practically out of the question. Quickly rising from the bed, I ambled over to the corner, which, on each of our trunks, were our school clothes.
"I'm going into the bathroom to change. Try coming in, and you're going to be reminded of your experience as a ferret in fourth year."
I grabbed my clothes and magically unlocked the door to the bathroom. It was rather large and everything seemed absolutely pristine, but, somehow, it gave off a cheery feeling that revolted me. I reckoned Madam Pomfrey somehow was able to put a Cheering Charm on it, for reasons I couldn't begin to explain. It didn't seem like people had the absolute need to be especially delighted as they were using the toilet.
Just for good measure (and partly because I knew Draco), I hurriedly transfigured about ten towels into bolts of different sizes and placed them on the door. Hopefully if Draco decided he wanted to take a peek inside, they would buy me enough time to react before he came in. I considered the fact that he could easily unlock them in a matter of seconds, but then I decided I was being an idiot and that I should just hurry up and get changed.
I had just jumped into the black slacks of my uniform and taken off my grey T-shirt, when the doorknob jiggled, and, acting on instinct, I whispered, "Accio towel!" and used it to cover myself up to some painfully low degree before Malfoy conspicuously opened the door. I figured that in the space of time my Accio spell took, Malfoy was able to unfasten all of the bolts. Apparently some part of me was exposed, because Draco smirked, folded his arms, and stared pointedly at the towel I had tried to wrap around my torso.
"Get out of here. NOW!" I yelled menacingly, wrapping the towel more firmly around myself.
"What if I don't want to?" he asked, trying to sound innocent while intently eyeing my chest.
"And what if I promise you're going to turn into a ferret in about three seconds?"
This got him shuffling out of the room, faking dejection but failing, a smirk still plastered on his face.
I changed quickly, got out of the bathroom, and went to go feed my speckled brown and white barn owl, sifting through my trunk to look for some owl treats.
"Here you go, Tytus, now quit whining."
He gave a hoot of indignant protest.
"Sorry," I said, placing the owl treats back into my case and standing up. As I was feeding my bird, Draco had waltzed into the bathroom and begun his own business. I grinned evilly. It was pretty obvious (if you asked me) what I was about to do. Payback was needed.
I stepped quietly over to the wooden door, listening to the fluid swish of clothes being put on. "Bombarda!" I whispered, and jumped backwards.
The door flew clean off its hinges, and fell where I was standing just seconds ago.
I stepped over the door and into the room, only to find a Draco I barely recognized looking back at me with a bewildered expression. A white collared shirt was clutched in his hands, and his chest was bare. I felt my eyes widen, and I couldn't help but stare at the handsome figure of the person standing in front of me.
That trademark smirk flashed again on his face, and I was brought - somewhat - back to reality.
This is Draco Malfoy I'm looking at. Not eye candy. I repeated to myself inside my head, unable to tear my eyes away.
"Looks like we have a new subject for being turned into a ferret, eh?"
I came into focus and broke out of my mesmerized trance. "Nah, I don't think so," I said, and walked out of the room. Before I crossed the threshold, however, I leaned my head in again and said, "At least we're even now."
"You know you just wanted another peek, Finchley."
I felt myself turn red against my will. I opened my mouth to say something, but couldn't think of a comeback fast enough, so I objected with one phrase: "No way!"
"Yes, way," he said, and repaired the door with a quick spell, leaving me in the main wing.
I had quite mixed feelings about that situation. On one hand, I was thoroughly embarrassed. On the other, I felt kind of attracted to the guy I had just seen half naked. I played Quidditch, one of the Chasers for the Slytherin team, and I knew that it was a hard, taxing sport, but I didn't think it was possible to look like that after flying around and throwing balls all day. Layers of lean, sinewy muscle covered every inch that I had seen of his body, and it was clear that because of his naturally thin stature, he needed all of it in order to compete with the larger members of the opposing Quidditch teams.
However, never in a million years could I think of him as being hot. Or cute. Or anything that suggested that I had any other feelings towards him besides pure hatred. I could admit that he was built pretty well, not what expected, but he was still Draco, and that was something I just could not ignore.
Dwelling on all of this wasn't going to help me. I pushed the thoughts out of my mind as he walked out of the bathroom, clutching his other clothes in one hand. They were shaped oddly square-ish, as if they were wrapped around a book of some sort. I watched him subtly, out of the corner of my eye, as he walked over and dropped his things in his large trunk. Just before he closed it, I caught a glimpse of that black, old book peeking out of the corner. I definitely wasn't going to say anything, seeing as it was the catalyst that had torn apart our friendship, and that was in first year; we had loads of more painful spells to use on each other if the situation were dire enough.
I hauled my trunk out of the room. "See you," I muttered self-consciously.
"Bet I know which part of me you'd like to see next," he replied, and chuckled maliciously.
I looked at him with a positively venomous look, and he stopped laughing. "Watch yourself, Malfoy."
"Bye, Finchley."
Without a glance back, I threw open the large oak doors that led to the hallway.
As my feet fell softy on the marble floors, I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head.
The ice-blue eyes of Draco Malfoy.