Chapter Four: Open
Draco Malfoy stayed in bed for another day, just to convince himself that he wasn't leaving the house because some nosy Gryffindors tried to get him out.
They didn't have one up on him. They had just come into his house, blundered around like the loud and interfering celebrities they were, and stirred up his thinking.
He told himself he was leaving the house to get away from the memory of them there, and not because they had said so.
…
He wandered around, the thin barrier of his expensive silk robes the only thing keeping him from being recognized. He kept the hood up, and since the wind was blowing, most people didn't notice him at all.
…
He had never been a loud person, by nature. He had always been, on the inside, quiet and careful and afraid. The inner, hiding Draco was just someone who was scared and didn't know what to do.
….
All the people blew past him on with their silly little lives, and Draco wondered what it was like to live life on the surface of things, not really looking inwards and not really caring, just having a good job and a good family and knowing that it was good enough.
The problem with Draco was that he didn't live on the surface. He lived deep down, in a dark little cave in a dark little hole in his dark little heart, and didn't know what to do on the outside.
The surface was an interesting place, and Draco wondered if it was possible to live aware with the surface and aware of oneself at the same time.
It was a thought that gave him hope, like he'd been swimming underwater for too long and now he was beginning to see the light breaking through the surface.
…
He walked into Flourish and Blotts and breathed in the smell of old paper and ink.
Before a saleswizard could find him, he headed up the stairs to a remote corner, to hide out in the bookshop amongst the words, where he could ask questions to things and they would give him the answers.
Sitting down with a muffled thump on the floor next to a shelf, ignoring the possible damage to his clothing, he pulled a book from the shelf and immersed himself in yet another escape from the world of the living.
…
His life was full of escapes.
A book was an escape into another land, a place where things happened to people other than him. Other people were the villains. Other people loved and laughed and lived, and other people killed.
He wondered if this was why you could always find Hermione Granger in the library with a book, back at their school days.
Maybe for her, facts were an escape too.
...
He found a book he'd never seen before, and started to read.
It must have been a muggle book, because it didn't have any magic in it. But as Draco read on, he discovered that it was just as interesting as any wizarding book he'd ever read.
It was called The Fountainhead, and it was about a man called Howard Roark.
…
Howard Roark was an architect, which was what muggles called those who designed and created buildings.
But he fascinated Draco, because Howard Roark wasn't afraid of anything.
He knew what he wanted to do, and he went after it.
What was that like?
Draco found himself in awe that a muggle could be so strong, and he imagined that they must have been made of sterner stuff than he was.
…
The book came home with him, that day.
For a while, it brought a sense of peace.
…
He went back to Flourish and Blotts, reading more and more muggle literature that appeared on the shelves, as well as any wizarding book he found interesting. Potions, mostly. He had always been good at that.
The old woman who ran the store pretended not to notice when he came around, but she always did.
Eventually, a cushion found its way onto the floor where he always sat.
…
Going to Flourish and Blotts became a routine, and he was startled to discover how normal he felt.
He didn't go back for a week after that. His father was dead. He shouldn't be feeling normal.
…
But he couldn't stay away for long.
…
One day, Draco found himself on the floor in Flourish and Blotts, head pillowed on the cushion that had appeared. There was an open Potions text splayed across his chest, and he stared up at the plastered ceiling and thought whatever came into his head.
He distantly heard someone come into the shop and cheerily start talking to the old woman behind the desk, but he was ensconced in figuring out the mysteries in the ceiling and didn't pay any attention.
Until Granger tripped over him.
Was she following him or something?
…
"Malfoy!"
Silence.
"Well, this is a surprise. You actually left your Manor."
Silence.
"Aren't you going to say hello?"
"Hello," he said to the ceiling.
He felt perfectly justified in saying hello to the ceiling. It had shared some interesting revelations with him, lying here.
Saying hello to Hermione was a different matter.
Thankfully- or maybe not so much- she mistook his "Hello" for her.
…
"What are you reading?"
"Potions book."
"Who's it by?"
"Claudia Windfeld."
"Is it good?"
"Sure."
"Malfoy, you haven't said a word to me that isn't in response to a direct question."
"I know."
…
"So, what's the matter with talking to me anyways?"
…
Draco thought about that for a minute. He was having trouble coming up with a direct answer. He couldn't come up with one.
"I think that's the wrong question to ask."
…
Hermione considered that for a while.
"So, then. Why are you afraid of me?"
…
He sat bolt upright, abandoning his conversation with the ceiling.
"Who said I was afraid of you?"
…
Hermione just looked at him, and that was enough of an answer.
…
He lay back down, so that he didn't have to look her in the eye.
"I'm not someone you should be forgiving," He said. The words fell from his lips and hit his chest with a thud.
"I have done things that nobody can be forgiven for, no matter why they did them. It's just not right, and neither am I."
The words joined the heavy pile on his chest, so that he felt like they were suffocating him.
"And here you are, the Gryffindor Princess, pretending things are all just peachy and pretending like I'm someone you can talk to, someone you can spend time with."
And the words spilled off his chest, pooling on the floor.
It was too much effort. He closed his lips and his eyes, willing her to go away.
…
"Malfoy, why do you hate yourself so much?" She said, and her voice was full of wonder.
…
He squeezed his eyes closed, and hoped that she would please go away before he told someone his dark secret. Least of all her.
She might actually think that it was noble, or something.
…
"Hmm…" She mused aloud.
Still there, then.
He opened his eyes and looked at her, and she was studying him with a practiced eye. If he hadn't known better, he could have sworn she was checking him out.
But he definitely knew better. More likely, she could see something wrong with him.
"What?" He asked irritably.
"You didn't answer my question."
"I don't know how it can be answered."
"Think about it, then." Hermione said, and sat cross-legged on the floor next to him to wait.
…
He closed his eyes again. One, two, three, disappear!
When he opened them, she was still there, still looking at him expectantly, so he shut them quickly. Maybe she wouldn't have noticed.
"Well?"
…
"Don't rush me," he said finally. "When I figure it out, I'll owl you, okay?"
In pureblood society, this was an obvious dismissal. But the Brightest Witch of Their Age was not a pureblood, and so she continued to sit there with an amusedly tolerant expression on her face.
"You'd better," she said, and finally stood. "I'd invite you out for tea, but I imagine that I've tested your patience enough, am I right?"
"Just because I'm talking to you doesn't make you my friend, Granger," He snapped.
A moment.
"Exactly." A smirk.
…
The next morning, Draco woke up and he was calm.
So calm, in fact, that he freaked out, ran to the mirror, and checked that he was still him before accepting it and falling back into bed.
Calm?
Really?
…
In the afternoon, after re-reading The Fountainhead, he figured something out.
Unfortunately, this meant that he was going to have to man up and send Hermione an owl.
He wondered if he had time to move out of the country first.
A/N
Sorry it's been a little while, guys, but I had a stupid math portfolio to finish, and so forth.
I have forgotten to put disclaimers in so far, so I am doing it right now. Obviously, the Harry Potter books don't belong to me, or I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.
The Fountainhead and Roark belong to Ayn Rand.
Thanks for Gina619 and ViralAnomaly for reviewing again! I'm glad to have your feedback. I have decided to post longer chapters at a time, so that while the pacing is similar you don't have too many chapters of Draco just being apathetic. Thank you very much for your support, it is appreciated!
Also thanks to those who have my story on Alert. :)
Alright, on with the Dramione! It's definitely going to pick up more in the next chapter, which is going to be a surprise- different.
And I will have that chapter posted by the end of the weekend, I promise.
-Isefyr.
