Chapter 2: Draco's Point of View
Things have gotten more complicated than ever before.
Sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy, has never had such stressed times.
They had arrived at Hogwarts just a couple minutes ago, and they all try to settle down at the Slytherin table.
"Oh, shut up, Zabini. We all know you nearly failed your OWL's last year, and that you're no better than us," Pansy snaps irritably at Zabini, who glares at her defiantly.
"I'll punch you right here, Parkinson."
She rolls her eyes. "Don't want me going around telling your secret feelings for the Weaslette now, do you, Blaise?"
He turns red.
"Draco already told a bunch of Ravenclaws you're in love with a blood traitor. Didn't you, Draco?"
Pansy slips her arm around Draco's shoulders. "Draco?"
He shakes his head. "Sorry, what?"
She gives a small frown. "Are you okay, Draco? You seem a bit quiet."
He nods, shouldering her arm away, as politely as he can. "I'm fine, Pansy ."
Her arm dangles awkwardly at her side. "You need to see the nurse, Drakie?"
He shakes his head again, agitated. "No, I said I'm fine. Maybe I just need to be alone for some time," he gets up. "I'll be in the common room," he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "And don't call me Drakie."
He moves for the exit from the main hall, and happens to turn his head to see a pair of brown eyes watching him intently. He meets those eyes for a second, but looks away immediately.
Only one person in this entire school has eyes like those, and Draco knows very well who it is.
The Mudblood.
He reaches the entrance to the Slytherin common room. "Pure," he says to the painting, which immediately opens at the sound of the password. He steps into the room, crashing onto the silked green couch by the fire. He puts his hand to his forehead, exasperated. Ever since he had joined the Dark side, he had regretted it. He wishes he never had anything to do with the Dark Lord.
Yet, he is forced to complete the mission Voldemort had assigned him. To kill Dumbledore. He shivers at the thought, how You-Know-Who had threatened him by saying he would kill his parents and his entire family if he refused.
So he had to commit to him, to bow down to him, against his own will. Of course, he admires Voldemort the most. He doesn't know why, though.
He must kill Dumbledore. He simply must. He will get killed if he fails.
Then there was Snape. He needs to keep his too long nose out of Draco's personal business. Draco remembers that night when Snape had talked to him.
"You don't want me as your enemy, Draco," he had whispered softly.
"Your mother gave me a simple task. To protect you."
Draco had stepped away. "I don't need anyone to protect me Professor. I'm perfectly fine on my own."
"Draco, listen. Whatever you're up to, tell me. I can help you," he had grabbed his shoulder.
Draco jerked away. "If it was really important to tell you, I would. But I obviously dont."
Snape narrowed his eyes to slits. "You'll regret who you're talking to, Mr. Malfoy."
He had walked away, slamming the classroom door on the Professor's face.
Draco stares at the purple flames of the fire. He goes back to the time on the train. He had confronted Granger there, and he can't help but feel impressed. He never knew what Granger was capable of, and he has to admit he underestimates her almost all the time. She had punched him once, in the third year, but this time she had come down hard. She needs to learn to keep her big bushy mess down.
Not that her hair really is big and bushy. It's turned sleek, and shiny, pushed away from her face. But Draco still hates her. No matter what her hair looks like, she was a Mudblood, a filthy disgusting Mudblood.
He sighs and gets up, walking out the Slytherin Common Room, his wand lit in his hand. He turns a sharp left, veering himself through the narrow halls. The paintings are unsurprisingly asleep, and the walls are lit with different colors, curtains draped over the large, circular windows. He finally reaches the last passageway. He slips in and faces the Room of Requirement.
He had discovered it only a couple months ago when Voldemort had assigned him the task to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. It was a room nobody had ever heard of, a room that only appears to the people whose needs are the purest.
He closes his eyes in front of the door, thinking about what he wanted the most. Power. Succession. To make the Dark Lord proud.
Suddenly, a door appears out of no where, right in the middle of the slides open. Draco looks side to side cautiously for any followers and slips in.
He reaches the cabinet, covered in a red velvet table cover. Carefully, he pulls it off, revealing a old, ruined, stained large piece of furniture. Draco keeps a mental note to polish it sometime.
He reaches out a hand to touch the old material, but hears soft noises of breathing come from behind him. He turns his head slightly, tilting to hear it better.
There is someone behind the closet of books.
Carefully, he pulls out his wand, and instantly whips around.
"Who's there?" He points the wand towards the book shelves.
The breathing stops, and Draco can hear the shifting of hands, probably reaching for their own wand.
"Stupefy!" He yells.
There is a soft thud, telling him the intruder is unconscious. He walks to the book closet, and whispers, "Lumos." His wand lights up, hovering over the form on the ground. His eyes widen in horror at who it is.
"Granger?!" He exclaims in shock.
He bends down, scanning the unconscious form of Granger. Her eyes are closed, and the book is open on her stomach, her wand still flickering with light.
"Oh, no."
He has just stunned a girl. That's like, against the law, he thought. No matter how ugly they are.
He shakes her shoulders. "Granger? Get up!"
He sighs angrily and picks her wand up and slides his arm around her petite figure to pull her up. She is surprisingly light, and her hair is tickling his face.
"I'll have to wash my hands after touching a Mudblood like you," he mutters under his breath. He hauls her behind his shoulder and carries her to the old, red couch. He gets the idea of just dropping her on the couch, and leaving her in the cold, but he decides he isn't that mean. He gently lays her down and places her wand beside her, and turns to leave.
He remembers that she would be freezing without a robe, so he gives out an angry sigh and pulls his robe off. He covers Granger with it, so her entire body is warm. He storms away.