Just as he expected, they're all waiting for him in the common room when he returns a while after dinner. They're gathered around one of the tables, caught up in their conversation and whatever else they're up to. If he's quick enough, he thinks he might be able to slip by without notice. They won't bother him if he's asleep, he's sure. Though, the moment he sets foot into the room, all eyes are on him, and whatever conversation they were just having ceases in an instant. None of them seem to be upset, surprisingly, but more so… puzzled. Worried, even.
"Where have you been?" Pansy asks when no one else does, and he supposes it's a little too late to run straight for the dormitory now. "You've been gone for hours."
Draco keeps his composure, ignoring the feeling of distaste that runs through him at the sight of them sitting there, as if nothing is wrong – as if they haven't done anything wrong. He approaches them, but doesn't sit in the empty seat offered to him. "I went to eat dinner."
"You weren't there when we went to eat." Blaise is looking at him curiously, almost studying him. Perhaps if he studies him long enough, he'll figure it all out. If he does, is Draco ready for the conversation that will inevitably follow? "We didn't leave for dinner for a long while after you left."
"I took a walk around the castle." His mind blanks for a moment as he tries to come up with something to excuse himself. "I needed to think."
They all look at him, and he fears he has said too much too soon. Now, they'll know something is wrong, and – perhaps not now, then later – they'll pry and ask until he talks, and what does he say? What does he even want to say to them, if anything at all? Something odd wells up in his chest just then, something conflicting and peculiar.
On the one hand, these are his friends. They spend nearly every waking hour together, sunrise till sunset the whole week through. They eat breakfast together in the Great Hall every morning and talk about anything and everything on their minds that early in the day. Like, how little sleep they got after stargazing all night for Astronomy class, or an upcoming Quidditch game against Gryffindor they need to win, or which Weird Sisters album is the best one.
Pansy takes the latter topic a little too seriously at times, and threatens to hex anyone who doesn't agree that it's "obviously their debut album", despite it clearly being the worst one of them all. Still, they all indulge her in her delusions – because she's serious with those threats.
Then, during all of their classes, they always sit together. They whisper and laugh amongst themselves at the utter incompetence of Gryffindors – certain ones more than others – and… and he supposes, if he looks at it in a bit of a different light, their words are a bit cruel at times. Yet he laughs at them, because they're funny, and...
They're his friends.
They're all he has at the end of the day.
Then, on the other hand, they're all just like him, aren't they? Just like Draco Malfoy. They sit at the top of the pyramidal wizarding world, with their pureblood families in their manors, looking down on the majority below as if they're nothing. Because, in their eyes – in his eyes – people with nothing to offer and show for themselves, aren't worth their respect. They're nothing but nuisances in their paths to be stepped on and left behind.
Can he really blame them for who they are, when that is the very reason they are his friends to begin with?
"You know you can talk to us if something's bothering you, right?" Pansy says, and were Draco in a bit of a brighter mood, he would laugh. The furrow of her brows and the tone of her voice is one of worry, and he knows she means what she says. Blaise might be the logical one; the one who figures it all out, the one who will get every word out, and the one with the solutions. Pansy Parkinson, however, listens. She gives him every second he needs, listens to every word he needs to say, and Draco knows not a single one of them will ever reach another person's ear – Veritaserum be damned.
And he wants to laugh, because is that what she's really like, or is that just what he knows her as?
A few moments of silence pass, and Draco finds himself slipping back into some corner tucked away in his mind. Blaise, who's sitting just beside where he's standing, gently nudges his side to get his attention, and pulls him right back out of it before he can continue spiraling any further into whatever all of this is. "You alright?"
No, no he's fairly certain he's not.
"Yeah, just tired."
Blaise looks anything but convinced, and Draco knows he knows something is the matter, perhaps even who exactly that matter involves. However, considering he's still got that investigative look on his face – furrowed brows and all – he doesn't know enough. Not just yet.
Which is good. It means Draco still has more time to process, to think, to… to decide on something before the inevitable questioning and probing begins and he has to admit to all of this. The thoughts, the doubts, the guilt.
And… Draco doesn't think he's quite ready to lose his friends just yet.
They all leave it at that. The conversation they had been having prior continues like it had never been interrupted, and goes on for the rest of the evening without as much as a mention of Draco's odd behaviour. He – albeit reluctantly – takes a seat in the only empty one at the table, and looks around at them all as they resume whatever they had been doing.
He watches Pansy write on a card with hearts and flowers, that if not for Theo holding down, would presumably be fluttering about the common room. Her handwriting is flowy and curly, and much nicer than what it usually is. She takes her sweet time with each letter, and the small smile toying with the corners of her lips is almost endearing. When Blaise comments on it, she nearly sends his wizard's chess set flying, and they all laugh.
A peculiar feeling creeps up in his chest, a variety of different ones blended into one. It sits in his rib cage somewhere, sticks to the bones and tampers with things in there that it shouldn't. He suspects it might be contempt, or perhaps shame, or even…
Accountability.
Draco stands abruptly, and immediately the common room is silent. He can't stand it anymore, and he wants to say something – anything – but then he sees them all staring at him. They look at him with curiosity, like they know something is wrong with him, and at once his mind blanks, yet fills up simultaneously.
"I'm going to bed," is all he says, can't even look them in the eye, and with those words he leaves them.
