When Draco makes his way down the hallways and stairs leading to the Slytherin common room, his mind is elsewhere and he feels… strange.
The sound of his footsteps, usually so loud as they echo off the stone walls of the castle, seems so much quieter and softer in his ears now. It is almost as if the floors have been covered in carpet, and what would normally be sharp clicks of expensive shoes hitting polished stone, becomes soft steps on fabric. The almost numb feeling spreading from his feet and up his legs, only adds to the illusion.
There is a blur to his vision. It reminds him of early mornings where the sun has yet to rise, of waking up earlier than he would like, and of rubbing sleep out of his eyes when his vision keeps going all fuzzy.
It feels as if he's dreaming, as if he's not entirely present in his body, as if it runs automatically, whilst he sits somewhere in a secluded corner in his mind and ponders. Accompanying him is a myriad of images and thoughts, as well as the feelings they trigger inside him, and none of them can be described as positive. They surround him where he sits, nearly blocking his view of the outside world with their tall and broad statures, and they stare down at him in a way that makes him feel so small and insignificant.
The guilt residing in the pit of his stomach feels so much heavier and so much worse now. As he had watched Potter leave – all but run away from him – it had sank from his chest, like a stone dropped in water, straight to the bottom. Now, however, it almost feels painful, as if it has gained sentience and started eating away at his insides to create more room for it to grow.
Hannah Abbott had smiled at him, offered her hand for him to shake even, that night she led him out of the castle. She had been so polite – so kind, even – as she had led the way down the dark hallways, opening the door leading out into the fountain courtyard for him and never asking any questions as to why he was out there, keeping a comfortable silence between them. And, when the Ravenclaw prefect had eyed them – him – suspiciously across the courtyard, she had covered for him immediately.
It was almost as if it wasn't Draco Malfoy she was escorting outside, taking time out of her night to help, but rather… an acquaintance, perhaps. Friend, even.
However, when he had turned to her and reminded her just who she's dating, just whose heart she could potentially shatter, and just who would come and make her regret it if she ever does. At once her kind smile and polite demeanour had faltered, and she had gotten all tense, as if remembering who she had really come to help out – who he really is.
Not Draco, who had nodded politely at her and shaken her hand outside the Slytherin common room. Not Draco, who had waited off to the side as she explained the situation to the suspicious Ravenclaw prefect, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other and avoiding direct eye contact. Not Draco, but…
Draco Malfoy.
She had nodded her head furiously in understanding, the idea of hurting Pansy's feelings clearly nowhere near her agenda. She had all but hurried away from him then, as if staying any longer in his presence would result in something bad happening. She had almost looked scared.
Is that the only reason why she had accepted to help him in the first place? Rather than out of the goodness of her heart, leading him outside and expecting nothing in return for the waste of her time, out of… fear?
Of course that is the only reason, though, and he feels stupid for feeling so let down about it – for feeling so disappointed. Because, when has Draco Malfoy ever done anything out of the goodness of his heart and wanted nothing in return? What has he ever done to deserve anyone else's kindness?
How has he been so delusional as to think Harry Potter would ever want someone like him?
Earlier in the stairs, Potter had stared down at him through his glasses with cold eyes. They had bored into his own with an odd mixture of displeasure and disinterest, and had given Draco a growing urge to cower and move out of his way, perhaps apologise for bothering him and wasting his time. He had felt so small beneath his much taller stature, like an annoying, incompetent, disruptive child, and it had all felt so… familiar.
Potter had looked so much like him.
"Stop!"
Suddenly, he's pulled out of the dark corner of his mind and put in control again, and his legs nearly buckle. The voice is loud and draws an embarrassingly high pitched yelp out of him that would have made Pansy cackle had she been here. There is no room for embarrassment however, as he's far too busy taking in his surroundings and figuring out where he is and what is happening.
Just ahead of him, further down the corridor he vaguely recognises, stands Neville Longbottom.
And, just in front of him on the floor, mere inches from the tips of his shoes, is a toad.
"Don't hurt him," Longbottom exclaims, and his voice wavers, as if he genuinely believes Draco is about to willingly step on a toad. These shoes had been polished this morning, and he's not about to get toad fluids all over them. Additionally, as it happens, he isn't that much of a fan of animal cruelty.
Draco can't help the scoff that slips past his lips just then, nor the way his eyes roll. It's a habit at this point, an immediate response to the foolishness of others, Gryffindors mostly. His words, though, might not be as impulsive in nature.
"Keep the frog in check, Longbottom." The Gryffindor huffs, correction floating somewhere in his mind, but Draco knows he won't say it out loud. He's too much of a coward. "You never know what could happen to it out here."
With that, he steps over the toad and walks right past Longbottom. He hears his hurried footsteps, the croaking of his toad, and his hushed words. The fact that that lanky, awkward thing is a Gryffindor, is honestly a mystery. They must let just about anyone into that house.
"You're a right git, you know."
Potter's voice is loud, echoing off the insides of Draco's skull and making his ears ring. Instinctively he reaches to cover his ears, but the voice isn't coming from the outside and it doesn't do anything.
"You insult my friends."
Draco stops in his tracks, whether he wants to or not. There is no one around but him and Longbottom, who he knows isn't looking, yet he feels eyes on him. They stare down at him from nowhere, yet somewhere, and they are filled with disappointment.
"You call them names, laugh at them with your 'friends', and walk all over them because they're not good enough for you."
The feeling in his stomach grows heavier. It prompts him to turn and face Neville Longbottom, who is still standing there with his toad and muttering inaudible words into his warty little face. When Draco's newly polished shoes squeak against the floor, however, he stops and meets his gaze.
The look of uncertainty on his face is briefly replaced with one of fear when Draco steps closer. He doesn't miss the way he tightens his grip on the toad, holding it just a little closer to his chest. He thinks he's going to hurt it, that he would stoop low enough to harm a living animal, and for what, laughs? Torment him and get a reaction out of him, that he can laugh about with his friends later?
But, can he really blame him for thinking that?
"Longbottom, I…"
When the Gryffindor's eyes narrow in suspicion, cradling his toad closer to his chest, Draco's gaze sinks to the floor. What he wants to say – what he should say – is hard enough to put into words as is; the look of distrust isn't helping.
"Sorry," he says, forcing it past his lips and into the air. Once he does, it feels a little easier, as if all he needed was to get that first word out. He's not used to this, hasn't done much of it, apologising. "I'm– I'm sorry about what I said."
Longbottom stands frozen in the middle of the hallway, and not a single sound comes out of him. For a moment only, does Draco dare lift his gaze, and the look of utter shock on his face under any other circumstance would have made him and his friends fall to the floor with laughter. Now, however, his wide eyes and dropped jaw only makes him fidget.
The lack of reply isn't a surprise, but something would have been appreciated. This is where Longbottom says something, accepts his apology and all that, right? He's not though, so, what does he do now? What does he say?
"Goodbye."
With that, Draco spins around so fast he nearly trips over his own feet, and stalks down the hallway.
He returns to the common room a little while later, feeling just as out of it as earlier, and even a little lightheaded. Perhaps there had been times he had forgotten to release the breaths he'd held in an attempt to calm himself down. Clearly, it hadn't worked very well.
"You look awfully pale," Pansy says, looking up from the magazine she's got in her hands. Sitting on the sofa with her or in the armchairs nearby, is Blaise, Theo and the others. They're all busy reading or talking amongst each other when he enters, but they all look up as she speaks. With everyone watching him, he straightens and walks over to sit down in an empty armchair. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
None of them look convinced, and despite the fact that they know he's lying, and that he knows that they know, no questions are asked. At this time of day, the common room is far from empty, and Draco isn't particularly interested in having the entire house knowing all about his affairs. He wordlessly accepts the magazine Pansy hands to him once she's done with it, before she moves onto a new one. It gives him something to concentrate on, and something to do with his hands.
"Does anyone want to stop by Magical Menagerie this weekend?" Pansy asks, after only a minute of silence. Draco looks up from the page he had simply been staring at, couldn't begin to guess what is about, to see her studying something in her own magazine.
"What do you need from there?" Blaise asks before anyone else can.
Pansy shrugs, a smile toying with the corners of her lips. "It's nearly Valentine's, and I haven't gotten anything yet," she explains, and flips to the next page, which she studies just as intently as the previous one. "Do you think she'd like a purple toad?"
Draco stares.
"What would she do with that?" Theo asks, and leans over to look when encouraged, presumably at the advert for this purple toad Magical Menagerie sells. "Do they do anything special?"
"I don't think so," Pansy says with furrowed brows. "I just, you know, feel like I should get her something really special. It's our first Valentine's." She flips to the next page with a sigh, sinking into her seat. "Chocolate seems too… simple."
The silence that falls back over them only lasts a moment, as Blaise seems to recall something, and makes an amused noise. It catches the majority of their attention. Pansy is too caught up in her search for Valentine's gifts to care too much. The fourteenth is under a week away now, so he supposes she's only got this weekend.
Draco looks up from the magazine in his lap, which he had finally begun to actually read and not just mindlessly stare at. It isn't too interesting, however. He can't say he cares all that much about the Weird Sisters' members' love-lives. "What is it, Blaise?"
A grin spreads across his friend's face. "Was just reminded of something, is all."
"Is this about Longbottom's toad, again?" Pansy asks without looking, though it sounds as if she already knows the answer. Everyone else must know as well, because their attention reverts back to what they had been doing before. "It wasn't that funny."
"What–" Draco clears his throat, flips to the next page despite not being done with this one, and tries not to sound too interested. "What about his toad?"
Blaise looks all too happy to tell him, and Draco can't deny that it makes him feel a little weird – perhaps even worried. The Gryffindor had nearly recoiled at the sight of him earlier, looking ready to grab his precious toad and run for it.
"It was hopping around the stairs near the Defence Tower," he says, and throws an arm over the back of the sofa with a chuckle. Clearly it is that funny. "I gave it a little… push in the right direction, if you will. To help, of course."
Draco's eyes leave the magazine in an instant, his grip on it tightening, and he speaks before he thinks. "You did what?" he exclaims, perhaps a little too loud, and even Pansy is staring at him now. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches other people in the room casting not-so-subtle glances at them – at him.
"It was only a levitation charm," Blaise says, eyeing him curiously, "it was completely fine afterwards."
"You did send it down a flight of stairs," Pansy provides, back to flipping through her magazine as if there is nothing wrong with that. "Do you think Hannah would like colour changing robes?"
Feeling more pairs of eyes on him than there are people, Draco stands so fast his head spins. The newly familiar feeling of guilt sits heavy in his stomach, pressing against his insides, and the fact that his first instinct had been to laugh with them – because that's what the rest of them do; laugh – makes him almost… nauseous.
Draco looks at his friends, really looks at them. The indifference in Pansy's demeanour, as if the act of throwing a toad down a flight of stairs is somehow normal and acceptable, merely a distraction from her articles and adverts. The amusement in Blaise's eyes, as if he's not usually the most reasonable one of them all. The grins on the rest of their faces, as if this is funny.
Something new wells up in his chest, then, as he looks at them all, as he sees them for who they really are. He recognises it immediately.
Disgust.
They're all just like him.
"Draco?" Pansy calls after him, and he feels their eyes on him as he makes for the door. He drops the magazine he had been holding onto on a table on his way out. "Where are you going?"
"Out." He stops in the door for a moment only. "Don't follow me."
