Dawn

Chapter 4 : I am who I am

I AM WHO I AM

Feels like you've built a wall around me
You've tried your best to ground me
Let me explain that I don't play by any other rules
I won't be nobody's fool - I won't lose this game
There is no way
I can love you with half of my heart
It would tear me apart

I am who I am
What else could I be
And I'll stand where I stand
I choose to be me
When you look in my eyes
You get what you see
Understand if you can
That I am who I am who I am

Think twice before you try to read me
Before you try to lead me into your trap
You've got no right to play with my emotion
'Cause you should know that I'm much deeper than that
There is no way
I can love you with half of my heart
It would tear me apart

There is no way
I can love you with half of my heart
It would tear me apart

(Lara Fabian)

~*~

Monday morning, Potions class with Gryffindors. Amazingly enough, that wasn't a part of Dante's Hell, probably 'cause he was a Muggle, mused Draco idly as he added two and a half black beetle eyes in his cauldron. Next to him, a round-faced boy was slowly slicing ginger, often stopping to nibble some. Draco gazed at his only friend for a few seconds, a genuine smile dancing on his lips. There was no denying that Gregory Goyle wasn't exactly the nicest person to be around, nor was he a genius. He wasn't, however, the cruel simpleton people assumed him to be. His strong common sense, along with his incredible, unwavering loyalty, had earned him a special place in Draco's heart. Goyle had always stood by him, even when others had long left his side, even when Crabbe did. He knew Draco better than anybody else, yet he never betrayed anything the silver-haired boy confessed to him. And Merlin knows that he easily could have, and therefore deserved a golden spot in Voldemort's inner circle. Suddenly, a commotion toward the front interrupted his tumultuous ponderings.

"LONGBOTTOM!" roared the Potions Master, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. As much as I respect him, I must admit he really does look like an overgrown bat when he's furious, thought Draco fondly.

Neville looked fixedly at the ground, his face turning redder and redder with each passing second, in dismay as well as in humiliation. It awakened disturbing memoirs of not-so-great lectures' Draco had been exposed to, but he forced them back with a grin. Even if the Nearly-Squib's current situation and Draco's past experiences were similar in some ways, he was positive he had never been that red.

Weasley's expression was utterly comical, his hair's color as usual matching his face's. Redheads. Wonder Boy, his right hand griping firmly his friend's shoulder, was trying to soothe him. The Granger girl seemed quite unruffled, bent over her old brass cauldron. She looked up, catching his eyes on her. Hermione held his cold gaze for a few moments, then looked down, a slight flush on her pale cheeks.

With a flick of his black wand, Professor Snape efficiently cleaned Neville's mess, then returned to his large mahogany desk. His trademark sneer and I-Am-Hating-Potter-And-Damn-Proud-Of-It look firmly in place, he resumed his lesson as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Which was technically the case, given that the Longbottom brat managed to blow up an average of six cauldrons per week. A real freak, that boy. Draco shook his head in annoyance as he stirred his green potion. The Confusing Concoction would turn into a dazzling multicolored solution as soon as he added five ginger's slices. He stretched his left hand to lower the fire when...

Pain. For a few horrific minutes, hot-white daggers flowed in his blood. His sight faltered, colors faded, sounds became muffled until he perceived nothing but a buzzing black and white blur.

"Draco!" Goyle was shaking his shoulder without gentleness, in the typical Slytherin way. Slowly the torture subsided, and he could breathe again. He was awfully cold. He realized he was covered with sweat, and trembling furiously. Becoming sort of a habit, is it? Then he noticed the fiery color of his potion. I let it boil too long... Oh, joy.

Then all hell broke loose, and the pewter cauldron exploded with a thunderous noise, splashing a sticky, yet -Thank Merlin- not smelly, orange liquid on the whole class. Which looked rather dumfounded. They were used to Neville's daily explosions, but two in row was beginning to get bothersome. All the students turned to stare at him curiously. Draco glared back with a cold and venomous grin, even if being colored in orange was somehow canceling the threatening posture.

Wow. I proved today that the famous Malfoy etiquette does not apply to cauldron blowing.

At least, he wasn't shaking anymore. Draco slowly lifted his gray eyes to meet his Professor's dark ones. I wonder if he's mad at me.

"Explain yourself. Quick," said Snape in a dangerously low tone. My "Let's state the obvious" skill seems to have somewhat increased.

Draco hastily muttered something about not paying enough attention and being more cautious next time. If the Potions Master wasn't fooled, he did not show it, his face stony as ever.

"Class dismissed."

~*~

Leaning against his desk, Severus Snape carelessly rubbed his temples. The boy has been giving me more than a few headaches recently. He crossed his arms over his chest, draping his heavy black cloak closer around him. Icy draughts plagued the whole dungeon during winter. As if permanent humidity wasn't enough, mused the Potions Master with an amused smile.

"This can't go on, Albus," he said very softly, not really talking to someone in particular.

"I must quite agree, my dear boy," answered a rather cheery voice behind him.

"Headmaster." It was more a statement than a question.

"Now, kindly tell me what has been plaguing your mind for days." Upon seeing the younger man's smirk, he promptly corrected, "More than usual."

"Draco Malfoy." Snape looked up at his mentor, skillfully scanning his reaction. The latter shoulders' hunched slightly, and his blue eyes lost their usual twinkle. He suddenly seemed to be what he was in truth: a very old and wise wizard, struggling to defend his school and his world. And also a tired man, like Severus, like they all were, during these dark times of war, death and pain.

"Lucius' punishments have been taking their toll on his health... He's not going to last much longer," continued Snape. "Why doesn't he take his father to a wizard court? Why doesn't he stop it all? You know he could."

"Children begin by loving their parents, as they grow older they judge them. And sometimes, Severus, they forgive them."

"I didn't quite fancy Draco as the forgiving type."

"Who said he was?" replied Dumbledore with a benign smile.

"You're being cryptic, as always. Couldn't you be... a little more direct from time to time?"

"And here I thought Slytherin was the slyest House."

"Just because we Slytherins have subtlety other Houses lack doesn't mean we can't appreciate honesty."

Dumbledore gazed at him paternally, noticing for the first time how exhausted the younger man looked. Severus' fists were tightly clenched, his knuckles almost white, his arms defensively folded on his thin chest. His sallow face was tense and his gaze slightly unfocused.

"How long has it been since you last had a decent meal, Severus?" the elderly wizard asked gently.

"Nonsense," said Snape briskly. "Poppy crammed me with pancakes," he added a second later. The slight smirk dancing on his lips softened his sharp features a little. For a heartbeat, his bearing uncannily seemed like Draco's, full of the untamable pride that was true nobility's mark. Even if Snape and Malfoy were venerable and pureblooded families, their nobility was still relatively recent. However, Severus' and Draco's mothers were both Llewelyn, one of the oldest magical families in Wales, whose name, irony of ironies, meant like a lion in ancient Celtic. Whereas Malfoys were pure Slytherins, House Llewelyn had been Ravenclaw to the core since Hogwarts' foundation.

"My health isn't the one you should worry about, though. Draco is suffering Cruciatus' aftermath," said the Potions Master bluntly.

The Headmaster closed his eyes, and sighed heavily.

"Do you know if he went to see Madam. Pomfrey? No, of course not." His own bitterness surprised him.

"Exactly. And he's not likely to," Snape stated dryly.

"So? What do you think we should do? You are his Head of House, after all."

"Shall I remind you that you are the Headmaster? Nevermind. In fact, it doesn't matter anymore. I shouldn't have expected concern about a Slytherin." Clenching his teeth, Severus slowly turned his gaze away, unable to hide sheer disappointment in his voice.

"How dare you insinuate that...that I am not taking care of all of my students?" Dumbledore's eyes, all twinkling gone, wearily darted to his Potions Professor. "Severus..." he whispered, putting a hand on Snape's shoulder. The younger man tensed, then sighed in defeat.

"My apologies, Headmaster. That was highly uncalled-for."

"Don't, my dear child. There are more important matters, as you said yourself. Kindly resume your explanations," said Dumbledore, beaming again.

"Draco is a mystery. To my lasting shame, I'm utterly unable tell whose side he's on. As a matter of fact, very few could. He's Slytherin, he's clever and well-trained, and his words and actions are always precisely selected. He easily dodges compromising questions and situations, and avoid being seen in public with the soon-to-be Death Eaters as well as with those who are loyal to us. He's more sliding than a eel," concluded Snape.

"He's learned from a master, my boy. Do have any reason to hope that he might..."

"...have turned away from Voldemort's side for good? Actually, I do. For one, I'm convinced he knows of my role as a spy. Given that I'm still alive, I can safely assume that he did not tell his father, which could be auspicious. Then again, maybe not."

"And I am the mystifying one?" cut in Dumbledore, his blue eyes flickering with amusement.

Snape struggled to suppress a smirk, then pursued impassively.

"Lucius' anger towards his heir is another positive sign." The older wizard noticed Severus' unconscious non-use of the word "son". He smiled.

"Then there is his miraculous rescue of Miss Granger, two days ago. Very inconsiderate indeed."

"You are not suggesting that he should have..."

"No, of course not. I value students' lives as much as you do, Headmaster, even if they aren't in my House. But you must admit it was incredibly unthinking. Lucius sat by my side during the match, and he was literally fuming. I have had a little insight of what he did to Draco. The boy may be gifted at the use of Concealing Charms, but I'm even better at spotting them. He was covered in bruises, Headmaster. Yellows, blues, purples, blacks... A real rainbow." Severus winced. He loved Draco as dearly as a son, and considered him his very flesh and blood. Since Narcissa of Llewelyn, wed Malfoy, was his cousin, it was in a way the case.

"All we can do at present is what parents do all their lives."

"And that is?" asked Snape, fearing the answer.

"Wait, my child. Wait and always wait," Dumbledore said grimly .

~*~

When Draco entered the nearly empty Great Hall that day, breakfast was almost finished. His black broom propped on his shoulders, he made his way to the far end of the Slytherin table. Fearing to soften, he had quickly resumed his morning practice. His green and silver quidditch robes soaked with sweat, he longed for nothing more than a hot shower to relax his sore muscles. Hunger, however, had urged him to go snatching some food.

A dark-haired boy was stuffing himself with pancakes and eggs, stopping from time to time to swallow a glassful of pumpkin juice. Draco casually sat next to him.

"Mate, you're positively disgusting."

"Good morning to ya too, Draco," replied Goyle, smiling. "How are ye?"

"Cold, wet and probably smelly," smirked the Slytherin Seeker, as he helped himself to Goyle's food. "And definitely starving."

"Rael brought mail for ye," stated Goyle, nodding at Draco's hawk, who was nibbling at some crumbs, a small roll of parchment tied with a green ribbon to its leg. "Didn't want me to take it, though. A stubborn bird, it is."

"You couldn't be more right. That's why I bought him in the first place," answered Draco lazily, motioning Rael to perch on his left arm. The bird obeyed with a squeak, then rubbed its little brown head on his master's brow as he detached the letter.

Draco,

Cai will be waiting for you at King Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three Quarter, on December the 18th at 3 o'clock PM sharp.

Don't be late.

Father

The missive promptly dissolved itself.

"Bad news, eh?" asked tentatively Goyle.

Draco's lips thinned, cold anger coursing in his veins. "Quite. Not for me, however."

"Yer father?"

"Exactly," he said with spirit. Draco turned to his hawk and began to stroke its chocolate colored feathers, while the bird half closed its eyes in delight. Then he nodded curtly, and Rael flew away.

"So, Draco, did ya heard about the new Thunderbolt?"

The two Slytherins soon launched themselves into a heated talk about the brand new broom's virtues. Draco was so engrossed in the debate he did not hear someone behind him calling his name several times. He started at the slight tap on his right shoulder.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Goyle, may I have your attention for a minute? If that's not asking too much, that is," said Professor McGonagall tartly. "I'm currently checking students that are staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas Holiday. I assume you two are going home as usual?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," replied Goyle blandly.

"I'm staying." The Transfiguration Professor raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"I said I was staying. Does that bother you in any way?" snapped Draco.

"No, of course not," she replied slowly, her gaze lingering inquisitively on the silver-haired Slytherin. He was smiling in his insolent, infuriating way, but his eyes lacked their typical malicious glint. He was only staring at her with bleak determination.

"It's set up, then." Draco got up quickly, picked up his black broom and hurriedly left the Great Hall without a backward glance. Goyle, imperturbable, returned calmly to his meal, but McGonagall's gaze followed the Slytherin Seeker until he disappeared behind the large oak doors, incredulously wondering how a child could become adult without anybody noticing it.