Inspiration

Liz

Draco Malfoy awoke late on a Tuesday morning of his summer holiday. He yawned, stretched lazily, rolled over onto his back and sat up slowly. He surveyed his room, still dim, protected from the abrasive rays of the morning sun by thick, velvet curtains of a deep green. He got up, his feet cold on the stone floor, and opened his draperies ever so slightly. Bright sunlight filtered into his room, illuminating the dark stone walls, covered with Quidditch posters, serpent decorations, and his family crest in several places. The enormous four-poster bed with heavy black hangings was in disarray from his habit of tossing and turning throughout the night, and his cloak was wadded in one corner of his room where he had left it the previous day. He sneered at the state of his room. It was high time his parents found proper servants for this house. Ever since the house elf left, the Malfoy house had, in Draco's opinion, been almost uninhabitable. The servants his parents hired were either too frightened to be efficient or too incompetent to do their jobs. A small, derisive laugh escaped Draco's lips at these thoughts. He supposed there must be some minor drawbacks to being heir to one of the most powerful wizards in the world, with a smug smile creeping across his face. Draco could hardly wait until Lord Voldemort made his full return, consequently making the Malfoy's the feared and respected family they had all wished to be for so long. "Still," thought Draco with disdain "seems with all this potential power and influence we could find decent help for our home." He resolved to speak with his mother about the issue this morning over breakfast. He pulled on his emerald dressing gown with the Slytherin crest on the pocket, slipped on his deep green slippers, and walked downstairs to the dining room.

When he arrived there, however, he found a hot breakfast sitting out for him on the dining table, and his mother nowhere to be found. Instead, floating at eye level above his plate was a tiny, glistening orb. It was spinning around quickly and shimmering as it caught the light with it's diamond-like exterior. Draco, quite used to his mother's habit of leaving messages for him, held out his hand and clasped the tiny ball gently. He felt the not altogether unpleasant sensation of it bursting into minute flecks of glittering dust and his mothers rather lovely voice filling the room.

"Draco, dear, mummy here." she crooned "Just wanted to let you know I made your favorite for breakfast but I have to be off. Your father and I have important business today in lower Scotland and we mustn't be late. I do have some rather good news for you, however. I know how displeased you've been with the dismal quality of the help we've had the past few years," Draco sniffed, as if to exentuate the gravity of her comment; "but we've found someone we think is quite suiting. She should be starting early today. Let me know what you think of her. She's very quite, doesn't give any back talk and does a wonderful job, with laundry at least. Her name is...is...oh bother, I've forgotten it. Oh well, its not really an issue anyway. Just call to her and she should answer. Have a good day, dear, and we shall be back later this evening. Kisses a plenty darling."

Draco grinned at his mother's rather absurd habit of leaving such long and detailed messages. The breakfast she had prepared was quite good, however; porridge with treacle sauce, sausages and eggs. He enjoyed it thoroughly, and after finishing, he got up to go and have a look at this new servant. His feelings were less than charitable. He hadn't been even close to satisfied with any of the worthless help that had passed through his house these past years, ad the fact that she hadn't already retrieved his cloak and taken it for cleaning when he had awoken did not improve his opinion of this woman. No doubt she would be yet another brainless, spineless cow who had no business calling herself help at all.

As Draco rounded a corner, heading towards the sitting room, he heard a strange sound...it was singing. A bright, ringing voice drifted towards him, presumably from the sitting room. It was loud and melodious, but far from being pleased, Draco felt enraged. How dare she be so loud when he was possibly still sleeping. Of course, he wasn't, but he very well could've been on a day like today. And to have the gall to be so bold in this house with which she was not familiar and in which she was hoping to be employed. It was simply rude and presumptuous, and he intended to put a stop to it immediately.

Draco stalked into the room to find the girl standing on a ladder, reaching up high to dust the tops of the books on his fathers bookshelf. Her wand seemed to be blowing soft puffs of brightly colored air onto the books, knocking the dust off. Worse still, she was definitely singing at the top of her voice. Draco watched her angrily, waited for a pause in her song, and spoke to her harshly.

"Excuse me!" he said coldly, in his drawling voice "I wonder exactly what you think you're doing?"

The woman stopped, turned on her ladder to face him, saw who he was and turned her entire body towards him, the look on her face completely unreadable. In the moment she stood there and didn't speak, Draco registered a few things. She was not a woman, per say, but rather a girl; young and slender, possibly younger than he. She had short blonde hair, shorter than he'd seen on any girl. It was hardly longer than his own, and stuck up in odd angles, as though she never tried to tame it. Also, it was platinum blonde, and very shiny. Her skin was pale as milk, with a deep rosy tinge in her cheeks, and she had large, dark brown eyes, behind lashes so thick and dark that they stood out peculiarly from her light hair. She was the most unusual looking girl he'd ever seen, and suddenly her eyebrow was cocked at him, and she curtseyed.

"I'm singing, sir." she responded, as though she thought him slightly dim.

Draco waited, but she did not seem anxious to offer anymore of an explanation, rather she was standing there, very straight and upright, looking at him with something very near concern, and something else...slight defiance? Draco swelled as he saw this last flash of emotion in her, and burst out.

"I can SEE you're singing wench, but what right do you have to be so loud in a house which you have only just today been employed. You are unfamiliar with this household and its habits, not to mention such noise so early is very rude. You very well could've woken me up!" he finished, as though he was deeply resentful of having to explain something so elementary to her. She surveyed him for another long moment before responding.

"Did I wake you, sir?" she asked, coolly.

"Well, no. But you very well could've!" he sputtered, getting even angrier at her refusal to cower and be slightly frightened.

"Well then, sir," she said, with blatant disdain "I'll beg your pardon for singing, as it might've woken you. It won't occur again." she finished in a disinterested tone. She then turned her back to him and continued with her cleaning.

Draco had never been so enraged. She had not only dared to sing in his home, but she had been disdainful and dismissive towards him! No one dismissed him, especially not some hired servant who was a bit too big for her knickers!

"You could do well to be a bit more polite to one of the masters of this house!" Draco spat, his voice rising now. "One word from me could get you and your snotty little attitude thrown back out into the gutter where you belong."

She whirled around to face him again, this time with her eyes flashing dangerously. The look of intense anger was one that even Draco, with a father like his, had never seen. It made him shrink inwardly, though he remained where he was physically.

"And YOU, Mr. Malfoy, would do well to shut your spoiled trap and let me get on with my job! Unless you're planning on hexing me right here and now, I have no time to listen to your useless whining that I've not shown you enough respect. Forgive me, but no real man I've ever met needs to have his ego boosted constantly by people he considers beneath him, so I suppose I'm not yet used to it! Go and cry to your mummy and daddy all you want, but at least if they return me to where I belong," she shocked Draco with the venom in her voice as she said this phrase "I'll be around people who are secure enough in themselves that they don't feel the need to pick ludicrous and unnecessary fights they know they can't lose simply to make them feel better about themselves!"

She stood there, leering at him, her chest heaving as she finished, her eyes holding nothing but defiant anger. Draco looked at her, stunned into silence. He stared at her for a full thirty seconds before realizing he had better respond in some way.

"So be it." he said. "Make sure to retrieve my cloak from my room, it is in dire need of cleaning, and make the bed while you're at it. I don't enjoy climbing into wrinkled sheets at night."

She nodded, slowly and deliberately. She then whirled around once again and continued her dusting. Draco did not walk away, however. He stood there, watching her for a few moments. By all rights, he should be furious, enraged, he should hex her right here where she stood. But he was more...what was the word...intrigued. Not only by her willingness to be so rude and confrontational to someone she could not, admittedly, win against, but also by the fact that the things she had said had hit him somewhere...somewhere beneath his skin. He felt rather horrible, actually. But it was clear she was just an uneducated peasant who mattered not to him in the slightest. He turned and left the room, his head still spinning, unable to even make room in his person for any anger. He stopped suddenly, so suddenly the bottoms of his slippers squeaked slightly on the smooth tile floor. He turned, and said, in a casual mannter, "What is your name, girl?"

She looked over her shoulder at him again. Her face was still a mask of anger, but she saw not trace of anger in his, no stress or tension in his posture, and no hint of nervousness in his voice. It was a question he expected to have answered. She considered briefly whether to tell him to sod off, then, without really knowing why she chose to be obedient, she replied "Elspeth. Elspeth Marquis"

"Ah." Draco said calmly. "My name is Draco."

"Yes I know." she said, turning her back to him again. This dismissive attitude again. It nettled him, and he began to speak, but stopped for a moment and realized it would be pointless. She had shut him off and was no longer even aware he was there. Unsure of why this irritated him more than anything she had said so far, Draco turned and walked back to his room, intent on getting dressed and going out for a long, hard fly on his Nimbus 2001. He suddenly felt he needed to expel a lot of excess energy.

The next few days passed without any incidents to speak of. Draco saw Elspeth often, but never deigned to speak to her. She simply ignored his very existence. If she walked through a room he was in, she did not look at him or pause to speak. She held her head high (a bit too high for Draco's taste, considering who she was) and trudged dutifully through the room. However, Draco found himself becoming slightly agitated every time she entered a room and didn't acknowledge him. He thought at first it angered him because of the lack of respect and appreciation it showed, but remembering their last confrontation, he decided he did not need her respect at all. It mattered little to him. Without that justification, however, he had no way to figure out why she affected him when she refused to spare him a glance or a word.

Inexplicably, when his mother had asked his opinion on Elspeth as a servant, he had not reported her insubordinance or her defiance. He had simply shrugged and continued with his meal. His mother took this as assent, as he had always had something nasty to say about the other servants, and hired Elspeth full time. She lived up in one of the bedrooms on the very top floor. Draco was unsure of which, and didn't care, he reminded himself. He never visited the top floor, it was too much of a walk for no reward. He spent his days flying in their grove or reading some fascinating dark arts books, or perhaps imagining what life would be life when his father was one of the most powerful wizards in Britain

One dreary, rainy day, however, Draco was very bored. He was disinterested in all of his usual activities, and felt rather in the mood for some sort of action or excitement in his life. As if on cue, Elspeth came into his room to bring his lunch to him from the kitchens. He looked at her, a wicked grin on his face. A good fight, yes that was what he needed.

"Girl!" he called as she left the room. She stopped and turn to face him over her shoulder, her face expressionless.

"Tell me girl, are you frightened of my family?" he finished, the sardonic smile still on his face. Draco leaned back onto one elbow on his bed, bent one leg onto the bed, and looked up at her. Elspeth looked at him for a moment, taking in his posture (which, had it not been on such a horrid person, would be fairly sexy) then turned to face him fully and said "No sir, I do not fear your family. I pity them, and you."

Draco felt his blood rise to his face. Pity him? She pitied him and his family? Stupid girl, what was she thinking. His family should be revered, cowered before, exalted.

"Who are you to say something so idiotic?" he snapped. "How on earth could a poor, penniless little peasant witch pity a family like ours?" He finished his sentence with a patronizing tone.

"Because you and all of your relatives are rooted in evil and treachery. You have no true friends, you can trust no one, and everything you do is on an agenda to achieve something more than what you have. You and your kind will never be happy because you will always want more out of life, so you can't be content with anything. And the emptiness which you try to fill with power and possessions can only be filled with things you will never understand, such as love, friendship, loyalty and self-worth." she said these things calmly, without pause or any quiver in her voice. She sounded as though she had rehearsed the speech many times over.

Draco looked at her, surveying her posture, her face. Both were relaxed and unassuming. The worst of it was that she seemed sincere in her pity. He felt fury rise up in his chest as if it were a balloon being inflated. He had not expected to find himself in the position of nearly bursting with anger when he began this argument-he had simply wanted to have a bit of fun.

"Well, I rest easily knowing that when the Dark Lord returns, you and people like you who value love and honor and all the other useless, intangible things in the world will wish you were a bit more like me as you are slaughtered by the hundreds because of your stupidity." he finished, choking on the syllables because he was choked with indignation and rage.

Instead of screaming back, flinching or even looking at him with pity, she simply looked at him inquisitively. After a long time, she spoke evenly, "Truth be told, I don't see how you can rest at all." She finished quietly, then turned before he could reply and walked purposefully down the hallway, her head still held high.

Part of him wanted to race after her, grab hold of her, spin her around and....what? Shout at her? Make her take back ever pompous, presumptuous word she had said to him? Curse her dead? No. None of that was what he wanted, though at present they all seemed to have their individual appeals. What he wanted, more than any of those things, was just to understand what she was. She wasn't anything he'd ever known before. She said things that everyone else was afraid to say, and she placed no store in riches or power, or she wouldn't be working so hard to stay on his bad side. That was another thing that irked him horribly. She didn't even seem to try to infuriate him, she just did by the purity and wholesomeness that she SAID she believed in-but Draco didn't buy into that. No one had such strong convictions once faced with the things they desired most in the world. His fathers stories and his own experience with Voldemort had taught him that. Loyalty was a myth, held by those who weren't able to attain what they wanted out of life.

"No." he told himself, so harshly that he was surprised at his own inner voice. "She's not worth the effort. She doesn't mean anything. Shes a useless, ignorant little brat who only says those things because she's too poor and powerless to do anything else but talk." he repeated to himself, over and over. He laid back on his bed, then, feeling to aggravated to lay still, he got up and paced his room. He looked out the window for awhile, then flopped back down on the bed, still feeling restless and grumpy.

"I'm so damned tired of all his green." he muttered to himself. Indeed, there were no colors in his room except for green and silver. He had henceforth been proud of his crest and his Slytherin decorations and his dark, strong colors, but the more he looked on them lately, the less he liked them. In fact, the more he looked at a lot of things in his life, the less he liked them recently. It was that damned witch, and all her high- minded ideas. All her fighting and stupid beliefs that she held to and kept describing to him. It was getting to him. He shook himself angrily. "This is idiotic. She is doing nothing but annoying me. She keeps on with these acenine convictions that she can't possibly believe." But, even as he said it, he knew he didn't truly think that. In fact, one of the things that had him so infuriated and bewitched by her was the passion with which she uttered ever syllable she spoke. Surely no one human had that much life in her. It was ludicrous. I mean, if she had so much fire in her, each day of her life would be exhausting just to get through. No, it had to be a show, a persona. She pretended to be so strong and fantastic for a reason. "Well, no one can pretend to be someone else as well as I can." Draco thought, with a shadow of a grin on his face. "I'll bring her out of that pretentious little bubble she lives in." he thought maliciously. "It will only take the right subject. Yes, that's it. The right spark to cause her to explode, and show me who she really is." Draco's smile widened as he schemed on how to figure out who she truly was, and in the midst of doing so, a question came to him, and it jolted him physically. Why do you care so much? Well, I'm bored. I wish to find some amusement from her, and she pisses me off, honestly. So I will figure out what shes really like, and then prove to her she isn't as good and fabulous as she'd have everyone believe" he answered himself matter-of-factly. Sure said the small voice in his head. Keep telling yourself that. Draco got up, angry that he was now not only arguing with himself, but losing miserably, and stalked out of his room, downstairs, and out onto the grounds for a good long swearing session to relieve some stress.

A few weeks later, Draco found himself sitting at the dinner table with his father and mother, only half listening to their conversation about the ridiculous efforts of Arthur Weasley and his annoying Muggle Protection Act.

"I'm extremely glad that Fudge is too prideful of his fine wizard heritage to set much store in that worm's capricious proposals. Honestly, one would think that, with all those bloody children, he'd be a bit more anxious to advance himself in whatever way possible before they all starve."

"Yes. That would be a tragedy, indeed." Draco interjected, sullenly. His mother's tinkling laugher filled the hall, making Draco smile. He loved his mothers ludicrously pixie-ish laugh.

"Growing up to be a right little smart-alec, aren't we darling?" she asked fondly.

Draco shrugged, giving his mother a half-hearted smile. He was feeling disturbed yet again tonight. It had been so for the past week, perhaps longer. However, it was simply restlessness from being in the house too much. Nothing more. Nothing.

Elspeth entered the dining room, carrying a tray of treacle tarts, still piping hot with faint wafts of steam coming off the tops. The aroma was heavenly.

"Mmm. This does smell lovely." Narcissa commented, taking the treacle tart that was offered her. Draco's father took the dessert without sparing Elspeth a glance, still droning on about the troubles at his work.

Draco looked up into Elspeth's face as she came to stand beside him, holding the tray before him so he could select a tart for himself. She kept her eyes straight ahead of her, making sure she did not meet his eyes. Strange, for someone so defiant in nature he thought, not to be able to look him in his eyes. Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt angry towards this girl, standing beside him, seeming so complacent, yet knowing how she loathed him, knowing out hell bent she was to stand against him and prove to him she was his equal.

"Fitting dessert for you to fix, isn't it? Tarts from a tart?" he sneered, narrowing his eyes at her. Defiant as she may be, she wouldn't dare bite back in front of his father. This was the last thing Draco thought before a load of hot, sticky tarts was dumped onto his lap.

"You watch your mouth, you spoiled little bastard!" she shrieked.

His father stood, drawing his want and pointing it at Elspeth.

"I do no know what that was about, nor do I care. You will apologize to my son and then you will clean up this mess and it will be deducted from today's wages."

Draco sat, shocked. She had called him a bastard, and dumped hot tarts on him. She had screamed at him in front of his father, and now he could see by the flash in her eyes that she was beyond reason and would not back down, even from Lucius Malfoy. Suddenly, he felt shameful (an emotion he was totally unfamiliar with) She was about to be cursed and fired because of him.

What do you care? She is a tart. You know that's not true." said a voice simply, as though it were stating that the sky was blue.

Then, as if his body and voice had a mind of its own, totally removed from his conciousness, he found himself standing between his father and Elspeth and speaking.

"It was my fault father. I insulted her, accused her of purposefully damaging my cloak. She did not handle my cloak today, so it obviously cannot be her fault. The mistake is mine. She should not be punished." He said these words with such firmness that his father regarded him with mild surprise, then looked at Elspeth from around Draco's shoulder.

"One more outburst like that, wench, and garnished wages shall be the very least of your worries." he said harshly, before sitting back down to continue his dessert.

Elspeth walked swiftly out of the dining hall, and made for the garden. Without a thought as to why he was doing it, he followed her. In truth, he wanted to see the shock registered on her presumptuous face, that he had stood up for her when it had not been in his interest in any way to do so. He had lied for her, and she had not contradicted him, for fear of his father's wrath. He wanted to see the look on her face when she realized she would have to eat the arrogant words she had so often spoken to him and concede that she was no more righteous than him

When he had almost caught up to her down one of the corridors leading to the garden gate, she whirled around to face him, and her face was not shocked nor humble, but hard set and angry.

"Do you think you proved something with that display back there? Do you? Do you think you proved a goddamned thing by provoking me and then stopping your vile father from hexing me?"

Slightly taken aback, but still managing a smirk, he answered "I do. You do fear my father, and my family. Where does your pity lie now?" he finished coldly, his voice like ice.

"It lies exactly where it always has. I'll admit it, YES, I am frightened of being hi with the Cruciatus Curse, and feeling my bones ablaze. Yes, I'm scared of having your father murder me where I stand because he can with no fear of repercussions. That does not mean that I fear your family name because they have done deeds that spawn respect or fear, only because I do not particularly enjoy pain. But, had it come down to it, I would have told your father to go SOD HIMSELF, and you knew I would ,which is exactly why you stood up when you did! You may be one of the most sniveling, spineless, cowardly creatures I have ever come across, but even you didn't want an innocent person's soul on your conscience because you felt like asserting your asshole tendencies. It would have been just as much murder as if you'd picked up a gun and shot me yourself!" she finished, now practically spitting she was so infuriated.

Draco registered something. "A what?" he asked, comprehension dawning. Suddenly, he saw her face pale. "Nothing." she said, and swiftly turned away, walking towards the garden again. A gun? Where had he heard that term used before. It had been something he had read at some point....he could almost see it. Sirius Black-something to do with him. It had been told to the Muggles that Black was carrying a gun, a kind of metal wand that MUGGLES use to kill each other.

"She's Muggle born. Shes a Mud-" and he stopped. No. She was many irritating and horribly annoying things, but she wasn't a Mudblood.

Draco knew he should feel fabulous. He had ammunition that could do her endless amounts of harm in his household. He had a weapon against her, and she was frightened, he had seen it in her eyes. He should march straight to his father and explain to him what he had figured out. He should do just that, and feel triumphant and smug about his conquest.

Yet, without knowing why he couldn't resist, he turned the opposite direction as his fathers study and walked-no, ran-towards the gate of the gardens.

As Draco walked out into the back garden, he found Elspeth, sitting on her knees, wrestling with a very unruly Python Blossum. It snaked around and spouted huge puffs of sticky, bright purple pollen into the air. Draco watched with a huge feeling of satisfaction, watching her struggle so horribly, and something else-there was simply no other word for it- interest, as he watched her eyes pressed almost shut, her hands, bleeding from the Python thorns, the determination etched in her jaw as she fought with the huge weed that was as big as she was. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the Python Blossum bucked its huge flower and knocked her hard in her chin. She flew backwards from the force of the impact, and immediately curled into the fetal position, clutching her head and moaning in agony.

Draco felt a swell of something he had never felt before; fierce rage powered by an emotion-was it protectiveness? He didn't stop to consider it, but whipped out his wand and muttered angry words under his breath. In a large puff of smoke and a loud blast, all that was left of the huge plant was a black scorch mark on the earth of the otherwise beautiful garden.

Elspeth sat up straight in shock and fear. As her hands dropped from her chin, Draco noticed her lip was split wide and bleeding profusely. He did not go to her to help her-he felt no motivation. But he had felt motivation to destroy that plant as quickly as possible. He didn't understand his own impulses. He was baffled by what he'd just done. He was even more baffled by the look on her face. He had expected gratitude, confusing perhaps, even shock, but not fury flashing through her eyes.

"You stood there and ENJOYED watched me make a fool of myself with that plant." she shrieked at him. "Will you stop at nothing with pathetic attempts to appease what little SHRED of conscience you have left within that deluded existence you lead? Do you feel the need to find a way to feel superior to everyone else in your life simply to prove to yourself that you're not a horrid, evil excuse for a human being? Or have you delved so deeply into the illusion that you're doing nothing wrong that you actually believe you have nothing to apologize for, no reason to try and forgive yourself for your wretched lifestyle??" she screamed, looking quite mad, her hair flying about her face, strength and defiance radiating outward from her like glowing light.

Draco heard what she said, and something stung inside him. He felt it deep into his heart, and it broke something very hard. He looked at her, feeling unbelievable sadness envelope him. He stared at her red cheeks, her dark eyes glowing furiously from behind those lashes, her white-blonde hair stuck in strange directions with purple pollen. It was a more beautiful sight than any of the lovely women he'd seen on his travels through the world, all the sophisticated debutants he had met through his father and mother's connections; this girl with earth all over herself, blood running from her lip and hands, and her hair sticking up purple, beat all those other people into the ground in an instant. Then he stopped, and looked at her for a moment, focusing on her purple hair. He felt something else snap inside him, and the look on her face, mingled with the insane state of her clothes and hair caused a snort to escape him. Then his face split into a huge grin, and before he could stop himself he laughed out loud. He laughed and laughed, feeling the oxygen surge into his lungs and out again before he could get his mouth around them. He hacked and coughed as the laughter forced its way out of him, hurting his stomach and making him wonder drunkenly if he'd die of asphyxiation before he could calm down enough to take another breath. He felt tears in his eyes, and he lost his balance, toppling onto the ground in transports of elation and crazy, unstoppable cackling.

In the back of his mind, he heard another addition to the tumult around him; wild insane laughter. It caused him to catch his breath slightly, and open his tear-drenched eyes. Elspeth was laughing, quite as insanely as he, rolling on the ground, with a smile on her face that he had never seen, nor ever could have imagined. Her split lip was still vivid with blood, but her smile made her face a completey different picture. It was lovely and demure, though it was presently contorted with an incredibly gleeful expression, and Draco again felt the sadness start to settle in his stomach, remembering why it had been there in the first place. She truly believed he was a good person inside; she believed he had a conscience somewhere deep down to appease, she believed he had persuaded himself to believe what he was doing wasn't wrong, when, in reality, none of those things were true. No silent voice tugged at him to be a better person, no conscience nagged him to repent for past horrors and pain he'd caused, and no illusions threatened to be shattered by him or anyone else, because he knew what he was doing was wretched, and he simply didn't have it in him to care; he didn't have that sort of conviction in his soul.

She stopped laughing slowly, and sat up, fully aware of his gaze on her, unwavering and searching. She sat up to face him, his perfect face, so beautiful surrounded by its curtain of perfect blonde hair; such a perfect specimen of beauty and tortured spirit and the internalized battle of good against evil. The bitterness and malice was just the manifestation of the battle that took place within him every day, she could see it in his eyes, in his body language, and it scared her horribly that the battle seemed long over, with a very obvious conclusion. Still, she reflected, sitting there staring back at him covered in earth from his rolling, being shocked at hearing him laugh so hard, knowing it was at her and not caring suddenly, she saw glimpses that maybe it wasn't totally over, maybe some part of his goodness remained, deep beneath, trying to survive. She KNEW it did, it had to. She refused to believe anyone who could laugh like that was a lost cause.

"What are you like?"

Elspeth jerked suddenly, and looked at him, astonished. He had asked the question with true interest, he was even leaning towards her, a look of complacent passivity in his face. She felt suddenly vulnerable, not sure what to make of him. It wasn't very often she wasn't sure what to make of someone, and she had been sure for months that she had the bead on him, but as she stared at him, taking in the look of appreciation on his face, she realized she'd never been asked such an amazing question before in her life. She'd never been asked by someone who looked so admiringly at her to simply explain "what she was like."

"I'm Muggle-born." she said simply, knowing his reaction. She wasn't about to bare her soul to him when she knew that as soon as he found out she was a MUDBLOOD (she cringed at the word, even though she had heard it so many times) that he would ridicule her and call her names and the look in his eyes that made her feel so special would disappear, leaving her with nothing but disappointment and pain.

He looked at her, and she could see the painful battle taking place in his face. He was somewhere between a scowl and a look of impatience.

"Not a very detailed explanation." he said after a long moment. Elspeth felt her heart thump hard. He had thought about it, she had seen it. He had deemed it inconsequential. She felt an immesurable swell of hope for him, that he was not totally lost to her side of the fight, and a slight tinge of something else;heartache, perhaps.

"I'm so strange" she blurted out, feeling a weight seem to crash into her chest, burdening her with all the unsaid things she'd held back her lifetime, all the sobs she'd never cried, all the anger she'd never spoken of, all the hopes and dreams she'd never shared. She simply had never had anyone care enough to ask before.

"I have all these dreams rolling around in my head. These swirls of amazing events and fabulous intrigues and timeless romances. The world in my head is so bright, vibrant, alive and enchanting. Sometimes I wish I could just forego this entire world and crawl inside my own imagination to life, because one of the biggest fears in my life is that I'll never have experiences myself that live up to my dreams. I'm so scared I'll go thorugh my life waiting for astonishing things to happen and they'll never happen. I'll just end up old and disappointed, feeling like I've wasted my life. That's the scariest thing in the world to me. And I want to live such a huge life that I don't know if its possible. I want to change the world and my life and the lives of others. I want to see colors that I've never imagined, and people I could never get tired of, and places that surprise even me. I want to be shocked, frightened, surprised, heartbroken, elated and amazed in my lifetime, and I'm so scared it will never happen. I don't ever want to be too afraid to do something. I want to have courage. I want to help people and I don't ever want to wonder what something feels like, I want to know what everything and everyone is about. I just want to live such a BIG life. I'm so excited sometimes that I feel like I'll burst out of my skin, and other times I'm so frightened I want to crawl somewhere dark and just hide forever. I want all the things other people do, a house, a family, but when I think of those things, and try to FORCE myself to be satisfied with a normal existence, I just know I'll never be able to do it. I'm just not meant for that, I know that's so arrogant its horrific, but that's how I feel. I'm just not MEANT to be ordinary, and I'm so frightened I'll turn out that way." She finished breathlessly, feeling horrified that she said all the things she'd said, but so light and amazingly free that she wondered if it hadn't been poisonous to keep all those things inside her all these years. She felt better than she ever had before, simply because someone knew her, really knew her. And laugh at her, put her down, do what he would, he wouldn't forget her ever, because he really knew her, and it made her feel wonderful to know that someone in this world did, no matter who it was.

He looked at her, feeling so many things at once. She had such amazing dreams, such enchanting fantasies, and so much fire in her, more than he'd ever imagined possible in one person, and it didn't seem to exhaust her at all, like he thought it must. She shone as she told him, and he felt so strangly privileged to be told these things. He felt very acutely that she'd never said them before, and possibly never would again, and he felt a tremendous weight of responsibility to say the right thing now that he was privy to such treasured and fragile information. He looked at her, seeing how lovely she was, despite her hair and lip. He had never heard anyone in his whole life talk with the passion she had just exhibited; she was completely out of her mind, wild and ignorant of limitations she would be forced to face, insane with dreams and hopes, and positively the most intriguing and beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. How could she make herself so blind to the world and have so much faith in herself and her dreams. Draco stared at her for a long time, not feeling wary or embarrassed, just looking at her for what she was; something he had never seen ever before.

"I envy you." he said simply. He saw the shock all over her face, saw her look at him with undisguised confusion. " I have never in my life felt even half the heartfelt passion that you just showed me in describing an aspect of yourself. It must be an insane way to go through life, but I have to admit you will never doubt that you're alive, as so many people do these days."

An unsuppressable smile spread across her face. Yes, she truly knew she was alive now. She suddenly felt like laughing out loud again, simply because she had such a feeling of ....something wonderful ballooning up inside her that she needed SOMETHING to physically let it out.

"So," Draco said again, looking down at her from under lowered eyelashes, a shadow of a smirk on his face again "besides the entire world on a silver platter and the best parts of life wrapped neatly in a package, is there anything else you want?" he asked, and had she not known who she was talking to, Elspeth would have sworn he was being playful. She smiled at him, a real, bright smile that held warmth and humor, and she lifted her arms, threw her head back and said " To see Heaven."

"Honestly, I think you must already."

It wasn't a sneer, or a put-down, or even sarcastic. It was a statement, and the best possible thing anyone had ever said to her. She looked at him, feeling surges of heat in her veins, feeling attraction like she'd never felt. He'd been honest with her. No sarcasm, no threats, no veiled attempts to remain superior. He had let her into his life, his mind, and she was so elated to find that the battle wasn't as far gone as she had thought. Without thinking twice, she launched herself forward and tackled him, laying on top of him and getting as close to his face as she could, their noses touching.

Draco looked at her surprised and slightly frightened. She had a look in her eyes that make him cringe, one of intensity and urgency. He felt his skin on fire where she touched his face with her hands, and her weight on him made him dizzy and unsure of himself. He laid there, looking at her, a thousand sensations coursing through him, and him unable to detach one from the other.

"Fight!" she whispered to him, so strongly yet so quietly that he strained to hear her. "You fight for all you're worth. I can see that you think there's no way you'll win, and you damn well may be right, but you fight it with all you've got, and that's what will matter in the end. The fact that you tried with everything in you. Please, PLEASE, you're not as lost as you think you are. Trust me I can see it, and there is goodness in you that they havn't gotten to yet. Keep it, hold onto it, never let anyone near it. Guard yourself, and fight!" she whispered, tears in her eyes as she looked down at him, feeling so many feelings, mostly sadness and hurt and the wish to help him, to take him from this place that would eventually win, no matter how strong he was.

"I'll fight." he said, feeling something driving up from his stomach, a fierce defiance and pride that he felt as soon as she told him that she believed in his goodness. He suddenly found himself believing her, and wanting nothing more than to prove that he would fight the silent, raging battle that he had long since given up on, if it would make her admire him, look at him forever as she was looking at him now. "I'll fight so hard. I won't give up. I'll die before I let it go. I'll die before they beat me." he said harshly, with a primal edge to his voice, its force driving out of him like it was out of his control. "They won't win. I'll die first." he said, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt the power of a true oath on his lips. He meant every syllable he pronounced, and he could hardly wait for the day when he would prove them to be true. And, without thinking another word, without even thinking twice, he shoved his hand behind her matted, purple head of hair and dragged her mouth to his in a hard, painful kiss. It was as though every feeling he'd been feeling since he met her, every pang of annoyance, every twinge of curiosity, every glimpse of yearining he'd held inside was held within that kiss. All the amazement, admiration, sadness, fury, indignation and hatred for the way the world works and how impossible it was for this to last threatned to over take him, and he felt himself on the edge of a great swirling precipice of bitterness and fury at the way things where, and at himself for once loving how they were so dearly.

She felt him drag her into his mouth, felt his pain and torment through his skin, felt how hard that glimmer of hope would be to keep alive, felt how much he felt for her, and tears welled in her eyes, knowing she would never find another person to feel so savagely for her, and knowing it was equally impossible that she would ever be able to remain with this one she'd finally found. "They won't win. I'll die first." The vow echoed in her head and broke her heart to pieces, hurting her so badly, because she feared it would come to that, dreaded that it would. But she felt absolution, elation, and amazement at the complete faith that she had in him, that he was telling the truth. He'd die before they won. He meant it, and they would never have him. They'd never have the part of him she'd seen today, and she felt such glorious triumph in her that she felt she could fly.

They kissed deeply, hard. He ran his hands down her neck, over her face, her eyelids. He tried to memorize exactly where her lashes fell on her cheeks when she closed her eyes. He knew, somehow, that he would not have her for long, and he dreaded the day he would lose her with more power than he had in his being. He felt of her hair, her lips, still split and bloody, her hands and arms, thin and taught. He felt her against him, and almost let out a cry of pain, joy and sorrow. All the things he had never felt in his life, he was feeling now, and he had been right. He felt more alive right now than he ever had before.

Before he knew what to think, she was tearing at his shirt, popping the buttons as she wrestled to get it off. He understood, and wrenched out of it, and lifted her shirt over her arms, as she fell on him again, and they kissed ferociously. They did not break the kiss as they removed the garments, tearing at each other, desperate to feel totally together before they would be apart forever. They both realized this would not last, they both knew how limited their time might be, and it showed in their efforts. They ripped garments, tumbled clumsily about and fought to clutch each other as tightly as they could.

Draco wasn't sure what to do, and it seemed she wasn't either, but he looked into her eyes the entire time, not blinking, not moving his eyes from the sight of her. She winced as he found his way. It was hurting her. He stopped.

"No don't stop. It's supposed to hurt. It's alright" she said, and pulled him a bit nearer. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to damage her. He looked at her, trying to communicate this to her without words. It seemed to work.

"Trust me." she said, smiling. "It will be alright. I promise."

He looked at her doubtfully, and lowered himself further in again. She bit her already injured lip in pain. No, he could not do this. He would not hurt her when he so likely wouldn't have her for long. But suddenly, she grabbed his shoulder and pulled him with a force he would not have imagined possible from such a small thing. His brain exploded with colors. She cried out, but not totally in pain. It was mixed with a moan of pleasure. Draco felt nothing and everything, movement and heat and euphoria. He moved slowly, not wanting to hurt her, but as he heard her began to yelp in a totally different nature, he moved more quickly. He felt his body going out of control, spasms of pain and pleasure, heat and cold, and bright white flashes went through him, and he felt another explosion, his muscles releasing and his mind wiped blank. He fell onto her with a soft thud and laid there, breathing so quickly he felt light-headed.

He turned his face to look at her, and found her smiling, but her face wet with tears. He looked at the beautiful glow of her, and felt tears behind his own eyes. This won't last, no matter what. We know of it now, and it can't possibly stay. He felt hurt and angry at that fact, still a bit unbelievable. He was a Malfoy. He should have what he wanted-NO. He wasn't a Malfoy. He was Draco, and he didn't deserve what he wanted anymore than anyone else, you cocky bastard! The voice shocked him. It had been strong, and loud in his head. He felt proud and confused and extremely apprehensive about how his life would be from now on. He was forever changed, and he didn't even know where she was from, or where she'd be next, or if the change would even last a week. But he was changed, and he fought to hold onto the pride that evoked from him, before it sunk beneath his conciousness.

"I want to be with you." he said suddenly. He hadnt' meant to say it just then, but he knew it needed to be said. It might have already been understood, but that didn't mean much to him. He needed her to know.

She turned her head to him, feeling the rush of pain and sweet agony and -was it love?-toward him; a feeling she had always wanted. She smiled so brightly, almost laughing. She had finally felt something that lived up to her imagination, and it was with him. "How ironically perfect" she thought, and something quite like happiness overtook her for a moment. She heard his words, and felt the tears and sadness again.

"I want to be with you. I always will." she added, knowing how terribly true that was. It would be true, and always be out of reach. Well, probably always, unless Voldemort was defeated and his followers wiped out completely in the next 40 years, and also considering they both live that long. She felt like saying something to that effect to him, but realized it didn't need saying. He knew, and she knew. Everything truly important had already been said.

They lay there a long time, waiting. The door opened to the garden, and a shriek erupted.

"Draco!! What on earth are you doing in the garden with the servant, and without your clothes on?? Oh, what has this vile little witch done to you? Bewitched him have you, my perfect pristine child, you've ruined him! You horrible little wretch, I'll have your head!" His mother started towards Elspeth, who had gotten to her feet. Draco felt fright, and anger. To stand up to his mother would arouse suspicion, but he would not be a coward now, when it was the last time she would set eyes on him.

"IMPEDIMENTIA" he roared, and his mother stopped stock still, gazing blankly.

"Draco! You should'nt have done that!" Elspeth murmured, running to him and burying her head in his chest. "They'll be suspicious! They'll hurt you!"

"No they won't. You bewitched me with a Confundus Charm." she said, smiling a bit at her.

Tears now poured out of her eyes, unimpeded. There was so much to say and no time to say it in.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever known. I'll remember us. And I'll fight!" he said roughly, hugging her to him as though determined to make her believe him simply through the pressure of his embrace.

"You're so much stronger than you know. I'll never forget you. And you're the first one to ever live up to my imagination!" she said, hugging him back and feeling her heart break with each second that passed.

He felt his heart leap. He had done it. He had lived up to her dream. Draco looked down, clasped her face between his hands, and kissed her one last time, hard and deep, determined to make her understand what she meant and what he felt with it.

She kissed hard and viciously, trying to find absolution in this final act of love and devotion and promises and fears.

The kiss broke, and he said "Go. Run outside of the manor grounds. Run through the trees and keep low. You'll make it. I promise." she said to her, taking the air of someone doing what must be done.

She looked at him one last time, trying to burn him into her mind's eye, and without another word, simply because she didn't possess words strong enough, she turned and ran as fast as her legs would carry her, away from the only place she'd ever truly cared to stay.

He watched her run, his heart falling, his head spinning. She was gone. She would stay gone. He had never felt such wrenching pain in his life, but he felt as though he were alive. For the first time ever, he had something to prove he was living. He closed his eyes as she disappeared from sight, then sat down in the garden, next to his mother, turned his wand on himself, took a deep breath and shouted "STUPIFY", and knew no more.

Weeks later, Draco found himself at Hogwarts once more, sitting in Potions class once again. It was strange how time passed so quickly when he was consumed by so many things; memories of Elspeth, hurting for her constantly, the raging conflict in his own mind between how he was brought up, and how he could never behave according to their rules again. he had been silent most of the rest of the summer and the school year, preferring to keep things to himself, run over things in his head, try daily to win the war that was going on inside him. He was brought crashing back to earth however, by the voice of Pansy Parkinson.

"Poor Potter and Weasley. Its terrible you two are so desperate for girls that you choose to share this ugly little mudblood as your pet." she said, scathingly.

Draco started to grin happily. He still loathed Potter, Weasley and Granger. He had no reason not to. They were pathetic and stupid, and it didn't really matter to him what happened to them. They were more inconsequential now than ever. But...a voice in Draco's head told him "You can't think of Granger as a mudblood without thinking of Elspeth the same way. " "Of course I can." another voice replied hotly. "I can do any damn thing I want and I refuse to compare Elspeth to that stupid simpering idiot Granger." "It doesn't work that way." The first voice said simply, "and you know it." As the voice said these words, he realized he did know it. That damned voice and he were going to have some differences to sort out later on, he thought angrily. He sighed deeply, and wondered if he dared put a stop to it. It would cause trouble. It would heighten suspicion, and probably make life worse for him all around. Bearing all this in mind, he swivled in his chair.

"Pansy." he said shortly "If you use that word in my presence again I'll personally make sure that by next week your tongue is residing someplace other than that waggling hole you call a mouth." he finished, acidly.

Pansy looked at him, completely speechless and taken aback. Crabbe and Goyle looked confused, which was nothing terribly new, and Potter Weasley and Granger were looking stunned. None of that mattered to him. He turned back around in his chair, smiling to himself. It had been a tribute to Elspeth, and looking back, he couldn't have picked a better.one. It meant that he remembered her, thought of her, and would keep his promises to her. He would fight, whenever possible.

Draco felt the Slytherins begin to skirt him in the hallways the next few days. Word had undoubtedly traveled about his strange behaviour in potions, and it meant that not only was his own house riducling him, stupid Gryffindors were looking at him searchingly everywhere he went. He wanted nothing to do with anybody. He just wanted to be left to himself. As he sat at the breakfast table, quite alone one morning, an owl flew in and brought him a letter. It was on pink, scented stationary, and as soon as he smelled the aroma, he knew who it was from. He tore open the letter, a hunger filling him. Inside was a small pink note, written in lovely, dainty handwriting. All it said was "I knew you would fight." Draco felt shock and astonishment. How had she known? Where did she find out? He allowed himself a grin. It didn't really matter. Maybe she'd heard, maybe she'd simply had interesting timing with a random note, maybe she'd known because she'd been inside his head since they were together-he certainly felt that of her sometimes. All that mattered was the she knew he was trying, that he was being faithful to his promise. And she hadn't forgotten him. Draco smiled, put the note in his inside pocket of his robes, sniffed the envelope once more, and got up to leave the Great Hall, his head held high, his shoulders square, and his soul slightly more ready for the world than it had been three minutes ago.