In Father's Footseps

He strolled along the beach, thinking. Thinking, he was always thinking, always about the same thing. His father. The same questions running through his mind, the questions he'd asked himself a million times. Why did his father never hug him? Why did his father rarely speak to him? When was the last time his father had even touched him? Was it something he had done? Something in his father's past maybe? Had his father loved him? Had he loved anyone or even known what love was? Was he capable of caring for people? And worst, was he just like his father? Why did he find himself pushing away everyone in his life that he cared about? Would everyone hate him soon? Did everyone already hate him now? Was he meant to be alone forever?

He stopped walking and peered out over the water, unblinking, still entranced by his thoughts.

"You always did what you thought was right for me, father", he said quietly, "that's all I can ask from a person."

His steady gaze to the horizon never wavered. "I'm sorry I wasn't good enough for you, father. I'm sorry I was a disappointment."

He felt the tears well up in his eyes; it had been ten years since he cried. Not since he was six. "I made it so hard for you to love me, didn't I? I should have tried harder."

He sank slowly to his knees, lowered his head, and a dry sob escaped his throat, "I'm sorry father, I'm so sorry," he cried to himself as he rocked back and forth on the beach, "I'm sorry I couldn't make you love me."

Still, in all this, not a tear had slipped out. He could feel them stinging his eyes, but they would go no further. Too many years of practiced containment, and the one time he truly needed to cry, to get his feelings out like other people did, he couldn't.

He stood up, his grief fading as quickly as it had come. He looked out over the water once more, lost in thought. Casting a final glance at lulling waves, he turned to leave, "I forgive you, father," he whispered. "I for-"

"MR. MALFOY!" He was rudely awakened by the sound of Professor McGonagall's sharp voice.

"Huh...oh...?" he lifted his head up sheepishly, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Kindly do your sleeping in your own time, Mr. Malfoy. Should I catch you again, I will assign you a detention, as it is, please see me after class."

"Fuck," Draco muttered under his breath. "What the hell is wrong with me today?" He glanced around the room, taking a minute to note all the familiar faces he had grown so accustomed to taking for granted. Then he realized what he was doing. He shook his head. Since when have I ever cared about any of these people? Why would I even think of that? He made a face. Sure as hell not starting now.

His eyes were glued to the clock until the end of the lesson. When at last it was time to go, he gathered his belongings slowly, waiting until the classroom emptied before making his way up to the deputy-headmistress' desk.

"Yes?" he said, slowly, and he was pleased to hear a tinge of his usual drawl. He decided to maintain as much politeness as possible without saying any more than necessary. This isn't so hard, he told himself. I can manage.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I just wanted to ask you how you were dealing. Well, considering the circumstances..."

"I'm fine," he said flatly.

"Yes, and your mother?" she inquired.

"She's not fine, but she's coping, I assure you. May I go now?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you may be excused, but do try and say awake for my class in the future".

Draco walked absently down the hallway, his mind still on the dream he had been having. It wasn't true, was it? That he was just like his father? However obvious it seemed to him now, the thought had never occurred to him before, and frankly, it frightened him.

Lost in his thought, he crashed into a person heading in the opposite direction. He glanced up, startled, and realized it was none other than Harry Potter, flanked by his usual cronies, Ron Weasley, Ron's girlfriend; a pretty 5th year; Blair, and Potter's own wretchedly annoying girlfriend, Hermione Granger. Oh great, he thought, now I'm really giddy.

"Excus- oh, Malfoy," Harry said, "Excuse me, I didn't see you".

"Potter, why in god's name are you apologizing to me?" Draco said, stunned, but nonetheless, still in his same drawling voice. (He never went anywhere without it)

"It was the polite thing to do, last time I checked." Harry informed him.

"And since when did I say you were allowed to be polite to me?" Draco demanded, through clenched teeth, trying desperately to keep his cool.

"It won't happen again, Malfoy, I promise you that." Ron spoke up, glaring at him, his ears very red.

"Listen, Potter. I don't need sympathy, not from anyone, least of all you and your little groupies. So why don't you mind your own damn business, and leave me alone?" With that, he turned and marched off in the other direction, leaving the four Gryffindors looking confusedly after him.

He decided to skip lunch, and just go back to his dormitory. He could feel a rather unpleasant headache starting. Maybe if he was lucky, he'd sleep through Defense Against the Dark Arts.

----------------------

As Draco was making his way down to the Slytherin dungeons, he saw a striking figure bent over in the hallway, gathering together books and parchment that had fallen to the floor, as result of what looked like a spilt book-bag. She lifted her head to gesture to her friends to go on without her, and Draco felt a twinge of surprise, upon realizing that the figure was Ginny Weasley. Something is wrong with me today, he thought.

*******

Ginny Weasley was just making her way out of the History of Magic classroom when a seam in her bag split. Two bottles of ink smashed, coating her books, as several pieces of parchment fluttered slowly downward before settling on the floor. She waved at her friends, telling them to go ahead. She had just turned back to the mess on the floor and began to gather her things when she felt a shadow above her. She looked up and found herself staring into straight into a pair of clear, but intense gray eyes.

"Ugh, Malfoy, I'm in no mood for verbal volleyball, so can we please get through today's quota of insults quickly?"

His eyes hardened. "Ah...the little weasel bites." He surveyed the wreckage that had become of her books, "And what, may I ask, happened here? Too poor to buy yourself proper school supplies again this year?"

Ginny looked at him harshly, "No, you may not ask, you big monotonous git. That's the sixth time in two days you've resorted to my family's lack of finances. I would suggest being a bit more creative, or people will begin to think you're losing your touch."

"Where would you prefer I start then, your clumsiness, your ridiculous appearance, or your severe lack of intelligence? he said, crossing his arms.

"Arrrgh! Bugger off Malfoy! I don't have the time, patience, or energy for you today."

"What if I said, unless it's what I'm thinking of, I didn't care what you had the time, patience, or energy for?"

She gathered the last of her things, stood up, and gave him a last firm once-over. "Then you'd have yet to surprise me." She stepped passed him, walking away quickly.

******

Draco watched her as she marched swiftly down the corridor, her back straight as the mast of any ship. He stood there waiting until she'd turned the corner and was no longer in sight. Then he sighed, muttered, and continued on his way to his common room.