The Doubts of Draco

Draco felt the chill in his voice when he asked Ronald Weasley to get out of the way. They had learned to know each other quite well during the summer, and sneering instead of grinning didn't come as naturally to him as it once had done. He had used hours in the morning to try and look like a real Slytherin. The muggle clothes were in the bottom of the trunk. Ron's letters were hidden by an invisibility charm, and his hair was sleeked back for the first time in weeks.

Fortunately, Lucius had been away during the summer, and Draco had avoided the immense pressure his father always put on him. For the first time, he had been to Muggle London with a friend, who in spite of his poorer economy were much more familiar with the adventures of young Muggles than what Draco had thought was possible for a wizard. Cinemas and pubs had been a rather new experience for Draco, and Ron's taste of music had astounded him. Draco had never heard of rock music before, and jumping up and down in front of the stage at different gigs, which Ron loved more than anything, had been a completely new, and quite claustrophobic experience. Draco had never been used to much physical contact with strangers, a habit that he realised was a problem when seeing Muggles. After weeks of friendship, Draco had learned the joy of being exhausted after various gigs and after doing the pogo for hours, and he had learned how to fit in with young Muggles. Even this he learned from Ron.

Still, Draco asked Ron to move away with a cold voice. 'He looks just like he always does,' he thought when he saw Ron with his big eyes and messy hair. Still with a safety pin though his ear, still with a hint of eyeliner under his eyes. Suddenly Draco realised something. A few nights ago, he quoted a poem on Ron's ripped jeans. And even when wearing the conservative, black school robes, he could see the thick, black letters twirling around Ron's leg.

'Ah! thou hast young Endymion,

Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!'

... Love, Draco (I am going to kiss you now, you know)

Why hadn't he been more careful? Around the Leg of the Muggle clothes was what would be good enough reason for Lucius Malfoy to exclude him from the family. Draco and Ron had agreed that after the summer, their friendship would have to end. Still, it didn't feel right to keep up the yearlong abuse. Draco knew Ron too well by now, and hurting him was not something he enjoyed doing anymore.

The whole scenario took place at the Hogwarts' Express, less than an hour after their departure from London. Inside his head, Draco had prepared himself. Over and over, he had told himself that hurting a Weasley wasn't that big a deal. Over and over, he had tried to forget all the fun they had had during the summer. Getting to know Ron had not at all been what he had expected it to be. Although he had not yet visited the Burrow, Draco felt that he knew the Weasleys. Ron talked about his family with such love that even Draco couldn't avoid liking them, and being invited to the burrow as Ron's friend, had become some sort of an aim for him. A few days ago, he had actually considered keeping up their friendship, pretending that all the hostilities during the last six years at Hogwarts had never taken place. Still, he had prepared himself for the worst-case scenario.

He immediately realised that this had been a wise decision. Crabbe and Goyle showed up, being their good old brutal selves, obviously not willing to start a cease-fire with the Gryffindors. Interhouse friendships had never been much of a success, and he knew that Ron would stand no chance of being accepted as an equal, especially amongst the pureblood Slytherins. Harry Potter had already been eyeing Draco with an expression that said all too clearly that he wasn't wanted, which excluded the Gryffindors as well.

Draco knew that keeping up the hostilities would be the easiest way out. He never said he was brave, but he had always believed that he would fight if he found something that he really believed in. Keeping up the friendship with Ron meant much more to him than all the important ideological matters that his father always wanted him to defend. Half-heartedly, he had defended the importance of Pure Blood and the importance of the Dementors' presence at Hogwarts. He had talked loudly about Dumbledore's weaknesses. But he had never made any sacrifices for a cause that he believed in.

He had at first thought that his lack of enthusiasm in these matters had been caused by his doubt in whether or not they were important. Now he realised that this was only partly the case. Draco was a coward, and he didn't manage to fight, not even for what he believed in. In a way he was proud of his lack of experience with physical fighting, but still, he was sad that all his oral battles had been fought half-heartedly and with a borrowed quill - his father's.

Although his father had given him a rich amount of pocket money before he left, Draco didn't buy food from the food trolley. He didn't buy the Daily Prophet; for once he just didn't care about the political matters in the Wizarding World. He didn't care if the inquisitions against Half Bloods and Muggle friendly wizards had continued. He didn't care if his father once again covered the front page, giving good advice on how to avoid being a 'disgrace to the name of wizards,' which was his favourite expression when something he didn't like came up. Draco just didn't care - but if he was ignorant to the world, he wasn't being apathetic. Inside his head hovered a well of emotions that had never lived inside his head before. For once, he felt like a complete and utter prat. For once, he realised that his cynical behaviour did hurt other people.

Staring absent-minded out of the window, Ron's hurt face stared back at him. Draco always got this nervous feeling when thinking about Ron. The feeling was not a good one; it felt like having a bad conscience without having done anything wrong. It felt like being in love.

He was in love, and only a week ago he had not been in denial. After consuming an amount of liquor, he had proclaimed his love to Ron in several different languages, in several different places and in a variation of ways, including writing revealing poems on Ron's trousers. Including writing long love letters. Draco doubted that Ron had bothered to invisibility charm his letters, which made Draco feel a tad silly for bothering to hide his own.

Even liquor had been new to him. Before this summer, Draco had never tasted anything stronger than butterbeer. Ron had on several occasions tried to teach him the noble art of beer drinking, but he had failed miserably. Even in this matter, he had been patient, smiling, and friendly. Draco smiled before his thoughts once again drifted away. Draco had been acting like an idiot, and he knew it. Realising that you are wrong doesn't necessarily mean that you are willing to take the consequences of your actions, and responsibility was the last thing that Draco wanted to think about.

If Draco felt differently about things, it was nothing compared to the way Ron was acting. Draco had been used to seeing Ron as the impatient boy who were always confronting him about his beliefs and his father. It was strange how people changes once you get to know them. Ron was being patient, and he never mentioned how Draco had been behaving during the previous five years.

Outside the window of the Hogwarts' Express the weather was remarkably grey, even for Scotland. The wind and the rain competed on blowing and raining the train off the tracks. And the farmers' crops would be completely ruined. Apples fell from the trees and the barley was lying close to the ground. Draco was pulling his earlobe, where the holes from an earring still hadn't closed. He and Ron had dared each other into having their ears pierced with a safety pin. It had been fun - in a way they had been marked. Draco had pierced Ron's ear, and Ron had responded by giving Draco two big safety pins through his right earlobe. Marking oneself as 'chosen ones', gives legitimacy to do almost anything, and after marking each other, the two boys had been much closer than before. They had been on top of the world, and although they both knew that their friendship was only temporarily, they had enjoyed every minute. Ron's safety pin was still in place. Draco had removed his own that very morning. Reluctantly, he found the safety pin in the pocket of his Robes, and forced it though the already closing hole in his earlobe. He snipped it closed, and immediately felt better.

He knew that he and Ron could never be an item. He knew that his father would kill him, or at least disown him if he broke out of the ideals and standards of the Malfoy family. He knew all this - but evidence was already written all over Ron's jeans. And worse, it was written in Draco's eyes, soul and mind. It was written in the diary he kept, and that was going to be stored in the library at the Malfoy Manor together with the diaries of his ancestors, the diary that was going to inspire new generations of Malfoys to prosper and to succeed. And it was written in a dozen of letters hidden in his pocket and probably spread around the burrow. In his trunk he found jeans and a T-shirt featuring Ron's favourite band, 'bad Religion'. He put them on, and before anyone else saw him, he ran out of the compartment. In the loo, he put his head under the tap to clean his hair from the hair gel he had used rich amounts of in the morning.

Open minded, and with his robes open so that anyone could see his muggle clothes Draco went looking for Ron. He knew that their friendship could not last, not with Harry being back from his Muggles and with a herd of Slytherins and Gryffindors guarding their houses' pride. But even a coward must be allowed to fight for what he believes in, and even a Gryffindor must be able to accept a sobbing, heartbreaking apology.

Every year on the Hogwarts' Express, Draco had met Ron, Harry and Hermione. Perhaps for once, the encounter would be a pleasant experience.