Draco is hopelessly lost between what he is supposed to do, and what he wants to do. As the pressure from his father to follow in Lucius' footsteps grows heavier, and Draco's feelings for Harry grow stronger, Draco finds himself at a fork in the road.
Chapter 03
Chapter Summary:
When Draco is forced into close contact with Harry, his emotions and feelings begin to surface, try as he might to suppress them.
Posted:
08/29/2002
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595
Author's Note:
Sorry it took me so long to get this out. Meh. I don't have a good excuse. It was written; in fact, I'm up to chapter 16 right now. I just didn't come back here to update it. Sorreh.
“Bite my lips
and close my eyes
take me away to paradise…
”
--Green Day “Longview”
That night, after everyone had gone back to their dormitories, Draco lay awake in bed, listening to the breathing of his companions. His head buzzed with the various things he had been stressing out about. He was scared of falling asleep and having to see Voldemort haunt him. It was bad enough the mere thought of him made cold shivers run over Draco arms and legs.
Kind of like how he felt around Harry. Draco closed his eyes and tried to match his breathing with the boys around him, to try to fall asleep, however wary he was of sleep anyway.
After an hour of not doing anything but coming up short of breath, Draco rolled out of bed and walked to the pitcher of water by the window. He stood there silently, sipping casually as he studied the stars. It was getting harder every day to press the feeling of hopelessness down, and looking out at the twinkling stars and brilliant moon, and knowing how near and real his mortality was, Draco felt an overwhelming feeling of a need to feel Nirvana.
Over the summer, Draco had been studying religions and trying to figure out which one he best fit. He knew he was falling victim to the Muggle need to feel connected to something bigger than himself, but he was willing to do anything to find peace within. And he was obsessed with the idea of eternal internal peace, and had read about Nirvana religiously.
But every time he was alone, he had the horrible feeling of just wanting to let go, because holding on was so painful, and so difficult.
Draco set the glass in his hand and hoisted himself on to the ledge by the window. He eased the window open and looked up. His dormitory in the dungeon allowed him the ability to be able to look up, and up and up…desperately hoping to disconnect from where he was in place of floating in the stars.
Finally around two in the morning, Draco could drag himself into bed and drift into restless sleep, pot marked with dreams and laced with the jumble of feelings and thoughts that had plagued Draco throughout his days.
The next morning at breakfast, Snape walked along the Slytherin table, handing out schedules. Draco and Blaise compared schedules, and Blaise let out a sound of disgust.
“Double Potions and Double Dark Arts with the Gryffindors?” he said, slumping a bit and returning to his porridge. “We’ll be with them almost every day, what with Care for Magical Creatures.”
Before Draco could respond, someone slammed into his side. “Oh, Draco, give me your schedule!” Pansy demanded. Rubbing his arm, Draco gave her the slip of paper, which she jerked from his hand and held up to hers.
“Oh, bloody hell, Draco,” she cursed, slamming his paper down and looking mutinous, “we only have three classes together!”
“Oh, darn!” Draco exclaimed sarcastically, snapping his fingers as Blaise snorted into his porridge.
Pansy gave them both odd looks then started chattering with Millicent Bulstrode about the things they did over the summer. Draco shoved a piece of bacon into his mouth, took one last nip of pumpkin juice and stood, knowing it would be a frightfully boring conversation.
Goyle and Crabbe were almost immediately by his side, as if they had been waiting for him to stand. They hovered as Draco flipped through his bag to make sure he had all his potions materials; they lingered as he said goodbye to Blaise, who was still eating. Then, as always, they walked with him, flanking either side, making Draco feel as though he was being escorted. People moved out of the way, sliding against they walls, hoping to avoid angering Draco or his minions.
The Slytherins were the first to arrive in the dank dungeon that served as the potions class. Professor Snape sat at his large, elegant mahogany desk in the corner, his black quill scratching across the parchment in front of him, the sound echoing eerily against the damp, cold stone walls. Knowing better than to disturb Severus Snape deep in concentration, Draco took his usual seat near the front of the classroom and began setting up his things as Crabbe and Goyle blundered over. Draco spent most of the time deftly catching glass bottles and packages as the two idiots knocked things over.
Gryffindors and Slytherins trickled into the dungeon, and the chatter of people as they greeted each other filled the dungeon. Still Snape didn’t move. There was an abrupt hush, and Draco turned his head to see what was happening.
Potter, Weasel, and Granger had moved into the room and were sitting at a table talking in hushed tones. They seemed oblivious to the stares and sudden quiet, and their lack of interest in the rest of the class allowed the chatter to begin again.
Draco watched the three talk and laugh. Weasel leaned and whispered something in Granger’s ear. She clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter and turned to tap Potter on the shoulder. Potter had been looking through his bag for something, but paused to allow Granger to tell him whatever Weasel had whispered.
With sharp pangs of jealousy, Draco watched Potter stoop to listen to Granger, his face slowly breaking into a smile. Potter had definitely grown in the few months since his chaotic fourth year, but his skin was still the softness of a child’s, the eyes bright though his body was world-weary. Draco desperately wanted to hate him, to loathe his every cell, but only found pity and fear.
“You’ll all do well to sit down and keep quiet until I am ready to address you,” Snape said loudly, and there was many a thud as people fell into their chair, not daring for one moment to start the year off with angering Snape. Draco, his supplies already set, entertained himself by rewriting his schedule in erasable permanent ink on the flap of his bag.
Snape finally set the quill down and stood. He surveyed the class with his dark eyes, his stringy hair falling in greasy strands against his forehead. There was general disgust on his face as he paced up and down the aisles.
“This is your fifth year of potions. There will be no more foolish potions, no more ridiculous mixtures that some of you still cannot seem to get,” he paused and glared at Longbottom, who whimpered and ducked his head. Draco laughed harshly and turned his attention back to the teacher. “This year is so pivotal I can’t even trust you nitwits to work alone. Therefore, you will have partners.”
There was a general sound of chairs scraping across the floor. Snape’s eyes flared and he said sternly, “Stop!” The scraping did so almost immediately. “I will be choosing your partners for you.” There was many a forehead dropped to many as desk, and a few choice moans. Draco’s stomach twisted in fear. Something in him told him that he was going to be stuck with either Crabbe or Goyle.
Snape pulled the parchment he had been scribbling on from the desk with flourish and began to read each name off, pausing to relish the looks of exasperation and fury. Every Slytherin was with a Gryffindor, and a whole new sense of foreboding settled on Draco when he realized this.
“Draco Malfoy,” Snape read off greasily, grinning malevolently, “and Harry Potter.”
Draco’s jaw dropped and he glanced over his shoulder at Potter, who was looking back at him in anger.
“No way, sir,” Potter spoke up. The class gasped and looked at Snape, who was looking at Potter with badly masked hostility.
“Ten points from Gryffindor, and it will be a hundred if you do not pack up your things and come down to the front of this classroom.”
Potter regarded Snape with a frosty glare for a moment more, then rammed his things into his bag loudly and stood and walked to the front. Goyle stood as Potter slammed his bag onto the desk next to Draco’s things. Potter waited for the oaf to move, then slumped into the seat.
“If you ask me to skin anything,” muttered Potter irately out of the corner of his mouth, “I’ll skin you.”
Draco sneered at him and turned his eyes down to the pile of ingredients in front of him. He was lucky Potter wasn’t looking at him, as he felt the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.