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 11
Chapter Summary:
Draco's feelings for Harry are intensifying, and it is taking all his energy not to reach out and snog him in the middle of the hall. But are his antics only further alienating Harry from him?
Posted:
12/04/2002
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Author's Note:
Sorry this took so long! My complete and total fault. I should be shot.
“Sometimes I get so weird
I even freak myself out
I laugh myself to sleep
It's my lullaby…
”
--Avril Lavigne “Anything But Ordinary”
Draco shot up in bed, his breath coming in loud gasps. His heart pounded wildly, as if he had really been running.
For a moment he just pummeled his pillow, trying to figure out what the dream was about and angry that Harry didn’t try to help him more. Finally he calmed down enough to think clearly. He was depending on the people around him to validate his existence to much.
He fell back asleep and in the morning, knew he must’ve awoken, but remembered nothing of why or what he said or thought.
At breakfast everyone peered into his face, and it annoyed him so much he began giving death stares to anyone who glanced at him or looked like they were going to speak to him. That included Harry and his minions, who were studying him from the Gryffindor table. Pansy seemed delighted that he had returned to his broody self, and sat through breakfast babbling about things that went in one of Draco’s ears and out the other.
Then he took the five minutes he had before Transfiguration to drop of his completed History work. In transfiguration, McGonagall spoke of their last lesson and set them to turning small, pink bunny slippers into real small, pink rabbits. Draco got as far as his bunny slippers’ noses twitching and making small noises if anyone tried to put them on.
“You’ll have to really work at that,” McGonagall said sternly to everyone, and gave them enough homework to keep them all occupied until next week.
During Physical Combat, they were taught how to fall without hurting themselves, and the friendliness that had been between Harry and Draco in the hospital wing was now stark cold, and they touched each other as little as possible and talked only when absolutely necessary. Draco was disgusted with his wanting to be friends with Harry, and someone had probably talked Harry out of being friends with Draco.
But every time he touched Harry to throw him onto the mat, his fingers tingled, his head buzzed, and his whole body felt alive. He wanted to roam over the soft, pale skin, his fingers tracing the physique of a boy becoming a man.
Almost having to physically restrain himself from touching Harry, Draco strained to keep away from the boy as the days went by. Every day he looked in the Daily Prophet he took from Pansy for information on his father, and every other day he wrote his mother to ask her how her travels went. But she hardly ever responded, and if she did, it didn’t sound like her normal, dotty self. The notes were cold and short, and no longer ended with the "love, mummy" anymore. Draco felt secretly bruised and hurt, and his letters to her soon became short, curt, and cold as well as he nursed his wounds. The Daily Prophet didn’t have blurbs about Lucius or the investigation into him. Draco was never contacted for information.
The week went by, and Draco began to shut himself away from people. On the outside, he was his normal selfish, stuck-up self, but in private he was ordering books on religion, while studying to keep the voices in his head quiet. If it showed, no one ever let him know, because Pansy had stopped badgering him about his health and Blaise continued to hold hushed conversations about the Dark Arts at night, never seeming to notice they were quite one sided.
Draco wasn’t the only one who was studying wildly. Whenever he went into the library, it wasn’t strange to see half his year flipping through books and putting down notes. The panic and worry concerning the OWLs had set in already, and more than a few people were already counting down the days to Christmas holiday, when they were guaranteed a break from the onslaught of information they received every day from every class. Even Draco, who was intentionally making most of his life about his school work was beginning to get bogged down.
Everyone else was showing the wear, except for Granger, who looked like she thrived in this sort of environment. Everyday after breakfast, during break, during lunch and after dinner she was seen pulling Harry and Weasel to the library, moaning about the deadline that was growing closer every day.
Draco could barely stay on his broom during Quidditch, and seriously considered quitting the team, but when he mentioned this casually to Pansy, she practically had a heart attack and began asking him if he was feeling sick again. After convincing her of his health, he decided he might as well stick with it. He was sticking with everything else, anyway.
The first Quidditch match as between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and Draco was dragged by Crabbe and Goyle to watch, and he sat on the bench while everyone watch the game, even though it was obvious Ravenclaw was going to, as usual, whip Hufflepuff’s sorry pansy bums.
He, instead, participated in his private, favorite game.
Draco watched Harry. Granger was no where to be seen, and only Harry and Weasel sat in the stands, cheering Hufflepuff. Draco knew Harry was only doing it in Diggory’s memory. Diggory, hah…
Shaking his head, Draco scoffed at himself. What, he was jealous of Cedric Diggory now? The bugger was dead, and Draco was complaining about how Harry thought of Cedric more than him. He watched Harry leap to his feet and whistle as the Hufflepuff and Raveclaw seekers went into a steep dive. It was no spectacular dive since both boys were still on Comet Two-Sixties, but it was enough to get the crown to its feet, screaming and cheering the seekers on. Even the team mates paused to watch the boy and girl hurtle to the ground.
There was a pause as both pulled up suddenly, but the Ravenclaw side screamed and cheered when their seeker, a sixth year girl, raised her hand in triumph, the snitch’s gold coat sparkling against her black glove. The Hufflepuffs and their supporters groaned and applauded politely.
Draco watched Harry and Weasel shout something to each other, then Harry shrugged and began to glance around the stadium, watching people begin to walk off, the fifth years eager to get back to studying. The members of the each house Quidditch teams lingered, talking amongst themselves what this would mean for their first or next match.
The two Weasel brothers, the bastards who had attacked him in the corridor of the train going home, made their way over to Harry and Weasel, and began to talk. Crabbe and Goyle waited for Draco, who was drilled by their tam captain about the importance of beating whom ever they were against the next time. Draco listened with half an ear, while his eyes kept traveling over to Harry, who was deep in debate with the twins, gesturing with his hands, and pointing over in the direction of the Slytherin side, implying they were talking about their chances against the Slytherin team, and Draco felt a glimmer of pride. Granted, he had never won against the Gryffindors, but he had been the only Seeker who gave Harry a run for his money, and that was certainly something to be a little proud of.
“Got it, Draco?” Warrington said sternly, and Draco nodded.
“Yeah, got it. See you Monday,” referring to the date he assumed practice was. Warrington scowled and walked away, and Draco beckoned at the two clods who had been listening. “Come on, you two,” he said, glancing back once more at Harry, but the group was moving away, disappearing down the long, spiral steps that led to the grounds around the pitch. Crabbe and Goyle began to recount, blow by blow, the game, mocking the teams for their talents, or lack thereof.
The groups emerged at the same time, and met at the door leading into the main foyer of the castle. The Weasels' gave the Crabbe, Goyle, and Draco harsh looks, while Harry looked at them coolly and started to walk away. But Weasel sneered at Draco.
“Stop sneering at me, Weasel,” Draco drawled lazily, falling into his role of fight instigator easily. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that your face may freeze that way?”
“Too bad she hadn’t shown me by example, unlike your mother, who looks like someone constantly holding something vile under her nose,” Fred Weasley retorted.
“Don’t talk about my mother, pauper,” Draco replied coolly, his eyes roving over the shabby robes the four boys sported. Only Harry looked half-way respectable, and if he stopped hanging out with the scrapings from the bottom of the class barrel, Draco wouldn’t just like him, he’d respect him, as well.
“We don’t have time or patience for this,” George Weasley said, turning his nose up as if he had a place to, as Weasel opened the door. They all walked in together, leaving Draco and his underlings alone. Weasel stuck his head out one last time, and made an obscene gesture at Draco before disappearing back into the castle. Crabbe and Goyle started after them, but Draco stopped them. Nothing in this dimension would make him want to get in another fight with Weasel, and further alienate Harry from him.