Silver Eyes

Silver Eyes

By Poisoned Honey

Chapter 1: The First Attack

It was his eyes.

It was always his eyes.

It was his eyes that would attract her in the first, and his eyes that would ultimately make her fall. . . back to him.

He had wolf eyes, silken gray with a silver lining, beautiful eyes. But, how angrily they blazed, clouded over from the wine he had been drinking, when he would raise a hand, and slap it across her face. And she would raise her own hand up, and feel the warmth of her cheek.

Feel tears pressing behind the backs of her eyes.

She would turn, and flee, not wanting him to see her tears, and once safely in the next room she would fall to the floor, and cry. Sob really. It was then that a little boy would come, and wrap his arms around her, trying to comfort her. "It's all right, Mummy," he would say, "It's all right." And she would lean into him, tears flowing down her porcelain cheeks, arms wrapped around her knees.

Before long, Narcissa Malfoy would get to her feet, and wipe her wet cheeks, and lean down, and give the little boy a kiss on the cheek, and a promise. That this would be the last time. She would leave him, this time.

So, with shoulders drawn back, she would march into the room. . . and look into his eyes. His eyes would melt her into his arms of thorns, and she would kiss his mouth that tasted of booze.

And the little boy would stand in the doorway, watching his mum break her promise to him.

Soon, he began to despise her, for her weakness, and her broken promises. But, try as he might, he could not bring himself to hate his father. Perhaps it is true, that to truly hate someone, you must first love them.

And, at a very young age, he made a promise to himself.

He had his father's eyes, but he swore silently to himself, and to his mother, that he would never, ever be to anyone what his father was to his mother.

But under desperate circumstances, even the most heartfelt of promises can be broken.

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy stepped off the Hogwarts' train with a grimace. Another year. Just another stepping-stone until he could reach the end of the pond.

He grabbed one of the empty carriages, and felt a bit miffed when Crabbe and Goyle quickly followed. Great. Just great. He couldn't get a moment's peace. They had followed him on the train, too, talking in their great oafish tongue that consisted of grunts and hiccups. Now they had to follow him onto the stupid carriage, just to see if someone could physically be bored to death.

He let out a little groan, sweeping the hair out of his eyes. He had decided to let it go ungelled, as the gel, when it dried, had begun to leave very unattractive little white flakes. Not very pretty.

Anyway, as soon as Pansy had seen him, she had let out a little squeal, and started exclaiming how manly, and handsome he looked. She carried on so that he considered just using the gel and dealing with the damn flakes. They were less annoying then the pug dog, certainly.

He frowned, glancing over at Crabbe and Goyle. They seemed to be grunting a little bit more intellectually then normal. . . unless, that is, they were just sneezing. Maybe it was possible to be bored to death. He buried his face in his hands, praying to a God he didn't believe in that the carriage would reach Hogwarts soon.

* * * * *

Harry Potter smiled as he entered the main entrance of Hogwarts. He loved the school. Everything about it! The magic, the Quidditch, the people, the creatures, the ghosts, the food. . . The summer hadn't been a good one, and it was a relief to find himself back at home. His real home.

Someone smacked into him from behind. He looked at the retreating back of Draco Malfoy. Ugh. The one thing he didn't care for in Hogwarts. He let out a little growl, and turned away, only to be pulled into a huge hug.

"Harry! Oh, God, Harry, I wanted to see you over the summer so much!"

Harry smiled.

"It's great to see you, too, Hermione."

She pulled away from him, holding him at arm's length. "So, Harry, how was your summer?" The question seemed innocent enough, but Hermione couldn't mask the earnestness in her eyes, and Harry realized that she was worried about him, that she was really asking "What did the Dursleys do to you this time?"

He looked down at his feet nervously. He wasn't going to tell her anything. But she seemed to hear what he didn't say, anyway.

"Oh, Harry!" Her voice was so sad, that it hurt him. "I swear, I'm going to kill them one of these days."

"It wasn't as bad as that, 'Mione. Don't worry. I'm fine."

She gave him another huge hug, but still looked unconvinced when she pulled back. "Look, Harry, if there's ever something you need to talk to me about. . ." Harry nodded, and smiled.

"I'll come to you. But right now, I'm hungry, so let's go find Ron, then go to dinner."

Hermione laughed, but before she could answer him, Ron appeared, grunting eloquently, "I'm hungry."

Hermione muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Boys," and brushed in front of them with a huff, Harry and Ron tagging behind her.

* * * * *

Dumbledor stood in front of the Great Hall, watching calmly as the students filed in. He had a gentle smile on his face, but the worry in his eyes couldn't be disguised.

"Albus, are you quite all right?" It was Minerva, of course. She constantly worried about him. And now she was p;aying with a loose strand of hair. . . a clear sign of her worry for her.

"I am fine, Minerva," he said, careful to keep his voice serene, composed. . . for her sake. "Don't worry so much."He touched the hand that was still nervously playing with the hair, and placed it gently by her side. She let out a nervous chuckle.

"You got me, Albus. But I know you well enough to know when you're worried, too. Your eyes have never quite been able to hide your heart."

"As long as we fight together, things will remain. . ."

"Don't give me one of your speeches, Albus. Save it for the children. It doesn't fool me."

Dumbledor sighed, and his expression darkened. "This will be a long year, Minerva. A long, hard year. You know as well as I. This will not be a time we will look back on fondly." He glanced over at the Sorting Hat, patiently waiting on a stool, "And now you must go to begin the sorting."

McGonagall stared at him, mouth agape, frozen in place. He had never been quite that honest with her. He was more the type who would stay silent, bear the brunt of the suffering. Dumbledor gave her a light push, and she moved mechanically towards the Sorting Hat, listened to it sing it's song, and then opened her scroll, and read off of the list of first years. She felt sick.

* * * * *

"Does McGonagall look sick to you?" Hermione whispered to Harry amid the noise all the other students were making. Harry tore himself away from the picture that Ron was passing around (it was a good one of Edgar Elzenheimer the new Chudley Cannons seeker doing a quick but effective play resulting in the other seeker running into the stands) and looked over at McGonagall, who was leading a nervous first year up to the Sorting Hat.

"The first year does," Harry said with a grin, and, indeed, the young boy did. His face was white, and jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like he had already chipped a few teeth. Hermione gave Harry a look, that seemed to be intended to kill him.

"Seriously, Harry, see how pale she is? And I don't think I've ever seen her eyes that wide."

Harry took another look, and, upon closer inspection, realized that she did look rather worried. Her eyes were much wider than normal, and she seemed extraordinarily intent upon pushing back a loose strand of hair.

"You're right," he said, slowly, when. . .

"Ravenclaw!" The hat yelled out.

Harry watched as a bewildered eleven-year-old made their way to the table of Ravenclaw, then forced himself to look away as his eyes met Cho's. He held no grudges toward her. . . but even so, he felt much more comfortable on the other side of the room.

Dumbledor stood up, and Harry realized that the sorting was over. "Settle down students," he said, though there was no need, really, to say that. As soon as Dumbledor stood, a hush had fallen over the room. "Congratulations to all our new Hogwarts students. I am sure you will fit right in here. Forbidden Forest, as you all know, is off limits, and Mr. Filch has created a revised list of things not allowed in Hogwarts with no less then 3,251 items. I would advise you all to take a glance at it. And now, you may eat."

Immediately the platters filled with food enough to fill every belly in the room ten times over, but Harry found he could only pick at the feast. There had been something very. . . strained in the way that Dumbledor gave his normally cheerful speech, and, coupled with McGonagall's strange behavior, it left Harry feeling very nervous indeed.

Harry shrugged off the eerie feeling, and was about to dig in, when a cry filled the large room. It was Pansy, and she was pointing a shaking finger up at Malfoy who was hovering in the air, going higher and higher, so that it looked like he was about to hit the domed ceiling. He was limp. . . looked almost dead. Harry watched awed, as Malfoy rose higher and higher, his head lolling back, body arched smoothly.

Almost by instinct he looked to see who was doing this to the boy. That was when he saw Crabbe, gazing unflinchingly up at the blonde, muttering something. What did Hermione say? Don't they have to be making eye contact. . . and saying something. . . and. . . oh, shit.

And he decided to help Malfoy, Malfoy, cursing his Gryffindor morals. The teachers had already sprung into action, trying to get Draco down, looking around to see who could be holding the boy up in the air, none thinking to look at the Slytherins, and especially not Crabbe, who was the known dunce of the school, and surely could not accomplish such a magical feat. Or so they thought.

Only Harry knew.

And he had to do something.

He leapt out of his chair, and ran across the room, suddenly forgetting every piece of magic he had learned, forgetting his wand, counting on his physical strength alone. All eyes were upon him, but he felt none of them, heard nothing, saw nothing, only Crabbe, and, upon reaching him, hit him as hard as he could with a closed fist.

Crabbe started, as one might when get unexpectedly hit on the shoulder, not much, but enough to break eye contact, to end the curse.

That was when everything came back into focus. He had just barely enough time to hear Hermione's shrill voice crying, "Harry, watch out," look up, see Malfoy's limp form hurtling straight at him, and hear a nasty crunching noise. This is what I get for helping the prat, he thought.

Then everything went black.