Sometimes, I Even Amaze Myself

~Chapter 1~

Can I ask you a question, please?

Promise you won't laugh at me?

Honestly, I'm standing here

Afraid I'll be betrayed

As twisted as it seems

I only fear love when it's in my dreams

"Gods, boy, what is it now?"

Draco Malfoy scowled down at his breakfast, but didn't touch it. His father's question hung in the air, hovering between them and the other occupants of the dining parlor with a curious combination of irritation and weariness. Draco often felt that his father considered dealing with him to be rather like dealing with a dim and spoiled five-year-old. Draco had once been a dim and spoiled five-year-old, but now, twelve years later, he felt he warranted a bit more respect.

"Nothing, Father. I'm perfectly well," he lied, forcing himself to pick up his fork and knife. Grimly, he carved his sausages into very precise pieces.

"Then, for Merlin's sake, stop moping about," Lucius snapped. "You've been in a state ever since you returned home and we've got to put up with you for two more weeks."

No you don't, Draco threw back silently. You can sod off with your "associates" and leave mother here to deal with me. After all, I'm just your son. He didn't dare say any of it aloud. He chose life.

"Give him a break, Dad," a deeper voice said lightly. "He's probably just wishing he'd done better on midterms - right, Drake?"

Draco glanced up at his twenty-four year old brother, Aden, and his expression darkened. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the effort Aden made to wedge himself between Draco and his father's verbal bashing. He was mainly jealous that Aden didn't suffer the same abuse himself.

He commands a certain brand of attention that I certainly don't, Draco thought moodily, forcefully poking small bits of sausage into his mouth with his fork.

"Aden, darling, don't contradict your father," their mother Narcissa said casually as she took a dainty bite of poached egg. "Draco has been behaving rather badly since he returned home from school." Draco could have groaned. Why did she even bother reprimanding him? Aden, next in line to the Malfoy thrown as the eldest Malfoy heir, could more or less say or do whatever he wanted and it was 'well done, old boy!', as far as both their parents were concerned.

"Well, I'm off," Draco's brother said, pushing his chair out. "Tea this afternoon, Mother?"

"Of course, precious," she said affectionately, as he stooped to kiss her cheek.

"Cheer up, little brother, not everyone can be perfect in every way," Aden said to Draco, ruffling his formerly immaculate hair in passing. Draco hissed under his breath. He spent hours on his hair, and his brother knew it. He hid the hiss behind his teacup and tried to decide where Aden wanted to meet him. Hair ruffling was usually code for 'meet me in your room,' but occasionally Aden fancied a chat in the east wing library. In the meantime, Draco would have to wait to be excused until his parents were done berating him for whatever popped into their heads.

Sure enough, the instant the door closed behind Aden, Narcissa started in on him.

"Really, darling, what is the matter?" she asked, looking down the table - and her nose - at him. It wasn't a question of active concern, but rather, of annoyance. Draco's duty when at home was to be polite to his parents and politer to their frequent dinner guests. Whatever problems he might be having, unless they were school-related, were hardly of concern to either of his parents. So long as he upheld the mighty Malfoy honor ... he bit back a snort.

"I assure you, I'm quite well," he returned quietly, finishing his sausage.

"See that you are." Lucius' cold voice was distinctly warning. "I have some guests coming tonight, and I do not wish to trouble them with your attitude. I find it callus enough myself. You're excused from the table."

Placing his napkin onto the table with well-disguised relief, Draco stood.

"Good morning, Mother. Father." He gave his father a very curt nod and turned to go.

"Try to be more cheerful this evening, Draco," his mother called after him, her tone that of a weary woman who tried her best. Draco really disliked her sometimes. "Your father and I will be out for lunch and most of the afternoon, so see to it that you prepare for our guests tonight at a proper hour."

That would mean Death Eaters or financial backers or associates of Lucius' from the Ministry of Magic. In any event, "guests" meant people of importance to the family, or rather, people who needed a firmer understanding of the importance of the family. Thus, Draco was expected to show them what being associated with a Malfoy meant.

"Of course," Draco acknowledged, biting his tongue against a sarcastic retort. "I would wish to make a good impression."

"And see that your brother is told," Narcissa added. "This will be a most important evening for him."

Draco fought back a snort and gave another tight nod. He had it on good authority that his brother had no interest at all in any of his parents' business, but he certainly wasn't going to tell his parents that.

He left the breakfast room and climbed the wide, winding staircase up to the second floor, following the sweeping corridor to the doors of his room. His brother wasn't there, so Draco, after fixing his hair with no little irritation, headed for the east wing library. Filled almost entirely with fiction for Narcissa's amusement, Lucius rarely - if ever - frequented the place. This made it ideal for Aden and Draco's purposes.

Draco pushed open the oak doors and wound his way through the towering bookshelves to his and his older brother's refuge. Two entirely out-of-place rope hammocks hung from the ceiling, hidden from immediate view by several cleverly rearranged bookcases. Draco and Aden met here to talk without fear of being overheard. Not that Aden had a lot to worry about, being so high in Lucius' esteem, but Draco - spoiled mainly by his mother's indulgence - had more to loose.

He found his brother stretched out in one of the hammocks, facing the large window overlooking the rolling hills, woods, and mountains of the countryside surrounding the Malfoy estate. Aden's eyes were fixed on the spectacular view. His gaze didn't shift when he spoke to Draco.

"What's on your mind, Drake?" No one but Aden was allowed to call him that.

"Father is throwing a Death Eater bash tonight - or something like," Draco answered evasively, stretching himself out in the vacant hammock so that he was facing his brother with his back to the window.

"You didn't answer my question," Aden chided his brother knowingly, eyes still distant.

"I'm worried," Draco snapped. He didn't say 'about you' but it was implied. Admitting affection, even to his brother, was almost unheard of and the very thought of doing so - of exposing himself to anyone emotionally - always made him cross.

"That's not what's making you strop round this wretched place," Aden said coolly, finally turning a piercing, purple-eyed gaze upon his brother. "Either tell me what's on your mind or sod off somewhere else for the rest of the holiday."

Draco sighed. Few people talked to tall, imposing Draco Malfoy that way and got off without a sound hexing. But Aden, with his still taller frame and wiry build, was an entity unto himself. Anyway, Draco respected and venerated him too much to even consider the idea, though he would be arsed if he ever admitted it aloud.

"You sod off," the youngest Malfoy muttered childishly, sulking. After a moment, he glanced reluctantly at his brother. "Anyway, you'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Give me a break," Aden scoffed. "What haven't you told me, Drake? And what do you care if I laugh?"

"Maybe I came to warn you about tonight," Draco tried one last time, ignoring the jibe. "You can't keep putting this off, Den. I think Father means business this time. Eventually, you'll get the Mark."

"Let him mean whatever he wants," Aden said calmly. "I'm his heir and I've been trained my whole life to be a damned good one. Lucius worked too hard on me to cast me off because of some stupid tattoo I keep finding excuses not to get. All I have to do is hope that Lucius dies in time for me to inherit the Malfoy estate and put our money to better use than funding an outdated 'lord of darkness' or whatever. Until You-Know-Who gets his act together and turns up again, no one can force me to do anything."

"He could disown you - cut you out of the will," Draco suggested. "Father, I mean, not You-Know-Who."

"No shit - although You-Know-Who could probably find a way of 'disowning' me as well," Aden said, with a grim smile. "But like I said about Lucius, I'm the best bloke to take over from him and he knows it. No offense, mate, but you just aren't up to Lucius' par. Not that I'd want you to be or that he needs you to be. After all, I'm the perfect Malfoy heir - ridiculously good looking, charmingly witty -"

"Modest, as well," Draco said sarcastically, staring glumly at the bookcase in front of him. He glared at it, irrationally blaming it for existing. "You know, you've got it really good," he told his brother bitterly after moment's silence. "All you have to do is marry some rich girl and inherit a fortune. Father wouldn't even notice if you married a Muggle. He's totally blind to your faults - if you have any."

"Sack the self-pity parade, yeah," Aden reprimanded, though his expression softened a bit. "Like I said, it's all well and good till the Dark Lord turns up and kicks Lucius' sorry arse for being blind, deaf, and ugly. And then I'll damn well have a lot more to worry about than you, won't I?"

"I guess," Draco conceded, giving his brother a small smile.

"Right, quit changing the subject, you great prat," Aden said sharply. "What's on your mind?"

"Girls." He spat out the word with all the disgust he could muster.

"Uh-huh," Aden mused, tapping his chin in a professional manner that annoyed Draco immensely. "You fancy someone."

"She's pretty."

"Right. Blindingly seductive, your excuse for three cold showers a day. You can't keep your eyes off her."

"She's a redhead."

"A Weasely, eh?" Aden glanced sideways in sudden interest.

"Damn you." Draco felt his cheeks warm and glared even harder at the offending bookcase.

"Don't blame me," Aden shrugged. "Most redheads are Weaselys. This generation only has one daughter, right?"

"Actually, I quite fancy their mum," Draco said sardonically. "I like fat women."

Aden snorted. "Answer the question, you contrary bugger."

"One daughter, fortunately," Draco sneered. "Ginevra. Makes her sound about a hundred and frail, doesn't it?"

"Let me guess; innocent, noble Gryffindor?" Though not a Hogwarts graduate himself, Aden heard enough from his brother about Quidditch to know the Houses by name and reputation.

"In one."

"You sure know how to pick 'em." Aden shook his head. "Aren't there any decent girls in Slytherin anymore?"

"I didn't ask for this!" Draco snapped. "Hell, I wouldn't willfully choose to be interested in a blood traitor. Do I look suicidal? What the hell would Father say?" He shuddered at the very idea.

"Well, a pretty girl's a pretty girl, Drake," Aden pointed out unhelpfully. "What're you gonna do?"

"I don't know," Draco groaned. "Ignore her. Kill her. Shag her, maybe."

"Tried any of those yet?"

"Nope."

"Well, get busy, then," Aden said. "Who cares about her family, right? If you like her, tell her. It'll be far more interesting to have a relationship on the sly, wouldn't it? Secret rendezvous', sending Lucius to an early grave if he were ever to find out. Just tell her, mate."

"Oh, gee, why didn't I think of that?" Draco said in a falsely bright voice. "I love the idea of sneaking around with a Weasley and inevitably being caught at it because, hello, everyone knows all about everyone else at Hogwarts, and then having Lucius slaughtering me in my sleep. Thanks so much for your ingenious plan."

"You were expecting one?" his brother retorted. "What am I, your agony aunt? All I can do is give you angles. I can't run your life."

"I know that." Draco gritted his teeth in frustration. "I was hoping for more specific advice."

"Okay." Aden stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "What kind of closets does Hogwarts have?"

"Big ones," Draco said, grinning reluctantly.

"Right. Get a fancy dinner, get her flowers, and shag her."

"In a closet?"

"Duh - engorgement and silencing charms, cleaning spell, you're set."

"That's exactly the same as your last plan."

"So I'm pushing an angle. I still think it's a good idea, and I'm sure you could keep it a secret if you tried."

Draco frowned. A careless, moment-by-moment relationship would have been his idea of a good time when dealing with, say, Pansy Parkinson, but it didn't feel right with Ginny. Not that it mattered, he reflected. She didn't know how he felt about her and if she did, she would probably try and cause him physical damage. Not that this sort of behavior in a girl would normally would have intimidated him, but Ginny had proven herself quite capable of such violence - accidental or otherwise - very early on in her Hogwarts career.

Aden spotted the pause.

"Ah, not the easy sort?" he nodded knowingly. "Bummer. Usually we Malfoys can pretend not to have feelings."

"I wish," Draco sulked, crossing his arms and moodily staring at the ceiling. Again, with Pansy or any of the other Slytherin girls, it wouldn't have been an issue. With Ginny . . .

"Never mind, Drake," Aden said soothingly. "The fact that you recognize that you actually have feelings is a sign that you've been picking up on something useful in this sodding joint. It's a miracle, really." Draco wasn't sure whether to be offended or not.

"What do you feel, exactly?" Aden continued, turning back to the window with his annoying, professional psychiatrist face on again.

"I can't stop thinking about her," Draco muttered darkly after a moment's hesitation. "I see her - I stare. I hear her - I can't sleep. I'm within ten feet of her - we fight to the death." Aden's eyebrows rose. "All right, to the attempted disembowelment, then," Draco amended with a smirk.

"You've really got it bad, haven't you?" Aden asked. He stared at Draco in an uncomfortably intense way for a moment. "You in love with her, then?

Draco would have choked had he been eating. As it was, his eyes widened and he sputtered in a most un-Draco way for a moment. Before he could say anything, for instance assure his brother that he was insane and who fell in love when they were seventeen, honestly, and never mind that we're talking about falling in love with a Weasley, Aden spoke again.

"Damn, I've got to run, kid." He was looking at his pocket watch, where a thin gold hand pointed to the words "You're late, you prat." He got up and started to leave. Draco opened his mouth to say something - any possible denial he could think of - but closed it again, still too shocked at the idea to be able to form any argument against it.

Halfway around the Draco's offending bookcase, Aden paused, turning back.

"You kissed her yet?" he asked, an odd look on his face.

"No, of course not. She'd probably bite my tongue off," Draco said in surprise, his voice suddenly returning.

"Try that and see what happens. You'd be amazed. Well, cheers." And with a parting grin, he disappeared. A moment later, Draco heard the doors of the library creak open and then close with a gentle click.

He licked his lips, inexplicably nervous as he lay there alone in the deserted library. In love? The idea of being in love with Ginevra Weasley was - well, it was absurd! First of all, Draco didn't do love. He wasn't even really sure he knew what the word meant, although he hadn't met anyone his age who did. Anyone could look the definition up in a dictionary, but the trite answers one usually found there were hardly practical explanations, were they? What did it actually mean to be in love?

Draco couldn't believe he thinking about it. Bloody Aden! He should have known better than to allow his brother to psychoanalyze him, which was what usually happened when Draco complained to him about anything from girls to Quidditch to their father. Aden had an uncanny knack for knowing Draco, which, for someone as self-contained and independent as Draco fancied himself to be, was extremely disconcerting. Aden often saw aspects of Draco that Draco had no wish to recognize for himself. He could often pull secrets from Draco that Draco originally had no intention of sharing.

The youngest Malfoy often wondered what made his brother seem so wise and philosophical about everything. How had he managed to grow up under strict rule of Lucius Malfoy and the rigorous, unforgiving hand of Igor Karkaroff, Durmstrang's former Headmaster, and still have such penetration and understanding when it came to - well, just about everything. Draco couldn't think of a time when Aden had been even remotely interested in joining You-Know-Who, though his knowledge of the Dark Arts was, thanks to Durmstrang, quite extensive. Draco had never seen him tempted by power or prestige, despite their father's constant lectures about "the honor of being a Malfoy" and "the necessity of being more powerful than your opponents". Lucius always spoke with reverence of the incredible authority and command Aden possessed by being the Malfoy heir. He had always assured Aden that such power would put him in instant favor with the Dark Lord. Though Aden's answers to these attacks were always carefully vague, he made it no secret with his younger brother that he neither wanted prestige nor authority.

"What I want," he had once told Draco, "is a chance to decide for myself what I want."

The idea of not having a choice had never really occurred to Draco. Perhaps it was because he wasn't the Malfoy heir, but he had always sort of drifted through life and school, letting his father's direction and the general expectation of joining the Dark Lord at some point carry him along. Unlike Aden, he didn't have a clear understanding of his own opinion of power or prestige. He respected his brother's convictions, but wasn't sure he shared them. Although fairly sure that he didn't especially want to serve a Dark Lord and give his life over to someone else, he had essentially been raised to believe that that was his destiny. How did one fight one's own destiny?

Aden did. Draco wished he knew the secret.

With a groan, he rubbed a hand over his face and sat up. His family was right. He'd been in a state or a strop or whatever since he had been home for Christmas. But he had a lot on his mind. His destiny, Ginny, his worries about his brother, Ginny, his holiday homework (made all the more important and plentiful now that N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching), and Ginny, were just a few of the things whirling aimlessly around his mind. He winced as he realized that once again he had Ginevra Weasley primarily on the brain, despite other prevailing concerns.

In love? Honestly!

To Be Continued