Lost

Chapter Two

Involuntary reminiscence

Wonderful. Just splendid. Now the news is chatted about all over Durmstrang, and I didn't get expelled, damnit! Still the scapegoat, too. How much longer can I stand this?

Turning the corner and ignoring the obvious whispers and pointing in his direction, Draco braked and avoided nearly bumping into Moriann. The Chaser seemed to stalk him everywhere; she foolishly thought he didn't notice. Nodding at her, he walked around the girl and into the Durmstrang Quidditch Headquarters room. Ignoring the redhead's existence, he carefully lay out the large diagram he'd created onto the table. He began adding a list of tactics and moves needed to make the game strategy he'd planned work out, continuing to write even as she went behind him to look over his shoulder.

Avoiding making the slightest movement towards her head to his right, and continuing to seem oblivious that she was there, Draco thought he'd succeeded on making her want to leave, when instead the girl piped up and asked, "Draco, who was your best friend back at Hogwarts? Do you have a penpal from over there?"

Draco almost laughed. Best friend? Definitely not Crabbe or Goyle...and definitely not Harry. No, Harry hadn't been a best friend...he'd been more. Mentally cringing at the memory of the other boy, and absentmindedly wondering why he hadn't gotten any letters from the Boy Who Lived, Draco stayed silent. Then, shrugging her off of hovering above his shoulder, he replied coldly, "To me there was not, isn't, and will not be such a thing as a best friend. Friends are nought more than enemies in disguise. I had several acquaintances; nothing more, nothing less."

Frowning at Draco's cold shoulder, Moriann sat down beside him, eyeing his diagram while simultaneously speaking. "Well, maybe you had someone special who was...more than an acquaintance...or a friend?" Draco stiffened for a moment, before taking a breath and blinking to return to earth; no reaction was the best way to go. Damnit this girl is nosy, a Durmstrang fool crackernut, and does not know how to flirt. Never shuts up, either. Why can't she just... Argh.

He sighed, turning to look at her, and drawled, "I think you read too many daft, cacky romance novels. Bad flirting, inquiring as to where the victim's affection lies...Look, Erbol, we're in the Quidditch Headquarters room, not the Love Life Chat Room. This is not Twenty Questions."

"Well, it's just that I, well...romance novels are not cacky! I mean, er...hey, what's that?" Looking down to see where the girl pointed, Draco attempted to hide the bracelet by pulling down his sleeve. But, with quick Chaser reflexes and a demanding demeanor, Moriann grabbed his arm, holding it tight, and looked at the bracelet for several moments. Rubbing her fingers across the engraving on the cold silver metal, she murmured, "DM + HP forever...Hm, well, you're obviously DM...who's HP?" Then, looking up at him, she said victoriously, "Ah, so you do have a secret lover back at Hogwarts!"

Pulling his arm out of her grasp as the girl stood up, Draco said, "Shove it, Erbol, you can only guess."

As the door shut behind the girl's leave, Draco sighed, blowing a lock of hair from his forehead. Nosy git. He was not my lover...well, almost. Valentine's Day was damn close...ah bloody hell, there I go again...missing him. Damn!

-----*-----

Left, right, under, over, spin, spin, right, left, start all over again. Left, right, under, ov-Draco looked up from his magic weaving as the crunch of an intruding footstep interrupted his concentration. He looked up to see Professor Horptz, a large nosed, bulky man with sunburned skin. Very unpleasant to look at, with a horrid smell constantly surrounding him.

Pretending to rub his eyelids to rescue himself from the sight of the man, Draco asked, "Yes, Professor? You need something from me?" Leaning down, the man drew up his sleeve, saying, "I've heard of your father's profession, young Draco, and would like to say...we need you on our side, don't stay in between for much longer."

Draco sat there, frozen, staring at the Dark Mark emblazoned on the man's arm. Surprisingly, or perhaps not surprisingly, it brought back to him another memory of Harry..."Just because I lived through Avada Kedavra doesn't mean I'm any different from other wizards. None of it was ever me; anything I used to outdo Voldemort in the past years, I learned from others.

...no one understands that inside, I'm not a hero. I don't like being called one, I don't like people gawking at my scar."

If only Harry was here now. That Gryffindor could solve a problem in any situation. Hero or no hero, he had more experience with strange situations like this, where the dark expect you to agree with them, but you don't want to.

How to answer, that, no, I don't want to join Voldemort and have a Dark Mark? How to explain that I don't care who my father is, what anyone says, I'm not in the middle, I'm on the side of Harry Potter?

Chapter Three

Dubious Hope

Dear Diary,

Truly this world is a dark and lonely place. The Malfoy blood that flows so steadily through me does not feed my soul. Daily I am transforming more and more into who I was before Harry confessed his love, before he even came into my life. I used to look at most with scorn, filled with pride, having the desire to fulfill my father's dream and become whoever it was he wanted me to be. But when Harry came, that dream faded even more than it had already begun to.

Of course, I will always have the qualities that make me a Slytherin, a Malfoy. Some of these qualities protect me, and I would hate to give them up. But the harsher of these qualities, the darkness, Harry helped it mix with the rest of me. The darkness, that wicked hatred, the evilness, the homicidal urge, was controlling me, but Harry helped me realize that it shouldn't; there is more to me than that. It has made my life better, loving Harry. It used to be that I'd be loathe to admit anything besides pure hatred for the Boy Who Lived. Now, just the thought of him causes me elation...or should I say, it did. Now that we're separated, his memory only causes me sorrow.

It has been seven months now since I last saw Harry. I left Hogwarts towards the end of my sixth year, in March. I completed that year in Durmstrang. June 31st, I wasn't there to celebrate the occasion of my love's seventeenth birthday. I wonder if he thought of me on that day at all. I myself turned seventeen in July, only three days after Harry. After school ended, I was relieved to be rid of Moriann Erbol, the insistent Chaser with a horrid crush on me. The summer at the Manor, however, was torture. Pure torture. Hiding secrets is my specialty, yet hiding them from my father...a near impossibility. I'm surprised the bastard hasn't searched my room several times upon my absences and found out already about Harry and I.

That is why I have you, Diary. To make sure I don't die from fatigue, and to make sure my hope doesn't evaporate. Happiness for me? Doubtful. Mercy from cruel fate? Doubtful. Yet I still cling to hope. I am tired of life, tired of this power surging inside me, tired of sickeningly knowing that I will never receive a letter from Harry; I never did before, why would I get a letter now?

I miss him, Diary.

But as I live without him, the cold exterior continues, and the me I became free of due to Harry is returning.

-----*-----

Crunch. Crunch. His cloak sweeping through the sharp cold winter air, Draco briskly stepped up the stairs to Durmstrang Tower Three, East Wing, Room M721. Ice, crusted against his boots, crunched with each step, some of it being shed to lay on the stairway as he continued steadily upwards. With almost inhuman grace the pale skinned ex-Slytherin avoided slipping against the stairs, wet with his every step.

Wrapping his scarf tighter around his slender neck, he tucked the tiny book and pen back in his bag, hatred of this place, his surroundings, the people, just the name Durmstrang filling him with loathing. Sleek gloves brushed the doorknob; good, it was still locked. The chill of coldness still bit at his skin even inside the castle; snapping his fingers, a mirthless grin momentarily lit his face, as, snapping his fingers, the tiny key appeared before him. Grabbing it from the air, he quickly chinked it into the lock, twisting, sighing in relief as the sound of unlocking--both muggle and magic: locks shifting, bars sliding back from their places, as well as spells-- met his ears.

Pushing the door open violently, he tossed away his scarf, tucked the key away under the furry rug, and let the door bang shut. Sliding his gloves from his hands, and unbuttoning his coat to let it slide to the floor, with a second snap of his fingers the windows were tightly shut. He had just drawn a chair up to the crackling fire and sat upon it when a noise caught his ears.

Sore muscles groaning in protest, Draco slowly stood up, felinely silent, his boots not making a single click as he swiftly crossed the floor towards the source of the sound. Standing there, in slight disarray, was a girl.

She huddled, wide-eyed, at the side of his bed, her lavender nightgown snug on her beneath a ragged blue coat. Her looks spoke of an age past puberty, but whether she was his age or younger, Draco couldn't tell. Dirty-blonde ringlets pooled down her shoulders, and the radiant blue of her eyes caught his gaze. Stunned yet wary, Draco said, "Excuse me, but I think we are both under the understanding that you are trespassing not only on private property, but in my room. Your name, living location, purpose of being here--if any--tell me."

Although his gaze in return to her frightened and puzzled one was piercing and dispassionate, inside, he shivered. Something was wrong, disastrously wrong. Like all other witchcraft and Wizardry school, the existence of Durmstrang was unknown to non-magic people. But this girl was a muggle, through and through.