What Do You See?

What Do You See?

Chapter 2: In too deep :

I wasn’t sure what to say so I let him have the floor.
“Shit, Weasley.”
Nice start.

So I was very wrong for believing that Harry was the only blessed student who owned an Invisibility Cloak; Or was I wrong for thinking that Malfoy owned another cloak. What if Malfoy, knowing Harry had the cloak-that’s-to-die-for, took it from him? If Malfoy had, he better return it before that damned cloak starts another mayhem.

“You almost goddamn tripped me over,” he said accusingly, “watch your step next time and rid me your stupidity [A/N: thanks Mr. Gandalf!!]." I watched him as he folded up the cloak. No, it wasn’t Harry’s. Thank heavens.

He moved towards me, warned me to keep our meeting to myself. He explained why no student should know about his cloak; therefore:

“Shut your mouth, Weasley, seal it.”

I only nodded despite the initial urge to spread the news, but then I realized I wasn’t fit for a gossipmonger.

“And what the hell are you doing here, this late? Shouldn’t you be in your scarlet pajamas, sucking your thumb?”

Urgh! We don't sleep in scarlet pajamas! Oh! how I wanted to say that. But one way to repel a Malfoy insult is by simply.. ignoring it. Treat it like the wind, that’s what Hermione would say.

And so I remained silent, and focused my eyes on the forest. I leaned my arms on the veranda’s granite railings, and forgot for a moment that somebody else was there. I’d gotten used to his acerbic insults, that now I find it easy to throw his presence away.

He moved to the terrace and rested in the same way I had. He leaned on his arms and whistled. Timidly, I looked up at the almost 6-footer guy next to me. He was probably getting snug—with the way he was whistling and all that.

“What are you looking at?” he demanded.

“You,” I said straight.

“Since when did I allow you to do that?”

“Since you never mentioned what I wasn’t allowed to do, I looked.”

“Didn’t I?” He stirred closer to me. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was up to, but I was sure as hell it won’t be to my liking.

“What’s your business in my tower, Malfoy?” I looked away.

“Your tower? Excuse me, did I hear right?” his eyes were narrowing in a forbidding way. I hated him. “The last time I checked, this was the Malfoy tower, where the owner, namely ‘me’ spent almost every school night ever since his 2nd year,” he said substantially.

Is that even possible? He’s been going here for the past 4 years, but never in that period had I come upon a Malfoy.

“Really,” I said as I backed off, “if I--told you I’d been going here for as long as you had, what would you say?”

“The obvious.” He moved even closer.

“And what’s the obvious?”

“That we hadn’t met until now. And you know why?”

I nodded.

“It’s you, you squeezed, pebble-sized lemon head, stepped on my precious cloak.”

“So you’ve been here all the time, haven’t you?”

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Malfoy said sourly.

“And you knew.. I was here? And you still kept coming?” I widened my eyes, “stalker!”

“In your wildest dreams, Weasel. Let’s just say, I have a special gift that allows me to go unnoticed. And you, on the other hand, have nothing but..”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Jeez, I’ve heard enough! “You know, you’re using you cloak the wrong way,” I said frankly.

He looked at me, and said, “How do you know what’s right from wrong? You wouldn’t be wandering this late if you knew.”

“It doesn’t matter what I know.” I was only trying to tell him the right thing. But then, it’s Draco Malfoy I was talking to, no wonder why I got a reply like that.

“What you don’t know is what matters more.”

“Whatever.” I motioned to the other side of the tower, and said, “Are you always following me with that cloak? I’m sorry to have stepped on it. Maybe it was an indication that you should stop with whatever you’re up to.”

“Dream on more.”

Then, he left. I don’t know why it hurt to see (rather suppose) him wear the cloak back, and once again, go invisible. Perhaps I was intrigued by the mere fact that he was there when I cried and laughed, believing there was no one else but me. Oh well, to err is human.

I looked down the grounds. There was the hut Hagrid calls home and his farm of out of the ordinary creatures. But to my surprise, my Potions teacher, Severus Snape, on his foot, was walking towards the Forbidden Forest carrying what seemed to be a trunk.

“Is-is that Professor Snape?” I said aloud. With the mention of his name, Malfoy halted and went back to see if it really was him.

“What is he...” wondered Malfoy. And with a sudden change in his face (he was looking confused and all), he almost shouted in my ear, “Oh.. WEASLEY!” as if he’d found a miracle.

I hushed him, and asked myself loudly, “Where’s Professor Snape going?”

Malfoy pulled me away from the terrace with a hand, while his other hand cupped my jawbones, completely turning my whole face to him. What was happening?

“No..no..don’t look at him,” he whispered hurriedly, “look at me.”

And so I did. I looked at his features—nose—mouth—eyes. Gray. Yes, his eyes were gray. Too gray that they seemed almost empty and deep, it was too impossible to perceive what was happening inside them. It was like looking in an empty, 20 foot well from the top. Now, he held my arms with both hands. He was, as if, a dementor, ready to sip every soul that was in me. I started to feel weak, vulnerable to any blow. His hands were my only support, that’s as far as I could tell. I knew that if he let me go, I’d slip. It took a while after I gathered my pieces again. But only to find out that the weakness inside only grew more. What was happening?

The sad thing was, he stared at me with cold eyes, possibly the same way I was staring at him. They were troubled—his eyes—they gave me the feeling he was struggling for a way out, while there I was, struggling to survive.

* * *

( A/N: DRACO MALFOY’S POV. )

“Gray eyes?”

I couldn’t believe I actually touched her dirt. She was suddenly out of herself. She was raving mad a while ago and then suddenly turned into a, well, tissue. I felt her whole weight upon me. All of her were depending on my grip. Was she sick or something?

“Malfoy, where are you going?”

“I’m not going anywhere, stupid,” I said bleakly.

Jeez, was she hallucinating?

“You better go back to where you came from or we’ll both get in trouble, Weasley.”

“Trouble? That’s bad, trouble’s bad.” And she was actually laughing.

“Weasley..” I called to her in a serious tone, “I’m letting go now.” I was suddenly afraid she would fall off. From her looks, she wouldn’t make it back to her dorm. But there’s no way I’m walking her. And hell, what do I care if she makes it there or not?

I slowly let go. She looked at me, as if searching for something that was wedged right in my face. I motioned her to go, she nodded and started walking. But before she could even reach the entrance door to the castle, she collapsed.

* * *

( A/N: OMNISCIENT / THIRD PERSON VIEW STARTS HERE )

Snape’s office was the most unlikely place to be, even during mornings. To Draco, you only get to be there if you’re in deep trouble. Deep shit, that is. He sat on the chair in front of the professor's table, pretended unworried, as he watched the man finish some writing.

“Oh now, Severus, you’ve got a new set of frog livers! Let me just take a look at..”

“It’s Pro-fes-sor Snape to you. You wouldn’t touch anything, boy,” Snape cautioned.

“Whatever.” Draco looked at the ceiling.

“Whatever?” Snape asked, narrowing his eyes, “I wonder if it’s still ‘whatever’ if you knew what I’m writing to Lucius.” Then came Snape’s horrible smirk.

Upon hearing his father’s name, Malfoy stood promptly, almost knocking the bottles of frog livers who were placed arbitrarily on the desk. “You—can’t—be serious, Severus. What did I do to deserve that?”

“Oh, just in case you still don’t know after 6 long years, 10 o'clock is the curfew,” Snape verified and continued in an imposing manner, “let’s review, shall we? You were in the Astronomy Tower past your curfew, met with a student from another house, not to mention the house is Gryffindor, and oh, do I still have to point out that she’s a Weasley? And to spice up to story, she was in you arms the moment you went back. That’s the story I know, Draco. I will have to judge on that information, unless of course, you have you own version.” Snape sat back comfortably in his chair, and gestured Draco to start reasoning.

“Thank you. First, Severus, do you expect me to drag an unconscious body down?”

“Of course not,” answered Snape.

“The same reason why I had to carry her! Second, I saved your ass, whether you like it or just like it that way,” Draco pointed. Snape’s eyes widened. “By the way, what were you doing out in the forest?”

“You..saw me?”

“I didn’t, she did. There was no other option but to pull her back to lose track of you. At that point, Severus, I knew you were up to something. Hoarding you from her was my only motive. But then she went out of her tiny mind, gone slightly mad and just fainted like that.”

Snape looked at the younger boy distrustfully.

“Well?” insisted Draco.

“Fine then. I believe you, but we have to wait for Ms. Weasley to awaken, we’ll have to hear her side.”

“But she’ll probably lie!” complained Draco, “to get me in trouble or something.”

“And why would she want you in a mess? She wouldn’t, unless you did something to provoke her.”

“I thought you believed me? Now why are you suspecting me of something?” protested Draco.

“No, no. I’m just.. considering all the possibilities.” Snape only continued with the parchment.

“I shouldn’t have gone there again last night,” said Draco in a hush, his face a disappointed picture.

“You mean again?”

Malfoy knew he had slipped. “Y-yes, again.”

Snape looked hysterical, then asked, “How—long have you been going out late?”

“Since 2nd year, I reckon. Since I knew what Lucius wanted me to be.”

Instead of a pissed-to-death-faced-Snape Draco was expecting, Snape’s face had no remarks of anger or disappointment. Severus knew where Draco was coming. He was there when Lucius revealed his true identity to his son, Draco. And ever since, Draco had been anyone but a father’s son. He stopped doing as he was told, and simply did anything he knew would make his father break his mother’s vases.

“I understand,” he finally said, after realizing that no words could ever pacify the young man’s troubled mind, and continued, “but that doesn’t change my judgement. As head of the house, I should and will put you to punishment.”

“Ah-right,” said Draco, “uh, can I make a request?”

Snape nodded.

“Don't write to him?”

“I’ll think about that.”

Draco frowned.

“Don’t scowl like that. It’s for your own good. And.. I promised I would let him know his son’s goings-on, didn’t I? But I’ll think about...”

“Look,” Draco cut him. “I know my father owes you a lot and so do you to him. But why are you so.. unusually considerate? Professor, you’re my house master and unfortunately, just my drought-mouth father’s confidante, but why do you.. why do you surge your effort just to write to him when you don’t do that to Crabbe and Goyle? They’re also Slytherins. You’re so unfair.”

But Snape only stood up and walked to the door humbly.

“I have my reasons, Mr. Malfoy,” he said flatly as he opened the door, “and you’ll know them in time. We’re done talking.”

“But you haven’t told me what you were doing outside last night,” teased Draco .

“GO!”

Then Draco left, without a last look at the older man.

***

Malfoy had walked out, supposedly heading for breakfast in the Great Hall. He didn’t have a sound sleep. Who would?, he thought, what moron would have a proper sleep with a horrible memory backing him up? He passed the Infirmary doors quietly. He remembered bringing Weasley down there last night. He wondered if she was okay, after all that’s happened. He peered through the rectangular glass window of the door. As he expected, Granger, her git of a boyfriend Weasley, and of course, Potter, were there, all with worried faces for Ginny.

Was Potter holding her hand?

***

“Hey, Malfoy,” Crabbe called to the boy beside him.

“What?” asked the irritated Malfoy.

“You getting detention?”

“No.” Malfoy lied.

“Oh that’s great.”

“But we both will if you wont shut up.”

“Sorry..” Crabbe apologized, then went back to writing.

But it was too late to stop now.

“Would you like to share your talk with the class?” posed Snape, looking at the two boys who were sharing their own conversation.

Both shook their heads.

“Then pay attention. I hope you know it’s your Potions and not your, ooh, say, glamour class?”

Half the Gryffindors broke into laughs.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Malfoy asked Dean Thomas, who was the closest Gryffindor to his seat, not loud enough to call Snape's attention again.

“Er, you.” Dean laughed impishly.

Draco hadn’t had a pleasing evening, he wouldn’t let some pathetic Gryffindor ruin the day next to that. He pushed himself up and looked down on Dean.

“Well, you stopped laughing?” he asked as he towered the boy.

“I.. I was..” Dean muttered, but he was cut by Snape.

“Alright. That does it,” barked Snape, “8 points from Gryffindor for disturbing my class.”

Draco smirked even more as Snape turned his back.

“And 3 points from Slytherin. Did I just see a standing Draco Malfoy without my permission?”

Malfoy was forced to sit down, now with a Monday-ish smile. ( A/N: you know how we students hate Mondays..XD )

As Snape finished his writing, he turned to the class and started explaining, “As clearly written on the board, frog livers...” But then, the door opened.

Ron Weasley, Potter and Granger entered. The two boys went to their seats, while Granger went to Snape.

“Sorry we’re late, Sir. But we have Professor Dumbledore’s permission,” claimed Hermione. Everyone was now looking at her.

“But you and your companions are late. Guess I will have to take precious points.”

“But sir..” Hermione tried to complain.

“No buts and sit down.”

“2 points from the three of you. 2 times 3?” Snape asked blankly.

Draco answered his simple question, “6.”

“And add that to 8, you’ll get..?”

“14,” answered Draco again, in a rather bored voice.

Snape smirked. “15? Merlin, 15 precious points!”

Knowing Hermione, she stood up to detest, “It’s only 14, Sir!”

“I know that, Granger, you think you know better? It’s 15 because I knew you were going to react.”

Snape continued his lesson. At Draco Malfoy’s back, Gryffindor’s Neville Longbottom asked Ron about his sister.

“Ey, is Gin alright?” asked Neville under his breath.

“Y-yeah, still in the Infirmary, though. Resting.”

“Good,” said Neville, and Draco at the same time.

Ron, Neville, and Vincent but looked at Draco.

Crabbe was alarmed, he’d never really heard Malfoy talk to himself. Well, that's what he thought.

“Said something?” Crabbe insisted.

“No,” answered Malfoy strictly. He loved Potions, but for a second forgot that he did, and slept during the remaining class minutes.