Draco By Trial

Why did you come here?

You weren't invited.

You're on the outside

Stay on the outside

And now you want to ask me why

It's like, how does your heart beat?

How do you cry?

Lisa Loeb - How

Draco was silent for a long time before Fudge was able to get him to talk again. He seemed to get lost in memories of being with his friends, times when they were younger and all that mattered was the next Quidditch match or what latest hilarious disaster Longbottom had caused in Potions. He longed for a return to that innocence; that childlike naivety when he was allowed to make mistakes and believed that his father was like a god.

It was amazing how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. After that fateful night in the Slytherin common room, not one person in his house would speak to him; they could barely look at him. He had refused to let them see the effect this had on him. He would sit alone during lessons and at mealtimes, and in the evenings he would lock himself away in his private prefects' room, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. He ignored the hostility and the sarcasm; he could spar with the best of them but hadn't really been able to see the point, it wasn't as though they were going to pay any attention.

It had been the most miserable time of his life. He wouldn't utter words for days on end, and he'd felt as though he were acting merely on autopilot as he walked the halls each day. People had noticed obviously; had noticed the jibes and cruelty which was aimed in his direction, but they all stayed well away from it. Slytherin politics were not entered into lightly and, to be honest, nobody had really cared enough to bother. Except Harry of course.

"Mr Malfoy, if you please." Fudge's voice, ever so slightly softened, finally managed to pierce Draco's mind.

"What? Oh, yes. Sorry. Carry on, I'm listening."

"Right, well." Fudge was fumbling his words, clearly trying to retain some semblance of control without coming across as insensitive. "So, as I understand it, the 'confrontation' between yourself and your housemates caused a rift?"

"Yes you could say that," Draco said sadly. "I tried to explain further, but they simply refused to listen. They turned the whole house against me."

"And your position as Slytherin prefect?"

Draco grimaced.

"I didn't think it was appropriate for me to carry on as the prefect of a house that wanted nothing to do with me, so I relieved myself of the duty. Professor Snape was kind enough to let me retain the single room which is a Slytherin prefect's privilege. I think he did it mainly to keep me away from the rest of the house to avoid any fights."

"Ah, but I have numerous witnesses who have reported countless confrontations between you and, predominantly, Miss Parkinson and Mr Zabini throughout the year." Fudge's voice hardened.

"Yes," Draco whispered, picturing their sneering, spiteful faces. "Pansy and Blaise."A murmur ran through those gathered and a quickly stifled sob sounded. Draco closed his eyes momentarily and saw Pansy's shocked face staring down at the knife in her stomach, blood was seeping slowly around the edges of the blade as she grasped the handle and pulled. Draco re-opened his eyes, breathing heavily; feeling the bile rising in his throat.

'Shit. Stop it. Stop thinking about it!'

There had been too many fights with those two. However, he considered, Harry would probably have never tried to talk to him if they hadn't been quite so vicious and public in their attacks on him. 'Every cloud...' he thought grimly.

*

Draco stood just outside of the Great Hall, taking deep breaths. He could hear the sounds of the school having dinner; loud, cheerful voices, the scrape of chairs, the soft clink of cutlery. He was purposefully late, as he was every day now. He tended to rush in, eat quickly and then leave.

He took one last deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and entered the hall, steeling himself for what was to come. It was like a constant torture being forced to do this, but he wasn't about to let anyone else see that.

He made his way slowly and sedately towards the Slytherin table and made to sit down. It was at this point that he realised that there was nowhere for him to sit and that he'd have to ask someone to move. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, before looking pointedly at a third year who was sitting near the end. The infuriating bastard merely sneered at him briefly before carrying on eating. If Draco had been in his place, he would have done exactly the same thing.

Draco clenched his fists and moved towards where the sixth years were sitting.

*

He stumbled into the nearest empty classroom, their words still echoing in his ears. He fell to his knees as his strength left him and tears threatened to fall. If he had been in any doubt before, he was sure now, they'd seen to that. He was completely on his own.

Harsh words floated through his mind.

'Stupid ponce, who do you think you are?'

'Go away; can't you see that no-one wants you here?'

'Take your arrogant self away from this table; I can barely stand to look at you.'

Early evening light flooded lazily into the room, causing long shadows on the ground. The silence was deafening. Draco closed his eyes, willing his feelings of sadness and rising panic to go away. He leant his head on the nearest desk, and tried to breathe deeply. He didn't know how long he sat there, kneeling on the ground enveloped in silence, but when the door banged open and he raised his head, the soft light of the sunset seemed harsh to his eyes, and he had to squint.

Draco got to his feet as three people noisily entered the room. When they finally noticed him, they stopped dead, slowly taking in his dishevelled appearance and slightly blotchy face. 'Perfect,' he thought, as Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry fucking Potter continued to stare at him.

*

Silence descended upon the room once more, as Draco desperately tried to regain control over himself. If only they would stop staring, or just turn around and leave. It was bad enough that anyone had come across him like this, but it just had to be those three. He expected Weasley's face to break into a huge grin any second, so he pre-empted this by saying,

"What?" His voice seemed to knock them out of their trance, and Granger shook herself. She stared at him for a moment longer, a perceptive and assessing look which made him distinctly uncomfortable.

"Sorry Malfoy, we thought this room was empty," she said briskly.

"Well it obviously isn't." Draco turned his back on them and was rewarded when, a few seconds later, he heard the door open and close again. He sighed and turned back, then froze when he came face to face with Potter; just Potter.

*

"You're trying to tell me that Harry Potter...Harry Potter willingly instigated a conversation with you? He was the one who started it?" Fudge was incredulous.

"Oh yes," Draco said smugly. "Harry started everything. It was all him. Surprised?" He began to grin as he thought of Harry, and found it very difficult to stop.

*

Potter was standing in front of him. Draco blinked twice to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, but he was still there.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" he snapped, finally breaking the silence. Potter didn't say anything, just ducked his head then raised it again, a slight smile playing on his lips. He tapped his foot, then stopped and merely carried on staring. He appeared to be undecided about something.

"Well?" Draco asked impatiently. Potter took a breath.

"I saw what happened earlier. At dinner," he said hesitantly. Draco sighed internally. 'Of course.'

"Ah, I see. Did you draw the short straw or something?" Potter looked confused, an expression his face was apparently very familiar with.

"What?"

"Well I'm assuming the reason you're still here is to find out if whatever the latest rumours that are floating around about me are true," Draco said bitterly.

"What? No! Nobody asked me to come and talk to you."

"Then what the hell are you still doing here? Go away!"

"You know, you're not making this very easy Malfoy," Potter said.

"What?" Draco said incredulously. "What do you mean easy? Look Potter, I really don't have the patience for this so let's just pretend you laughed at me because I have no friends, and said it was my own fault, and then I completely deflated you're joy at seeing me like this with some witty remark about your family and/or friends. OK?" Having said that Draco turned away and hoped against hope that Potter would just leave.

"Look." 'No such luck then,' Draco thought glumly. "I didn't come here to laugh at you," Potter said.

"Well go on then, out with it," Draco snapped, making it clear that he wished he wouldn't.

"I just wanted to know if you were OK." Draco turned around slowly and openly gaped at him. Potter shifted uncomfortably, but returned the gaze unwaveringly.

"Excuse me,I think I'm starting to hear things. You want to know what?"

"It's just that I can see you're not doing so well, even though nobody else seems to see it, and I just wondered-"

"Have you started some kind of Gryffindor outreach programme or something?"

"No, I-"

"Or is this some cunning Gryffindor plan to confuse me to death?"

"No!"

"Then just leave me alone Potter. Save your bleeding heart for someone who gives a damn," Draco snapped, and practically fled from the room.

*

"He tried to talk to me a couple of times after that, and eventually I just gave in and listened to him," Draco said, shifting in his chair. The chains that held him there were beginning to dig into his wrists.

"Why?" Fudge was clearly confused and Draco wasn't surprised. It made no sense that two people who had been so openly hostile towards each other would suddenly strike up some form of friendship out of nowhere.

"I was lonely, though I didn't want to admit it. I certainly never told him that. And there was something different about Harry. He made me laugh. He's kind of infectious like that. He has this innocent, carefree air to him...I mean had...he had..." his voice trailed off again.

*

Another night found Draco standing once more by the lake, smoking and thinking; a solitary figure with the lonely, infinite stars as a backdrop. This time, his thoughts were centred on a single person: Harry Potter. The person he'd thought would be least likely to care about what was happening to him. But then, had Potter even crossed his mind lately? He inhaled deeply, watching the end of his cigarette flare and then dull once more. He looked away but the after-image was still imprinted on his eyes. He sighed and sank to the ground, curling his legs under him. If he was being honest with himself, he would almost think that he had enjoyed talking to Potter the last couple of days. After weeks of nothing but glares and sarcastic comments from everyone around him, it was nice to be treated like a human again. However, he was troubled by the question of why Potter would even want to talk to him. His suspicious mind began trawling over every possible reason, and he could only come to one conclusion: Potter wanted something from him. But what?

Draco had always thought that Potter was such a simple person. He existed from day to day, protecting the weak and innocent, fighting evil, being all brave and Gryffindor-ish. Just the thought made Draco cringe and shudder to his Slytherin core. He thought about the person he'd seen Potter grow into: an angry, brooding young man who was being twisted up inside by his bitterness. In their previous year of school, Draco had watched Potter sink to new lows, and he'd revelled in it. He'd found a sick sort of justification in the fact that Potter was finally being punished for trusting people so blindly. He was so stupid, always expecting to be looked after and molly-coddled by Dumbledore. Watching Potter's pain, he'd found vindication for his own life choices. He trusted no-one, believed nothing, and valued nothing above his own life.

However, as Draco looked closer at his memories, he found that his mental image of Potter was incongruous with what he saw now. Potter had changed under his very nose and he hadn't noticed. Images of him flashed faster and faster through his mind, warring with the ingrained picture of him he'd built up over the years. Potter now walked with his head held high, a smile on his lips and a playful look in his eyes. He was still the reckless idiot he'd always been; was still sickeningly good and self-righteous, but he seemed lighter, less weighed down by self-inflicted woes. With a start, Draco realised that it was peace he saw in Potter; peace of mind.

He stood, stretching out the numbness in his legs and thinking vaguely that he'd been outside too long. It was becoming too cold for these night-time strolls as October melted into November. He was still no closer to working out what it was that Potter wanted from him, but he didn't think it could hurt to find out. His curiosity had always been his downfall.

He left the lake and re-entered the school, feeling slightly lighter himself, as though he'd deposited some of his troubles at the lakeside and had watched them slowly disintegrate.