Tarantella

Tarantella

Chapter 1: Playing with the Spider

Tarantella - An Italian dance which derives its name from the legend originating from Taranto, a city in the "heal of the boot" of Italy. This city gave its name to the venomous spider; the tarantula. According to tradition, if anyone bitten by the dreaded spider will dance the Tarantella hard enough, and long enough, he will prevent himself from falling into a coma and eventually yielding to the deadly poison.

Deep in a cold, dark, dungeon in the Malfoy Manor, where the sun doesn't shine, Lucius Malfoy, head of the household, whips his only heir into a bloody mass of flesh. He cracks his whip hard enough that the boy would whimper, much to his distress.

He circles around Draco, not caring if the boy would suffer too much loss of blood. He didn't need a weak son. He needed a strong heir. Someone fit to carry the name Malfoy. Someone whose blood has the right mixture of characteristics. Someone who will follow his footsteps when he passes on.

Unfortunately for Draco, he was the 'it'. He must suffer the consequences he didn't even deserve. Bear and survive it. He can't die. He didn't want to die. But the thought seems so hard to reach, as the cracking whip of his father hit him in the face, thighs and. well, practically everywhere.

His cries were subdued by him. He couldn't afford to let his father hear more of his whimpers. He couldn't even imagine what could happen if he let loose and screamed in agony. It was hell. It was just burning hell.

'What am I to do?'

After a few more moments, a hundred more whips, he got a temporary reprieve from it all. His heavy breaths mingled with his fathers. He wanted so badly to cry, to let his emotions free. But his father was there.

'I'm so pathetic.'

Just then, when the world grew silent once again, he heard his father's mocking voice. Still as distant as always.

"Stand up, boy."

Draco moved the instant he heard the command. Truly, it was beyond human understanding how he'd managed to get up after the lashes that still burned through him like the wind.

"I don't want you to screw up this year at Hogwarts. It's your last chance. Prove something to me this year, or else you're going to get it."

His father sneered at him and left him there, standing in the cold. Draco looked down on his clothes. His white turtleneck was torn apart and was barely noticeable as white because his blood painted the fabric like dye. His hair. no. the whole of him was all unkempt. He sat down by the cool, hard wall, covered his face and cried.

'This has to stop.'

---

It was another year at Hogwarts. The day was bright and nice and the breeze was blowing quite nicely. It was just after the welcoming ceremony for the new first years, where thy were circulated in the four houses.

In the Gryffindor side of the Great Hall, Harry, Hermione and Ron were having their usual conversation.

"So you see Harry, the Chudley Cannons have to be the best team in the whole Quidditch world!"

"Well, I always thought Roderick Plumpton's the best seeker of all time. I mean, he caught the snitch in three and a half seconds! That's a record that's impossible to beat."

Harry munched on his apple pie. The crust was a little bit burnt. He finished it up with one last bite and drank his pumpkin juice.

Ron sighed and asked Hermione, "Mione, what do you think? England or Bulgaria?"

Hermione turned to him with a wide smile on her face.

"I think England's the better team. They won the Quidditch cup last year plus the great contribution Roderick Plumpton gave. Harry's right, you know. Hard to beat 3 and a half seconds."

Ron frowned and mumbled something incoherent. He felt someone tug at his sleeve and was met with Seamus' happy face. He was engaged in a conversation as Harry looked over at the Slytherin table. He searched for a certain bastard blonde boy, but was disappointed when he found none. Well, there were a lot of bastard blonde boys in the Slytherin house, but the one ho was looking for was the prince of them all.

He felt a pang of discontentment but soon shrugged it off. He didn't really care.

'Maybe he's gone to Durmstrang? That's a good thought.'

Suddenly, the Great Hall's door was opened and a familiar looking blonde stepped in with Professor Snape accompanying him.

'Draco Malfoy, no doubt.'

Harry heard Ron protest at the sight. "Just like Malfoy to have a Professor accompany him. Arrogant bastard."

Right now, Harry couldn't agree more with Ron.

---

A month passed since the ceremony. Harry was sauntering around the school to escape Ron and Hermione. As much as he hated to admit, he was getting tired of being the 'middle man' in their brawls. Sure, they were his best friends. But Harry needed his reprieve. He's positive the two have a thing for each other. They just haven't admitted it yet. That's bad, though, because it was giving Harry a tough time catching up with them. The unspoken feelings turn into these petty fights.

So he walked on, hoping not to be seen by anyone who could attempt to converse with him. He wasn't in the mood for talking. He entered an empty classroom and walked over to the window. He was about a meter away from it when he saw someone sitting alone by the other window. He was the hem of the robe the person was wearing. It was green.

'Slytherin.' he thought.

He approached the boy (he assumed he was). As he neared him, though, the other must've heard his steps and looked up.

What Harry saw totally shocked him to his wits. He tried to speak, but found that he couldn't. He didn't know what to say. Of course, who wouldn't be that surprised if you saw Draco Malfoy crying?

'Oh my. Hell is freezing over.'

He didn't know how to react. His impulse said he laugh and ask why Draco was suddenly turning over a new life, but the "Harry" part of him said, no, there's got to be a deeper explanation in this.

Harry turned his head, but looked again at Draco who simply turned over to the other side and sat there, unmoving.

Harry recalled the sight of Draco's face. It was indifferent. He was definitely not crying as in expression of grief. But maybe. Maybe it was.? Still, Harry saw the coolness and stability through the tears. Sure, there were tears streaming, but the aura emanating from Draco was one like one that wasn't crying, so to speak.

Finally, he decided on treating Malfoy civil. As if he wasn't himself.

'Just this once.' Harry thought.

Harry sat down and leaned his back against the wall. He turned over lazily towards Draco.

"If you don't mind me asking, what's the matter?"

He wasn't expecting a civil answer from Draco. He expected something more. well, Draco Malfoyish. Cold, mean, arrogant, annoying, wayward, appalling. the list goes on. But instead of that, the only answer he got was, "Nothing."

Harry heard this and decided to give up. He sighed, but he didn't leave Draco. He just sat there indifferently just like what Draco was doing. He sighed again.

"Alright. I know I'm going to sound like a bloody annoying git, but I'm staying right here."

"I don't mind."

There was a long pause between them. It wasn't awkward. Neither was it heated with anger towards each other. It was peaceful. Apathetic but peaceful. Harry played back the only well-mannered talk he and Draco ever had. He grinned at this. He was happy to have experienced some quality time with Draco. Sure, he hated him a lot, but this change in atmosphere surely felt new that he forgot about his hate. He couldn't care less if Draco was sitting just a yard away from him. They needed a break.