December, The Day After The Ball
The wind rushed through the station as Draco Malfoy boarded the half-empty Hogwarts Express, his face indecipherably blank. He pushed his way through to an empty compartment and nearly smacked Pansy on the face when she tried to accompany him. She got the hint, just as the rest of the gang - and pulled away silently, letting him have his space.
No one tried to sit with Draco during the whole time. Maybe a bad reputation could sometimes be a good thing after all. He shivered every time someone passed by his door - but he wasn't sure whether she would go home these holidays. He wasn't even sure she was on the train.
He leaned his head against the window pane, his pale hand on his face, the black pearl shining brightly on his finger. Behind his fingers, his face was shaken, almost scared.
What had he done?
He tried not to think of the kiss itself, but instead of what he'd told her and how she'd tried to catch him. She didn't hate him. She couldn't hate him, otherwise she would have reacted differently when he - don't think about that...
How was he to live now that he knew she wasn't against him? What if she actually needed him just like he needed her? What if things had changed and Ron and Harry's stupid friendship was no longer enough for her? What if Krum fell out of the picture...
Would she talk to them? Would she tell on him?
Never. Besides, she was much too mad to talk to either of her friends right now. But what if she decided to tell someone? No, she wouldn't.
He groaned and with a sinking of his heart he knew that what pained him the most was not what he'd done or didn't do, not the possibility of being discovered - but the fact that he wanted her to be here, to be next to him and that now he wanted her more than ever and his entire life seemed even more blank and hopelessly disgusting when she wasn't near.
***
It's strange how when we're in love, the whole world seems to go black and white right before our very eyes. We feel pain more acutely - and it's hard to breathe - but otherwise, nothing really matters to us. We see the way people pass us by, people we knew, people we might have loved - we see places that used to be important and meant the world to our soul. Yet nothing is the same - and the world feels like a really bad copy of what it was once, with the love tearing through reality and clawing at your heart making you wish sometimes you were dead.
Draco had never loved his home, but it seemed even bleaker to him now. As he entered the halls and his mother greeted him, he knew pretending would be hard.
He was usually so good at pretending.
***
- Glad we managed to finally see you, Draco... With this tournament and the ball, we were very displeased to tell our guests you couldn't be there.
Draco avoided his mother's eyes as he sat in an armchair next to the fireplace in his home. He was turning over the pages of a schoolbook - something he never did, but with the pain in his heart and the murderous boredom of his brain he needed something to distract himself from life.
- Draco, what are you reading? Surely you must rest, you've studied enough.
Draco looked up at his tall mother, the shadows of the fire dancing upon her face, making her look older and somehow menacing.
- It's... quite an interesting subject, Mother. But if you'd rather I didn't...
She didn't have to say another word. Draco was used to such commands. His mother had never hit him, unlike his father - but sometimes her silence and punishments were even worse than his.
He put the book away and leaned back against the chair. His mother sat down next to him on the armrest, passing a hand through his white silver hair.
- You're such a beautiful boy, Draco. Pansy's mother tells me she is quite taken with you.
Draco smiled weakly.
- Of course, - his mother went on pitilessly, - Pansy is too stupid for you... You'd need someone much more becoming.
- Like who? - came his father's voice suddenly, and a laugh followed. Draco looked in his direction, feeling trapped and miserable. It's strange how sometimes the horrors of our childhood suddenly springing into our mind despite the years that separate us from them, despite our better judgement. All of a sudden, Draco was terrified.
- There's no one in Hogwarts who would be good enough for a Malfoy, - Lucius went on, pouring himself some firewhisky as he spoke. - We'll have to wait till his graduation... maybe in the Ministry... although there are so many Mudbloods in the Ministry these days... it's absolutely frightening.
Draco had sat there, motionless, knowing that if he didn't say anything, he would not enter into a conflict and that was the last thing he wanted today. He was almost crying, and his mouth suddenly burned once again, he wanted to kiss her neck again, to breathe into her soft skin - she'd call him, she'd turn around and then kiss him on the mouth, making him gasp, her lips feeling unbearably warm and loving against his-
- Imagine that? What if our poor, innocent boy ran into one of these Mudbloods and she bewitched him to the point of him falling in love with her? No, I can't imagine anything worse, Lucius. Why, we'd have to transfer him to another workplace... or if Heaven forbid this should happen at school... can you hear me, Draco darling? You have to be very careful with these people...
He nodded, while torture seemed to claw at his flesh and he finally muttered when he heard his parents grow silent for one blissful second and nearly gasped when he spoke:
- May I go to bed? I'm dead tired...
His father looked at him for a second and Draco thought with panic that he might see through him and make him stay and talk...
The happiness with which he heard the needed "off with you then" was incomparable. He kissed his mother goodnight and headed quickly into the gloom of the hall, running up the steps, but trying not to make a sound. He was in dangerous territory - and his parents had means of extracting information from him, even if it was illegal.
He locked the door of his room - a luxurious privilege that had been granted to him on his fourteenth birthday - drew the blinds and fell on the bed, kicking off his shoes and tearing at his suit. As if in a daze, he put on the night clothing that had been provided for him and climbed into his cold bed, gazing into the darkness.
And because it was forbidden to use any spells in the house without his parents' permission, he pulled the pillow over his head and crushed his face into the covers, muffling his sobs and realising with a cold horror that, like so many times before, his tears could not protect him and would not make his pain any less.
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wrong ||| dramione
Fanfiction"How does it feel, Granger? How does it feel to know you were wrong? That all these years, you were wrong about Malfoy?" Cover made by the lovely @HolyDraco
