2 Kids Who Are Not Harry Potter And The Sorcerer's Stone

A Man With Two Faces?

They returned to Hogwarts the day before term started up again, and that evening found Draco and Blaise in the common room, swapping stories of their Christmas holidays with Pansy, Daphne, and Theo. Daphne, who had remained at school, listened eagerly as Pansy described the bustling Christmas markets and enchanted ice sculptures in Paris, and Blaise recounted his older brother's tales from America, where he studied alchemy. Slightly bored, and in no mood to discuss any of the past two weeks' events in his parents' home, Draco allowed his attention to drift between the conversation around him and the flickering shadows of the flames in the fireplace. That was, until something else caught his attention. Theo asked exactly the right questions, he noticed, to make whoever was talking feel interesting and impressive. However, unless Draco was quite mistaken, he wasn't revealing a single thing about the way he himself had spent the holidays, which begged an interesting question. Was Theo, like himself, avoiding talking about his family on purpose? As the conversation wore on, Draco suspected more and more that the answer was yes.

The hour grew later, and one by one, Draco watched his friends filter off to bed until he was alone in the common room with the now-dying fire. He was exhausted, but he knew he'd never be able to sleep. For one thing, that stupid horrible face seemed to have imprinted itself on the inside of his eyelids so that he had to look at it anytime he closed his eyes. And for another, being back in the castle was making him feel very odd. His friends' stories had sounded so nice, so warm and full of joy and so utterly unlike anything Draco could imagine taking place in his family's home. He'd never exactly doubted that his parents loved him--he'd never thought about it much, if he were honest--but his friends at Hogwarts had made him suspect, over the past few months, that other parents might show their love differently. Hearing about these wonderful Christmas traditions had given him a very weird sort of empty ache inside, as though he were desperately missing something he'd never had in the first place.

The last of the flames were just beginning to die down when Draco heard footsteps behind him. He turned abruptly, startled. Theo stood in the doorway, looking just as surprised to see Draco.

"I thought you were asleep," he said.

"Get out," said Draco at once, in the sharpest tone he could summon.

"No," said Theo simply, crossing the room to the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. He looked completely unbothered, which made Draco irrationally angry.

"Fine," he snapped. "I'll go, then."

"Suit yourself." Draco started to go, but froze. Lying still in the dark and trying to quiet his thoughts until morning was about the least appealing thing he could possibly think of.

"I can't," he sighed, sinking back into his chair in defeat. Theo, who was sketching something in a small, leather-bound notebook, shrugged without looking up.

"Your choice."

Draco turned his attention to the fire once again. He couldn't remember what he'd been thinking about before Theo had interrupted, and try as he might, all he could think about was how very much he wanted to wring Theo's neck for looking so serene and unaffected by his presence. Silence stretched between them, and it ground Draco's nerves in a way he'd never quite experienced before. It occurred to him, quite suddenly, that he'd shoved a packet of crisps into his bag earlier that day and forgotten them. Slowly he reached inside and slipped out the packet, taking care to make as little sound as possible. He opened the packet carefully, but there is simply no way to quietly open a packet of crisps. The sound might as well have been an explosion in the room which suddenly seemed much larger and more cavernous. Theo was trying to look cool and vaguely disapproving, but Draco had seen him nearly jump out of his skin. That was enough.