Draco was enveloped in sleep as he rolled over in his bed roughly, a sigh escaping his pale lips. He was not mindful of the cool satin against his burning cheeks, or of the increasing panic that seemed to be filling him as he dreamed. Nor was he aware of the slight whimper that then escaped his mouth. Of course, had he been awake, any sign that conveyed fear or uncertainty would not have been allowed- not even one as miniscule as a whimper.
He rolled over again, his thin legs getting tangled up in the comforter that was slowly slipping down his body.
As it was, Draco Malfoy was not aware of his surroundings; it was the dream itself that held his mind. The dream that he knew…that he was so close to understanding, to grasping fully. Something about pain…excruciating pain that made him want to cry out in hopes of it stopping. Pain that surrounded him, wanting to take him apart limb by limb, and yet when he tried to run to move or to get away, he found he could not. Pain in its purest, most unadulterated form.
Pain.
And then, in the midst of this pain he would see the face of his own father. Cruel, heartless and cold. As he always looked. And the pain would ebb and fall back, but it was still there, still making him cry out, silent cries that only dreams would allow him…
Draco opened his gray eyes and a huge gush of air escaped his lungs and came out of him in a sigh of relief. It was over.
He glanced around, his thin fingers clasping the comforter around his body. Snow was falling outside his dormitory room, and he could hear the loud snores of his friends in the beds on either side of him. Usually this annoyed him, however this early morning, the usually obnoxious snores soothed his frenzied mind.
Normalcy. It was exactly what he craved. The feeling that what he had just experienced was merely a dream, and nothing more. Now that Draco was awake, the horrible chains of the nightmare wouldn’t bind him any longer.
He shifted in his bed slightly and took a deep breath and let it out quickly. Draco’s heart had slowed to a normal beat by this time and he let his mind wonder over the few details that he could still remember from the fading wisps of his dreams.
Pain.
He remembered that; Draco could swear he could feel it even then, wide awake on that snowy day. And his father. The dark eyes, watching him with disapproval. The sharp nose and prominent chin. The scowl that almost always resided on his father’s lips. The long thin hair that was pulled severely away from his thin pale face.
Those details would not leave him, as Draco had known and feared his father his whole life.
The look in those dark eyes….
Draco sat up and pushed his blankets aside, allowing his long legs to leave the comforts of the bed and touch the cool wood floor.
He shuddered. Perhaps from the iciness of the floor. Or perhaps from the inability to grasp what he had seen in his father’s eyes.
He moved slowly from his bed to his drawers, glancing briefly to the window. Still snowing. He slipped on a satin robe and moved towards the door. Someone shifted in his or her sleep, and then all was silent again in the room.
Draco moved down the steps towards the dimly lit Slytherin common room, running a hand through his longish blond strands.
The room was wonderfully empty and silent, and Draco moved towards the fireplace, seeking warmth. His mind and body were filled with a heavy unease and he cursed his existence silently.
It wasn’t his fault he felt this way, and neither was it his fault that he was having all those nightmares. They were incredibly annoying and inconvenient and Draco wanted to rid his mind of the tempest of thoughts that filled it, that allowed him to believe what he knew was a lie.
The previous month's copy of the Quibbler lay on the dark wooden table across from the fireplace. It lay there unopened, and Draco’s heart fell as he saw the face of his own flesh and blood- one Lucius Malfoy plastered on the cover. Again.
The eyes were dark and somber, but they lacked the – look – that always was present in Draco’s dream. His father stared back at him without emotion.
Draco scowled darkly as he read the headline with distaste.
Malfoy to rally support for the Death eaters
He wondered who really thought this was news. Hadn’t everyone seen the headlines from previous weeks, all parading the same thing? That Lucius and his whole family would support the plight of those who had formed an alliance with He Who Must Not Be Named?
Draco smirked. Voldemort. He still had the bloody bad habit of calling him the same thing as those who opposed him.
Draco walked away from the table and the newspaper with his father’s hateful face on the front. He didn’t need to open it because he already knew what would be printed in the article: his father’s hate for those who had opposed Lord Voldemort so many years ago. And his restrained but obvious hate for Albus Dumbledore and his followers. His support of the death eaters who were slowly gaining power and popularity once more. His promise of peace and a better world if power was once again reverted to the right hands. And his promise to work until the right people controlled the wizarding world.
Draco turned towards the fireplace and raised his wand slowly.
“Incendio.” He croaked out, his voice still heavy with sleep.
The grate burst into a bright orange blaze and Draco watched it for a few moments with satisfaction. Then, in a quick and flowing move, he returned to the table, grabbed the magazine and threw it into the fire. The orange flames engulfed the black and white print and then it slowly turned black and withered.
Good.
For now.
Undoubtedly there would eventually be another headline similar to that one, and then another. No one could keep Lucius Malfoy away from the wizard press, and no other wizard as of yet, had been able to keep him quiet. He had talked about Voldemort’s return. He had made his support public. He had flamed and tried to defame the name of Dumbledore numerous times. He had sworn allegiance to those who would follow Voldemort once he returned.
Draco frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with his father. The blond boy knew that if push came to shove, that he would support his father.
But he didn’t like how his father’s sudden need to publicize his beliefs and ideas impacted the life he was leading at Hogwarts. He didn’t like the looks and whispers that came from students who couldn’t even dream of being good enough to call themselves his friends. He hated the way that many of them were so vocal with their beliefs that Lucius Malfoy was insane and a threat to the wizarding community. He despised how easily his name was being thrown around the halls between classes and during meals. And how easily the rumors flew; about his involvement with the death eaters and how he was supposedly a spy for the soon to be returning Lord Voldemort.
Draco shifted in the large upholstered chair as he glanced out at the snowy morning with indifference.
And more than anything that bothered him was the fact that Albus Dumbledore watched him. Not just occasionally like he watched the other students, but more closely. Draco let out a weak laugh as he wondered if the headmaster was watching him now.
Draco wondered if the older wizard had ever landed upon the humorous irony of the situation: that he was headmaster over the son of the man who hated him more than any other wizard.
The boy laughed and the rose from his place on the chair and moved back upstairs. It was time to start another day.
He dressed quickly, putting on a green sweater and brown slacks under his school robes. He threw his books for morning lessons in his bag and then hurried back down the steps, ignoring the sounds of the other boys that were beginning to wake and get ready. He didn’t want to talk to them anyway.
He reached the door and scowled miserably and then managed to put a bored, indifferent look on his face as he reached for the heavy iron door handle.
He was ready for the whispers.
The looks.
The rumors.
The hallway outside was cold and silent. He moved towards the classrooms quickly, his head held high and his heavy cloak billowing behind him. There was no one anywhere in sight, but Draco stared straight ahead, a deadpan look on his aristocratic features. His eyes were cold and narrowed.
There was silence now, but soon enough it would start again, and Draco was ready for it. He didn’t give a bloody damn what they thought of him anyway. He was Draco Malfoy.
He was better than they all were.
He would win out in the end.
He rolled over again, his thin legs getting tangled up in the comforter that was slowly slipping down his body.
As it was, Draco Malfoy was not aware of his surroundings; it was the dream itself that held his mind. The dream that he knew…that he was so close to understanding, to grasping fully. Something about pain…excruciating pain that made him want to cry out in hopes of it stopping. Pain that surrounded him, wanting to take him apart limb by limb, and yet when he tried to run to move or to get away, he found he could not. Pain in its purest, most unadulterated form.
Pain.
And then, in the midst of this pain he would see the face of his own father. Cruel, heartless and cold. As he always looked. And the pain would ebb and fall back, but it was still there, still making him cry out, silent cries that only dreams would allow him…
Draco opened his gray eyes and a huge gush of air escaped his lungs and came out of him in a sigh of relief. It was over.
He glanced around, his thin fingers clasping the comforter around his body. Snow was falling outside his dormitory room, and he could hear the loud snores of his friends in the beds on either side of him. Usually this annoyed him, however this early morning, the usually obnoxious snores soothed his frenzied mind.
Normalcy. It was exactly what he craved. The feeling that what he had just experienced was merely a dream, and nothing more. Now that Draco was awake, the horrible chains of the nightmare wouldn’t bind him any longer.
He shifted in his bed slightly and took a deep breath and let it out quickly. Draco’s heart had slowed to a normal beat by this time and he let his mind wonder over the few details that he could still remember from the fading wisps of his dreams.
Pain.
He remembered that; Draco could swear he could feel it even then, wide awake on that snowy day. And his father. The dark eyes, watching him with disapproval. The sharp nose and prominent chin. The scowl that almost always resided on his father’s lips. The long thin hair that was pulled severely away from his thin pale face.
Those details would not leave him, as Draco had known and feared his father his whole life.
The look in those dark eyes….
Draco sat up and pushed his blankets aside, allowing his long legs to leave the comforts of the bed and touch the cool wood floor.
He shuddered. Perhaps from the iciness of the floor. Or perhaps from the inability to grasp what he had seen in his father’s eyes.
He moved slowly from his bed to his drawers, glancing briefly to the window. Still snowing. He slipped on a satin robe and moved towards the door. Someone shifted in his or her sleep, and then all was silent again in the room.
Draco moved down the steps towards the dimly lit Slytherin common room, running a hand through his longish blond strands.
The room was wonderfully empty and silent, and Draco moved towards the fireplace, seeking warmth. His mind and body were filled with a heavy unease and he cursed his existence silently.
It wasn’t his fault he felt this way, and neither was it his fault that he was having all those nightmares. They were incredibly annoying and inconvenient and Draco wanted to rid his mind of the tempest of thoughts that filled it, that allowed him to believe what he knew was a lie.
The previous month's copy of the Quibbler lay on the dark wooden table across from the fireplace. It lay there unopened, and Draco’s heart fell as he saw the face of his own flesh and blood- one Lucius Malfoy plastered on the cover. Again.
The eyes were dark and somber, but they lacked the – look – that always was present in Draco’s dream. His father stared back at him without emotion.
Draco scowled darkly as he read the headline with distaste.
Malfoy to rally support for the Death eaters
He wondered who really thought this was news. Hadn’t everyone seen the headlines from previous weeks, all parading the same thing? That Lucius and his whole family would support the plight of those who had formed an alliance with He Who Must Not Be Named?
Draco smirked. Voldemort. He still had the bloody bad habit of calling him the same thing as those who opposed him.
Draco walked away from the table and the newspaper with his father’s hateful face on the front. He didn’t need to open it because he already knew what would be printed in the article: his father’s hate for those who had opposed Lord Voldemort so many years ago. And his restrained but obvious hate for Albus Dumbledore and his followers. His support of the death eaters who were slowly gaining power and popularity once more. His promise of peace and a better world if power was once again reverted to the right hands. And his promise to work until the right people controlled the wizarding world.
Draco turned towards the fireplace and raised his wand slowly.
“Incendio.” He croaked out, his voice still heavy with sleep.
The grate burst into a bright orange blaze and Draco watched it for a few moments with satisfaction. Then, in a quick and flowing move, he returned to the table, grabbed the magazine and threw it into the fire. The orange flames engulfed the black and white print and then it slowly turned black and withered.
Good.
For now.
Undoubtedly there would eventually be another headline similar to that one, and then another. No one could keep Lucius Malfoy away from the wizard press, and no other wizard as of yet, had been able to keep him quiet. He had talked about Voldemort’s return. He had made his support public. He had flamed and tried to defame the name of Dumbledore numerous times. He had sworn allegiance to those who would follow Voldemort once he returned.
Draco frowned. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with his father. The blond boy knew that if push came to shove, that he would support his father.
But he didn’t like how his father’s sudden need to publicize his beliefs and ideas impacted the life he was leading at Hogwarts. He didn’t like the looks and whispers that came from students who couldn’t even dream of being good enough to call themselves his friends. He hated the way that many of them were so vocal with their beliefs that Lucius Malfoy was insane and a threat to the wizarding community. He despised how easily his name was being thrown around the halls between classes and during meals. And how easily the rumors flew; about his involvement with the death eaters and how he was supposedly a spy for the soon to be returning Lord Voldemort.
Draco shifted in the large upholstered chair as he glanced out at the snowy morning with indifference.
And more than anything that bothered him was the fact that Albus Dumbledore watched him. Not just occasionally like he watched the other students, but more closely. Draco let out a weak laugh as he wondered if the headmaster was watching him now.
Draco wondered if the older wizard had ever landed upon the humorous irony of the situation: that he was headmaster over the son of the man who hated him more than any other wizard.
The boy laughed and the rose from his place on the chair and moved back upstairs. It was time to start another day.
He dressed quickly, putting on a green sweater and brown slacks under his school robes. He threw his books for morning lessons in his bag and then hurried back down the steps, ignoring the sounds of the other boys that were beginning to wake and get ready. He didn’t want to talk to them anyway.
He reached the door and scowled miserably and then managed to put a bored, indifferent look on his face as he reached for the heavy iron door handle.
He was ready for the whispers.
The looks.
The rumors.
The hallway outside was cold and silent. He moved towards the classrooms quickly, his head held high and his heavy cloak billowing behind him. There was no one anywhere in sight, but Draco stared straight ahead, a deadpan look on his aristocratic features. His eyes were cold and narrowed.
There was silence now, but soon enough it would start again, and Draco was ready for it. He didn’t give a bloody damn what they thought of him anyway. He was Draco Malfoy.
He was better than they all were.
He would win out in the end.
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