A/N: You guys all seemed to take my mention of a possible Slytherin party and run with it. I just want to clear that up by saying that I have no intention of writing a party. Though it is a nice idea, it doesn't fit with what I already have.
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Draco stared at his friend in shock. “What do you mean, Blaise?” he asked loudly. Surely he must be joking!
Blaise rolled his eyes. “I mean exactly what I said. Pansy was about to curse you (and it would have been a doosie, given the look on her face) and Ginny Weasley stopped her. And no, I’m not joking.”
“Why would Weasley do that?” Draco demanded, still not believing what he was hearing. The weasel was usually the one doing the hexing.
Blaise could only shrug. “Who knows,” he replied. “But I’d be grateful if I were you. She really saved your skin.”
Draco sat in silence, his thoughts taking over. She had been acting weird for the last couple of days. He would catch her watching him as he made his way from class to class, always jerking away when she found him looking back.
She always had this really funny look on her face, too. One time, he’d been sure she was going to hug him, or something equally embarrassing, and he’d run away as fast as he could. Once he’d gotten outside, however, his common sense had come back. No Weasley would ever hug a Malfoy in public, no matter how much pity they felt.
That was all it was anyway. She pitied him for Merlin only knew what reason. He’d seen it that night in the Room of Requirement when she’d looked up into his eyes and frozen for the barest of seconds. Then again the next morning, and every day after that.
Draco stood up and began pacing the common room. He had no idea he was doing it, and Blaise quickly realized this. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and pulled him back down onto the couch. “Don’t start that again, Draco,” he cautioned.
“Start what?” Draco was genuinely confused.
“You were pacing.”
Draco shook his head. “No I wasn’t. I was sitting right here. I never moved. How could I have been pacing?”
Blaise looked a bit nervous. Come to think about it, a lot of his housemates had been more cautious than usual around him.
“You all keep acting strange around me,” Draco stated. “What’s going on?”
Blaise sighed. “It’s hard to figure out how to act with you. You’re always so brooding and angry.”
“I really don’t think I’ve been that different. Maybe a bit more thoughtful; but what’s so bad about that?” Draco shrugged and settled deeper into the plush cushions of the couch they were sitting in.
“It’s more than that, though,” Blaise continued. “You’re like a completely different person. You don’t talk to any of us very often and you don’t seem to take much pleasure in torturing first years anymore. You shouldn’t take last year so hard. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Draco couldn’t think of anything to say. He knew Blaise was probably right. Well, about most of it, anyway. No one would think that the reason was because of a newfound dissatisfaction with his life. With the number of times he spaced out and ended up in odd places, he couldn’t tell what he had been doing.
Being cruel didn’t hold the same enjoyment for him anymore. Once upon a time, he’d lived for instilling fear in those ‘beneath’ him. But after coming face to face with the choice of whether or not to kill a man, these things unsettled his stomach. He just couldn’t handle it like he used to.
He could still tease, of course, and if Harry Potter the bloody hero had come back to school this year, he would be able to be cruel to him. But just being mean for the sake of being mean made him sick.
Draco shook himself to get rid of his thoughts, not wanting Blaise to get wind of them. “I’m sorry, Blaise,” he said. “I’m trying. But it’s hard, you know. Fitting in after…”
Blaise smiled reassuringly and the two boys headed up to bed.
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The next day was a nightmare. This being his N.E.W.T. year, Draco’s work load had nearly doubled. Flitwick had just assigned the class a meter long essay. Before that, McGonagall had demanded a written report on animagi and their limitations.
Now Draco found himself sitting through a very dull Potions lesson. Horace Slughorn wasn’t as good a teacher as Professor Snape had been. His classes, if they didn’t put people to sleep, at least bored them so much that they couldn’t remember what they had learned. That is, if it even got through in the first place.
Thanks to Professor Snape’s guidance through his first five years, Draco had become quite talented at Potions. So even though he got nothing but a nap while in class, he was still doing very well.
Crabbe suddenly elbowed Draco in the side. “You’ve been asked a question,” the boy hissed. “Twice.”
It was always a bad sign if Crabbe was paying more attention than Draco. This ongoing state of distraction was going to cause problems.
Draco, thinking quickly, said, “I’m sorry, Professor. I don’t feel well. May I be excused?”
Professor Slughorn looked startled for a moment, but then smiled widely. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.” Without Potter and his cronies here, Draco was easily the best Potions student, so Slughorn had no reason to distrust him.
Draco breathed deeply in relief. That was a close one! He made his way out the door, ignoring the jealous looks of those who wished they’d thought of it first.
Making his way toward the Slytherin common room, Draco tried hard to keep his mind from wandering. He didn’t want to end up in any more potentially embarrassing situations. It proved to be rather difficult, however. His thoughts kept drifting into dangerous territory.
He was seriously considering putting a focusing charm on himself when students came streaming from every direction. Blaise came charging up to him. “It’s lunch time!” he announced happily.
Draco allowed himself to be dragged along the corridors to the Great Hall. Blaise took a couple of shortcuts that Draco had never seen before. He probably found these on his late night jaunts, he told himself. Blaise had quite a reputation, after all.
Crabbe and Goyle caught up to them after a couple of minutes. “Why’d you leave?” Goyle demanded grumpily.
“It would have been stupid of me to say, ‘Oh, sorry Professor. I wasn’t paying attention. Your class is just so boring!’” Draco drawled. “I decided it prudent to at least try to save my neck.”
Crabbe grunted. He’d never been particularly articulate. Goyle interpreted for him, “We want to know why you didn’t get us out of there, too.”
“It would have sounded even more stupid to say ‘My friends and I don’t feel so well’. I wanted to get out of trouble, not take two more with me.”
In the Great Hall, the four boys sat in their usual seats at the Slytherin table. Blaise immediately wrapped his arm around this week’s girlfriend. Crabbe and Goyle attacked the cold chicken with looks of bliss on their fat faces. Draco stared in disgust at the pudding in front of him, ignoring the sounds of slurping going on on both sides of him.
They began to eat and talked amongst themselves (except Blaise, who was snogging his girl). Halfway through the meal, hundreds of owls came bursting through the windows. People anxiously looked up, hoping for a precious letter from home. All except Draco, who didn’t actually want to receive a letter.
An owl landed in front of him, dipping its tail in the pudding. Draco quickly grabbed his letter, and, glancing about quickly, sneaked out of the Great Hall to read it in private, for once unaware of a pair of large brown eyes watching his progress. He had recognized his father’s spidery scrawl.
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Draco stared at his friend in shock. “What do you mean, Blaise?” he asked loudly. Surely he must be joking!
Blaise rolled his eyes. “I mean exactly what I said. Pansy was about to curse you (and it would have been a doosie, given the look on her face) and Ginny Weasley stopped her. And no, I’m not joking.”
“Why would Weasley do that?” Draco demanded, still not believing what he was hearing. The weasel was usually the one doing the hexing.
Blaise could only shrug. “Who knows,” he replied. “But I’d be grateful if I were you. She really saved your skin.”
Draco sat in silence, his thoughts taking over. She had been acting weird for the last couple of days. He would catch her watching him as he made his way from class to class, always jerking away when she found him looking back.
She always had this really funny look on her face, too. One time, he’d been sure she was going to hug him, or something equally embarrassing, and he’d run away as fast as he could. Once he’d gotten outside, however, his common sense had come back. No Weasley would ever hug a Malfoy in public, no matter how much pity they felt.
That was all it was anyway. She pitied him for Merlin only knew what reason. He’d seen it that night in the Room of Requirement when she’d looked up into his eyes and frozen for the barest of seconds. Then again the next morning, and every day after that.
Draco stood up and began pacing the common room. He had no idea he was doing it, and Blaise quickly realized this. He grabbed his friend by the shoulders and pulled him back down onto the couch. “Don’t start that again, Draco,” he cautioned.
“Start what?” Draco was genuinely confused.
“You were pacing.”
Draco shook his head. “No I wasn’t. I was sitting right here. I never moved. How could I have been pacing?”
Blaise looked a bit nervous. Come to think about it, a lot of his housemates had been more cautious than usual around him.
“You all keep acting strange around me,” Draco stated. “What’s going on?”
Blaise sighed. “It’s hard to figure out how to act with you. You’re always so brooding and angry.”
“I really don’t think I’ve been that different. Maybe a bit more thoughtful; but what’s so bad about that?” Draco shrugged and settled deeper into the plush cushions of the couch they were sitting in.
“It’s more than that, though,” Blaise continued. “You’re like a completely different person. You don’t talk to any of us very often and you don’t seem to take much pleasure in torturing first years anymore. You shouldn’t take last year so hard. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Draco couldn’t think of anything to say. He knew Blaise was probably right. Well, about most of it, anyway. No one would think that the reason was because of a newfound dissatisfaction with his life. With the number of times he spaced out and ended up in odd places, he couldn’t tell what he had been doing.
Being cruel didn’t hold the same enjoyment for him anymore. Once upon a time, he’d lived for instilling fear in those ‘beneath’ him. But after coming face to face with the choice of whether or not to kill a man, these things unsettled his stomach. He just couldn’t handle it like he used to.
He could still tease, of course, and if Harry Potter the bloody hero had come back to school this year, he would be able to be cruel to him. But just being mean for the sake of being mean made him sick.
Draco shook himself to get rid of his thoughts, not wanting Blaise to get wind of them. “I’m sorry, Blaise,” he said. “I’m trying. But it’s hard, you know. Fitting in after…”
Blaise smiled reassuringly and the two boys headed up to bed.
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The next day was a nightmare. This being his N.E.W.T. year, Draco’s work load had nearly doubled. Flitwick had just assigned the class a meter long essay. Before that, McGonagall had demanded a written report on animagi and their limitations.
Now Draco found himself sitting through a very dull Potions lesson. Horace Slughorn wasn’t as good a teacher as Professor Snape had been. His classes, if they didn’t put people to sleep, at least bored them so much that they couldn’t remember what they had learned. That is, if it even got through in the first place.
Thanks to Professor Snape’s guidance through his first five years, Draco had become quite talented at Potions. So even though he got nothing but a nap while in class, he was still doing very well.
Crabbe suddenly elbowed Draco in the side. “You’ve been asked a question,” the boy hissed. “Twice.”
It was always a bad sign if Crabbe was paying more attention than Draco. This ongoing state of distraction was going to cause problems.
Draco, thinking quickly, said, “I’m sorry, Professor. I don’t feel well. May I be excused?”
Professor Slughorn looked startled for a moment, but then smiled widely. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.” Without Potter and his cronies here, Draco was easily the best Potions student, so Slughorn had no reason to distrust him.
Draco breathed deeply in relief. That was a close one! He made his way out the door, ignoring the jealous looks of those who wished they’d thought of it first.
Making his way toward the Slytherin common room, Draco tried hard to keep his mind from wandering. He didn’t want to end up in any more potentially embarrassing situations. It proved to be rather difficult, however. His thoughts kept drifting into dangerous territory.
He was seriously considering putting a focusing charm on himself when students came streaming from every direction. Blaise came charging up to him. “It’s lunch time!” he announced happily.
Draco allowed himself to be dragged along the corridors to the Great Hall. Blaise took a couple of shortcuts that Draco had never seen before. He probably found these on his late night jaunts, he told himself. Blaise had quite a reputation, after all.
Crabbe and Goyle caught up to them after a couple of minutes. “Why’d you leave?” Goyle demanded grumpily.
“It would have been stupid of me to say, ‘Oh, sorry Professor. I wasn’t paying attention. Your class is just so boring!’” Draco drawled. “I decided it prudent to at least try to save my neck.”
Crabbe grunted. He’d never been particularly articulate. Goyle interpreted for him, “We want to know why you didn’t get us out of there, too.”
“It would have sounded even more stupid to say ‘My friends and I don’t feel so well’. I wanted to get out of trouble, not take two more with me.”
In the Great Hall, the four boys sat in their usual seats at the Slytherin table. Blaise immediately wrapped his arm around this week’s girlfriend. Crabbe and Goyle attacked the cold chicken with looks of bliss on their fat faces. Draco stared in disgust at the pudding in front of him, ignoring the sounds of slurping going on on both sides of him.
They began to eat and talked amongst themselves (except Blaise, who was snogging his girl). Halfway through the meal, hundreds of owls came bursting through the windows. People anxiously looked up, hoping for a precious letter from home. All except Draco, who didn’t actually want to receive a letter.
An owl landed in front of him, dipping its tail in the pudding. Draco quickly grabbed his letter, and, glancing about quickly, sneaked out of the Great Hall to read it in private, for once unaware of a pair of large brown eyes watching his progress. He had recognized his father’s spidery scrawl.
Author notes: And there you have it. This chapter was a little tricky. Draco tends to be uncooperative when I'm trying to make him have a conversation. Oh, well. I've done my best. Now, go reveiw and tell me what you think! I love reveiws! Thank you to shezachica85, psyche, and SUSY3456... you guys are brill!
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