Ex-Friends || A Drarry Story

Two : Eight

TW: MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL ABUSE

The passage of time from the events of the duelling club and the next attack was quick. Justin Finch-Fletchly and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost, were now paralysed in hospital beds, their faces frozen in grotesque terror. And Harry Potter was the culprit in almost everyone's mind.

On several snowy occasions, Draco witnessed the Weasley twins proclaim, "Careful everyone!"

"The Heir of Slytherin is coming through!"

Draco shook his head at the childish antics, making his way to the library, which was the only place he seemed to be. Pansy, Blaise, and Theo asked him multiple times what had happened with Snape, but Draco shrugged it off, not answering, a pit in his stomach growing.

Whispers of who could be the next to go seemed to be everywhere, worming their way into Draco's mind, a bitter taste filling his mouth. Harry Potter did it. He has the mark of a Dark wizard, being a Parselmouth. A descendant of Slytherin himself.

No wonder You-Know-Who tried to do him in. Can't have another Dark wizard to compete with, right?

Those were the whispers that followed Harry around, making that dark pit in Draco's stomach grow, making his mind feel as if it were submerged in thick, sludgy liquid. It muddled his mind, preventing him from sleeping well. He woke up multiple times in the night, each time from a terrible nightmare filled with darkness and whispers, waking up in a cold sweat, gulping for air.

He never woke Blaise or Theo up, thankfully, because they would ask what was so horrible about his dreams and Draco didn't think he'd be able to handle something like that, lying to them again. He could hardly stand lying to them about Snape and even then he wanted to burst.

Meanwhile, in Riddle's diary, he was growing more vicious in his taunts to Draco, calling him weak and even going as far as to tell him more and more about Harry Potter.

He would never want to be your friend, Draco. He doesn't like you at all. Imagine that, the Savior of the wizarding world lowering his standards so that a little blonde brat will be happy for once.

Draco could practically hear the sneer in his words and they only grew worse as time went on and, soon, the Christmas holidays came and most of the school left.

Things weren't going great for Percy Weasley, either. Oliver Wood had taken a pact of silence on his offer to fly his broom with Percy, mostly ignoring the redhead, who busied himself with his studies, even if it was a holiday break from classes.

Oliver frowned. There was no way Percy Weasley would want him in the way Oliver so desired. Percy would never want someone like him; he obsessed over Quidditch, staying up late going over plays instead of sleeping or studying for classes like Percy did.

Why would Percy ever want him?

Oliver Wood knew that he indeed began feeling something for the redhead in their third year, but only last year did he begin to dream about him and look at his sleeping back, imagining it pressed against his chest or into a mattress.

He swallowed, jerking himself out of his wandering thoughts and back into his bed, where his playbooks were spread out, Percy's shoulders hunched over as he wrote feverishly at his desk. The clock read one in the morning, their three other dorm mates sleeping and snoring softly in their beds.

Setting down his playbooks quietly, Oliver stood, placing a hand on Percy's shoulder and making him jump. He turned his glasses askew, hair tousled from running his hands through it. "You should head to sleep."