Eyes Open by: orphan_account

II. The First Grey

October 22 nd , 1991

The sky is an angry shade of grey, if there ever was such a shade. It's boiling with sadness and rage and grief, and it takes out its emotions on the humans down below. It unleashes slabs of rain onto the landscape and roars its fury. Inside the castle, all are safe. Crabbe and Goyle have gone to dinner and he has slipped away. He sits in an alcove with his Potion's textbook propped up against his knees and he scans the pages. He siphons the knowledge off the page and pulls it to his eyes, and the words greet him with a friendly wave before diving into his mind and staying there.

The only light is provided by the torches lining the hallway, and the sky, as it blinks a bolt of lightning every few minutes. It's meagre, but sufficient, and he is too comfortable and settled to relocate.

But what meagre amount of light he is given is stolen by her. Just like she stole his chances at top marks. She stands in front of him, hands placed on her hips, her hair enlarging her shadow far more than any proper head of hair should. It's practically indecent, impolite, her letting it grow in such an out-of-control manner. Once, he joked to Goyle that she probably keeps extra brains in her hair for safe-keeping.

He's forced to look up, because without the light he can't make out a word. "Move out of the way, Granger," he snaps at her with as much menace as an eleven-year-old can be capable of, already feeling quite annoyed with her. She bats away the command as if it were a pesky gnat.

"Shouldn't you be at dinner?" she asks.

"Shouldn't you be at dinner?" he counters.

"I've already finished my dinner," she says, and there's that sliver of pride that's always wedged into her voice, even if she is only talking about dinner. "But you didn't even come into the Hall. I know. I was watching Crabbe and Goyle, and you always come in with them."

"Are you stalking me, Granger?" He scoffs. "And I thought you'd be above such foolish practices." They are both as pretentious as children of their age could possibly be. "Though I suppose there's no accounting for your manners when you're, well, muggle-born." He spits the word from his mouth, hurling it at her feet where it cowers like a frightened dog. "Who knows how you've been raised."

She sniffs at him. "You really are quite mean," she says, and it would almost sound matter-of-fact if not for the bit of hurt dabbed at the end. "I really don't know why I'm doing it."

"Doing what?" he asks sharply.

She sighs and reaches into her robes, brandishing a single envelope. "Here. Take this, and only open it when you're really sad. Really sad. Don't open it until then, understand?" She drops it into his lap. "And then come and find me, okay?"

"What if I'm never sad," he taunts, and she glares at him.

"You're the sort who gets sad far more than he'd like to admit, I think," she says ostentatiously, with the definitive air of a child who is attempting to say something profound. "But don't open it until you're at your lowest point. And then come and find me. You've got to come and find me afterward."

"I think I'll just open it now," he says, taunting her as he moves his hand slowly toward the envelope.

"Don't," she says, her voice dangerously low. "Don't, Malfoy, or I'll hex you into oblivion."

"Like you could," he retorts spitefully, his hand approaching ever-closer to the envelope.

"Don't open it yet!" she exclaims, and this time her voice rises to a squeak as she lunges forward to grab the envelope from his lap, just as his fingers brush over the paper.

"You... you git," she hisses, and he wonders if that's the worst thing she's said to anyone in her entire life.

"Oooh, Granger's getting out her big-girl words now," he mocks, and she spins on her heel and strides away.

The sky lets out a mighty bellow as Draco returns to his textbook, his curiosity a bit more piqued than he ever would have confessed aloud.