Slytherin's angel

Chapter 3 - The argument

There she was standing in all her glory...

"Come, my darling..."

The blade came down fast...

Draco sucked in a breath and his eyes flew open.

It was dark; the drapes were closed tightly over the high windows. He stared blankly in the darkness while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sheet of black in the room. The dying embers in his fireplace were the only source of light. The orange color faded and then grew stronger, like the fire was taking its last breaths. He sat up slowly, the blood rushing to his head, causing it to throb as little flashing lights blinked before him. He rubbed his head and groaned.

He laid his head gently on the pillow once more.

At least she's here, he thought, at least I can keep an eye on her.

But the question was: was she going to let him help her? How was he going to tell her without her thinking him a complete madman?

Bring her to me... his father's voice whispered in his mind.

Draco didn't realize that he would be this nervous about her being so close to him. It was almost too easy. How was it that she had just showed up to Hogwarts? Draco was expecting him to go on a big adventure, bring her back to Voldemort, and he would return to serve him for the rest of his dreadful life and that would be the end. Now, he was more scared for her safety and he didn't even know her.

I have to find a way to tell her...I have to.

***

Potions, a class he usually enjoyed if Snape would torment the Potter trio, was a class he didn't feel like going to first thing in the morning. However, he knew he would be in trouble with Snape if he didn't show up. There was no chance that he could play hooky, it was one of the unfortunate things about going to a private school secluded in the country: there was no way you weren't there.

Draco was sluggish and crabby at the thought of leaving the warm confines of his blankets. Throwing his feet over the edge of his bed, he struggled to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Dragging his feet to the bathroom, he took a shower, taking so long in doing so that he did not have time to slick back his hair, forcing to let it fall around his face. He cursed his laziness in refusing to get it cut that summer, regretting neglecting the blond locks that fell just below his eyes, tickling the back of his neck with his every movement. He leaned over the bathroom sink, his hard expression glaring back at him.

He knew he was attractive, both from arrogance and the fact that girls, no matter what house, swooned over him when he passed. He had grown taller, his shoulders had broadened and he had become much firmer with age. His eyes were icy cold, almost too powerful to look at for long periods of time. His white skin was like creamy marble: flawless and smooth. He smirked at himself in the mirror; the seventeen year old reflection snickered back at him.

When he had had enough of himself he quickly dressed, failing to tie his tie neatly, deciding to let it fall in a messy heap around his neck. He was Head Boy, he had already secured the top most position in the student body, and knew that his sloppy appearance wasn't ground for being removed from the position. Who else would they choose?

Potter, he sneered in thought, rolling his eyes at the thought of the Pothead beaming like a fool with a Head Boy badge.

Shaking the thought, he grabbed his Potions book, making his way out of his Head Boy room, running down the abandoned corridor and descending further into the dungeons until he rushed his way into Snape's class, making it just before the bell overhead rang.