𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒

Chapter 4

Draco thought the rest of the day was going well until he found himself in the middle of Transfiguration class with McGonagall. Today she wanted the group to learn a simple transforming spell that would turn each of them into mice and back again. Noticing Draco's arm, the head of Gryffindor house wanted to heal it so that Blaise could perform the spell on him and he wouldn't become a mouse with a broken leg.

"No," Draco stated, holding the arm away from her causing Professor McGonagall to glare down at him.

"Mr. Malfoy, you will have that arm healed and you will not use such a disrespectful tone," the older witch said firmly.

To the astonishment of the whole class, Draco pointed his wand at the teacher, his eyes snapping like lighting in a stormy sky. "It's my arm and if I don't want it healed, it won't be."

Internally the blonde was shaking in his shoes. He couldn't believe that he was threatening a professor, but there was no way in hell he was going to go through any more pain today. His arm had just started to feel better since the whole debacle this morning. 'My damn father, I hate him. I should just tell them what's going on.' He cast that impulse aside and frustration, shame and self-loathing twisted inside him at his foolish desire to protect his father.

An expectant silence fell over the entire class as everyone watched to see what was going to happen next. Some students, even the ones from Slytherin, backed away from the two magical beings that still had their eyes locked onto each other in a silent battle of wills.

"Mr. Malfoy, drop your wand. Now," McGonagall ordered in a deadly quiet tone which foretold that something serious was about to happen if Draco didn't comply.

Draco swallowed and dropped his eyes from the intense gaze of his professor. His wand hand dropped to his side as well. "I don't want you to heal it," he said defiantly, but in a much quieter and more subdued tone. A growling rumbling began to thrum throughout the classroom and the pictures on the wall began to shake slightly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow at the blonde boy standing in front of her with his head bowed, his bangs hiding his eyes. She could feel the magic leaking from him as well as the anger that was causing this slight loss of control. This was something that could be expected from a three or four year old as their emotions ran high and tended to rule their magical outbursts. But from a sixteen year old who had, up until now, perfect control of his abilities, was almost unheard of.

"Mr. Malfoy, gain control of yourself," McGonagall demanded firmly, taking a step closer to him.

Draco's face flushed in embarrassment as he tried to stop the quaking in the room without success. He had been disciplined, rather harshly at times, in self-control since he was too young to remember. But now, those emotions that had been repressed for years, never having any kind of outlet, began to run riot within him, spilling from him in the form of his magic. He could hear others whispering and even a few giggles and the rumbling got louder. Various items on the shelves around the room began to fall to the floor, the more fragile items breaking.

Without stopping to think that Malfoy may turn his anger on him, Harry stepped between the blonde and his head of house. "Malfoy, stop it," he said, taking ahold of Draco's shoulders and trying to look him in the eye. "Draco," he called out again, giving the boy a shake for good measure when he got no response other than the tables beginning to skitter across the floor.

Draco brought his eyes up to look into brilliant green and felt an odd sense of comfort.

Immediately the shaking and rumbling stopped as the two boys continued to stare at each other.

Harry could see his rivals eyes shimmer with unshed tears, the normally sparkling silver tones a dull grey from anxiety and embarrassment, and all he wanted to do at that moment was comfort and help this boy that had always given him nothing but grief in the past. All that seemed to lessen in importance at the sight of the pain he could plainly see glittering in misery riddled grey eyes. It was a look that was often reflected back at Harry when he stared at himself in the mirror.