Hermione Granger is scared. The nightmares are frequent and sleep is rare. Her relationship with Ron is not what she thought it was. Stuck in a circle of despair she is trying hard to regain the famed Gryffindor courage while maintaining appearance...
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~Draco Malfoy
Having skipped Quidditch practice again, he was slinking around in the shadows. He didn't want to be caught by Snape; his professor seemed to be keeping a special eye on him. Besides, the Slytherins had found themselves having to share the Quidditch pitch with the Gryffindors and Malfoys didn't adjust.
His younger self wouldn't have passed up the opportunity to gas pathetic Potter and the ginger Weasel, but off late this favorite activity of his hadn't been entertaining. For one thing, Potter looked like living death and seemed to not be able to hear anything thrown at him. Weasel on the other hand acted like he had finally grown more than a set of balls, the cocky wanker.
Malfoy snorted, disgusted. There was nothing that rodent had, to be proud off. It was slightly unnerving however, a fact he would only ever admit to himself in the dark. Now he found himself avoiding the stupid trio, the lesser conversation with ginger-head the better for his sanity.
He didn't have the appetite for it anymore, he understood the times were changing and he used his time alone to think...
He had received an owl from his darling mother in the morning. The daily reminder of his duties towards the Malfoy family had been communicated as usual. Since the start of the school year his mother had seemed more desperate something only he could pick up on. Her porcelain face stretched taut across her hard boned jaw, he could imagine her hand shaking ever so slight while penning the letter.
She wouldn't dare use the house-elves to write anymore, after the disaster with Dobby and last year's mess with his father in Azkaban....
He swallowed; summer had been rough for him. Death Eaters had taken up residence in his house something he didn't remember happening for the longest time. His mother hadn't seemed to be able to have a say in the matter, with the Dark Lord nobody did. He had seen the Dark Lord a couple of times too, thankfully not summoned to meet him. Draco always found himself drenched in cold sweat when he was asked to have a lone audience with the Lord, on a few rare occasions in his life.
Something was brewing, a cold grey cloud that loomed just behind the edge of reason. Everyone felt it consciously or otherwise. He hadn't spoken to his father since he had been captured, Lucius didn't want to see him. He couldn't afford to let his son see him in his current state of decrepit, Azkaban was horrible off course.
He knew all too well what it did to wizards. The brilliant ones turned to mumbling mounds of incoherent organisms. His uncle Sirius Black had surprised him. Father had told him all about how he had seemed normal, well as normal as a Gryffindor could be, he supposed.
His mother's side off the family did have brilliant minds, Aunt Bellatrix being another example. It was off course a well-known occurrence that the Black family tended to produce the most number of black sheep in the Pure-blood communities. He had been determined that he wouldn't be another one as a platinum haired stripling.
He couldn't seem to find that kind of clarity now, his brain a constant split in thoughts. And it irked him beyond anything. Salazar knew, he was failing as a Malfoy every day, everything he was ever taught not aiding him in his moment of crisis. He was disgusted with himself, a foreign feeling that he couldn't shake, it had crept into him like the night stealing the sun's rays.
He was aware of the soreness in his legs, a blunt pain caused by his endless pacing. He wished he had a better habit to burn through his brain, or something that tired him out to shut off completely. It had previously been the reason he had slept around so much. Well known Slytherin lore was that Malfoy didn't exhaust, a tale backed up by the accounts of Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass and countless other Pure blood witches.
Over the years he had used sex as a way to blow off the steam after being told off by Lucius. It was pleasurable of course but it had been just physical indulgence, emotions always forbidden, not like he had ever had an issue of those pesky things infiltrating into his sexual rendezvouses with the countless bodies. Another thing he prided himself on before he lost control over his emotional stability, another reason it was imperative he grasped the slipping skill...
He had never been like the other boys in Slytherin, though each possessed a sense of detachment, a customarily in-built trait in Death Eater's children, no one had been like him. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott were both passionate lovers, and slipped into fires of feeling during their sexual dalliances, something Malfoy refused to do, none of the girls he slept with gave him any incentive to either.
They were obviously attractive, sleek and polish through and through. They however failed to ignite any flames within him, something he heard about enough number of times in the boys' dormitories from the drunken ramblings of both his friends. It amused him, their lack of control, and another stripe of clear distinction between them.
Not once did he feel like he was missing out on experience, sex was just for physical pleasure and only fools toyed with mental ecstasy, but he was curious as to how it felt, his friends despite their complaining always drawn to repeat the said experience like moths to flame.
Draco's feet had carried him into a narrow opening of a corridor on a floor he was yet to figure out. He paused; head tilted slightly scrutinizing the tapestries in an effort to place himself.
To his astonishment, into the narrow passage way stumbled none other than the mousy haired Mudblood, Granger. To add to his state of perplex, her face was tear streaked, feet a jumble of steps.
His mind reached its first coherent thought all evening.
Granger looked like she had been hysterically crying.
x ~ x
Draco in depth in this chappie :)
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