Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Ten: Alone

Draco

In the course of the last few months, as hazy humid summer had crept into misty autumn, Draco Malfoy, despite the aid of multiple stolen dreamless sleep potions, had been unable to visit the land of dreams. He, could, not sleep. Ever.

The dark circles which presently resided free of rent under his eyes had become as natural a part of his appearance as his platinum hair, his bloodless complexion, his signature sneering expression -- which made everyone self-conscious of the fact he may be judging or ridiculing them. Well, he was. Of course he bloody was.

And Draco bitterly hoped that everyone who knew him, as stranger, friend or foe (mostly foe) realised that his ashen appearance was simply a consequence of being more mature than his peers, rather than the result stress.

He'd decided stress was a sickness only caught by weak, spineless people -- traits of which he could never dare to associate with. For a boy who came from such a prestigious family, carrying a bucket-full of responsibilities and duties in his hands, it would be a disgrace for him to portray himself as anything aside from imperturbable.

No. He definitely wasn't stressed at all. Just a little... apprehensive perhaps? Yes, he could admit that.

It was to be noted that there was a lot of things going on his life, after all. Alot of things, all of which were constantly whirring at the back of his thoughts in class, drawing an invisible line in between him and everybody he used to associate with. Nowadays, Draco felt distant and shut off from even his closest friends. From everybody.

But he didn't care. He'd like to make that abundantly clear. Rather, he needed to focus on what did matter. That's exactly the same sentence his father had used back at the manor a couple of weeks ago, before he'd left for school.

For some reason which he would never have dared to admit, Draco was blissfully relived when the time came for him to leave his family and return for a term at Hogwarts. His summer had been spent isolated in that dreary manor, forced to attend family meetings and dinner parties where he had to make small talk with Mr no-nose Voldemort. That guy didn't half make Draco uncomfortable. Creepy bastard.

It was easier when he was a kid and had no responsibilities: he could just hide up in his room when Voldemort came and pretend like he didn't exist.

Sometimes Dobby -- back before his father had taught Draco about the correct way to treat house elves -- would join Draco in sitting in miserable silence in his bedroom. Sometimes, Dobby would sneak some icecream up, leftover from the Death Eater's dinner party, to give to a teary-eyed, infant Draco. Sometimes, Draco and the little house elf used to listen to music on the little wireless muggle radio, turning it up loud to drown out the noise of whatever Mudblood Bellatrix had decided to torture after a delightful dinner...

Draco missed childhood. No responsibilities. No death eaters. No family meetings about the "great big things" they were plotting. No painful mark on his arm which he had to hide from his friends prying eyes... No sleepless nights.

No nightmares.

The dormitory was quiet enough to drive anyone insane. He strained his ears, half hoping to hear Blaise let out a snore because that would bring him some sense of normality, but even he was quiet enough to pass as dead.

It clicked then why he was unable to hear anything: Draco had put a silencing spell up. Only now, he was starting to regret that decision. Silence like this brought him anything but peace.

There was a horrible, aching feeling deep in his chest. Draco didn't recognize the feeling -- couldn't place a name to it.

If he was more in tune with how emotions worked, he would have known the strong ache he felt was something that came from a result of loneliness; because unknown to him at this time, was that you could be surrounded by people, and be popular beyond belief, and yet still be the loneliest person in the room.

He stayed staring up at the ceiling, unblinking. His mind began to drift elsewhere. Although he was trying to forget about the careless topic, the events of the past day kept flashing back into his mind.

He wished he could just forget, but every time his thoughts began to wander, her face came back into his mind, somehow brighter and more pressing than all his other problems combined.

Hair as red as a sunset - no, carrots. Sunsets were pleasant things to look at, and Violet Lockwood - the fiery little brat - was not pleasant in his eyes. She was an undignified carrot.

Draco fucking despised carrots.

It stunned his ego really, everything that had happened between the two of them. With this new student, he felt as though he was trekking through unfamiliar grounds, because this was the first time in his entire life where someone had actually dared to fight back. Well, there was Potter of course, but he had always had a screw or two lose.

This Lockwood girl was exactly the same.

Draco's jaw tightened as he started playing their arguments over and over in his mind - then he started doing that thing he hated, the thing where he'd create scenarios in his head of the things he could have said. This only made his resentment grow.

He thought about how she'd slipped and he'd reached out to steady her, pulling her slight frame into his. She felt cold and he'd noticed she was trembling. Why oh why had he done that?! That would have been the perfect opportunity to see her fall -- break a few bones.
Then he could've laughed at her defeat, because laughing at other people's misfortunes was the only thing that brought him much joy these days, aside from--

He would break her eventually.

He had to. Everybody, even the teachers, showed him respect. Everyone except for her. Yes, she had tried to apologise, but Draco knew all apologies were just empty lies and excuses.

For a brief, fleeting moment, he had considered calling their little... dispute, a truce. But that was only for a very, very brief moment, mind. He had only considered it because other than the fact that this Lockwood girl was an annoying little brat, he really had no other reason to make her his enemy. She was still in Slytherin after all.

And no matter how much he hated her, at least he could be reassured with one fact:

At least she wasn't a Mudblood.

Draco's eyebrows creased together in sheer repulsion at the thought. That notion was perhaps the only thing stopping him from accidently on purpose chucking the ginger freak off the astronomy tower.

The only reason.

Yes, he thought bitterly, Lockwood doesn't realise how lucky she is. If she'd have been in any other house, or had been a mudblood, she'd have not gotten away with any of this...

Or at least, that was the thought Draco kept telling himself to reassure his ego as he spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.

When he eventually drifted off, he kept waking with a start, with tears in his eyes and a thumping heart. Dark visions had clouded his sleeping mind, visions of war, death and a world gone grey. He pressed his hand against his mouth to muffle the sound of his sobs, knowing that when morning came, any trace of emotion would be wiped clean off his expression. It never existed.

And he'd go about acting the way his father had brought him up to act: fearless and proud and collected, as he should be. As he needed to be. He'd mask his true feelings effortlessly, and keep up the act in hopes that one day, hopefully, it wouldn't be an act anymore.

One day, he told himself, all of this will be so easy.