What are you?

I'm Sorry

  "I could apologize a million times, yet what happened, happened. Nothing moves, moments are forever expended in time."
 
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   The two of them didn't talk much after that instance, just sat in the library, lingering silently. Draco was terribly aware of Weasley's eyes on him, and he could almost see the mental turmoil spiraling within his mind.  He had no right, Draco thought to himself, purely revolted at the idea of anyone reading his work. He liked to write sometimes, here and there. It wasn't anything amazing, or really interesting for that matter, just something he did when he was bored.

   When he was younger, his mother had forced him to practically absorb every piece of substantial literature in the wizarding world. At first, he hated it with a burning passion, but as he became more and more engulfed, he just kept craving more. The books he read seemed to be the one thing that he could hold onto, that would never change. He could read them a million times and the characters would always be the same, always feel the same, and behave the same. A  heroism that could never be changed or bought with the endless pit of time.

   It was amazing to him. So he would take up writing sometimes, just short freestyle poems or ratty haikus. He knew none of it was good, and the very existence of it if seen would forever brand him as the sod of Hogwarts. That's what Draco couldn't stop worrying about, lying on his bed and staring at the stark ceiling of his dorm. He laid like a dead body, hands on his stomach, griping his wand as if it were a bouquet of flowers.

  He worried about everyone, always. The rain beading down his window made him sickly, craving that crisp autumn weather that brought about the memory of chocolate frogs and the chugga-chugg of the Hogwarts express. He thought of a time when the dark mark didn't burn into his skin like a bullet wound, or when he didn't have to do work for the dark lord. Easy, peaceful, stupid passing insults that didn't really mean anything. He would have done anything to have that back. But alas, that couldn't happen, so he mused himself with thinking of the fact that he still had an entire charms essay to write later that day.

  "Draco? Are you asleep?," Blaise called, creaking the door open. His loose stream of thought was broken instantly, and he sat up against his fine silk pillows. He tucked his wand into his robe, "no, I'm just as bleeding awake as I always am," he said somewhat quietly. 

         "Well, it's time for dinner, I heard they're serving treacle tart." he said with a smirk. Draco's face brightened instantly upon hearing that, and he hurried out the door with a speed that even Blaise hadn't accounted for. 

                                                                                            ___

   Dinner was good, the treacle tart specifically was delicious. Although, Draco had probably had to much of it considering that he sat in the Slytherin common room with a deathly stomach ache.  He was neatly comfortably in a black leather chair, warming his hands by the fire. All of the while he tired to forget about what happened at dinner. It wasn't much, but he could see, with absolute certainty, that Weasley had been eyeing him the entire time. 

     There was something in his hazel eyes that looked sad, remorseful even. And with the way that his hair hung around his face and his cheek rested on his hand, Draco couldn't help but compare him to that of a puppy. He tried to avoid eye contact but it was positively useless, seeing as the rest of the people at the table didn't cease to make a comment about it ('the Weasley is looking at you!' or 'my, what have you done this time Draco?').  However, he shut them all down with one quick mention of the upcoming Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor quidditch game. 

  It was weird wasn't it? He hated Weasley, and he was sure that he hated him too. He thought it quite strange that he wasn't laughing at him, running and telling the rest of his clique what he had found out about "Malfoy."  He was sure that he had told them, or was at least going to. It would spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, he knew that of course.