Mixed Messages (A Drarry Fanfic)

Nightmares

(Draco)

Draco stared at himself for a long time, before he finally entered the bath he'd made up. The water distorted his reflection in a way he found most accurate- his face was warped and no longer beautiful. The water was too hot, and he winced as it scalded the tender underside of his foot.

He sat on the ground for a moment, peering at his now red foot, hair falling into his eyes. Draco pushed it back with annoyance.
"I need to cut it... but what's the use? Everyone knows what a loser I am. Besides.... I don't trust myself with anything sharp."

Draco felt a shiver run up his spine as he thought of sharp objects, and he quickly shook his head to rid his mind of such dark thoughts. "Enough. Come on, Malfoy."

He finally submerged himself in the water. It was the first bath he'd had since the battle. His hair was greasy, and Draco swore he could see a pimple forming on his forehead, but he didn't really care.

To be fair, Draco didn't really care about anything these days. Except the girl. He didn't know her name. But after the battle she came up to him and wordlessly hugged him.

He didn't stop to ask her why, or what her name was, just tightened his arms around her. It felt good to have a genuine friend. Crabbe and Goyle were out for the account, constantly sobbing about Raven's death, and giving Draco a splitting headache. He had a billion things to do, and those lads couldn't control themselves. He supposed be should've felt something when he heard of her death, but there was nothing.

And Draco wasn't sure if it frightened him, like it should.
"I'm just as heartless as everyone says I am..." Draco mused, swirling his finger idly in the bubbles.

Except the girl. She followed him around like a puppy, not talking, but that was good because Draco rarely talked either. It was nice to have silence. It seemed like all everyone did was talk. Draco couldn't stop the smile from flitting across his face.
"I should really find out her name," Draco muttered. Then he instantly clapped a hand across his mouth, and felt his cheeks flame. Though he rarely talked to people, he'd developed a habit of talking to himself.

"People think I'm crazy," Draco thought as he forced himself out of the glistening water. He stared at his reflection again, and thought, "well, maybe I am."

~

When Draco retired to his room that night, he couldn't have been happier. Dinner was a nightmare. The instant he stepped foot into the Great Hall, kids fell silent and stared at him. Then they caught sight of Harry and started whispering furiously. When Harry tried to talk to him, the Ravenclaw girl gently took his arm and sat him down beside her. They ate in silence.

When dinner ended, Draco whispered, "what's your name?" But she didn't reply, she just shook her head.

When Pansy saw him, she marched over and declared, "her names April, she transferred her a few months ago. She's a mute."
(Again, April is a character of my own creation)

After that, Draco's fondness for the girl grew. He thought of her as a little sister, and wondered if she'd write out why she was mute. Anyways, Draco was going to try. Not just to befriend her, but try. Try to live a good life.

The nights were rough, but Draco preferred them to the days. Often, he'd wake up screaming as he watched his peers die horrible deaths, or as his parents tortured him, or even... even Harry, turning his back on him. Hurting him. Whispering death threats. He knew he'd never done that, but it didn't stop him from whimpering every time he saw the boy.

Harry.

After he'd confessed to loving him, Draco had felt a sense of dread when he thought of him. Would someone who loved you hurt you? Turn their back on you? And if Draco loved him back, what kind of person would that make him?

These questions were almost worse than the nightmares. Almost.

And he had no one to comfort him. Except April. But she was a 3rd year Ravenclaw girl, she could hardly understand what was wrong with him. Or help him.

Draco couldn't believe how weak he'd become. He was nothing like the snooty, slightly heartbroken boy who started 6th year. Now? He was scared, but at the same time, felt nothing. And he was almost a seventh year. Almost 17. And he had no family, no friends, no pride... nothing.

He felt so weary, as he climbed into his four poster that night, so weary. He wished he'd eaten more at dinner. His stomach growled. But there was no time for that. He wished he could feel something, something other than cold. He shivered, and snuggled down into his bed. He had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a very bad day...