Haunted

II

Draco’s first night as a ghost was probably the best night he had ever had. He didn’t know much about ghosts, really. He knew the basics that even muggles took for granted, like going across the walls and all that, but he had been wrong when he had figured that as soon as a wizard or witch died, their ghost would simply be. Oh, no… he still couldn’t be seen by anyone, and he wasn’t quite sure if he’d ever be. What he was sure about was that he hadn’t killed himself to waste his time in the dungeons.

By now, his former classmates were ought to be at the Great Hall having dinner, which was the best time for him to make his first move. The air was pretty tense, especially around a certain Gryffindor he was very interested in. But he didn’t go poke around Potter yet; his whole life he had done the same thing, leave the best thing for the end.

He flew over to the Slytherin table and observed his so-called friends. They were all eating quietly, exchanging awkward looks every once in a while, except for Pansy, who looked too devastated to lift her fork. Draco positioned himself behind her and blew gently on her neck. She shivered. Draco grinned and whispered ‘Paaaaaansy’ so soft in her ear no one noticed it. What they did notice was her loud scream and the way she ran out of the Great Hall. Millicent got up and ran after her.

Without even waiting for the gossiping to begin, he flew straight to where Potter, Granger and the Weasel were.

‘What do you reckon that was all about?’, the Weasel asked with a spooked expression that didn’t fit him in the least.

‘She probably just realized she wouldn’t have his Draky-pooh to shag her anymore’, the four-eyed bastard said bitterly.

That comment was not very well received by Draky-pooh at all, but he considered it wise not to expose himself to them yet.

‘Would you both cut it out? She’s probably going through a rough time’, the mudblood said without looking at her friends in the eyes.

‘Since when do you defend Pansy Parkinson?’, Weasley asked in shock.

‘Since my best friends don’t even respect the dead.’

‘Don’t worry mate’, he told Potter quietly. ‘She’ll be our Hermione again in less than a week.’

‘I heard that, Ronald!’, she yelled at him. She threw her napkin on the table and left hotly.

‘Should I go after her?’

‘Wait… wait… go.’

They both got up and left the Great Hall, not knowing they were being followed by Draco Malfoy.

***Flashback***

A huge crowd had gathered in less than a minute around the Quidditch pitch. Neither Harry nor Draco had spotted the snitch yet, but the speed to which their eyes darted was the closest thing to Moody’s magical eye’s, because of the effort they were making at it. They both knew it was essential that they catch the snitch this time, because this time it wasn’t about the Quidditch Cup, it was about the honour. It was about proving they were better than the other.

Just for a second, Draco thought he had caught a glimpse of the snitch, but he wasn’t sure. He was about to look better when he saw Harry dive at the broom’s highest speed. Draco followed him without doubting for an instant, and only when he was about to crash against the floor, he realized he had been bluffing all along. Harry flew upwards and caught the snitch not very far away from where Draco had been.

The crowd cheered The Boy Who Won, but Draco’s anger drowned all sound. He put his feet back on the ground and threw his Firebolt with rage. Harry flew in circles around him like a bird of pray and landed in front of his rival.

‘Well, Malfoy… It seems the broom was not the problem, was it?’, he said smirking. Draco didn’t answer, but the deadly glare he gave him was more than enough. ‘No matter what game we play, you will always lose. Do you know why that is?’

‘Too much bad karma?’

‘Sure, that too. But the real reason why you never get to win is because you are not special. The only thing that has given you recognition is your name, not your acts. If you hadn’t been born a Malfoy, you’d be a nobody’, Potter said slowly so his words would sink into his little blonde head.

Draco was dumbfounded. He had never expected truly hurting words from goody-goody Potter, and yet, he wanted him to continue and know what was really going on inside that twisted mind.

‘Is that so?’, he just asked, trying to look as less expressive as he could.

‘Of course it is. That’s why you have no real friends. Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, you name it, they’re all close to you because you are Malfoy. They probably don’t give a damn about you as a person, they just have to pretend they like you to get a good spot in the Death Eater clan.’

‘You have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter.’

‘Really? I don’t? Then, tell me, when was the last time you had an actual moment with any of them when you realized you couldn’t be happy without them?’

‘Last night, when we were singing songs and eating marshmallows by the fireplace’, Draco replied sarcastically.

‘I thought so.’

‘You just can’t get enough of it, can’t you?’, Draco asked, shaking from anger.

‘Enough of what?’

‘Victory.’

‘What can I say… it is very sweet.’

‘Actually, Potter, revenge is sweet. Victory is kind of salty.’

‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’, Harry asked, suddenly confused.

‘Nothing that your sodding innocent hero mind will ever get’, Draco drawled.

‘Drop dead, Malfoy.’

***End of flashback***

‘Hermione, calm down! I was only kidding’, the Weasel said at Gryffindor’s common room. In Draco’s opinion, he had been half-kidding.

‘No, you weren’t! You never take anything I do or say seriously! Take the SPEW, for example…’

‘OK, I don’t think the problem is about Malfoy or Pansy anymore’, he thought outloud.

‘No, Ron. The problem is about YOU!’

‘Look, guys… I’ll go up to my room, so…’, Potter said walking slowly away from the ticking girl-shaped time bomb.

‘Goodnight’, they both said without tearing their eyes from the other.

Even though this fight seemed priceless, it couldn’t be better than having that bloody Scarface all to himself. He followed him to the boys dormitories and into the untidy room he shared with Weasley, Longbottom, Finnigan and Thomas. Potter paced around and threw himself on his bed.

Draco flew over Potter and smiled wickedly. If there was something he was proud about was his ability to copy other people’s voices. His father’s was the easiest, of course; Snape’s was flawless; and Potter’s, even though it still needed a few retouches, was definitely one of his favourites. Finally, he had the opportunity to make a good use of it.

‘It’s all my fault…’, Draco said quietly, which made his impression even better.

Potter opened his eyes widely and looked around the room, which was obviously empty. Draco wished he thought it was his own mind speaking and spoke again.

‘I told him to drop dead…’

‘Shut up. SHUT UP!’, Potter yelled and covered his ears with the pillow.

Draco waited for him to realize he was trying to shut his own mind up and put down the pillow, and when he did, he used his own voice to say ‘I told you revenge was sweet.’