The Beauty of Grey: The Bitterness Inside

A/N There are two obvious changes to canon. Draco and everyone in Draco's year is a year older than they should be. Astoria is in Draco's year. Please r&r

Chapter 1 – Off In the Night
“You know that I could use somebody
Someone like you
And all you know and how you speak”
- ‘Use Somebody’ – Kings of Leon

Draco Malfoy couldn’t sleep.

He was staring at the green canopy of his four poster bed, not that he could tell the colour because it was completely dark down in the dungeons. His eyes felt puffy and he was beginning to get a headache.

He had placed a Silencing Charm around his bed a couple of hours ago to take away the sound of Crabbe’s snoring. He drank a cup of warm tea before bed. He took a long warm bath with scented oils in (Pansy’s suggestion), but still his mind would just not shut down. He knew that he would probably fall asleep fifteen minutes before he had to get up for class.

He considered taking the book he was reading out from under the bed, but didn’t. He needed to close his eyes, breathe deeply and evenly and try to clear his mind; then he’d fall asleep. He refused to look on the clock to see the time. If he knew the time, he would lie there and worry about that too. His stomach was full of Hogwarts food from the Welcome Feast.

If only... if only what? If only he hadn’t been born a Malfoy? If only his family was not involved in... well, all the things they were involved in. If only he didn’t know a lot of things that he really wished he hadn’t. If only he could stop thinking about it all.

He punched his pillow and rolled over onto his stomach, closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing his jaw. The headache was getting worse though, it was almost like it was right in his eyeball.

After a few hours Draco fell asleep fitfully. He kept tossing and turning, but once he was asleep, he slept like the dead. He didn’t move once since he fell asleep, he woke up in exactly the same position.

When he woke up, on his second Monday morning back at Hogwarts, he was not yet fully rested, but he woke up with a smile because he had dreamt of her again.

His good mood did not last terribly long. He couldn’t find one of his school ties and had to borrow one of Blaise Zabini’s. He did not like wearing other people’s things. And then he had forgotten his Transfiguration textbook in the Library and for that McGonagall gave him one night of detention! The first time that he forgets a book, ever, and he gets detention. He comforted himself by the thought that she usually let you go on with homework in detention. She did not make you write lines or polish the entire trophy room. She felt the time should be used constructively. Maybe the detention will tire him out and then he’ll sleep easier. He could use a few hours of supervised homework time, because he got loads during his first week.

Draco took his schoolwork seriously. He came second in their year, and has since the beginning. Right behind Granger every year. He had read through his new school books before he even came to Hogwarts at the beginning of Fifth Year. But that was not because he was crazy, it was because then he could sit alone in the study at Malfoy Manor and not be bothered. And sometimes not being bothered is nice.

But he was scared of falling behind with his homework before the year even started. The lack of sleep was not helping him concentrate. If he could just finish the History of Magic essay, a foot and a half on giant wars, then he should be okay until the next day, when he would, undoubtedly, get loads more.

He still hated McGonagall for the detention though.

The bright spot was that he had Arithmancy. He still hated Mondays.

So after dinner, he sulkily walked to McGonagall’s office, where he received a lecture about slacking this early in the term and was then left to continue with homework. Draco started on the essay for Binns, retelling the really quite interesting stories. He was a little disgusted that someone can kill the history of the magical world as thoroughly as Binns, when it was truly something that he enjoyed. He even had time to start on his essay for Sprout.

McGonagall let him leave after two hours. Not that bad really.

Again, Draco was lying in his bed, thoughts running through his mind. He did not place the Silencing Charm around his bed, because Crabbe has not been snoring. He likes it better when he can hear the soft rhythmic breathing of the other boys in the room. He likes to hear the sounds of the castle in the night. It breaks the dead silence, and silence can sometimes be even louder than Crabbe’s snores.

He was thinking about her again. He never really stopped. It was like she was just always there, always somewhere in his mind, taking up space. He liked it that way. Thinking of her calmed him in a way that something familiar and comfortable does.

He was also thinking about all the other fucked up things in his life. The Dark Lord, being the biggest reason for it being so pathetically fucked up, was his main concern. Draco knew, unlike the rest of the population, that the Dark Lord has returned. Potter was not lying. And Draco would never say this to anyone but he was so angry that Potter couldn’t stop it. Why couldn’t Potter be all Potter-like and stop it from happening? In the month and a half that he has been back, Draco’s been witness to more horrible things than he cares to remember. Draco’s father was angry and stressed and took it out on his son. Draco’s mother carried on like nothing has happened, welcoming Death Eaters into her house for parties and get-togethers and offering them little gourmet sandwiches, like they were planning someone’s wedding.

The Dark Lord was building up a new army. He was recruiting new Death Eaters and using unspeakable methods to do so. After being gone for fourteen years, he was back, and every single Death Eater that had remained loyal was rewarded - rewarded with their lives. Every other one was murdered painfully. Draco’s father was given tasks and assignments to fulfil – he visited with the Minister for Magic quite often. Draco just tried to stay out of the way. The Dark Lord was ecstatic by the fact that no one believed that he has returned. He could do whatever he wanted, knowing that not even the Ministry was looking for him or his followers.

Draco remembered vividly seeing his father the first time after that night in the graveyard. Draco knew that his father had been summoned to the site that night, by Voldemort. Draco wondered about the thoughts that had to course through his father’s mind when he felt the Dark Mark burn. His father had looked worried, beyond anything Draco had ever seen before. Draco had gotten lessons from his father in Occlumency whenever he had time to spare from his missions. Draco found it surprisingly easy, and was secretly pleased when his father told him that he was good at something, and that he was proud of his son.

Already Draco was being pressurised. He hated it. An occasional insult thrown in the general direction of Potter was not good enough anymore. It had to be stepped up a notch or two. His father made sure to impress on Draco the need to please the Dark Lord, whatever it took.

When he got the letter that he was made a Prefect, Draco was not really bothered. His mother promptly invited a ton of people over, including the Parkinsons, for a celebratory party. Draco spent most of the time trying to hide from Pansy.

It was supremely frustrating to him to have Pansy throwing herself at him in every way you can imagine. She had no subtlety or tact. She followed him around and as soon as they were alone, she would try to kiss him, she would even try to push her hands down the front of Draco’s pants. It did not matter how many times he pushed her away, she did not get it.

About a week before Draco had to go back to school all the bad news came at once. Draco’s father told him that Potter’s guardian, Sirius Black, was lurking around disguised as a dog. He told him that Hagrid was off to try and win the giants over. He reminded Draco that he was to try and make Potter feel as unsure as possible. He was to beat Potter at Quidditch. Oh, yeah, and after school, we arranged a marriage with Pansy for you - suitable witch to bear our grandchildren.

Draco was upset, understandably. Potter, Potter, whatever. He had to marry Pansy? He locked his bedroom door, cast a Silencing Charm, and proceeded to destroy almost everything in his room. He blew up his bed, smashed precious heirlooms against the wall, shattered all the windows, tore up books.

Afterwards he took a calming breath, and fixed everything with magic. He repaired everything that could be repaired and scourgified, until his room looked normal again.

That night as he was laying in bed, his mother knocked softly on the door. She entered cautiously, and walked over gracefully in her peach bathrobe. She sat on the edge of his bed, and stroked his hair back, like she always does. Draco felt a sob in his throat, but he simply refused to cry over this.

‘Everything will be alright, my angel. It’s for the best,’ she whispered in her delicate voice.

He resented his mother a little bit when things like that happened. Everything is in the line of duty.
So, on the train the Sunday of the first of September, on his way back to school for Fifth Year, when Draco discovered that Weasley and Granger were the Prefects for Gryffindor, and that Potter was not, he saw a perfect opportunity to start the more brutal attack. He, along with Crabbe and Goyle walked down the corridor in the train, and looked for the compartment where Potter was sitting. He was sitting there with Weasley, Granger, the girl Weasley, Longbottom and a blonde girl, whose name he couldn’t remember.
‘What?’ Potter had said sounding annoyed already.

‘Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you detention,’ he said, placing a smirk on his face. ‘You see, I, unlike you, have been made a Prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishment,’ he continued, deciding to lay it on thick.

‘Yeah,’ Potter replied, ‘but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.’

All of Potters friends laughed.

‘Tell me, how does it feel being second best to Weasley, Potter?’ Draco asked, looking for trouble.

‘Shut up, Malfoy,’ Granger said in her dignified voice.

‘I seem to have touched a nerve,’ Draco said, just knowing Potter thought he would have been made a Prefect. ‘Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.’ Draco smirked, wondering how long it would take Potter to figure the hint out about Black.

‘Get out,’ Granger said, standing up.

Draco left them, Crabbe and Goyle following him.

What worried Draco the most was the plans his father had for him. His future planned out for him as though he was just too unintelligent to choose his own life. He had a schedule of sorts that had to be kept by. Draco was upset when these plans came to light. His mother just ran her hand through Draco’s hair like she did when he was still a small boy and said that it was for the best. The worst was that there was nothing he could do really. There would always be some way of forcing him into it. The Dark Lord had a very active imagination when it came to making people do what he wanted them to do. Needless to say, it was forbidden to speak of his return to anyone not marked. Draco was scared.

Draco fell asleep much later trying to eliminate all the bad things in order to just leave her in his mind.
Wednesdays were always one of the better days. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays he had Arithmancy. Draco walked into Professor Vector’s class, trying to look like he was conscious. He sat down in his seat in the far back corner of the classroom - his favourite seat in the school.

She walked in the way she always does, looking at her shoes. She walked towards Draco and took the big black bag hanging from her shoulder and placed it on the table. She never really talks much, but she smiled at him quickly and warmly before she unpacked her books. Then she placed the bag next to the table on the floor and sat down in the chair next to Draco.

Thank the gods that one teacher in this school had an organised seating plan. Boys next to girls, Slytherins next to Ravenclaws. Great plan.

She had her elbows on the table and her head was resting in her hands. Draco always tried to look at her as much as possible without being obvious. Yes, he could look at her during meal times and in other classes, passing in the halls, but sitting next to her meant that he could see her really well, smell her smell, hear her breathing, her sighing, the scribbling of her pencil on parchment (yes, she had a pencil).

When Vector started explaining the latest complicated formula, she started making notes. Draco was making notes too, but he was basically copying hers. She had a straight, large, yet very neat handwriting. Her hand that was not writing liked to play with a strand of hair or hold on to the table. He noticed that about her pretty early on. Her hands were never still. They were always busy with something, tapping her pencil against the table or rolling it between her fingers. She liked picking at the thin layer of paint that was on the pencil. She usually doodled, drawing little shapes or writing a particular word and then decorating it or going over it again and again until the parchment was deformed by the thick pencil lines. And if nothing like a pencil was handy, she would play with her blue tie or the buttons on her white shirt.
When Arithmancy was over, Draco felt saddened to watch her walk out, her heavy bag weighing her down.

Until Friday, then.

That was one of the things Draco timed his life by – Arithmancy classes.

The first time Draco had noticed her was at the Yule Ball. That was about nine months ago. She looked absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.

Draco had to go to the Ball with Pansy Parkinson, of course, by order of his father. Not that he minded terribly. She was quite smart, funny in a mean sort of way, but Pansy was the most selfish person he had ever met, and that was saying something. She had her long blond hair framing her face in big curls. She wore a bubblegum pink dress that covered the minimum amount of skin. She didn’t look nice, it was a little too much.

They had only been there for about fifteen minutes when she sent him off to go fetch them some drinks. Draco learned early on that it was loads easier to just do as she asks, otherwise you’re going be moaned at endlessly until you give in anyway.

At the large table where there were finger foods and all kinds of punch, that was where he saw her for the first time. Well, he had seen her before, but never really looked, never really noticed. She was wearing a green dress, it was a toxic green, the colour of Slytherin and it fit her perfectly. The green worked with her skin, her eyes and her hair. The dress was also so tasteful, yet not prudish. It had no sleeves, simply coming to under her arms. Her chest was covered in a way that Draco thought of as classy. You could see there was something there, but you definitely had to use your imagination. It flared out from her hips in layers and layers of different shades of green. She had on flat black ballet shoes. Her pale skin was accented by her really dark hair that was taken up into some arrangement at the crown of her head, from there it stood out in all directions in black and green (real or fake, he did not know) pointy spikes, with a few spikes hanging over her face. Her green eyes had a subtle hint of black and green make-up. Draco stood and stared with an open mouth, until she looked up from smelling the punch in the ladle she held up to her face.
She blushed and looked down. ‘Just checking for alcohol,’ she explained, blushing even deeper.
He smiled at her blush, she looked so innocent. ‘Are you looking for the spiked punch or the clean punch?’ he asked.

‘Clean,’ she said, still not looking at him. The ladle she had smelled must have been alcohol-free, because she poured it into a glass. She smiled at him before she left the table, disappearing into the crowd.

His father had told him all about the surprise – that the Weird Sisters were to be performing and he was looking forward to that. So when Flitwick was standing on the stage announcing the band, Draco made a beeline for the stage. He was standing in front, Pansy right beside him, holding her spiked punch while Draco sipped his clean punch waiting for the band.

He noticed her again then, standing a few feet from them. She was looking the stage in such anticipation. When the band came on, she looked shocked and then it was as though she lost her mind a little bit. She screamed and jumped and whistled, whistled like Draco’s only ever see boys do. Apparently she was a fan. He watched her more than the band for about two songs, before Pansy dragged him away by his hand to slow dance in the back.

After that night, Draco had found himself staring at her all the time. He couldn’t believe that he never noticed the girl before. She was spectacularly beautiful even in her school uniform.

He asked around, and found out as much as he could about her without drawing attention. Her name was Astoria Greengrass. She was the younger sister of Pansy’s odd friend Daphne. It took a while to figure out how they ended up in the same Year, but seemed that they were just born really close together. Her name meant ‘falling star’, which Draco thought was appropriate, but he did not know why. She was rumoured to be born from a pure-blood ancestry, her sister was in Slytherin after all, but he also heard other rumours that said the family line is not quite as pure as the Greengrass family would like you to think. What if there were some Muggles in the family line? Draco didn’t know how to feel about that.

He knew that it should bother him, but that didn’t stop him from noticing her. He was sure that most of the girls, advertising themselves as pureblood were lying. And then one night he had an epiphany of sorts.

It was one night, when he was in the dormitory alone, rummaging through his trunk when one of the Potter Stinks badges that was still lying around pricked him in the palm of his hand. He drew his hand back to look at the damage. There was a small puddle of blood accumulating there, and that moment changed his life in an instant. He sank back in utter shock. It was his blood, red, smelling slightly of metal there in his hand, the supposedly superior blood, the better blood. But it was just blood, red like everyone else’s. The realisation shocked him more than it should have. Draco considered himself an intelligent guy, why was this news to him? Thinking about everything and pulling everything that he had been taught and everything that he thought of as absolute truth into doubt. What did it matter? He cringed when he even thought that way, like his father would automatically know, and punish him for it. He liked to think of that night as the night he developed a brain of his own.

He couldn’t really find out anything else that was concrete about her. The rest he knew because he paid attention. She was essentially really nice. Her smile was easy, and she had creases around her eyes when she laughed. She was friendly and helpful to almost anyone. She was well liked, but she didn’t seem to have a lot of friends. A girl called Kim was the person she spent most time with, they seemed like they were close, but they weren’t together all that often. She frowned when she was concentrating. Her eyes were always busy, darting across the room, taking in information. She had trouble making eye contact with people. She couldn’t even look Kim in the eye for too long. She didn’t seem at all like her sister. Daphne was more like Pansy, annoying with almost no self-respect, whereas Astoria seemed completely oblivious to her status and keeping up appearances. He also couldn’t recall ever seeing the two of them together.

Draco was shocked when he saw her angry for the first time. She gave of a definite aura of calmness about her, she seemed like she would never do or say anything crass or inappropriate. He did not know what the poor soul did to deserve such a tongue lashing. She was standing in the hall facing him, looking furious, having a go at a guy that was two heads taller than she was, and he looked terrified.

It was not long after that, the Yule Ball in Fourth Year, that Vector moved the children in his class, and Draco jumped at the opportunity to sit next to her, not feeling nearly as guilty about his thoughts about her as he had before. There he learned more about her small habits. He heard her swearing under her breath when she stubbed her toe, had a paper cut. But she always smiled at him again, before leaving, so innocently, that Draco never could seem to think of her as anything but innocent.

Later on it got to a point where Draco thought he might know her life better than he did his own. By listening and watching and paying way more attention than was normal, he figured her schedule out, he noticed her mealtime habits and he even knew which stores she frequented in Hogsmeade.

Draco did not usually let anything get to him like she did. He was used to saying what he wanted and then it was handed to him. Simple. But this was different. He got angry when someone was unfair towards her and he wondered what she was thinking about when she sat in Arithmancy with a look on her face that said that there was something that was distracting her, making her scared, worrying her or making her happy.

It was just an innocent crush. Right? He did not think that he loved her. He couldn’t, he did not know her.

The night before he left for Hogwarts he was summoned to his father’s study where he was told that in Sixth year, he was expected to join the Death Eaters. He was let in on some of the plans that the Dark Lord had for this year. If he was caught betraying the cause, not only will he, but everyone he loved, pay the price for his betrayal. Nice. He was also given the wondrous news of another Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Whatever, Draco didn’t care.

He was only sixteen for Merlin’s sake. He was sixteen and he had a crush on a pretty girl and already it was being ruined.

So he went to school and he dropped hints to Potter that he knew about Hagrid on the first Tuesday back at school. While he was walking down to Hagrid’s hut, with Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and Blaise in tow, he started off by making fun of Potter loudly. His fellow Slytherins laughed loyally, and when Potter noticed, Draco saw the anger boiling up in him. Later on, after Grubbly-Plank had talked a bit about the Bowtruckles, and Granger nearly wet herself to answer all the questions asked, and Draco promptly made fun of her, he saw Potter walking aside and asking her where Hagrid was. Draco was a little surprised that Potter didn’t know. So he went closer and grabbed the largest Bowtruckle that he had to sketch, right from in front of Potter.

‘Maybe,’ Draco said softly, ‘the stupid great oaf’s gotten himself badly injured.’

‘Maybe you will if you don’t shut up,’ Potter replied also quietly.

‘Maybe he’s been messing with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift,’ Draco finished off, walking away, having dropped the hint, smirking over his shoulder at Potter who looked confused.

That led Draco to believe that Potter really had no clue where Hagrid had been. He wondered why no one kept the boy who was supposed to save them all informed.

Draco decided to bother Potter again, stage-talking loudly to Pansy, ‘Yes, Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds like as though the Ministry’s really determined to crack down on sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he’ll probably be sent packing straightaway.’ He was referring, of course, to Umbridge’s presence. He had a pretty good idea what she was planning on. He knew she hated half-breeds, and Hagrid most definitely was one of those.

When Potter’s Bowtruckle clawed him on his hand, and ran off into the forest, Crabbe and Goyle, who was laughing at Draco’s jokes already, just laughed harder.

He also tripped Weasley and called Granger a Mudblood, he still felt like he owed them some discomfort for all three of them and the Weasley twins attacking him, Crabbe and Goyle on the Hogwarts Express at the end of Fourth Year. He sucked up to Umbridge and was annoying as he was expected to be, but his heart wasn’t in it. He had decided forgetting about Astoria might be wise, she was only going to distract him and get him in trouble. But that was before he saw her sitting on the Hogwarts Express also on her way back to school for Fifth Year, laughing with Kim. It was hopeless.

Try-outs for the Slytherin Quidditch team were Thursday night, and Draco had to be there. He was glad to be on his broom again and paid as little attention as possible to the new ones trying out. He enjoyed the feeling of the cool breeze through his hair, and for a few moments felt carefree.

On Saturday afternoon, when the Gryffindors were having their first practice, Malfoy rounded up the troupes and they sat in the stands, their song at the ready, waiting to unnerve the Gryffindors, especially Weasley.
‘What’s that Weasley’s riding? Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?’ he said, beginning to have a go at the weasel, rather meanly. He knew that to Weasley that broom was probably his most prized possession. His goal, really, was just to make him nervous.
Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy laughed. Blaise had chosen to give this excursion a miss. He watched as they mounted their brooms, and he was sure that Potter was getting very angry. He noticed that his fuse was rather short this week. But, after all, he did have a week of detention with Umbridge, which he was sure would drive anyone around the bend.

‘Hey, Johnson, what’s with that hairstyle anyway,’ Pansy shrieked. ‘Why would anyone want to look like they’ve got worms coming out of their head?’

Draco didn’t think that that was the most intelligent insult, but whatever, right?

They then proceeded to laugh over-enthusiastically at everything that the Gryffindors tried, especially if it was a Keeping effort.

‘Hey Potter, how’s your scar feeling?’ Draco screamed, having seen Potter touching the scar quite often. ‘Sure you don’t need to lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the Hospital Wing, that’s a record for you, isn’t it?’

Then they started chanting ‘Gryffindors are losers’ at the request of Crabbe, who thought he was being really clever, but it was an effort so Draco obliged.

The training was stopped early, though, because Bell’s nose was bleeding really profusely after she was hit in the face by Weasley. They didn’t even get to sing ‘Weasley is out King’.

As they left the stands and headed back to the castle, Draco hung back a little, walking a few steps behind the other three. He swallowed the guilty feeling that was growing inside of him. This was not personal; this was just simply a case of trying to win the Quidditch match, because Draco really didn’t have the stomach to look at the disappointment in his father’s face when he had to find out that Draco lost to Potter again. Besides, he wasn’t really doing any harm, he was sure, and this was a good way of keeping up appearances with the rest of the Slytherins. Killing two pixies with one spell.

Draco got his Moonstone essay back from Snape on Monday, and was pleased to see an ‘E’. Snape said that he graded the papers and gave marks that are fitting for an OWL examination. An ‘E’ was better than he dared to hope for.

He also read in the Daily Prophet that Umbridge was now the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, which basically meant that she could give the teachers marks about their performance. Draco thought that was looking for trouble on her part. He could just imagine Snape being told that his teaching methods were not up to scratch. He wondered how much worse this could get if this is what that woman managed in a simple week at Hogwarts – Draco had a feeling there was much worse to come. But, of course, he was supposed to be buttering her up, so he pretended to seem pleased. Merlin help us all, he thought. Later that week, however, was when Umbridge was inspecting Care of Magical Creatures class. Umbridge asked Grubbly-Plank loads of questions, even asked her if she knew where Hagrid was, and then rounded on Crabbe and asked about injuries. Quickly Draco stepped forward and recounted the incident with the Hippogriff in Third Year. Where Potter promptly defended Hagrid and shouted that it was because he wouldn’t listen to Hagrid and then Umbridge gave him detention. Draco felt a little sorry for Potter, all the detention he was doing with this woman couldn’t be good for him, but he couldn’t keep a small smile from his lips.

He trained really hard for the first Quidditch match against Gryffindor. He really tried to better himself. This was helped along by the fact that Snape was desperate to have the Quidditch Trophy back in his office and booked the Quidditch pitch for them to practice on so often, that Draco had time for very little else. He knew that his father would be extra hard on him because Ronald Weasley was in the team and his father considered anything that was poor and had red hair as completely mediocre. So Draco’s plan was to make Weasley nervous. It helped that Crabbe and Goyle were also on the team this year. They might not be very clever, but they definitely could hit Bludger with terrifying force.

It was on the Monday morning after the Hogsmeade weekend in October, that Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four was passed. The notice was up on the Notice Board, along with all the other announcements. It stated that all groups, teams, organisations, clubs and society were disbanded and that permission was needed to form one or reform one. Draco rolled his eyes after reading through it, and sneering at the curly signature that Umbridge had left at the bottom of the decree. She was really a control-freak. He decided to go ask her to reform the Quidditch team right away.

So after breakfast, he straightened his tie and walked to her office. He knocked on the door, and heard a high-pitched ‘Come in,’ in a sing-song voice.

‘Good morning, Professor Umbridge,’ he said, smiling at her, trying to hide his disgust at the pink walls covered in horrifying kittens.

‘Well, good morning, Mr. Malfoy,’ she said.

‘I just saw your new Decree on the notice board,’ he said, still smiling. ‘Very smart move,’ he complimented her. ‘You never know what types of activities the students could be up to.’

‘Indeed,’ she said, smiling.

‘I just wanted to come and ask your permission to reform the Slytherin Quidditch team,’ he said, still in his very gallant voice. ‘My father, Lucius Malfoy, I’m sure you’ve met him, would be terribly disappointed if I could not play Quidditch this year. After all, someone needs to beat Mr. Potter at it – he needs to come back down to Earth, you know, Professor?’

She smiled at him for a moment, looking like she was thinking it over and trying to figure out what to make of Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy, the school would be a better place if there were more students like you. Of course you can continue with Quidditch,’ she grabbed a piece of paper from a drawer and took her quill in her hand. ‘You are so polite, definitely your father’s son,’ she signed the paper and handed it to Draco with a smile that was a little disturbing.

‘Professor, I thank you,’ Draco said, taking the paper.

He left the office having the odd feeling that he needed to take a shower, although he took one about an hour ago.

After Herbology Draco headed for the dungeons for his double Potions. He showed the permission slip to Crabbe and Goyle who guffawed at it.

‘Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straightaway, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry... it’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won’t it?’ Draco said loudly, as he saw Potter, Weasley and Granger.
‘I mean,’ he went on. ‘If it’s a question of influence with the Ministry, I don’t think they’ve got much of a chance... from what my father says, they’ve been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years... and as for Potter... my father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St. Mungo’s... apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.’

Crabbe and Goyle laughed and Pansy screamed as he laughed. Draco, on the other hand, was a little surprised when it wasn’t Potter or Weasley who did anything, but Longbottom that came charging past towards Draco. Potter grabbed him to keep him back and soon called to Weasley to help him. Crabbe and Goyle stepped in front of Draco almost automatically to protect him from any possible attack. Draco watched as Longbottom fought his detainees with all his might, his face going red and odd words escaping him. It wasn’t long, though, before Snape appeared and took ten points from Gryffindor for fighting. Draco entered the class wondering what that was all about.

Umbridge was observing that lesson, and Draco quickly stopped thinking and concentrated on his Potion, he had to get good marks in this. Umbridge questioned Snape and then bombarded Pansy with questions that Draco tried to keep from entering his thoughts.

Gryffindor was given permission to play Quidditch the next day. So then, Draco thought, it’s on, Potter.

A week before the match were to take place, the tension was sky high. The Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchly and few of the other members of the team, took to cursing and jinxing the Gryffindor players. Snape also turned a blind eye towards this, always thinking of reason not to punish the Slytherins. But so far the most successful strategy was the one to make Weasley nervous. While taunts to Potter had no effect whatsoever, Weasley seemed like he might puke every time a threat or jaunt came in his direction. Draco’s favourite was his imitation of Weasley dropping the Quaffle, that got him every time.

When November arrived the rain gave way a little, and it was cold. Really cold. The morning of the match was bright, but still freezing. Draco handed out badges with little crowns on them to all the Slytherins in support of his ‘Weasley is our King’ campaign.

Draco played with all his might. The Slytherins kept up a powerful wave of his song. He was close too, closer than he’s ever been before, but still Perfect Potter beats him to the Snitch. Fuck! The crowd cheers, Potter’s hit by a Bludger hit by Crabbe, but Draco can only hear the rushing of blood in his ears. In anger and jealousy and bitterness Draco insults Potter and Weasley’s family and goes on about crazy people. He’s not angry at them, though, he’s angry with his father, furious with his father.

He felt reckless.

He couldn’t even remember everything he said. Next thing he knew, Harry, one of the Weasley twins jumped him and started to beat him up. Draco felt his nose break as one of the twins hit him and then Potter hit him in the stomach, the Snitch still firmly clutched in his fist, his breath leaving him.
Draco felt punch after punch hitting him all over his body. He felt it all, and knew that he deserved it and for a moment he enjoys the pain. The pain made him feel, like he could feel his anger, resentment and the utterly helpless feeling of being let down by his father boiling to the surface.

Luckily someone came to break up the fight, before he passed out. Draco didn’t feel like defending himself. Blaise and Vincent supported Draco to the Hospital Wing, he was bleeding rather violently, the blood dripping on his Quidditch uniform. When they reached the door he told them to not come inside with him. He’d rather just walk in alone and tell Madam Pomfrey what had happened.

Everything about the match and the fight felt like it wasn’t really happening. Like he was floating above his body watching it happen, not experiencing it, not really.

When he pushed the door open with one hand while the other was trying to catch the blood from dripping to the floor, he came fully back into his body with a crash.

‘Mr. Malfoy, a knock would be nice,’ Pomfrey reprimanded him.

But Draco was not listening, because there sitting on a bed, face suddenly red and shocked, was Astoria. She had a hospital gown on, she was facing the door, Madam Pomfrey was standing behind her, and was tying up the gown at the back, before she grabbed her wand and came at Draco to fix his nose.

Draco let her shove him around, allowed her to push him back on another bed and then she proceeded to heal his nose and all other bruises and sore spots he had. Not that Draco noticed.

Astoria was leaning forwards, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to hide, her arms crossed in front of her. Her dark hair was hanging loosely over both shoulders, her eyes were looking at the floor. She was ashamed and embarrassed to be seen like this. Her ankles were crossed, first time he ever saw her feet. She had beautiful, white feet.

Draco kept looking at her, trying to figure out what could be wrong with her. She seemed fine this morning at breakfast. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. Maybe it was just an itch, nothing too serious. He could not look away, even though he tried.

‘Just lay there for a moment, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll give you something for the concussion in a minute, just give the spells some time to work properly,’ she said to him.

Then she walked back towards Astoria, and drew the curtain around the bed she was sitting on. Draco looked at the ceiling and perked his ears to try and hear what was wrong with her.

He heard Madam Pomfrey tell her to relax. Draco heard the clinking of glass against glass, he guessed potion bottles, a moment of silence. Then he heard her gasp and then whimper softly, if he hadn’t been paying attention he would have missed the small sound. Whatever was happening was painful.

‘There you go, sweetie, just lie down until you feel better,’ Madam Pomfrey said in a caring, soft voice.

Draco felt odd. He felt angry that she was hurt. That was not normal, he didn’t even know how it happened or why. But he liked her and he didn’t like the thought of her in pain.

Madam Pomfrey then came over to him and held a bottle of potion up to his mouth as the wordless instruction to drink. He swallowed it in two gulps, trying not to taste it.

‘Now you stay here until I say you can go, okay?’ Madam Pomfrey told him.

‘Yeah, okay,’ he replied, glad for the excuse to be close to her again.

He stayed on the bed, lying on his back, his head turned towards her, looking at the curtain that hung around her bed. He felt a strong need to say something, but he didn’t know what to say. He was scared of making her feel uncomfortable, especially because he could tell she was embarrassed when he saw her.

‘I hate the Hospital Wing,’ he compromised, saying it loud enough that Astoria would hear, but not Pomfrey.

He waited with bated breath for a moment for a reply, but he did not receive one.

‘It’s always cold,’ he added.

He heard a breath of laughter. ‘I know,’ she whispered.

He didn’t know why she was whispering, but he guessed she also did not want Pomfrey to hear.
‘You’d think they would keep in warm in here for all the sick people,’ he said back.
He watched her fingers curl around the edge of the curtain and she slowly pulled it back.

‘Actually,’ she said, stepping out fully dressed, ‘they keep it cool to stop bacteria from spreading.’

‘Oh,’ he said, momentarily forgetting about the conversation when he saw her smiling at him.

‘Well, we are magical folk, you’d think, then, that they’d have come up with a spell to get around it,’ he said watching as she tucked strands of hair behind each ear.

‘Yeah, maybe they have, but Hogwarts hasn’t heard of it?’ she offered.

‘Could be.’

‘So did the Quidditch match get a little violent?’ she asked, taking in the torn Quidditch uniform and where the green had turned dark from all the blood that had been dripping from his nose.

‘No,’ Draco said, looking at the ceiling.

‘Oh?’

‘After the Quidditch match got a little violent,’ he explained.

‘Who won?’ she asked, sitting on the chair next to his bed.

‘Who do you think won? Potter, of course.’

‘Gryffindor,’ she said simply.

‘Yeah, Gryffindor.’

‘So, who beat you up?’

‘Potter, of course. He had accomplices, though.’ Draco said, trying not to sound resentful.

‘Are you going to be alright?’ she asked, not asking why he was in the fight. She probably knew he asked for it. Everyone knew about the tumultuous relationship he had with Harry Potter. He felt comforted by the fact that she did not look disgusted with him.

‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Going to be out of here in a few minutes, just waiting for the concussion to go away,’ he said, paying attention to the way she’s not looking him in the eye for longer than a second at a time.

‘Concussion, I’ve had one of those before,’ she said, blushing a little.

‘Yeah? What happened?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s embarrassing.’

‘Come on, I won’t laugh. Or I promise I’ll try not to?’ he said thoroughly enjoying her red cheeks.

‘Well, um, it was in First Year. You know we had those mandatory flying lessons with Hooch? Well mine went spectacularly pear shaped.’

‘What happened?’

‘I’m not sure... my broom just did not listen to me, it had its own agenda and I fell off,’
she said quickly.

‘It had its own agenda?’ he smiled at her.

‘Yes,’ she said trying to look him in the eye defiantly, but failing really quickly.

‘Oh, well, I guess it happens,’ he said trying not to laugh.

‘Hey, not everyone can do it on the first try.’

They were quiet for a few moments, and Draco was starting to feel it become awkward. He searched his mind for something to say, but all he could think of asking was why she was here...

‘So why are you here?’ he asked and as soon as it came out his mouth he cringed already.

‘Oh, just a check up,’ she said quickly, not seeming offended. ‘I hope you feel better soon,’ she got up and walked around to end of the bed Draco was lying on. ‘See you around.’ And then she left.

Draco could not help a ridiculous smile from spreading over his face. ‘See you around’ meant that she might want to talk to him again. He got up to leave, forgetting about the instructions from Madam Pomfrey, but was quickly pushed back onto the bed with a stern, ‘And where do you think you are going?’

Draco was really pleased when he heard from almost every Slytherin when he got back, that Potter, and both the Weasley twins had been banned from playing Quidditch ever again by Umbridge. It also started snowing that night.