Losing Yourself

Draco,

You are to make your way back home for Christmas Break. You and I have a few matters in dire need for discussion before your initiation. Our mutual colleague has, shall we say, requested your presence. Remember what we have spoken about. He believes you have what is required..

L. Malfoy

The seventeen year old blond stared at the piece of parchment in mild disbelief. His eyes strayed to where his Potions Master sat, chewing slowly on his breakfast; to where the great man himself, Albus Dumbledore sat, silent and contemplating. As his eyes became unfocused, Draco Malfoy thought back to the summer weeks before.

They stood in the middle of the hall, circling each other. The older of the two had his wand out, loosely by his side, whereas his son had his fist clenched. Both breathed heavily. A woman stood towards the side, clutching at her heart, keening softly but no one paid her any attention. Neither did the house elves which had appeared just outside and were watching with large, teary eyes hoping none of their masters faced serious injuries.

“ You will have to, by hook or by crook, be one of us. Do you not understand? Does it not get to you? You are ordered to!” The older one said, emphasizing on his point.

The younger Malfoy retaliated, “ I am your son! And an adult! Let me make my choices! I do not want to be one of them!”

“All the more why you should be!” roared Lucius at his son with mild exasperation lacing his cold, aristocratic tone. “ I have not wanted to do this since you became of age for I like to think that my son is a man but I am forced to by the sheer idiocy of you,” the whole room seemed to hold its breath in anticipation. No one moved.

“ Go to your room!” After those unexpected words that seemed to be coated with childishness and immaturity, there was a short sputtering from Draco Malfoy, a gaggle of house elves started giggling before being sent of to their work by an older, more experienced member and nothing from Narcissa. “ NOW!”

“ I do believe; I have never seen a Malfoy, much less Draco Malfoy himself, too stunned beyond belief.” And in an instant, his memory of the manor drifted back into his subconscious and the uncomfortably close face of Blaise Zabini took over.

“ If you’d rather not have any legs to prance around with then by all means, cross me. Had you any sense at all, leave me to be.”

That surprisingly chilling outburst that contained not a level of raised voices, caused the whole Slytherin clan to fall silent. Then Pansy Parkinson, sitting across him from two seats away leaned towards him eagerly. “ C’mon Draco. We all know Zabini was just fooling. What’s got you all twisted? Was it a certain owl I spot in the midst of post this morning?” eyes twinkling as though they shared a playful secret, Pansy stared at him with undisguised idolisation. She had no sexual related feelings for him but someone had mentioned that he was to be inducted at his coming of age.

“ Would you rather have your tongue cut out Pansy?” he growled out. And with that last ominous threat, the blond haired boy checked his watch. It was time. Pushing himself up from the table, he made a move to get up for his first lesson, certain the rest would follow.

He had less than a minute before Professor Snape arrived to teach potions. By the time he reached the classroom, the rest were already filing in and getting into their predetermined places ready to continue their brewing of Veritaserum. He spotted Potter poised over their cauldron checking its content. Just as well, he thought.

In a moment, the Potions Master all but glided into the dungeons, wand arm waving in a dark flourish, voice soft and low. “You will continue on with your brewing as you did last lesson. If you do not make it halfway through, I will have to reward a zero to that pair. Instructions are on the board. Read!”

Draco watched while Potter dropped in the lizard’s tongue, before settling down to wait for it to simmer for fourteen minutes. Ironic, he thought. The Chosen One himself partnered up with would- be Death Eater. Albeit reluctantly, he couldn’t help but argue with his own self. Why must he be bound by the decisions made by his father? Why must his own beliefs be pushed around and not cared for when evidently, it was him who should have the final say. His thoughts swam and went back to his last summer day.

“Draco, you know your father means best. You are his son and he would rather that you didn’t join but the Dark Lord has… forcefully ordered for you. He knows you are a competent brewer of potions and additional to his current doubts for Severus, your participation became much more than a want to that of a need.” Narcissa stood at the doorway, not daring to approach her own son. He lay on his bed, wand at the ready, musical notes reverberating from its tip at seemingly random moments. Yet somehow, they created a melodious, lonely haunting piece that one could never recreate. It was soft and smooth at moments, loud and forceful at parts. The notes blended, parted and created a symphony like no other. It was the music of the heart.

“All I ask for mother is to not be a part of this… this fiasco. Does he really think I will join The Light? I do not want to fight. Call me a prissy, say I do not want to break a nail, tell him whatever but I really do not want to go into battle.” Realising that he sounds churlish and childish, Draco Malfoy decided to change tact. “The world has grey in it too mom. Not everything has to be the way it is. I can be the invisible watcher can I not? I can stand at the sidelines can I not?”

“Don’t we all want to,” murmured the woman to herself before, in a decidedly louder voice, continued. “Your father knows and respects, yes respect your choices Draco. That is why he is in a load of trouble. He has been steadily trying to change the mind of the most determined psychopathic wizard in Britain . It is not the easiest thing to accomplish but he is risking himself for you. Family always comes first. No matter what,” and with those last words enunciated with a sigh of resignation, Narcissa left the suite, shutting the door behind her, leaving her son with matters too hard to contemplate over.

In his daze, Draco Malfoy picked up the cinnamon stick needed for the potion and dropped it in the cauldron with a splash. At that moment, Potter, whose head was once resting at the table out of boredom, jumped up and checked his watch before letting out a cry of anguish.

“MALFOY! NOT YET YOU- ” he was not able to complete his rant however because Professor Snape who was watching each and every student like a hawk, had started to roar with what seemed like malicious delight.

“Ten points from Gryffindor! I do believe I meant it when I said pair Potter, which means two students. Refrain from including the whole class will you not?” There was an appreciative guffaw from the Slytherins which drowned out the low angered murmurings and curses from the red and gold clad students. Snape gave a little sneer before training his eye towards the acid purple potion that should have been the palest white.

“My my. Tell me Potter; is it a normal occurrence in Gryffindor territory to not be able to tell the time? It was written rather legibly on the board ‘fourteen minutes’. Had you forgotten your reading abilities?” The whole room seemed to radiate tension. Most of the class had witnessed Malfoy being the one who had caused the wrongdoing and were keen on watching Harry Potter point the blame on someone else. The Gryffindors were in a state of highly charged anticipation. All the while, the Slytherins were for the first time nervous, yet anxious because they all knew Snape cared a lot more about them than he did for any other houses.

Draco Malfoy stared at nothing but the floor. Steeling himself for the blame he knew would soon come his way. Harry Potter might be the Chosen One, with a saving- people issue, yet he knew that the raven haired boy’s hatred for him was right after the Dark Lord’s and that he would never do anything to save him. Imagine the tension as after a few seconds which seemed like hours, Potter opened his mouth to speak.

“It was a mistake sir.” A brief silence transpired until it was broken by a crash, the sound of shattering glass and a soft, meek shriek from Neville Longbottom who had dropped his vial of powdered owl bones in surprise.

“See me after class. Both of you.” The room was still once again after the delivery of these slightly more threatening words, before everyone went back to their own potions, a little more subdued.

Draco spent the rest of his time mentally berating himself , while Potter resisted the urge to punch Malfoy in the face.

Truth be told, he had no idea why he would admit to something that he was not a part in. Yet, he called back the last few seconds before and the image of Malfoy so flittingly took over his mind’s eye and the sorrow in it stunned him. There, lay so much more than his regret in accidental potion brewing. The downward eyes, the stiff upper lip, his lost stance; everything made up a man who had lost his beliefs.

A short bark of his name caused Harry to look up. He blinked in nothing short of surprise. The room was empty except for Malfoy who was standing in front of Snape looking at nothing in particular. He made his way slowly, but not any slower than necessary, to the front of the class and stared at the professor right in the eyes, silently challenging him.

“ Potter, as punishment, you will write separate two feet essays on the importance of time management as well as why had you dropped the cinnamon a second sooner, it would have proven deadly.” His heart sank. How in the name of Merlin’s tucked out robes was he ever going to be able to complete this? He stood there mutely, picturing Snape boiling in a cauldron full of cinnamon sticks, and nearly missed the last of his teacher’s statement. “To be handed in to me on Saturday after you complete your detention on Saturday. And twenty points off Gryffindor. Now leave.”

Harry scurried out, almost forgetting his bag which lay on the floor. Breaking out in a run, he caught up with Ron and Hermione just as they were about to enter Herbology. Under the pretext of pruning Poison-Rooted Log, for which the tendrils at its end poisoned one into a state of extreme comatose, the three of them had a whispered conference.

“Harry, explain to me what happened in Potions. You apologised?” Ron asked in a tone of utmost disgust and incredulity almost par to that Malfoy’s usual tone.

“Look, I… I don’t know. Just, lets not talk about it. Okay?” Unfortunately, Hermione was not ready to let go. At least until she knew his punishment.

“All I have to do is two essays on time management and potions questions, can’t remember it already, detention with him and twenty points off Gryffindor.” Harry muttered all the while trying valiantly to swat away the tendrils curling itself around his arm.

Ron, however dropped his in alarm. “All you have to do? Twenty points Harry! Merlin! What has gotten into you?!”

“Oh Ronald! Look this is Professor Snape we are talking about. Even if he had presented Harry with a bouquet of flowers instead of setting essays, we would be having this conversation.” Hermione stated in a factual tone.

“But Hermione! Twenty points!- ”

“Look, that slimy git has taken more off Gryffindor than a mere twenty. I think we’re lucky!” Before, any one of them had anything else to say, Professor Sprout announced pointedly that the different species in the greenhouse are highly sensitive and that she would be forced to take points off if they did not start concentrating.

Lunch that day was a bit different. As they sat down, Dean and Seamus scrambled over and ordered Harry to tell them everything that happened in Potions. Same with Parvati and Lavender. To his surprise, Neville stayed silent although he was the most reactive during that incident. By the end of the day, even a fourth year had heard the news due to countless, exaggerated retellings by the Slytherins who were beside themselves with glee.

When Harry emerged from the bathroom early that night, he was surprised to find Neville sitting on his own bed, quiet and waiting. “Neville, are you feeling alright?”

“ Harry, I wanted to ask you something,” Harry almost gave out a groan of exasperation. Not again. “Was that apology sincere?” Harry reeled back in shock. Everybody has taken a rather negative outlook on it but not one person has allowed a glimmer of optimism through it. Eyebrows furrowed, he pondered the answer to that question, while Neville’s frightened anticipating stare flitted between him and the door.

“Yes.”