Chapter 2
2. Chapter 2
The Malfoys were proud, cold and ruthless. But above all things, they were pure. Draco had always known this, and he had always lived by this too. So, he behaved the way he was taught as appropriate and put up with whatever was expected of him without never truly questioning the root of the hatred that was inherited to him. From a young age he accepted he was to be exceptional at magic, accepted that he had to make connections, accepted that he had to marry a pureblood girl like Pansy Parkinson (Merlin, no) or Astoria Greengrass, and later on accepted the Dark Mark and the task that came with it. He limited himself to accept this steps and enjoy the advantages that came with the wealth and exclusivity of his circle.
It was quite easy to do so, and he thought it would not suppose an obstacle in his life. Until he saw the red eyes of the madman he was supposed to follow. Until he felt the pain in his left forearm. Until he was told to kill or be killed. Until he saw his mother cry on his own home. Until he failed to do what was expected of him for perhaps the first time in his life.
It ashamed him, really. He had spent his entire life thinking that he knew better, that he was better, that he was smarter than his classmates and superior to those he called Mudbloods. He thought so much of himself, but failed to do the most important thing an intelligent person does: critical thinking. He never stopped to question the philosophy of what was behind his lineage and now he was doomed.
The grandeur that made him Draco Malfoy was gone, to all those he tried to impress he was dead. Even Hermione Granger saw it: he was a coward. Damn her if that didn’t make him want to believe in the purist’s lies.
When Snape told him he would have to relocate and took him to Hogwarts he was beyond shocked. Even more so when McGonagall told him Hermione Granger was the one they had selected to watch over him. But Malfoys adapted, and what was he if not a Malfoy. So he took the chance of not being sold to the Dark Lord, regardless of the price.
Which took him to sitting on a red and gold bed, in a red and gold room with the Golden Girl. The room was big for one person, but pretty tight for two. Their beds were next to each other, a window with a reading nook separated them, a desk in front of each of them, the bathroom door to the left, the exit to the right, which of course was the farthest away from him.
“I didn’t mean to call you a Mudblood”, he supposed he shouldn’t have to live in a hell-like state, so he started what he realized would end on an apology, one he hated to admit he owed her. He wasn’t ready to apologize to her, not after everything he’d done, but perhaps a small branch would make solid ground to make amends and call a ceasefire for now.
“Which time?” She said rather harshly.
She wasn’t willing to take a branch, he took it. It was strange, it seemed like she was vibrating with fury, he knew she hated him but that seemed extreme.
“I was upset you called me a coward, but I shouldn’t have called you that”, he continued. “It wasn’t too far from the truth anyway”.
“I know it wasn’t, I’ve seen proof or it since we were eleven”. The bitterness in her voice was odd, it didn’t feel directed towards him.
“I didn’t think you’d come back to Hogwarts, you shouldn’t have”. At that she paused. It seemed to take her by surprise he’d said that.
“Why?”
“I suppose it’s not too long until the Death Eaters want to control the school. Besides, I’ve heard Saint Potter and the Weasel didn’t come back, shouldn’t you be with them?”
She frowned, looking troubled, as if this was a conversation she had before. “I am more needed here.”
He didn’t argue with her on that, but didn’t sound right, what would the Orden need of her that was more important than keeping Potter alive? Did they really think he could do that by himself? That the Weasel was the better option compared to her? He didn’t push, instead he went to sleep.