Skepticism
Another day in Hogwarts passes, and as the time goes by, the suspicion of Harry Potter towards Draco Malfoy only grows stronger. The incident that occurred in the dining hall was yet to flee his thoughts. Were Pansy and Blaise in on his schemes too? Well, of course they were. Malfoy always hangs out with them. It’d be weird if they weren’t, but they aren’t the people Harry was focused on these days. As the hours passed, each moment that the Gryffindor would get, his eyes would be focused on the wizard in the opposing house. Thinking, deciphering and depicting what it is he will do next. What it is he will do to reveal his intentions.
He had an excuse this time, he was onto something. He just knew there was an underlying plan going on, and he was getting closer to figuring out what it was. If only he had a lead to the potion the blonde was concocting, then all of this could be a little bit easier. But all that was left of it was washed away, as he stupidly enough did not think to keep it. Yet, either way, he couldn't not wear his robes. Additionally, what if the spilled potion were to be poisonous? It was better not to dwell on what could've been. However, Harry couldn't help but wonder what exactly was being discussed on the previous day. Whatever it was, it made him want to investigate more. It seemed important in his eyes.
Harry didn’t want to draw too much attention to himself, otherwise it’d get the Slytherin on edge. If he worked properly, he could uncover whatever it was that he had to put a stop to. Which is what gave him the idea to utilize his invisibility cloak that’s been collecting dust in his closet. He was surprised he didn’t think of it sooner, as it’d make things significantly easier. Opening his closet, the old piece of cloth sat there in the place where he left it the last time it was in use. As he picked it up, he began to remember all the sneaking around he’d done in it with Hermione and Ron. Some were pleasant memories, and others weren’t. However, he managed to stop his memories just before they’d be able to spiral, and got back on track. Throwing the cloak over himself, he looked in the mirror to admire his absence. It still worked. Although, having grown taller over the years, his feet were just barely sticking out. At least the fix for that issue was to merely crouch down, as uncomfortable as it may be.
All he had to do now was locate the blonde, which wouldn’t be difficult. Looking over the map laid out over his desk, he saw the little name of Draco Malfoy walking about in the halls, and that was where the Chosen One would go. Apparently, Malfoy was a quick walker, because it took the brunette a bit of time to find him by the time that he got there. Quietly following him from behind, it didn’t seem like he was doing much. If he left, it didn’t appear as though he’d miss anything important. But with how Potter was acting lately, he was too determined at this moment. He felt like at any given time, the Slytherin could pull something out his sleeve. So, he followed and followed. It felt like Malfoy was wandering around the halls of Hogwarts aimlessly, no exact location pinpointed in mind. It kept Harry’s suspicion up, and his boredom with it too.
Malfoy did quite a good job at dulling the experience, as Harry started to care less and less. Walking through a crowded hall forced him to stroll closer to the death eater, which felt rather awkward although it was an apparent fact that the Gryffindor remained unseen. It hadn’t usually crossed his mind that as much as he focused on the blonde himself, the boy with the scar across his forehead never paid any mind to those around him. But today, he did. He noticed that with each step that Draco Malfoy took, each student in his vicinity would take five steps away in return. The looks on their faces was unfriendly, they scowled and whispered and there was not a face void of hatred. Somehow, it felt familiar. And that in itself was out of the ordinary, as much as something can be in a place of a wizarding school.
Harry never thought he’d sympathize with a heartless man such as Malfoy, not even once in a blue moon. But those looks were ones often in his direction when he was a newer boy amongst the students, and though he was loved by many, there remained those who detested his existence, who thought he wasn’t right. Unfit, too small, too weak, beneath everyone around him. It was even prominent in the days before his life was introduced to magic. Dudley. His aunt and uncle. They were the ones who found his mere presence a bane. And just like Harry, the Slytherin didn’t seem to care. Not that it was okay, not that he didn’t mind, but that it was merely something that lived as a part of his days.
But as those thoughts creeped into his mind, he shook them away. The oscillating disturbance he felt that he could ever share anything in relation to a murderer of the innocent churned in his stomach. It wasn’t the same. A death eater deserved to be looked down upon, death eaters were below the common mage. Harry Potter, the Chosen One, was innocent. He was misunderstood, scared, unfamiliar, and surrounded by those with bitterness in their hearts. Draco Malfoy was guilty. And though it was a hypocrisy on Potter’s part regarding the opposing fact that he was a part of the wizard’s trial, that didn’t matter for his own peace of mind.
Then, just as that ended, fittingly, they escaped the suffocating hallway, and now stood in front of the painting that led to the Slytherin common room. Without thought, as if instinct due to how long he’s been trailing behind, Harry followed. It was a complete accident, and he only realized what mistake he made when his eyes were plagued with the emerald green that he associated with poison. Unfortunately, he was now stuck here until he found a way to get out. Sure, he was a bit invasive when it came to Malfoy’s privacy, but he’d never do something as insane as this. What if he were to get caught? There would be worlds of misfortune far beyond the wrath of Malfoy.
Quickly did he notice the blonde taking a place right next to his goons, Zabini and Parkinson. The invisible brunette took a stand nearby, away from pathways and areas that would likely expose his presence. Wait — that was all that he had to do. Sit still until the moment where the common room opened its gates once more. But now, his thoughts were interrupted by the blaring voice of Pansy.
“I got the stuff.”
The stuff? Maybe Harry’s luck would change after all this aimless chasing. But would breaking into this eyesore of a place be worth it? Either way, those four simple words certainly caught his attention.
“Oh wow, Parkinson, that doesn’t sound shady at all.” The blonde rolled his eyes. He was always sarcastic, wasn't he? But there, in the corner of his eye, it felt as though he was acting playful. A look that until now, Harry had never seen before. Malfoy was more familiarly glazed with malice.
“Well what else am I supposed to say?”
Blaise turned his head to face her. “Wait, you actually did it? I thought you were joking.”
This was a Slytherin that the scarred individual didn’t know much of, besides the fact that he was friendly with his one rival. He seemed rather quiet.
“Yeah, it’s only one or two props though, nothing to catch anyone’s attention.”
Props, huh? A lot of this conversation lacked sense, but it rubbed Potter the wrong way. What could all this be alluding to? What were they scheming?
“What on earth am I gonna use them for?”
“You’ll figure it out, boss, it’s all in your favor. This’ll just make things more interesting. I’ll show you later.”
A scoff fittingly escaped Malfoy’s throat. Although he still appeared to be himself, it was odd to see him in a non-hostile state. Before this moment, Harry could’ve sworn he lacked emotions outside of disgust and anger. Still, that wouldn’t change anything.
“You should thank me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be brooding in your dorm.”
“Right, okay, that’s enough from you.”
“Draco!” Draco. Harry almost forgot that not everyone referred to him the way he did.
“Fine, fine. Thanks. Really, I appreciate it. At least I’ll have some more fun with all this.”
Draco Malfoy, showing gratitude? A rare sight. This entire scenario weirded Potter out. He wasn’t sure if he enjoyed seeing the other parts of this Slytherin. Alas, he had no choice but to endure.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I’m never thanking you for anything again.”
The second boy laughed, and Pansy glared in his direction. The death eater laughed too. .. Malfoy laughed? Like a genuine, full blown chortle. He was capable of laughing out of anything besides malice? The sound was unfamiliar, a noise that truly seemed out of this world now graced the tanned ears of the Chosen One, and he didn’t know how to feel. He gently shook his own head, as if to dust off the wandering thoughts in his mind.
Harry needed to keep focus on what was at hand, whatever it was they were discussing. The props, the items, whatever they were. They couldn’t have been using them for anything pure, they couldn’t have been. Harry had to inquire about their origins, what it is they could have been, but before he could sit through more of this conversation, the common room door opened, and he had to take this chance to leave. Quickly, he returned to his own quarters to relish in this newfound information, and think about it for a long, long time. Hermione and Ron were not to hear of the Chosen One today. That should not be an uncommon occurrence.
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The morning arrives and the day goes by as it usually does. Boring, boring, boring. Sharing a few laughs here and there alongside his friends made it easier, but he never failed to feel empty. The passing hours all the same — moving slowly. Tick, tock, tick, tock ; until the bell rang. That ringing, one day, it'd drive him insane. At times, he really did feel out of his mind. As if he wasn't even there. His body moved, did the things it was supposed to but was he really ever there? It only ever felt as though he was watching himself get through the day. It got tiring, really. He forgot to even think. All he really was doing was breathing. In, then out. His lungs expanded and deflated. When the moon rises in the sky, he probably won't even remember what he was doing in class.
But that was normal, right? Was anyone really even there? Did they care that much about every single day? Life only felt longer — but it went fast when it was at stake. When the world was spinning, moving quickly and in a rush; trying not to end. Everyone was on their feet and fighting to keep going but now it was boring. Predictable. Not that he liked the war or anything. Merlin, who did? But now everything just felt meaningless. He did his job, so what was next? What else was he supposed to do? What on earth could be the future of Harry Potter? Fuck, he didn't even know what he wanted to do when he finally graduated. Gosh, he's gonna miss this place. It sucked, sure. Good memories were scarce but Hogwarts was the closest thing he could call a home. It was the only thing that he could see after the war, so what's gonna happen after Hogwarts ends for him too? What is he gonna do when Hermione and Ron start their own lives and leave him behind?
Oh bloody hell — he's feeling nauseous. Sick to his stomach trying to process all that; because he really can't. He won't, not right now.
Then, someone tall, blonde, and bitchy comes into view. Him. Malfoy. That's who he can focus on — that's probably the only man who could provide a good distraction. His stupid back of his head, with his stupid hair that just kept getting longer. Stupid. A stupid, evil boy. Walking through the halls like he didn't owe anyone anything. Harry hated him — pure seething hatred. Why does he get to just live? Why doesn't he feel the way Harry feels? But to be fair, it's not like they've ever had a coherent conversation in their lives. Potter didn't actually know how Draco Malfoy felt. But he probably felt just grand didn't he? Smug, and happy, and probably planning something big and destructive; because of course he was. He was a death eater — he still is. The mark, it should still be on his arm, shouldn't it? He wanted to see it again; prove to himself that he was right.
But before he could reach out and start a fight in the middle of the hallway, he heard a noise. Ting. Like metal. And he stopped straight in his tracks to look down. It was a ring — Malfoy's ring. Harry Potter carefully picked it up, like it was dirty. As if it would shock him if he touched it; but it didn't. It was just a golden ring. It had some sort of green gemstone on top. The Chosen One wasn't really the expert on these things, but it looked like an emerald. It was a very pretty ring, but it belonged to the Slytherin boy that he disliked so much, so it must be vile. Poisonous or cursed or something just as horrible as the person who owned it.
Looking back in front of him, the blonde disappeared. Now Harry was left with his seething anger all alone — forcing him to relax. Mindlessly, he shoved the ring in his pocket, and continued walking. He'll think about this later. Or perhaps, all day.
And that is what he did.
Fiddling with it every chance he got, wondering what Malfoy used it for, because it had to have some sort of ulterior motive, right? It had to. The Slytherin isn't the type of guy to be… normal. Why would he wear a ring, anyway? Why would he try to look good? He did so effortlessly, anyway. It’s as if the guy woke up with great hair and ironed clothing — it was annoying, really. Harry couldn't really ever tame his own hair, it was like… a wild beast. No matter how much he brushed or flattened or washed, his hair always poked out in all the wrong places. So he just gave up on it and let it do its thing. But Malfoy. He just gets to wake up and look perfect, doesn't he? Harry doesn't ever think he'd seen a misshapen hair on his head before — not that he pays much attention to his hair. He paid Malfoy a normal amount of attention, although he wasn't too sure what would be considered a normal amount.
But the ring. What could it do? Was it hexed? A soul trapped inside it? Who knows what the Slytherin was capable of. That stupid, stupid, vile blonde.
The ring, the ring…
The ring.
It was on his mind even until he lay silent in bed, staring at it — placed in his palm.
“Goodnight, Harry.” Said the ginger boy.
“Yep.”
A silent moment, the lamps still on. Ronald Weasly still had his eyes open, set and watching his friend; The Boy Who Lived. A good friend of his. Really, his best friend. But he was distant lately, it seemed. He wouldn’t say anything, though. Not right now. Maybe he’ll be alright, if he just gave him time. They’d always be okay, they had to be.
“You alright, mate?” He said quietly.
“Fine.” It didn’t seem as though the brunette was really… there. His mind being occupied with different matters; matters that his friends remain oblivious of. “Malfoy.” Until now.
“Malfoy?” It wasn’t new for Harry to talk about him. But it wasn’t quite rather what the other Gryffindor expected for Harry Potter to utter at this time of night. Perhaps at breakfast, or a snarky remark during lessons he wouldn’t be surprised.
“He dropped this… ring.” The boy began, eyes unmoving from the object.
“Right…”
“And I can’t figure out what’s up with it.”
“Maybe it’s just… a ring?” A suggestion. To Harry, a ridiculous one.
He laughed, no humor behind his voice, and within a few moments he spoke again. “It’s Malfoy’s, of course it’s not a normal ring.”
“Okay, if you say so.” An unproductive conclusion. But they spoke, at least. Ron still was glad that Potter could do that, even in moments that seemed as though he wouldn’t.
However, he didn’t utter a word further than that. And then the lights were off, leaving Harry forced to tuck the ring under his pillow, unable to ponder at it any longer. Lest he hope he wouldn’t forget it there, would his luck find it that it’d be the first thing his mind would turn to in his wake. The source of it, the reason for its existence he would be the one to uncover; because of course it wasn’t of any normalcy. But he would hope his dreams would bring him peace, his mind had to rest for at least a moment — would he rather go insane.