The Lion and the Snake
A bright day — incandescent sun — with surrounding birds echoing through the breeze, a naught of dark clouds plaguing the sky. Peaceful, with only the sonance of distant waking Hogwarts students and the outside. Truly, comely a morning; as if in harmony the world stood in.
But for the infamous wizard, Draco Malfoy, it wasn't harmonious at the least. His dorm room flipped upside to an absolute mess — bed with sheets ripped clean off and open drawers that subsists disorganized. Still in his sleep gown with frustration only growing on his face, the Slytherin continued to rummage through anything and everything that could possibly be opened, causing a ruckus as he threw his belongings about and moved the whole of furniture out the way.
“Merlin, Draco, what's gotten into you?” Blaise popped up, drowsy still with sleep as he rubbed his eyes awake. He'd never seen his friend act in such an audacious manner before — not this much at least. It was akin to the way Pansy freaked when one of her possessions were to break or be displaced. So, naturally, he assumed the same of Malfoy. He'd never lost anything before, considering his organization was to the point of obsessiveness. Something must be wrong if he'd sacrifice the hours spent into putting everything in the right place.
Draco, for a moment, acknowledged the other boy; sending a brief glance in his way only to continue his frantic searching.
“My ring. The golden one, with the emerald. Have you seen it?” Quickly he inquired, hoping Blaise would be of any assistance. Although he doubted he would be, considering he'd been asleep this whole time. But, perhaps, he could have seen it. The boy only hoped.
“... No. Weren't you wearing it yesterday?” Curiously, he raised an eyebrow, and hope was futile.
“Yes, I was bloody wearing it yesterday, mate!” The blonde snapped, unintentionally. He stood still staring at the other, Blaise raising his hands up in response, as if in surrender.
“Sorry. I'm just — I can't find the damned thing anywhere. And now the room's a mess.” He huffed, sitting at the edge of the bed in defeat, head in his hands.
“Right. Well, I'll help you clean up, yeah? Maybe we'll find it when everything's in its right place. I'll call for Pansy, too. She's good at finding things.”
He sighed, lifting his head up and nodding. A helping hand could be just what he needed, but considering he'd looked everywhere, he doubted it'd be in his room. And, gosh, would it be a pain if he lost it in the cathedral of a building that is Hogwarts. He's not one to overreact. … Well, he is. But to things outside of such matters. Draco's possessions were of great importance to him — not as though he had many. He couldn't stand the thought of it having been stolen, he wouldn't know what to do then.
Blaise gave a nod as well, leaving his own bed to go bring forth the third person who completed their trio. The door gently shut behind him as he left, and the one who stayed behind stood to remedy his plight. Placing everything back where it once was.
He was barely getting started by the time that Blaise came back, with Pansy by his side. She smiled, and all three began to tidy in unison.
“An emerald ring, right? The pretty one.” She started, as to not leave the room in silence.
“Yeah, that one.” A huff, vexation far from gone.
“I'd be angry too, if I lost something like that. But we'll find it. If it's not here, we'll retrace your steps from yesterday.” Parkinson gave her attempts to calm the man down, looking around to check if by chance the lost item would be around. It was not.
So they cleaned, tidied and put everything back where it once was — and throughout it all, there was not a single ken of the lost jewellery. The blonde only fumed further with irritation, his two friends attempting to calm him down, giving him hope. Yet how could he bring himself to be hopeful, if his ring were to be displaced in a school such as this? What if it was stolen? He didn’t want to think of it as a possibility. But of course, they couldn’t spend their days scouring the halls; instead having to go about their day as usual.
He tried to distract himself, with studies and mindless humour. Though it kept nagging at him, the discomfort and emptiness in which the ring used to wrap around his middle finger where it was now bare, missing the cool touch of the metal. His fingers kept grasping at the space that was no longer filled, used to twisting and fiddling what was.
But he focused on other things, like getting under the skin of a certain brunette. And speaking of which, the Gryffindor appeared to be slightly more agitated than usual on this very day. His eyes remained focused on him whenever they happened to be standing in the same vicinity, burning holes in his back. Oddly, during lunch, when he had left the hall to visit the men’s room, Draco arrived back to see none other than Harry Potter standing next to the two large doors, back leant against the wall and his arms crossed in a juvenile manner. The boy narrowed his eyes towards him, and before Malfoy could think to make a snide comment in return, the brunette walked back into the bustling hall — and he followed suit; given no other choice. He didn’t want to presuppose he was waiting for him or anything of the such, but it never rubbed him the right way when Potter was around. Yet again, it was only confirmation that his deliberate strangeness was taking the effect that he wanted it to.
As the night began to dawn, he felt himself calming. It’d turn up eventually, he said to himself so he wouldn’t worry any longer. He had other plans for the rest of this day that he had to tend to; visiting the new school counsellor.
It’d been going around since the beginning of the year that a new counsellor was now in service to assist all the students in adjusting to life after the war. It was bizarre that Hogwarts even considered the well-being of student’s mental health but should it only be understandable. He’d heard from a couple of houses, including his own, that she was adequate. In fact, it’s said that she had improved the lives of many individuals — which he found arduous to recognize. Draco was never really the type to advocate for such things, seeing as he grew up around people who abhorred it. Saying such matters were only for the insane, and for a while he thought that too. That is, until Pansy and Blaise convinced him that it wasn’t so bad. Otherwise, he’d have to have found truth in insanity.
When his own friends agreed with the rest, he had to understand it to some degree. What else was he to do, if even they were persisting?
So there he found himself, stood in front of the door. It; as though it was grimacing at him. “Counselor” was ingrained in gold against the wood, and under it, “Cynthia Campbell”, which he assumed to be she who sat inside. He took a deep breath, holding his hand over the knob for what felt like an eternity — until he eventually got the courage to turn it.
Honestly, the Slytherin didn’t know what to expect. It was a normal office — though warm, almost inviting. The woman sat there at her desk, looking up at the man who had just arrived. Pushing her glasses up with a finger, tastefully, she gave a smile. Faint wrinkles as the corners of her mout indicated that she perhaps often had a grin upon her face. Even she seemed rather friendly, and young despite her barely greying hair that faded gradually to a soft brown. She was writing something, determined by the quill in her hand; which she was quick to set down.
“Take a seat, dear.” She gestured towards the plush beige sofa that faced her desk, an uncommon sight. It was different compared to the stiff, wooden chairs that students normally graced to be scolded in. But he wasn’t here to be scolded — that he had to remember. Nonetheless, he sat down on the comfortable arrangement without saying a word, still with agitation despite the warm embrace of the room.
“Draco Malfoy, isn’t it? I’ve been expecting you.” The boy nodded, too busy spacing out to notice its tilt.
“A shame you didn’t come in sooner, I’ve been meaning to meet you.” A clock, hung on the wall behind the woman, ticked slowly. That’s all that he seemed to be able to comprehend at the moment. The hands of it turning second by second — a click with each.
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t bite.” She gave a chuckle, taking her reading glasses off and setting them aside. Her small brown eyes looked back at Draco, still seeming so bright. “How are you?”
“Good.” He finally said, feeling stiff. He’d never really done anything like this before, and it was rather obvious. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to be doing, but he was able to focus on the clock. That helped, just a little.
“Ah, that’s what they all say.” She moved, leaning down to open a drawer. Then, he blinked, and she was suddenly setting a book down in front of him. Maybe it wasn’t that sudden at all, but time didn’t seem to register properly as of the moment.
“Alright then. I’m not gonna make you tell me anything right now, okay? I know this is difficult. But let’s make a deal, alright, sweetheart?” For a moment he just stared, soon able to give a nod.
“Great. So, what I’m gonna ask of you is simple. In this notebook you’ll put down how you feel, what you’ve been up to and whatever you want to write, you do. Even the boring stuff, if that’s something you want to do. Or, you can draw. It’ll be your diary, so you can do as your heart desires. I want you to write something everyday, and then whenever you feel like it, you give it to me to read. It could be after a week, two weeks or until the whole book is finished. Does that sound good?”
“Okay.” Thinking of it, it didn’t sound too bad. He just had to write, and that was okay. He didn’t have to talk to a stranger about his deepest darkest secrets, like how he imagined this to go. It was good it didn’t meet his expectations, as they were pretty low. Lower than low.
“And of course,” she continued. “You can still come and talk to me anytime. For now, just tell me a bit about yourself. Who is Draco Malfoy?”
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That was definitely a lot easier than he anticipated, giving the blonde a small sense of relief. He spent a long time of his life believing that something like this would be horrifying; the worst thing that could possibly happen to him, but it wasn’t. Cynthia was just a normal human being, small and sweet and reminiscent of a fireplace on a cold winter night. Of course, they’ve barely spoken, yet he could foresee that it wasn’t going to be of any inconvenience throughout his days.
Pansy and Blaise were happy for him, as well. Frankly, they didn’t expect him to be coerced into going so quickly— but nonetheless it was just a step in the right direction. Perhaps he really was at the edge of his seat, to admit the need of help. He tried not to think about how a certain someone would call him weak for doing so.
Tonight, he sat in bed and opened the first blank page of the diary, pressing ink to paper as he curled his wrist to trace words. “Today I lost my favourite ring,” he began and continued until the whole page was filled with paragraphs upon paragraphs of descriptions of his day. Even drawing a small picture of what the ring looked like. It felt a bit silly, being rather old for such matters but he tried to disregard that feeling in hopes of this being a bit of a remedy. And this evening, he had a dreamless sleep.
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Though teasing Harry Potter, The Chosen One, was a certified hobby of his, sometimes he needed a little break from life. Ever since he received the diary it was often that he found himself in the room of requirements, sitting in solidarity as he wrote and occasionally drew in his book. No one was to really go there, so it was the perfect place to be alone. A place as if separate from the rest of the world, where he didn’t have to fret about the eyes of anyone but himself.
It was what he was anticipating today. Book and quill in hand, he walked around the room, scouring for a good place to sit and note down his thoughts. That’s what he thought he was doing, until he saw a certain scarred brunette, and stopped in his tracks. He didn’t see him just yet, and maybe if he stood really still, he wouldn’t. But that was a stupid thing to do, unless Potter suddenly had the eyes of a dinosaur, which he did not.
“Malfoy. What are you doing here?” He didn’t yell, but his voice was thick. It’d be a hassle to raise one’s voice in such a confined area.
“I could ask you the same thing.” The grip on his book tightened, as if he thought that Potter would take it from him, despite it that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to attempt such a thing. His voice came out low, not as stern as it usually was. It was inadvertent — formed by his own surprise. Not as though he wasn’t accustomed to this; the Gryffindor lurking at every corner, yet he did ascertain that this one would be safe. Turns out that it wasn’t.
They both stood in silence, still and unmoving, surveying one another. It felt aberrant, and the blonde couldn’t put his finger on as to why it did. It was dark in here, a faint light in the back barely illuminated the other’s face. It was fixed into a frown, like it always was. Sometimes Draco wondered what it’d look like if it wasn’t. Though he saw glimpses of it, when he gave a passing glance towards the younger Potter; happy and chortling with his goons. That wasn’t what he saw anymore, nothing more but a scowl in his direction due to the fixed target upon his own head. He himself wasn’t exactly sure what his face was doing, whether with glower or blank look — but he remained perplexed. The other boy exhaled, taking a few steps towards him and he held his ground, feeling nervous. Why should he be?
Now they were only a few inches apart, and it only beamed unnatural. It wasn’t like they’ve never been this close before — pulling at each others’ robes and reaching to hurl a fist at the respective face. But now they were just standing in close proximity, no fist or hurried grabbing to be sought. Harry Potter narrowed his eyes at him, and he was unsure whether he returned the gesture, but he hoped he had; would he look stupid if he had not.
“Don’t get yourself into trouble,” the brunette spoke, finally, his voice soft but face still fixed. He’d never heard it like this before — he didn’t like it. That’s what he assumed to be; the unfamiliar sensation. His only response was a scoff, and the intruder walked away; leaving him all alone. What was that supposed to mean, anyway?
He didn’t like it — how they didn’t yell or fight. He didn’t like this whole thing. Potter didn’t interrogate him, didn’t say much. And neither did he, out of his own bafflement. He preferred it when they did, when they were at each other's throats because that was familiar. He knew how to do that, how to be angry at him. This… this was just atypical, not like how he thought it was meant to be. Draco tried to forget about it, it wasn’t that important. He just hoped he wouldn’t see the boy here yet again.
For now, he sat and wrote, as per his plans. Though he attempted to let the thoughts escape his mind, he couldn’t help but write about what just happened. Besides, he was supposed to, wasn’t he? So he did. About that stupid expression that never left the scarred face.
He’d been sitting there for a while, writing, drawing and thinking to himself. He wasn’t the best artist, he thought, but he liked to conjure small things once in a while. For now, Draco thought it a good time to leave — headed back to his dormitory before curfew could begin, failing at putting the thoughts of the Chosen One to rest — thinking of it all over again as he walked.
Then, even when he lay silent upon his bed. Should it be that Potter wasn’t the only one now with bothersome thoughts.
“Not tired?” Blaise inquired, setting his book down.
“Mate, what are you reading at this hour?” Quickly did he dodge the question, not keen to share what seems to keep him up at the moment.
“Quiz tomorrow. Defence against the dark arts, you should know. And I ask again, not tired?” The fellow Slytherin wasn’t easy to slip by, that was for certain.
The boy shook his head with a sigh, staring up above at the bare ceiling. “Nah, not really.”
“What’s keeping you up?” He shifted in his bed, out of the view of Draco’s peripheral vision.
“Nothing important,” it was true. Harry Potter was in fact, not important.
“Potter?” As quick as flash — though with the ability to read minds. Almost a bit too fast, in which it stood unsettling.
“... Bloody hell, Zabini.” It was frustrating, having a friend like him. Nonetheless, he was grateful. How couldn’t he be? Pansy wouldn’t have picked up on something like this as quickly, which he couldn’t blame her for. Draco was as stoic as a log, and the only one who could read a log was another one.
“I was right, then. What did he do this time?” He could feel his eyes on him, but he didn’t look back. At times, the stare that Blaise held was too intense to handle. Right now, he didn’t feel like finding out if it would or wouldn’t be.
“Well. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It sounded stupid out loud, and he would have regretted it if it wasn’t so late; therefore he couldn’t nearly care less.
“Er, what do you mean?” Confusion was a relief, opposing immediate intuition.
“He didn’t do anything. We were in the room of requirements, and he just stood there and stared at me. Then told me not to get myself into trouble like he was some sort of professor, and left. It was bloody weird!” Perhaps obsessing over it all day was weird too, but when it came to Malfoy, could he really be blamed? Well, yes.
“Doesn’t he stare at you all the time?” Indifference.
“Yeah but not like that. He was… in my face. And he didn’t yell or anything.” There it was, that feeling again; the one he hated. Even just reminiscing brought it back, reluctant and uncomfortable.
Still, at heart, Zabini was always a man of few words. “Weird.”
“Hm.” And so was Malfoy.
“Well, goodnight then.” Shifting upwards to turn off the lamps, and that was when the blonde actually turned to face the other man.
“...That’s it? Goodnight?” It was almost offensive.
“Draco, what do you suppose I should say?” But it was his best friend, Blaise Zabini, and he was always like this.
“I dunno. You asked me to tell you.” He sunk into his sheets, deflated with defeat and tire after putting too much thought into things today.
“Potter is always weird. Don’t let it get to you, mate. At least you didn’t come back to the dorm with a black eye.” A part of him would have rathered the black eye, but that wasn’t a point he was about to admit anytime soon.
“Guess so.”
And so the lights ceased, and they both put their minds and bodies to rest. Until the next day, he will worry another time.