Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Warrandice ❯ Stuck in a Rut ( Chapter 3 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

 

 

Quick Recap:

 

“So… How long have you been sleeping with Loopy?”

 

Draco nearly tripped over himself, startled by the directness of the question.

 

He spun slowly, thankful that the hallway was deserted. “What makes you say something so inane? She's a Griffindor, for Merlin's sake.” He put the right amount of upper-class snobbery in his voice, enough to dupe the average person, but Blaise was not to be deterred.

 

“Oh, nothing… Just the lust-ridden gazes you where throwing at her in class before. You looked like you were ready to throw back your chair and roger her on the desk.”

 

Draco kept his face impassive, “You have a poet's gift of exaggeration, Zabini. Maybe you should just quit school and spend the rest of your life composing verse.”

 

Blaise snorted at his friend's dry sense of humor, a side of him, which, Blaise was sure, no other person got to see. “Yeah, I'm sure daddy-dearest'd love to hear that.”

 

Draco, thinking of no appropriate way to end the conversation simply nodded a silent goodbye and about-faced, heading off in the direction of the lake; brooding seemed to be a much more productive use of his time than spending it cooped up in some dusty old classroom.

 

His expensive black shoes struck the floor, the sound reverberating off the cold gray stones of the hallway.

 

--------------------------------

 

 

 

Chapter 3: Stuck In A Rut

“Idle people are often bored

And bored people,

Unless they sleep a lot,

Are cruel.

It is not accident

That boredom and cruelty,

Are great preoccupations

Of our time.”

- Adler, Renata, 'speedboat'

 

 

Luna watched the Griffindor Quidditch team practice from her place in the stands. Hermione nattered cheerfully next to her, and Luna was content to let her fill the silence. Luna was contemplating the best way to fashion a pair of dried apricot Anti-Wapslark earring-charms when the chatting suddenly halted.

 

She turned to see Hermione looking at her expectantly. Having lost thread of the one-sided conversation back at the injustice of a three-month detention, Luna could only stare into Hermione's chocolate brown eyes with a vacuous expression. Her friend obviously noted her confusion and repeated her question with an exasperated sigh, “I said, `did you manage to find a special someone on the summer break'?”

 

Luna paused, trying desperately to collect her scattered thoughts into some semblance of a response. “Not really, no”

 

When Luna didn't elaborate, Hermione huffed. Getting pertinent sentences out of the spaced-out blond was like trying to withdraw blood from a stone.

 

After forming a relationship with Ron, Hermione had now taken it upon herself to play “Miss Match-Maker” and Luna wasn't all that sure she liked this somewhat meddlesome side of her frizzy-haired companion.

 

To make matters worse, Luna didn't rank finding a boyfriend high on her list of priorities… in fact it was lucky to even rate a mention. This reason, seemingly, gave Hermione sufficient excuse to pry into Luna's private life. At the beginning Luna had thought it was cute, but now, it was annoying.

They both turned their attention back to the Quidditch players.

 

“Having training on the first day back;” Hermione cocked her head to the side, “Harry's intent to have them do well this year.” They easily spied the raven-haired captain executing a series of death defying twists, turns and barrel rolls up and down the length of the pitch.

 

“I can't wait to see the looks on those pompous Slytherins' faces when we rub their Pureblood noses in the dirt.”

 

Luna was momentarily stunned by her friend's candor. “Yes.... it should prove to be quite a match.”

 

Hermione sighed wistfully and Luna followed her line of sight to Ron, who grinned awkwardly and waved.

 

Hermione returned the gesture shyly, diverting Ron's attention from the Bludger that came soaring towards his head.

“BLOODY HELL,” He cursed loudly as the hard, black projectile flew within an inch of decapitating him.

 

Harry drew his broom up beside Ron's, “Heads,” He stated humorlessly.

 

They stared at each other for a few moments. Dark brown eyes challenged verdant green in a silent battle of wills.

 

“Get your head in the game, Weasley.” Harry barked, sounding more like a tyrannical drill sergeant than a team captain. He circled Ron in a wide arch before squaring his shoulders and flying off to join his other teammates.

 

Ron shot a dark look at his receding figure, “'Get your head in the game',” He mimicked in a high-pitched falsetto.

 

Hermione and Luna sat, watching the heated interaction with mounting concern.

 

“You really need to confront Harry about this. If you want to keep your friendship with him and relationship with Ron you should move fast or you risk loosing them both.”

 

Hermione was stunned by Luna's searing insight. “Words are always so much easier than actions, Luna.” She shook her head slowly, sending wild brown locks flying across her shoulder. “Saying I'll mend the broken bridges between us doesn't make achieving the task any simpler.... I just.... Don't know what I'm going to do.” She put her head in her hands and began kneading her temples.

 

Hermione's shoulders sagged with an invisible weight.

 

“I could always make you a Pixie Dung amulet.”

 

Hermione laughed throatily.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

It was a bright, chilly morning in the Hogwarts Dining Hall. Enchanted fires burned merrily in hearths completely devoid of smoke and ash, and the large room was full exited students loudly discussing their class schedules, homework and other things that Draco had absolutely no desire to glean knowledge of.

 

The fact was that the noise and heat were insufferable. He sat; hunched glumly over a plebeian meal he had no intention of eating, in a room that was slowly suffocating him. He picked up his fork and proceeded to toy with his food, sculpting his scrambled eggs into a sad face, before mashing it beyond recognition, only to repeat the process. His shoulder length hair formed a protective blond curtain over his face.

 

“Careful, if you keep acting this depressed, you may actually turn Goyle off his appetite.” Blaise, who had just joined the feast, plucked a shining, red apple from the table and began polishing it on his school jumper.

 

Draco looked doubtful as he watched Goyle inhale his tenth cupcake and then reach for another rasher of bacon. He brushed his fringe out of his eyes and gave Blaise a wry smile.

“You still seem to have an abnormally large chip on your shoulder but for the meantime I guess that'll have to do.” Blaise cast a worried eye over his friend's malnourished form. Draco's shoulders were drooped with an indiscernible weight; his gray eyes, cloudy and unfocused, were sunken in a face white as parchment.

 

He also looked thin, too thin.

 

Blaise wondered why no one else seemed to notice Draco's rapidly deteriorating health when he suddenly had a startling epiphany.

 

Nobody cared about Draco Malfoy.

 

Nobody cared that he may have been starving himself or that he was turning into an insomniac or on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Draco had no friends; people either hated him or were too afraid of him to hate him… Like Crabbe and Goyle…

 

The reality of Draco's isolated existence hit him like a dive in the icy waters of the Hogwarts Lake.

 

“Would you stop looking at me like that; you'll bore holes in the back of my head if you stare any harder.” Draco was unsettled by the pitying gazes Blaise was throwing his direction.

 

Draco had lived a lifetime being ignored by his parents, despised by his peers and even feared by a select few; but he had never been the subject of pathos before and it made him feel womanly and weak.

 

Draco Malfoy loathed weakness.

 

Draco bristled as Blaise straddled the bench next to him, “I don't want your pity.” He snapped, banging his fork down on the table and climbing out of the bench.

“I wasn't hungry anyway.” He uttered, turning away from his friend's incredulous stare.

 

As he was leaving the hall, he looked to the Griffindor table and met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Luna's bold gaze seemed to peer straight through him. Draco had never felt more exposed in his life, as her stare seemed to probe and penetrate. She suddenly turned to Hermione and the spell was broken.

 

Draco silently admonished himself for being so paranoid. He shook his head as if to physically remove all thoughts of Loopy from his mind.

 

Draco told himself that she was not worth his time.

 

.:0:.

 

 

The air was thick with anticipation at the thought of the first class of Defense Against the Dark Arts with the mysterious Professor Cepheus Alderwolth. The whole class had broken off into excited chatter, looking forward to what surprises lay in the lesson ahead.

 

Draco, however, was NOT looking forward to the experience. There was something incredibly unsettling about Alderwolth and Draco wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to find out what that “something” was.

 

He cast a cursory glance to the seat next to him. Weasley lay slumped miserably over the desk, head resting on his crossed arms, looking like he'd fallen into a cavernous pit of Blast-ended Skrewts. Draco chuckled humorlessly at the anywhere-but-here expression painted plainly across his features.

 

He leaned back casually, folding his arms over his chest.

“What's that Weasel?” He said, making sure his voice carried over the din, “`every moment without Potter by your side is unbearable torture and it's tearing you up inside?'”

 

There was a spattering of sniggers as Ron's face turned ashen, then morphed into a ripe-tomato hue. “There's no need to include me in your little lover's spat. I'm sure old Scar-face'll forgive you soon enough and you can go back to your long nights spooning together… I only have one question to ask,” Draco leaned down towards Ron's face, which was now quivering with rage, “Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?”

 

The room erupted into peals of laughter. “That's it, Malfoy.” Ron seethed, reaching for his wand.

 

“Children,” The tone was reprimanding, mocking, “Although I appreciate your zeal, I would prefer that it was directed towards your studies and not such self destructive behavior as petty squabbling.”

 

The silence that followed was deafening.

 

Professor Alderwolth stood in his rich claret robes, silently regarding his classroom of students with his glowing inhuman gaze.

 

“That's much better,” He said, more to himself as he made his way to the blackboard, which had `Defense Against the Dark Arts' scribed on the midnight surface in flawless cursive.

 

Students now hastened to ready quills, parchment and textbooks. All students except Hermione, who'd, much to Parkinson's disgust, organized her effects as soon as she'd sat down. She sat primly in her seat, quill at the ready and it took all of Parkinson's resolve not to upend the contents of her inkpot on Hermione's Frizzy head. Her hair would probably just absorb all the ink anyway, Pansy thought, sneering.

 

“Now,” He began without further encouragement, “This being your sixth year of studying Defense Against the Dark arts, I'm sure I don't need to impress upon you the utmost importance of the skills and knowledge you will learn in this class. Skills that may one day save your life should the worst-case scenario occur.” The white chalk rose of it's own accord and, underneath Defense Against the Dark Arts', wrote `only to be implemented in the worst-case scenario' in that same, impeccable script.

“Which brings me to my next point; hopefully you won't have to use these skills, hopefully you will all be able to live out your lives without experiencing the horrors of the darker side of magic firsthand.”

Alderwolth turned and stared directly into Draco's eyes, and for several heartbeats he was trapped in their silver depths like a frightened hare caught in the path of a voracious wolf.

 

Suddenly, Draco was falling. His mind screamed as darkness enveloped him.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

He was standing in what appeared to be a black and white version of Malfoy Manor Library. Everything appeared filtered, slightly distorted, like he was witnessing his surroundings through a grimy pane of glass.

 

His mind instantly recognized the impersonal mahogany desk, the large white marble fireplace and surrounding three walls sporting floor-to-ceiling shelves lined with books in perfect symmetrical rows.

 

Draco absently remembered wandering into the library as a curious eight-year old and removing one of the dusty tomes from it's designated place. His father, Lucius, had caught him in the act and delivered a sound beating that had left Draco black and blue for a month.

 

Narcissa did nothing when she discovered what her husband had done to her only child. She just fixed a wailing Draco with a trained glazed expression. Explaining with a detached calm that he, `should keep away from his father's things.'

 

Draco's thoughts scattered as the door to the Library was thrown open with such ferocity it nearly flew from its hinges. A black clad figure stumbled clumsily into the room, clutching his side as if wounded.

Even hunched in pain under the flowing ebony fabric, Draco could tell by the height and breadth of shoulder that it was a man.

 

He backed away from the door, expecting whoever or whatever was pursuing him to be following hot on his heels. So focused on the door, the man didn't realize his proximity to the thick rug until it was too late. He became entangled, lost his footing, and fell with a loud thud on his back.

 

Draco rushed forward to help. He reached for the man's arm, but his hand sailed through the limb as if it was incorporeal. He placed his hand on the man's chest, only to yield the same result. Draco examined his hands, confused and slightly afraid by this new development.

 

The man lay on his back wheezing, the fall obviously winding him. As he lay there, the cowl became dislodged, slipping back to allow Draco a clear view of the man's face. Draco was shocked when he saw the aristocratic features of his father, marred by various cuts and grazes.

 

He had a healing claw-mark down the left side of his face like he'd had a run-in with Crookshanks and lost. Lucius also had a hideously swollen black eye and a split lip, which looked fresher, the blood forming dark globules down his chin.

 

Although it wasn't the wounds that alarmed Draco the most, it was the raw fear he saw in his father's eyes.

 

His father gave a strangled yelp, a cornered animal.

 

Draco could feel the hair stand on the back of his neck and knew that his father's pursuer was at the door.

 

He turned slowly, with an ominous sense of foreboding, and came face to face with himself.

 

His face contorted in an ugly snarl, he stalked into the room with the grace and precision of a predatory beast. “How could you do that to her?” He heard himself accuse his father, who was shrinking closer to the fireplace.

 

“P-please,” was the only thing his father managed to stammer.

 

He saw himself scoff, “So now your begging for you life like a sniveling coward? Tell me, father, did you ever stop when I pleaded blow after blow? Did you grant her any mercy before you…” Draco choked off, too emotional to continue.

 

He drew a shaky breath in an attempt to compose himself. “It's clear to me now.” He took a step towards his father and withdrew his wand from his robes, “An eye for an eye; what you did her can only be paid in kind and it will be paid with your blood.”

 

He then watched himself raise his wand and level it with cold malice at his cowering father's chest.

 

Everything was suspended in slow motion as Draco heard the words, “Avada Kedavra,” fall from his lips.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

Draco regained consciousness with a scream lodged in his throat. He looked franticly around the classroom; everything remained unchanged. The students had their heads down, busily note-taking. Well, Ron appeared to just have his head down, snoring softly into his parchment.

 

A dream? He thought absently. No, far too real. His palms felt clammy as he clenched them into fists on top of the desk. The Dark Mark began to pulsate, sending bolts of pain shooting up his arm.

 

The school bell shrilled.

 

“And thus concludes today's lesson.” Alderwolth turned from the blackboard and smiled in what Draco could only interpret as hollow. “Don't forget to read chapters 3 through 9.”

 

Draco could feel his skin erupt into gooseflesh; sweat trickled down the valley of his spine and his heartbeat pounded a staccato rhythm in his ears. There was a flurry of movement around him as students collected their things and left for their next lesson.

 

“Nurggghhh,” Ron said as he awoke with a start, the sheaf of paper sticking comically to the right side of his face.

 

“You're pathetic, Weasley.” Draco managed before he haphazardly piled his things together and bolted out the door, purposely avoiding any eye contact with the professor.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

It was the eve of their first detention and none of the eight students looked happy as they trudged up the great winding staircase to the library.

 

They had been given explicit instruction from Snape that they were to spend the evening re-shelving every book that was left lying around by previous Hogwarts students and teaching faculty.

 

That alone did not seem like such a laborious task, but the smug smirk on the greasy Professor face as he delivered this news didn't fill Luna with confidence.

 

She'd never encountered a human being that filled her with more dread than he did. To Luna, his name was synonymous with malice and every minute spent in the horror that was his company were minutes that she would rather forget.

 

Draco pulled Blaise aside in the stairwell and waited for the others to pass them; “I need to talk to you about something.” He whispered.

 

Blaise cocked an eyebrow but refused to comment.

 

Draco took a deep breath, “I-“

 

“Stop dawdling you two,” Pansy screeched, “Don't think you can get out of detention that easily.”

 

Draco blanched, her voice reminded him of nails on a chalkboard.

 

“Later then.” There was humor to Zabini's tone as they both turned and ascended the stairs to catch up with the others.

 

They reached the entrance to the library and as they crossed the threshold, Luna could feel her stomach drop to her knees.

 

Books heaped into Aegean piles teetered precariously on tables, chairs and any other surface area that was readily available. Dusty tomes as big as Luna's torso bumped spines with new compact textbooks culminating in a mountainous leather-bound mess that made it appear as if a centaur herd had come stampeding through.

 

“This should be easy,” Ron said, pulling out his wand.

 

“No Ron, Professor Snape gave us specific instruction not to use magic, remember?” Hermione countered.

 

“You'd better listen to your girlfriend, Weasley. Besides, what with your bumbling ineptitude and hand-me-down wand, you'd be more likely to set the library on fire than doing anything even remotely constructive.” Draco stated dryly as he moved towards the closest stack of books.

 

Luna shook her head, silently reprimanding him. The charm she had given him obviously wasn't working as well as she'd hoped: he was still lashing out at everyone and she had the distinct impression that some cruel and nasty critter was behind it…maybe there was something in the Quibbler that would be able to point her in the right direction.

 

She made a mental note to herself to check the latest issue when she got back to the dormitory.

 

Hermione placed a placating hand on Ron's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, stopping him before he did anything stupid.

“Okay,” She instantly took charge of the situation; “There are…” She performed a quick head count, “Eight of us here, right?” Draco groaned inwardly as he sensed the beginning of one of the Mud-blood's aggravating rhetorical lectures, “And I can assume that none of us want to be here all night?” Hermione continued, her brow knitted in concentration, “I think the most expedient way to get this cleaning done is to pair off into four groups of two. Any questions?”

 

“Yes,” Sneered Pansy, “Exactly how far is that wand shoved up your-”

 

“Asking questions is a waste of time when we should be cleaning up.” Blaise quickly cut her off as he moved to stand next to his friend, “I'll go with Draco.”

 

This caused Parkinson to humph, scowl and turn down her bottom lip in a petulant gesture. Draco was relived and irked that she had gotten over what had happened in the toilet and was back to her annoyingly clingy self.

 

Hermione started towards Harry, seizing the opportunity to have some time alone with him to sort things out, “Don't bother,” He spat, easily reading the expression on her face. He turned his back on her and walked to Neville.

 

Luna, realizing that Hermione would pair off with Ron, resigned herself to being with Pansy. She gave an anguished sigh, felt around in the pockets of her robe for her ginseng macaroni centering charm, and drifted towards Parkinson.

 

Luna caught her friend mouthing a silent apology out the corner of her eye.

 

“Now that everybody has a partner, we'll each take an area to…” Hermione realized there was no point in continuing her tirade as the students had begun working without her and Blaise and Draco were no-where to be seen.

Shirking responsibility already, and it hasn't even been ten minutes, she thought glumly, this is going to be a long night.

 

 

.:0:.

 

 

“Does the new Defense teacher seem a little strange to you?”

 

Blaise hadn't noticed anything peculiar, “No… why?”

 

“Oh, nothing… there's just something about him that seems a little… off.” Draco shook his head, “Never mind.”

 

“What was it that you were so desperate to tell me before?” Blaise quickly glanced at a spine and shelved another book without turning to meet his friend's gaze.

 

“I wasn't entirely honest with you.” Draco crossed his arms defensively and leaned on the shelving.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I seem to be harboring some kind of feeling for Loony Lovegood…” He paused waiting for a reaction from his friend. When none came he continued, “How do I make it stop?”

 

“Well, you could start by not calling her `loony'.” He found another vacant space and shelved another dusty volume, “Name-calling is childish and the refuge of the ignorant.” Suddenly, Blaise sounded a lot older than seventeen.

 

“And?”

 

“And what you could be feeling for Lovegood may not be… Excuse me” Blaise roughly nudged Draco out of the way and shelved another book. “Directed at her physically, but what she represents.”

 

Draco ran a tired hand through his blond hair, getting fed up with his friend's cryptic analysis, “Which is?”

 

“Something novel. Something new and exciting. But most importantly - something untouchable. ”

 

“There are lots of girls at this school I wouldn't touch.”

 

He shook his head slowly, “You're missing the point.”

 

“I'm getting very sick of this conversation very quickly, Blaise.” Draco felt his irritation mounting with each sentence, “Tell it to me straight or I'll hex you.”

 

Blaise's dark blue eyes glittered with amusement, his perfect smile revealed a pair of perfect dimples and Draco wanted nothing more than to punch that knowing smirk off his face, “You're stuck in a rut,” He explained with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.

 

He shelved the last book he was holding and turned back to their designated book pile.

 

“What, that's it?” Draco threw his hands up in the air in a gesture of utter frustration. He jogged after Blaise, “I'm `stuck in a rut'?”

 

“Okay, I'm going to have to explain this very slowly because you're obviously having a very hard time grasping a concept a twelve-year-old would understand.”

 

Draco pulled out his wand, “Don't you dare patronize me, Zabini. Just because I tolerate your presence doesn't make us allies.”

 

Blaise didn't appear phased by Draco's show of bravado, he merely grabbed another stack of books, “You know, we've been here for almost two hours and I haven't seen you pick up one book.”

 

Draco studied his impeccably manicured nails, “Manual labor is beneath my station, yours too. You should just let Potter and his fabulous minions do everything.” He tucked his wand back into his pocket.

 

Blaise just sighed, his expression unreadable. He slowly made his way to another area of the library balancing the books in his hands like a drunken circus clown. Draco had no other option but to tag along behind him.

 

“If you want answers, you're going to have to help me.”

 

“I don't have to do anything, I'm a Malfoy.”

 

“Yes you to, this is detention and your family name has absolutely nothing to do with it. The fact remains that we're all in this together and if you want to be out of here by the time lessons start tomorrow morning I strongly suggest you help me with this.”

 

Draco, against his better judgment, reached out and took half of Blaise's pile. ”Who knows where these books have been… what if I catch something?”

 

“Does being this much of a snob requires grueling practice or does it just come naturally to you?”

 

“Equal parts both.” Draco replied Dismissively; slotting a dusty tome in the first empty place he could find not bothering to see if it belonged there.

 

Trying to steer the conversation back to its original course, Draco prompted, “Back to what we were discussing before…”

 

“What does Pansy do if you reject her?”

 

Draco failed to see how this was applicable, “She licks her wounds, swallows what's left of her minuscule pride and is back to irritating me by the next day.”

 

“What does Potter do when you goad him?”

 

“Nine out of ten times he takes the moral high ground; refuses to take the bait and ignores me.”

 

“What do you do when you're at home?”

 

“Pretend I'm somewhere else.”

 

Blaise cringed at the frankness of the statement.

 

The blatant truth about how miserably his parents treated him was something Draco didn't try to conceal, “You're life appears, to you anyway, to be stuck in a loop of events. Your relationships and home life remain unchanged. Then, completely out of nowhere, BAM; along comes Lovegood to throw a spanner in the works.”

 

Draco frowned at the unfamiliar metaphor; sometimes Blaise said the most peculiar things, which Draco found endearing and confusing at the same time. Although the last phrase threw him off slightly, he understood the gist of what his friend was saying. “So what you're saying is that my life is so fraught with tedium that I'm using her as an escape from it?”

 

“Precisely”

 

He couldn't be farther from the truth, Draco thought, still, I'll humor him for now, “So how do I make it stop?”

 

“You could sleep with her.”

 

He blustered indignantly, “And exactly how is that supposed to help?”

 

“Couldn't hurt, right?” A quick glance at the dour expression on Draco's face told Blaise that the blonde didn't appreciate his sense of humor.

“She doesn't appear to loathe you like the rest of the Griffindors do. Odds are if you seduce her, slept with her you'd get over this bizarre fascination you have for her and you'll be able to get on with your life.”

 

“That's it!” Draco slammed the books down dramatically.

 

“Hah, I knew you'd see my perverted line of reasoning eventually.”

 

“No, she doesn't loathe me. Maybe if I treat her especially horribly, you know; be a REAL bastard she'll get so offended that she'll leave me alone and never want to so much as look in my direction ever again. ” Draco grinned, plans already forming in his head. “It's foolproof. I'll start by getting rid of this.” He withdrew the charm she'd given him on the train from his pocket.

 

“You've had that thing in your robes for two days now?”

 

“What of it?” Draco demanded hotly.

 

“Oh, nothing.” Blaise gave a small, enigmatic smile.

 

Draco scowled but didn't push the matter any further.

 

He threw the charm under the bookshelf, feeling strangely empty without it. He quelled that thought as quickly as it had surfaced.

“It will be easy to make her hate me; I've done it to everybody else.”

 

Blaise was about to contradict him but thought better of it. Instead he knelt down and began collecting the books that Draco had discarded. What a horrendous mess of a school year this is turning out to be. He thought. He also had an insidious feeling in his guts that this was just a foreshadowing of things to come…

 

 

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Again, my sincerest apologies for the update time - My muse, she is a fickle creature and capricious with her affections, lol

 

Aaanway, the next chapter will be called Thin Façade and a new player will be introduced…. And we definitely will have a Quidditch match.

 

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

 

 

 

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