Draco really hates breakfast sometimes.
Well, when it's with them. He can stand the Hufflepuffs, too bloody loyal to their friends to even pay attention. He can take the Ravenclaws, always answering the questions correct, always the first to raise their hands.
But the Gryffindors, no, he can't take. He sits directly in front of them, Hermione actually, and Ron on her left. Harry on her right. He knows exactly where she is every day, he would if he had no idea where she sat. He can sense it, he has been able to for a while.
He enters the great hall with a sigh, and lifts his chin up a little higher. He raises his cheek just a bit, ignoring the slight pain at the effort. He can't remember the last time he smiled a real smile.
He walks to the table, watching Pansy smile that smile Draco's heart used to leap for, and scooting over. He looks into her eyes, smirking, and she smiles back. She giggles a bit, just enough for Draco and only Draco to hear, and he makes his smirk more pronounced. He leans in and kisses her on the neck, but honestly all he's doing, is hoping to god his smile reaches his eyes.
Draco sometimes wishes class could just go away.
He likes to learn, a trait he inherited from his father, but he doesn't like his classes with them.
He can put up with the Hufflepuffs; they're too goddamn loyal to their best mates to even pay any attention to the Slytherins, let alone, Malfoy, and as much as he loathes them in general, he appreciates it.
He can tolerate the Ravenclaws also. They answer every question, always the first ones to raise their bloody hands in the air. Draco appreciates this also, he can lay low during the classes with them.
But when it's with them, the Gryffindors, the trio, Hermione. That's when he can't take it. He sits directly in front of her in most of his classes with her. He knows where she is all the time; he would if she sat across the room. He can sense her, sense her every movement.
He knows that he has double Potions with them in a few minutes, so he's thinking about all of this. But, he doesn't like to dwell on that, he hopes he can get himself to cease thinking again. He loved thinking about his life a few months ago, but that's how he ended up…
He lifts his head up and sees Hermione entering the dungeons, Ron and Harry on her right side. Her smile is radiant, her laugh filling the air around him. He holds his breath.
She is grinning broadly when she turns to face him.
Her grin abruptly fades, and her eyes, a second ago filled with happiness, turn dark. What was once a smile now looks like a scowl, and her eyes spark with hate, instead of laughter.
The small hum of ache around his midsection intensifies like a blow to his stomach.
Once again, the fake smile stuck to his face, he stands up. He touches his wand in his back pocket, to be sure it's there, and walks quickly into the dungeons almost directly behind Harry.
He sits down in his seat, and is thankful that Snape is heading towards the front of the class. He spins in his seat, forcing his eyes forward. He, somehow, feels her gaze over his shoulder. He stares without blinking, ignoring the icy pain in his eyes.
Then Snape starts the lesson.
"Okay," he begins, in his deep monotone, "today we will not be using our wands. Open your books to page four hundred and seven. Read that chapter. And I want an essay on how the stone ties in with the mandrake root…"
Draco sighs and pulls the book out of his bag. He's not listening anymore, he'll get the assignment from someone later. He closes his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts on potions. Just potions.
He flips the page to what Snape said, trying to focus on the words across the page and not on the throbbing in his chest area
He looks at the writing. The writing in the black, elegant script that flows across the page. At one point in his life, this class meant a lot to him, and he loved how on top of it, there was the humiliation of Granger…. And Potter and Weasley.
But now, Snape's lectures have less hatred in them, his admiration for Snape is gone. The text that used to be a fairly large part of his life doesn't mean a thing anymore. The letters are all a blur, just meaningless blotches of black ink on an off-white piece of paper. He blinks rapidly and rubs at his eyes, and tries to focus again.
He can read the script now, he can see every sentence, every word, every letter, perfectly clear. So he begins to read.
He is a fast reader, so he can probably get these done today. But he can't find the meaning of the words. The things he's supposed to be learning are blatant in front of him, and all it is to him are a mix of letters. He re-reads, re-reads again, and again but he can't find meaning. The words are just curves and lines. They don't mean a thing.
Draco just gives up after a while, he uses the rest his time to make it look like he's focusing on what he should be.
Author's Notes: I know this sucks so far, I know it's pointless and probably confusing. But I promise, it's going to get interesting very, very soon. Please review, I would love to hear your thoughts!