A/N: First off, I believe I owe an apology to Lost In My Imagination; I'm not making Say Anything a longer story. And I know you weren't all that happy with me posting this, but I decided to all the same.
This was inspired by the song Screaming Surrender by Rubylux. I really hope you'll check it out, cause I think it goes quite nicely with the story line. If you don't agree, then fair enough, but the song is beautiful all the same.
I also have received a few reviews for stories I was thinking of removing, if you are one of the lovely people who review my writing, I am so grateful, and I will attempt to keep writing some of the more 'popular' ones. Every review is read and appreciated, and I want you all to know that.
I'm not that sure on this one in particular, but I thought I might post it to see what you guys think and see if I can actually finish something for a change. I love to write, and I think I need to prove to myself that I can finish something if I put my mind to it, and it is worth it.
The layout for this is simple. It's in parts rather than chapters and, depending on the length, there may be more than one part to a post. Everything in italics is a memory, the piece before that is set in the 'present'. It is set during the sixth year at Hogwarts. I hope you all follow it!
I'm down on my knees, crushed to the floor, screaming surrender like never before. - Rubylux
A silvery substance rolled down his cheek, etching a trail into his skin. His piercing blue eyes shone with a sadness that could not be faked, or challenged. He sat alone, crouching over the limp body as he sobbed loudly over the mess he had created; the action that he alone should be blamed for. No one disturbed him; they allowed him to rock back and forth as he tried to sort it out in his mind. He tried to push back this reality – it couldn't be true; could it? Those that were closest to the body in Draco's arms let him be – an action he could scarcely believe, but too devastated to question.
"Why?" he whispered softly to the air. His eyes closed as yet another tear dropped.
He scowled at her from across the room, no doubt wondering how something as repulsive as her could still manage to be here. It had been a full summer since she had seen the boy 0 his platinum hair had grown slightly; though he still had it pulled back, marking his elegant and sharp features along with those menacing eyes. She noticed he had grown just an inch or so – nothing major, or particularly noticeable. So, why had she noticed? She put it down the constant surveillance they had been ordered to keep on him – any change in character had to be detected. She felt slightly sorry for Draco Malfoy – their constant stares must have made him feel uncomfortable.
She turned as her name was called. The potions class had dramatically decreased in size since last year – a lot of the previous year's class wanting to get away from the now old potions master. "You shall be partnered with Mr Malfoy. Yes, I believe that suits." Professor Slughorn nodded to himself.
Of course, she could barely contain her joy – though, it may make it easier for her to keep an eye on him. He strolled over to their table – the hatred showing only in his cold eyes. She started slightly as he took another step closer – a step she did not find necessary – and realised she had never taken the time to admire his calm nature; probably as it was hidden behind a cold demeanour.
He nodded once at her in false politeness; he had to keep the Professors happy, at least. He grunted my name, laced with a poison she would most definitely not wish to experience.
"Malfoy," I replied, my tone just as cold.
The class shouldn't have had to be this difficult – dancing around one another as though each were glass statues; one wrong move and they would end up like shattered glass, a thousand pieces scattered across the floor and impossible to collect completely.
She picked up the golden liquid and attempted to pour out exactly one teaspoon. It was a difficult task- the golden substance alone able to burn a hole through even the strongest of metals; and the measure had to be perfect if the potion was to be a success.
A shiver coated her like a blanket when she felt cool breath on the back of her neck. "Careful," he muttered from behind me. Draco took hold of her now shaking hand to steady them as they both poured the liquid onto the teaspoon and into the cauldron. A satisfying hiss told them it was complete as it turned from a sort of dandelion yellow to a soft crimson.
They both smiled with contentment and turned to face one another. They stood surprisingly close for two enemies; his hand still resting on hers upon the table, his eyes glittering with a look of achievement. His smile faded almost as quickly as her – a mirrored image – he snatched his hand back as though her skin was as deadly as the golden fluid that completed the potion – though, to him, it probably was – and moved back to the other side of the table, an annoyed snarl evident on his face.
"Don't ever do that again," he hissed; a warning behind his words.
"I did nothing," she spat with a look of disgust. Beginning to tidy away spare ingredients and utensils, Professor Slughorn approached their table.
"Yes, yes, excellent," he smiled with delight. "I'm surprised you managed to brew this potion; I believed your… uh… differences would make it near impossible." He looked between the two for a moment, studying the false look of contentment on their faces.
"Yes, this pairing will suit us all very well. Your homework assignments," Professor Slughorn flicked his wand and white words appeared on the chalk board. "Are on the board and due for next week."
"Looks like we'll be spending even more time together," she mused with disgust lathered in her voice.
He ought to hate that blabbering wreck of a teacher for forcing him to work with her; for allowing him to get so close. The pain of her death would not be unbearable if it came at all. All around him, people were comforting other people – he must be seen as some kind of monster; an outcast, the piece of junk on the mantelpiece that everyone wanted to throw out, but kept it there for no real reason. He was the ghost, though not the one who had died. No one rested a forgiving hand on his shoulder; no one gave him an understanding embrace. No one approached him – perhaps scared of how he would react, he was unpredictable after all. But she believed him; she would have cried with him, sat with him until it was unbearable to move, she would have spoken words to convince him it would all be alright – simple words. Words that gave him just enough reason to not give up hope.
Yet, if she was able to do all those things, he wouldn't need her – she would be alive, rather than frozen in his arms, the life long gone from her now still heart.
She found herself smiling – an action she couldn't believe she could have experienced whilst around him. She was enjoying his company and – although he muttered for her to "shut up" – she could tell he was enjoying hers. Her laughter muffled, but the smile did not disappear. He smiled back at her, before dropping his head back down in concentration.
They had asked Professor Slughorn if they could use one of the vacant potion classrooms to complete that weeks homework. Three months into the year and their determination to do well had founded them a great pairing; thoughtful, intelligent, and striving to do well (though hidden in Draco's case).
A question still lingered on her curious lips. It had been burning at her for a couple of months now. "Draco?"
He looked up at the mention of his name.
"Why are you the way you are?" she asked, her expression serious. "I mean, there must be a reason for your coldness – you'll barely look at me around school unless you are sure there is no one around. You are incredibly intelligent, but you act as though you don't care…"
"I don't care," he muttered, interrupting her.
"You may get away with saying that everywhere you go; but I know you do. You thrive for knowledge, and you get a sense of achievement when you figure something out. It's like you are embarrassed. It's quite insulting…"
He did care. And he enjoyed his classes, to a certain extent. But it bothered him that she knew so much; that she had become so close in such a short time. "Why do you care?"
She shrugged. "I just want to get to know you a little better."
"So you can play spy for Potter?" he spat, his original coldness returning.
"So I can understand you," she defended. "I think you are misunderstood, Malfoy."
It was how he was brought up – having a father who followed the Dark Lord fervently can influence a young boys attitude towards life… and his morals. He was forced to keep himself to himself, not show any form of weakness, and 'befriend' those in power. He found it increasingly difficult to trust people – he believed all has a traitorous side to them. Yet, she had given him no reason to dislike her. Perhaps her parentage, or particular group of friends. Everyone had their enemies – why wasn't he one of hers? The look on her face resembled pity – an expression which infuriated him. He did not need or want her pity. He had forgotten himself, his ways, and the way in which he was supposed to act.
Draco began to collect his things – parchment, quills, books – and forcefully shoved them into his bag before throwing it over his shoulder. His eyes had returned to the ice cold blue which had been so difficult for her to break through.
"Draco?" she began, realising her choice of topic had been a mistake. "I'm sor.."
"I don't need your pity," he hissed. "And you don't deserve my company."