Living In My Head (Drarry)

Chapter 45: Mister Dorian Gray

A.N.

Chapter song: And So It Goes by Marianas Trench (a Billy Joel cover)

I follow her directions and go into Draco's library. The room is small, a tall bookcase on one wall, a bay window facing the door and a plush couch with a small side table, a few candles arranged on it, facing the bookcase. The quiet in the room immediately takes away some of my anxiety. In a corner of the window I notice a small stack of books, with a note in his handwriting on the top.

Thought you'd want to read some books I liked, these are some of my favorites.

See you soon, Harry.

P.S. the room is soundproof and can lock from the inside.

If something upsets you at all, feel free to let it out.

I smile at the note, he must've written it before he got in bed last night. I fold up the note and put it in my pocket with the previous note. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley is the first on the stack, and I move it to reveal the next three. I pick up the second book on the stack, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, deciding to read it first. The third is Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt. I notice the fourth, and last, book on the stack and recognize it as the book he just bought from Ollivander- Sheep Corpses and War Drums by M.J. Keenan- a book as thick as a complete volume of The Divine Comedy. I'll save that for last, I think internally, and take two steps to lock the door.

Sitting on the couch, I notice the candle and laugh at the scent. Lime and black licorice. Jeez, Draco, green and black again. I laugh, the room's colors in the familiar scheme and my laugh hollows. Laying on my back, my feet perched on the arm, I start to read. I look over mid-way through reading the first page of The Picture of Dorian Gray, stopping to light the candle with a match from the matchbook on the side table. The smell is strange, without a doubt, but oddly soothing as I re-immerse myself into the book.

I find myself ripped apart at every line, the words washing over me in waves. Growing stronger as I felt Dorian's passion, his self-disillusioned suffering, and watching the obsession of Basil's affections clawing into the heart of the story. Dorian's undeniable attraction to his friend and confidant, but not seeing how truly wretched a person he had become- his vanity devouring his very soul. A line caught my eye, and I made sure to commit it to memory before moving on- it's hidden profoundness far from lost on me. It gave an almost soul-draining feeling as I could feel Dorian's turmoil.

"Yes, Basil could have saved him. But it was too late now. The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable. There were passions in him that would find their terrible outlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real. "

As I reached the final page, a fierce pain behind my eyes at the hours of incessant reading, a polite knock resounded on the door. I stood, rolling my neck, with my finger holding my place in the book when I opened the door.

"Master Harry, I hope I didn't disturb you. I was wondering if you would like to join the Madam and I for dinner, she will be arriving within the hour."

"Definitely," I found myself answering, my stomach feeling achingly empty, "I'll be down once I finish, I'm on the last page."

"Oh, Dorian Gray, is it? Master Draco reads that one quite often between the stints of long books his father asks him to read."

"I can tell he really likes the book," Harry admitted, the pages having lost the scent of fresh ink. "The pages are turned up in the corner, like he's carried it around in a bag a lot."

"You're very observant, Master Harry."

"I try to be," I admitted, "I'm always afraid I will miss something."

"A rational fear to have, if you ask me. I'll check on the animals and meet you downstairs."

I nodded, closing the door fully, as I let my palm linger on the wooden door. The door feels cool to the touch, I sigh, leaning my head against it. I know how the story will end, it's plainly obvious, yet I find myself hoping for another ending. A happy one, despite the inability for him to turn back. I continue reading the page, my head still against the unlocked door. Dorian had the world, yet his vanity and greed led him to steal away the opportunity from himself.

I finish the page and my eyes wander to the window, I wonder how Neville and Luna are doing- how they're getting on. How is Hermione's break? Are the Weasleys having a fun holiday? The thought depresses me. I wonder if I can call Sirius, Severus, and Remus- and wish them happy holidays. Closing the book and setting it on the bedside table, I lick my fingers to snuff the candle, leaving the room to go downstairs for dinner.

A.N.

The book Sheep Corpses and War Drums is made up. However, it HAS a purpose later in the story. The manifestation of the book is a nod to the songs Pet and Counting Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of the War Drums by A Perfect Circle, which I love immensely. M.J. Keenan is the lead singer of A Perfect Circle, just so you know.

I wrote the "book" into a chapter that will come MUCH later, (it was originally going to be a oneshot but now it's in my "true-cannon"), and it has since evolved into a major plot point. There's a picture of the note that can be found on the AO3 version of this story and on my photobucket account linkinpark50210.