Sorting Priorities (a Romione/Dramione Fic)

Chapter 14 • Flich's Senility is Ever so Convenient

Stretching his tired limbs, Draco recalled his and Hermione's task from the other night for about the hundredth time since it had happened. He'd felt betrayed at her anger at him, and had tried, as usual, to get back on good terms with her, but had failed terribly.

A week had passed since that night, and Draco was still dwelling on it. When had things gone so wrong that they couldn't still be friends? Draco asked himself. He thought he knew the answer. It was when he'd accidentally called her a mudblood.

Why did he have to be so stupid?! Him and his stupid, stupid emotions! When would he learn how to express them? Digging his nails into his palm, Draco looked up, biting the inside of his cheek to stifle the frustrated yell clawing at the back of his throat.

He moodily waved his wand, causing his erasers to scuttle around the table in the common room, the wavering light of the deep lake filtering through the windows to cast a sickly glow on the walls. After trying and failing several times to complete his potions assignment, Draco gave up. He was too preoccupied to focus on anything other than Hermione. Packing up his books, he decided to go for a walk on the grounds.

Walking out of the concealed doorway, Draco tucked his wand into his robes and briskly set off, heading for a door at the end of the corridor that lead to a passage out to the grounds. He had used the passage many times before late at night, and it helped him avoid Filch and patrolling teachers. He passed a few late night stragglers, but didn't meet any teachers, which he was thankful for even though he wasn't out of curfew.

Pushing aside the dark red tapestry with distaste--he had never liked the Gryffindor color--he quickly closed the small distance between him and the great doors. Stepping outside, Draco took a deep breath of the refreshing, cool autumn air.

The fresh breeze helped to clear Draco's head, where the beginnings of a pounding headache were manifesting. Walking a short distance more, he slid down beneath a tree, but his mind, despite the breeze, was still dwelling on Hermione.

Why had he had to be such a big idiot? Why? He ran a hand through his hair. Where was his life going? He pulled out his wand and absentmindedly twiddled it, causing the grass to turn bright yellow and wiggle around. He sighed.

He switched his wand to his other hand and pulled up a few strands of the now blue grass. As he held it, the pieces dissolved, and he left with a palmful of light blue dust. Draco let the powder drift away with the breeze, and clenched his fist, choking back tears.

Why did he have to go and just mess everything up? Every time he tried with a new friend or attempted a serious relationship that wasn't just a one night stand, he messed it all up. Why did he do that?

He angrily cast a scorching spell and burned a patch of grass into a black circle. The burnt stench stung his nose and made his eyes water, making it even harder to hold back the tears.

Finally, he snapped. A gasping sob ripped from his mouth, and his face crumpled. Hot years dropped down his cheeks, falling onto the charred patch of grass. He heard sounds of grief and sorrow come from himself that he had never heard before, and his shoulders as he despaired over the state of his life.

At least Draco didn't have to worry about anyone finding him, as he washout too late for any other students to be wandering about the grounds. He was grateful for this, as his sobs were hard to hold in, and he would have been ashamed to have been seen like this. Biting the side of his hand, Draco felt wave after wave of guilt and anger and frustration and fury took over his mind.

So upset was Draco that he didn't notice the soft steps approaching him until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

Draco started. Who was out so late? Why weren't they in their dormitories?why were they touching him?