The Lost Timeline | Dramione | ✔

#5 Shouting Silence

There was nothing left to say when they reached the Gryffindor tower. Harry's rage had simmered into a dangerous calm and Hermione disappeared into the girl's dormitory to escape.

"What's with her?" Ron chortled from the armchair, surrounded by a small crowd who were watching him play wizard's chess against himself.

"Don't." Harry said through gritted teeth and put his head into his hands and held onto it tightly, as though it might float away or explode.

"Don't what?" Ron got up, inching his way past the little first years, "Are you alright?"

"Argh, just leave me alone!" Harry said angrily, still unable to sort through the myriad of emotions coursing through him: betrayal, anger, disgust. He shoved past Ron and stomped his way upstairs.

He turned to the waiting group and sat back down, noting dully that his chess pieces had been moved and that he could see a clear path to winning. He played himself to victory, paying no mind to his moves because his mind was on his two best friends. What happened between the two and why did he have this inexplicable feeling that he was being left in the dark?

The next day, Hermione steered clear of the library and Harry had calmed considerably. Neither of them brought up the elephant in the room. They side-stepped it with small talk and delicate words. Hermione made it a point to stick with them the entire day, much to Ron's delight. He took advantage of it and impressed Hermione with his dedication to completing all his schoolwork.

It was nice to be together again, and Hermione felt a sliver of guilt prick at the cavity of her chest. How didn't she have missed this? Spending all that time in the library with Draco was exciting and thrilling but being with these two boys is warm, comforting and familiar. At that moment, she felt torn. Her mind's eye would wander occasionally to seeing a blond lean figure sitting alone in the library.

But Draco wasn't there, he was mulling in the dungeons, thinking about how things could have gone differently. From the first moment Harry spurned his outstretched hand in their first year, he had given plenty of thought to how he would embarrass him the same way... But today he was wondering what he could have said to quell the anger, to shield Hermione from his anger. He didn't think it fair, but then again, life rarely was. If it were, Draco would have gotten everything he'd ever wanted... Including being friends with The Boy Who Lived.

Upon seeing the look on Draco's face, a few students who were chatting on an armchair near him evacuated immediately. He flopped into the newly vacant armchair and felt something crinkle. Fumbling beneath him, he finally drew out a crumpled parchment. There were a bunch of gibberish scribbled on it and he flicked it into the fireplace, uncaring whether it was important to someone or another. A second year looked bleakley on as the parchment withered to ashes.

It wasn't a struggle to comprehend why the great Harry Potter acted the way he did – father had always told him about self-righteous people who felt the need to stand up for what they believe is 'good'. It was both infuriating and insulting that those kinds of people got to decide the definition of what was what. Acting as though they were above it all... But father also supported a murderer and let a criminal into their home.

Draco had always believed that there was no higher honour than to serve the Dark Lord because his father made it seem so. And yet, the screams of the Dark Lord's tortured victims haunt him, and he can't stop himself from shrinking away every time their eyes meet.

Those snake-like eyes send a chill down his back every time and he hates how the Dark Lord seems to peer into their soul. When he appraises someone, it almost looks as if he's deciding whether it is time to dispose of them. As though they were an apple about to go bad. It was horrible, he missed the days when the Dark Lord wasn't around, when his father was still held in high regard... But he has fallen far from grace. Humiliated and forgotten in a cell.