Gaining Memories
A/N: *hates christmas because it hasn't snowed ONCE yet in her stupid little country* Well, I hope you have a great christmas ... and a happy new year.
Chapter 8 - Memorable
That's all I've got to say
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It was Quidditch practice today, Draco mused to himself as he stepped out of the Slytherin common room. He was going to train harder than ever. As he entered the Great Hall he looked above himself, the day started out sunny. He smirked at some first years and strode down to the door.
This day was starting out to be a great day.
However, Draco Malfoy was not prepared to fall flat on his nose in front of the Hufflepuff's table after a Ravenclaw bumped into him. The Ravenclaw boy was holding a very large food plate that he `accidentally' wacked him over the head with. Draco landed hard on the cold stone floor with a big thud. His nose bleeding and his head trotting that hard he could hear his brain cells being eliminated one by one.
Draco pulled himself together and slowly stood back up, preparing to start a glaring contest with all the students that witnessed his downfall. All the students weren't really laughing at him, nor pointing or stifling their laughter. They were - dare he say - looking hopeful? Hopeful of what? That he might die of a bleeding nose? Draco snarled at them all, the arrogance of some people. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the Great Hall, out in the open fields.
Draco found his way to the Quidditch pitch, his head still hurting like hell, and quickly analyzed the situation. The way the green blended with the red, somehow triggered a kind of déjà vu in his head. It seemed like an every normal day where the Slytherins are kicking the Gryffindors out of the pitch. Yet, there was something in the back of his painfully mind that said it wasn't an every normal day.
He shrugged and walked up were all the commotion was coming from.
"I don't care what Snape says, this is our turn to practice." Said the voice of Harry Potter, who was arguing with Marcus Flint. Draco swept by Potter and stood next to his teammate.
"Get lost, Potter." Draco commented lazily from behind Flint. "No need for you to put an extra scar on your forehead."
Potter's face flushed with red before he balled his fist to him. "I'm warning you Malfoy, this is our turn today," Potter shot back, his green eyes blazing with fire.
Yes, it all pointed out like a regular day at the Quidditch pitch with the Gryffindors.
Draco smirked at the black haired boy and nudged Flint in his side. "Show him the paper," he said softly and waited for Flint to show him the paper which Snape had written for them.
Draco almost rolled his eyes when Potter was shocked after he read it. Like this didn't happened every week. What's the next scene of this ordeal? Yeah, someone with red hair is about to step up and tackle him to the ground.
Every working muscle in Draco's body was suddenly paralyzed when the girl with red hair stepped up from behind Potter. He watched her every movement as she looked up at him and smiled. He felt his stomach being pulled in every way possible when she smiled up at him. The girl weasel slowly opened up her pink lips to talk.
Everything about her seemed so familiar, the way her brown eyes flicked with specks of fire, the way her red long hair played around her face, even the way her freckles were spread across her nose. But how come he doesn't know why all of that seemed familiar to him?
Draco watched the girl in silent as she spoke to him. He was half expecting her to jump on him to make him eat dirt, literally. Yeah, that's why she seemed so familiar. Last week she had tackled him to the ground, there was no other explanation. Draco's gaze turned into a hateful glare towards the girl.
"Draco, please." Her soft voice spoke to him, as if she talked to him everyday. "We booked the pitch for today, just ask McGonagall." Did the weasel really think he would ask McGonagall? Why was she using his first name? And what the bloody hell was wrong with his bloody knees?
Draco straightened himself and over towered the girl weasel. But she wasn't intimidated, just smiling up at him, like she was his best friend.
"Weasley, do you scum really believe we would run up to McGonagall and ask if you had booked the pitch for today? I'd say you lost all lost your bloody minds," Draco sneered at all the Gryffindors. "Probably Crabbe's fault," he added as an afterthought.
Something was really off about the way the Gryffindor's were all staring at him like he grew another head. He was about to ask and find out when the girl spoke up again.
"Draco, are you okay?" she asked and stepped closer. Draco as by instinct drew back and stared at her wide eyed.
"A Weasel like you can not afford to know the answer of that question," he said catchingly, still wondering why all the Gryffindors around him were all gaping at him so flies could enter their mouths.
The redhead looked obviously offended, but mostly hurt. Draco smirked to himself, kicking a weasel in the back is always fun pleasure. Just by one insult and she was cowering in fear before him. But when tears started to well up in her eyes, and her eyes all red, he felt very rotten inside. Draco mentally shook his head, stupid teenage hormones.
"Fine," she whispered. "Fine," repeating it again and she quickly stormed off to the castle, with Draco's eyes piercing in her back.
--
After his practice was done, it was nearly midnight when they all returned to their dormitories. Draco was trailing behind a bit and wandered around aimlessly in the hallways of Hogwarts. He just couldn't get it out of his mind how the Gryffindor's were all gaping up at him. Hell, even the rest of his house were gaping up at him.
Maybe it was because he was so dashingly handsome and the smartest man alive.
He smirked to himself and nearly bumped into someone when he turned in on a corner. Who else could it be then the girl weasel herself?
"Watch out weasel," Draco sneered at her, turning away from the redhead to continue his journey through the castle.
He was stopped when she grabbed his hand. Draco immidiately jerked back his hand and kept a very safe distant between the two.
"Great going Weasley," he spat at her, holding his hand. "Now I have to go and chop my hand off and feed it to a rampaging Hippogriff."
The girl however wasn't listening to him. It was now that he noticed how red and puffy her eyes were and how she looked really awful and ugly. She tilted up her head at him, giving him a terrifying view of her face.
She looked at him hopefully for a while. "Please," she started softly, her voice cracking like she had been crying for hours.
"Please, remember." The girl stretched out her hand, waiting for him to take it. "Please remember," her voice was so soft he could barely hear it.
Draco was turned into some kind of trance when he looked at her. How her hair was absolutely in a bad hair day didn't matter to him. How her eyes were all red like she was a vampire didn't matter to him. How her skin was even paler than normal didn't matter to him.
How her tiny little hand was stretched out in front of him, didn't matter to him.
The girl had lost her few brain cells she had left.
"I'd reckon seeing Madam Pomfrey, Weasley. I have no clue what you are talking about to `remember'."
The girl said nothing, only pulled her hand back, trembling like it was chilly. Her eyes searched for his. When his grey eyes looked into her own brown ones, he did not notice how awful and horrible she looked like, but how much sadness was held within her eyes.
His stomach pulled that trick off again and within one swift movement, his knees gave up on him and he stumbled forward. Arms flew across the air before he quickly regained himself and straightened up.
The redhead sniffed and hugged her second handed robe, covering her new found tears. "I'd reckon seeing Madam Pomfrey about your knees - Malfoy."
His last name that escaped her lips left such an impact on him that he could only stare when she ran off. The way his name was said, struck in on his heart, leaving a large scar on it.
And he didn't even know why.
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