Art School: Chapter Two; h/d; PG
Title: Art School
Author: justllove
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, lightlightlight violence.
Summary: Drake Malfoy, whose family is old and all about proper, is moved to a new school--again. There he meets Harry Potter, the cheerful and artistic boy who is his mentor and, soon, a very good friend. But art school is more complicated than Drake realized.
Word Count: 5961
Author's Notes: Phew! This turned out a loooot longer than I thought it would be. Fourteen and a half pages! Crazy. I've never written anything this long. xD Hope you enjoy.
In case you're behind:
Chapter One
The next day was Monday, and therefore Drake’s first day of classes. He woke early and dressed in his favorite jeans, the tight red ones, and a simple, black, 808 State t-shirt. Before doing his hair, Drake plugged speakers into his iPod and put on Stone Roses, one of his all-time favorite bands.
Turning on his flat iron, he began to sing softly along to Elephant Stone, and didn’t hear the door opening as he searched for his glasses in the desk drawers.
“Ooh, are you new boy?” an effeminate, Welsh-sounding voice asked from behind. Drake spun around, surprised by the intrusion. Before him stood a small, black-haired boy, dressed in jeans with entirely too many holes to be considered trousers, and tight enough that they left nothing to the imagination. He wore an emo-looking shirt, complete with small monsters screen-printed along the sides.
Drake raised his eyes to the shorter boy’s face. “I am. My name’s Drake. Yours?”
Another boy entered the room, this one auburn-headed and dressed similarly to the first boy. “You’ve found him, then, Oz?”
The first boy-Oz?-nodded. “I’m Osley, Oz for short, and this is Samson, or Sam. Sam, this is Drake.”
Drake, true to his upbringing, reached out to shake both boys’ hands. “Hello, Sam, Oz. Nice to meet you both.”
Sam and Oz grinned at each other. “Wait until he meets Adrian. He’ll love him, don’t you think?” Sam said, appraising Drake as if he were a car or a horse.
“I definitely do. With his manners and those pants? Oh, Drake, we’ll make you a star, love,” Oz said. “Why don’t you come down to breakfast with us? We’ll introduce you to some fellow students.”
Drake bit his lip briefly. “Actually, I’m going to do my hair, I think. I’ll head down in a few minutes, and maybe I’ll see you there.” His first instinct was to go with them, probably because Oz had mentioned the word ‘star’, but somehow he thought maybe he should wait for Harry.
The boys looked put out, but both said goodbye and left. Drake turned back around to the mirror he’d propped up on his desk and began straightening his hair, trying to remember where he’d placed his glasses. After dinner last night, he’d showered, and... Had he left them in the-?
“Drake? Hey, I think these are yours.” Harry came into the room holding up Drake’s glasses. “They were in the bathroom.”
“Thanks, I was just wondering where I’d left them.” Drake pulled the flatiron through his hair, concentrating on those pesky ends.
Harry sat on the desk beside the mirror. “It’s no problem. Why do you do that to your hair, though?” Harry’s own hair was scruffy-looking, as if he’d never combed it. At dinner last night, Harry had complained about the mess, saying he tried everything and nothing made it look presentable.
Drake laughed. “So I don’t end up with hair like yours.” Harry rolled his eyes, grinning. Drake quite liked this easy friendship that had developed between them. He’d known Harry for less than twenty-four hours, and already they could joke and poke fun at each other. It was a nice change to the formalities and months of small talk before becoming friends with anyone at his old schools.
“You’re just jealous that you can’t achieve the just-shagged look, I know it,” Harry teased.
“I could if I’d just been shagged,” Drake said, laughing.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “No, I doubt it. I think your hair would be perfect even after the craziest shag.”
“You’d be wrong, then. Obviously you’ve never seen me after a shag. I look like I’ve a fur ball atop my head.” Drake shuddered. “It’s awful.”
“I thought you said you’ve only had one girlfriend, though?” Harry asked curiously.
“I have. Do I need a girlfriend to get shagged?” Drake asked, eyebrow raised. Harry laughed, shaking his head.
The truth was, Drake had only been shagged twice, and both times had been awkward and unsatisfying. But Harry didn’t need to know that.
When the song switched to Standing Here, Drake grinned widely. This was his favorite song by the Stone Roses. He began to sing along, eying the door to make sure it was closed-he didn’t need everyone in the dorm to hear his awful voice.
“I really don’t think you could know that...I’m in heaven when you smile,” Harry intoned softly. “I know this song. I love it.”
“It’s my favorite one by the Stone Roses,” Drake said, swaying to the music as he examined his finished hair in the mirror.
“You’ve got good taste in music,” Harry said. “Anyway, we should head down soon. Breakfast ends in a bit and you can’t be late for your first day of classes.”
Drake took one last look at himself, turned off the music, and gathered his books and things for his first few classes. “Let’s go,” he said, opening the door and walking toward the commons. “Oh, by the way-who are Oz and Sam?”
Harry stopped. “You’ve met them?” he asked. He looked sort of worried.
“Er, yes? They came into my room this morning and invited me down to breakfast. Said something about making me a star?” Drake said, biting his lip. Harry’s reaction confirmed that Drake politely refusing them was the right course. But what was so wrong with the two boys?
“And you said no?” Harry asked, smiling slightly now.
Drake furrowed his brow. “Yeah. I said maybe I’d see them down there.”
Harry laughed. “Oh boy. I’m carting around Public Enemy Number One. I can’t believe you refused the Queens. It’s near impossible to do. Well, you were only up against Oz and Sam. They’re pretty tiny, I guess. Not very intimidating.”
“What do you mean, the Queens?” Drake asked, confused. He put air quotes around the word ‘queens’ because Harry had said it with some significance.
“Oh, they rule the school,” Harry answered with a wave of his hand. He started walking toward the stairs again. Drake followed. “Well, they think they do, anyway. Them and the Ristos. A bit like West Side Story, isn’t it?” He laughed. “The Queens are a bunch of girly gay boys who all banded together and took over. The Ristos are the rich kids of the school-Ristos as in ‘aristocrats’, you know? Clever, I thought.”
Drake shook his head. “Great. I’ve just ditched the rulers of the school. Excellent way to start out.”
“Oh, but you’re forgetting what I said-they only think they do,” Harry corrected him, holding open the staircase door.
“Who does, then? The Ristos?” Drake asked, beginning the trek down the stairs.
Harry’s laugh echoed around the stairwell. “The Ristos desperately crave power. The truth is, we only indulge them because they buy us things-like free drinks for underage kids in town. And you’d better watch out-they’ll be coming after you to join their little society, what with your fortune,” Harry warned, waggling his finger. “Really, you’ve chosen the best path, staying with me. I’m sort of famous.”
“Sort of famous? How is someone ‘sort of’ famous?” Drake asked, turning around to the next flight of stairs. One day, he’d look for an elevator around here.
“Well, my parents were detectives. They helped bring down this really dangerous mob leader when I was a baby. But before he got locked up, he came ‘round to our house and killed them both. My mum put me in a closet, so he never got to me. The newspapers were calling me ‘the boy who lived’. Once he decided to kill you, you were dead, and he was after my whole family,” Harry explained nonchalantly. They reached the bottom of the stairs.
Drake looked at Harry, shock all over his face. “Wow. I’m-I’m really sorry. I must seem like such a snob, always-“
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t remember anything. It’s hard to miss people you knew when you were one. And anyway, if he’d never come to our house, he’d have never blown his cover. It’s thanks to my parents he’s somewhere in the Black Sea now, rotting away in a high-security vault.” There was pride in Harry’s voice. Drake’s heart ached for his new friend.
The door opened, nearly smacking Drake in the face. A boy with sand-colored hair and freckles popped through, and the only word Drake could think of to describe him was ‘bright’.
“Harry, lad, where were ye yesterday?” he asked, his voice thick with an Irish accent. “And who is this? Picked up another toy, then? I’ll tell Jon on you...” he teased.
Drake stepped forward, hand out. “I’m Drake Malfoy, new here. Harry’s my mentor.”
The boy shook his hand. “Well, I’m Seamus Finnigan, and Harry’s me friend,” he said with a laugh. “Why are you so serious? This is liberal school, lad. Be liberal.”
Harry laughed, too. “Drake, please excuse Seamus. He’s a little insane. But don’t worry, he’s straight, and won’t proposition you like a lot of the boys here will.”
“Another straight one? Lord in heaven, at last!” Seamus said in delight.
Drake laughed and the three boys headed to breakfast. They served themselves and Harry and Seamus lead the way to what Drake guessed was their usual table. Sitting round it were a thin, black boy; a very tall, redheaded, befreckled boy; a small, redheaded girl; a bushy-haired girl with honey-colored eyes; a plumpish, shy-looking boy; and a spacey blonde girl. Drake took a seat next to Harry and Seamus sat on his other side.
“Who’s this, Harry?” asked the bushy-haired girl.
“If you hadn’t been out with Ron all night, you’d have met him,” Harry said with a grin. “This is Drake, everyone. Drake, this is... Well, just introduce yourselves.”
“I’m Dean, Drake. Nice to meet you,” said the black boy. His voice was sweet and slow, like honey. Drake decided he liked that boy. “I’m in painting. You?”
“I am too,” Drake answered. “Good to meet you, Dean.”
“I’m Hermione,” said the girl who’d spoken earlier. “Lovely to have you here. Hope you like it. I’m in computers for architectural designs, so maybe we’ll have some classes together. For technique, and all, you know.”
“Hello, Hermione. I hope we do,” Drake said with a smile.
“Well, I’m Ron, then,” the red-haired boy said. “I’m in sculpting, so we’ll have some classes together, too.”
“And I’m Ginny,” said the girl next to Ron. “I”m Ron’s sister, yeah. And I’m in classical instruments, I play violin, so I’m betting we don’t have any classes at all.” She laughed and Drake laughed, too.
“Nice meeting you both,” Drake said cordially.
“Hello, Drake. I’m Luna,” breathed the blond girl.
Drake’s eyes widened slightly, but he shook Luna’s hand and said, “Hello.”
“Nev, come on. He’s nice,” coaxed Harry to the last boy.
The boy looked up at Drake and blushed. “H-hullo,” he said. “I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom. I’m in Composing.”
Drake smiled at Neville and said, “Pleased to meet you, Neville. Don’t worry, I won’t bite you or anything.” Neville smiled a little and went back to his eggs with a muttered ‘thanks’.
They ate and made small talk, including the usual questions about where Drake was from, what schools he’d been to, and oh, did he know so-and-so from the school of this-and-that? It was actually sort of fun, and Drake knew he’d get along very well with this group.
About fifteen minutes after they sat down, a tall, brunette boy sat next to Harry. He had the air of superiority about him, and all heads turned toward him as he sat.
“Good morning, Harry, darling,” he said. “Who is your new friend?”
Harry glared at the boy. “Good morning, Adrian. This is Drake. He’s new here. And completely straight.”
Ah, thought Drake, this must be the boy Sam and Oz were talking about this morning.
Adrian reached out a hand and shook Drake’s, and, apparently disregarding Harry’s last remark, said, “Hello, Drake. It’s a pleasure. Would you like to join my friends and I at our table?” He waved to a table filled with boys all similarly dressed (in tight pants and emo-style shirts, just like Oz and Sam had been) not far away. When Drake looked, all the boys waved and smiled at him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see everyone at his own table was looking at him intently, including Harry. Judging by that, and by a certain gut feeling, he thought maybe Adrian wasn’t to be trusted. So, he said, “Lovely to meet you, Adrian, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve got to go to classes now. I’m sure we can chat later, though.” With plenty of people around, he didn’t say. Something about this boy-maybe the feeling of power about him, or the hungry look in his eyes-made Drake sort of afraid to be alone with him.
“I’m sure we will,” Adrian said with a frightening smile. “Have a good day, then. Hope to see you in classes. Oh, yeah, what’s your major?”
Drake glanced at Harry, who nodded. All good, then. “Painting and creative writing,” he answered politely. “And yours?”
“Acting and ballet. Guess we won’t be seeing each other. Maybe in academics, hm?” With that, the boy stood, brushing his clothes off as if he had crumbs all down the front. Really, the motion just seemed to be an excuse to accent his features-which were very nice, if you liked boys. “See you,” Adrian said with a small, practiced wave. He turned and headed back to his table.
Everyone at Drake’s table seemed to exhale collectively.
“I don’t like him,” Drake said decisively.
Harry laughed. “Nor do I. Don’t worry, you’ve politely rejected him. He’ll leave you alone.”
“Well, good.” He stacked his trash on his tray and stood. “Shall we go to classes?”
The others nodded and stood as well, splitting up.
“I’ll take you to your first class,” Harry said, “but after that you’ll have to find your way around. You can ask anyone that doesn’t look like-,“ he motioned at the Queens’ table, “them; everyone else is pretty nice. And if anyone especially rich-looking asks you about your fortune, just tell them to talk to me.” They both laughed and left the cafeteria, unknowing of the glares they were receiving from Adrian and all of his friends.
Drake’s first class was Classic Literature, in the creative writing/painting building, from eight to eight forty-five. At nine, he had Anatomy until nine forty-five. Then came Calculus, and then a free period. At noon was lunch, and then Painting Techniques. Last, at two, he had English Composition, and at two forty-five, he was free for the day.
Mondays, he had all these classes, but on Wednesdays and Fridays, he had only half of them-Classic Lit, Calculus, and Painting Techniques on Wednesdays, then on Fridays, Anatomy, free period, and History.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were studio days, meaning students spent from at least eight AM to three PM in the studio, working on their various projects. Students with more than one major switched studios at eleven.
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “You’ll get it, I promise. And you’ll have your timetable, so until you remember all this, just look at that.”
Drake just nodded and let himself be lead upstairs to the Classic Lit room. Once there, he wasn’t really sure what to do-enter, or wait outside for a teacher, or...?
“Go on in. I’ll introduce you, and then I’ve got to leave,” Harry said, opening the door for Drake. He walked into the room and waited for Harry, who strode up to the teacher’s desk. A large, burly man sat there, ruddy in his face and with a wild mane of red hair, complete with a moustache. He looked more like a mountain man than a literature teacher, but then, appearances could be deceiving.
“Mr. O’Hare, this is Drake Malfoy. He’s new to the class.”
Drake stepped forward, hand extended for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Mr. O’Hare shook it in a strong and self-confident manner, and Drake was almost scared of his stony, ‘I-eat-babies-for-breakfast’ face.
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy. If you would please sit in the second row, next to Scott,” the man said. Drake didn’t think for a moment of disobeying, and sat next to the curly-haired boy Mr. O’Hare had pointed out.
“See you later, Mr. O’Hare. Please do try not to eat Drake. He’s worried enough about his schedule,” Harry joked, and winked at Drake.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Potter. Please scoot along to whatever mischief you’re up to, and I’ll see what I can do to welcome Mr. Malfoy, and, as you say, not eat him.” Mr. O’Hare smiled, and Drake was surprised to find his face didn’t crack in half.
Harry left with a wave to Drake.
Scott, the boy next to Drake, leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. He’s actually quite nice, and very funny. Harry was just joking.”
“Thanks,” Drake said with a smile. He was slightly reassured...but not really. “I’m Drake, you?”
“Scott,” the boy answered.
“Alrighty, time to start, I guess,” said Mr. O’Hare. “Please get out your books, and we’ll start from Chapter Five... Mr. Malfoy, do you have a copy of Pride and Prejudice?”
Drake shook his head. Was that on the list? He had one at home, maybe he could write his mum and ask for her to send it.
“Grab one from the cupboard and be sure you get one very soon. Have you read it?” the man barked. He was almost military in his speech.
“Yes, several times,” Drake answered, standing to get a book.
“Very good, then. Now, starting from Chapter Five, as I said...”
The rest of the class passed uneventfully: they read from Pride and Prejudice and then discussed what had happened. A short essay was assigned on characterization, and the last ten minutes of class was left to begin the homework. Of course, all of the students disregarded this in favor of time to socialize.
Scott moved over to the desk in front of Drake and smiled. “You’re new, then? What’s your major?”
“Painting and creative writing. How about you?”
“Creative writing. Seems we’ll be seeing each other again, eh?” Scott said with a broad smile. “And Harry’s your mentor, I guess?”
Drake nodded. “Yeah. He seems really nice.”
“Oh, he is. Shame we’ve different majors, I really like him. Alas, we’ve no classes together and our dorms are clear across the building from each other. Oh, well. Guess I’ve got Seamus.” Scott rose and started to gather his things. Drake started doing the same.
“I like Seamus, too. Loud. Irish,” Drake said with a smile.
Scott laughed. “You’re spot-on. He’s the most Irish bloke I’ve ever met, and he’s proud of it, too. Don’t get him started on football. He goes on for ages about his boys in green. The Bohemians will make a comeback, Alan Blayney needs to be replaced, yada yada yada.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid that. I don’t keep up with football. Not my cup of tea, really,” Drake said apologetically.
“Oh, you’ll learn,” Scott said with a chuckle. “Between Seamus and Dean and Ron, you’ll learn to love the good old World Game.” The bell rang as he finished talking, and they started out the door.
“What class do you have next?” asked Drake. For that matter, what class did he have next?
“Free period. I expect you’ve got an art class, though,” said Scott.
He was right; Drake had anatomy next. “Yeah. I’ll see you later, then.” They parted ways, Scott going up toward the dorms and Drake left toward the art section of the building.
The anatomy class wasn’t hard to find-it was another warehouse-sized room, but this time on the top floor. There was a circle of easels and stools, most with pads of paper and people accompanying them, all gathered around two women in the center. The women were clearly naked, though they had cloth wrapped around them for the time being.
“Drake, hello!” called Harry. A few heads turned, and some were already familiar-Dean, Oz, and Sam sat in the circle, too. Two other boys were there, and several girls, that he didn’t know.
“Come in, Drake,” greeted an airy voice. A woman dressed in a gauzy dress and wooden beads floated toward him-or it looked like she did, anyway; it was hard to tell with all that cloth whether she had feet or not. “You’re new, I understand? I’m Miss Geralds. Go ahead and take a seat anywhere you like. We’re drawing models today.”
The only open seats were one between two girls and one between Dean and Sam. Drake took the one by Dean. Dean smiled as he sat down and Drake smiled back.
“Here’s a pad, Drake, and there are pencils and charcoal in the tray on your easel,” Miss Geralds said, setting a brand-new sketch pad in front of Drake. He opened it and stroked the expensive-looking paper inside with a lover’s caress. Dean sniggered, as did Harry, who was sitting on Dean’s other side.
“What?” asked Drake defensively. “It’s nice paper.”
“Yes, but you’re not going to make love to it. You’re going to draw on it,” Harry said.
Drake rolled his eyes. “There’s not much of a difference.”
“Attention, class!” came Miss Geralds’ breathy voice. “Prepare your pads and utensils. Today, we will work with a detail sketch-pick a single part of either Lilian’s or Julia’s body and draw everything you can of it. I will come around and critique you at the end of thirty-five minutes. And please, don’t make me have to critique the bit of the girls you choose.” She shot a glance at the boys in the room. Drake wondered if she knew most of them were gay. He guessed not.
The models unwrapped the cloth from around themselves. Drake looked carefully at them both. One was full-figured, curvaceous, and very pale; she sat lounged on the arm of a chaise positioned in the middle of the easels, chest pushed out and arms hanging back. The other was very thin in a graceful way, but not anorexic-looking. She had big eyes and was sitting on the floor, cloth beneath her naked bottom. Leaning back against the chaise, she managed to look bored and beautiful at once.
Drake decided he’d draw the dangling hand of the curvy model, and dug out a piece of charcoal from the tray. With a lingering glance at the hand, he bit his lip and began to sketch.
When Miss Geralds called time, Drake sat back and looked at the large hand on his pad. It was busy, what with all the cross-hatched shading and mistake lines, but he was satisfied. This was only a sketch, and he’d done the proportion very well in the finger segments, he thought.
“Drake, let’s see what you’ve got...” Miss Geralds came to his easel and furrowed her brow. “Very interesting technique... Class, come and look at this.” Drake blushed. He didn’t want to seem a show-off on his first day.
Everyone came to look at his easel. Harry said, “Budge up and share your seat with me.” Drake was glad for the excuse to look un-horrified and scooted over for Harry to sit down. Harry, though, studied his sketch just like everyone else.
“Do you see how he’s used negative space and shading to IMPLY a hand, but has not drawn it?” Miss Geralds observed. “Very, very interesting. What do you think, class?”
“Think he’s a bloody goody two-shoes, that’s what,” came a mutter from one of the girls. The other girls tittered in response.
“I think it’s cool,” Harry said loudly. “Wish I’d thought of it.” The gigglers stopped immediately and nodded. Drake had never been more glad for anyone in his life.
“I quite agree, Harry. Drake, maybe you could spend a lesson teaching us all about negative space?” Miss Geralds surely had no idea what she was doing.
Drake swallowed and said, “Yeah, I’ll-I’ll think about that...”
A shrill ringing took the air and Drake thanked the gods for bells. Miss Geralds ran around collecting pads as the students sprinted from the room. Dean, Harry, and Drake were first out. They had to go to the academic building, so Harry lead them all outside, where the sun was bright and the air was crisp.
“That was embarrassing. God, I’m sure everyone hates me in there, now,” Drake said, fixing his hair with one hand-it was a terrible nervous habit. And oh, look, now he had charcoal in his hair, too. Perfect.
Harry grinned. “Yeah, maybe, but only because you’re ten times better than them. I haven’t seen talent like that since...Dean.”
Dean laughed and shook his head, holding open the door to the next building. “I dunno, I’d have never thought of that.”
“Well, I’d have never bloody done it if I knew I was going to be the only one!” Drake said, entering the lobby with the other two.
“Don’t worry about it, Drake. Well, do worry, but only for Geralds-she’ll be all over you, now,” Harry said with a snort.
They all laughed as they turned the corner, but stopped as Drake bumped into someone.
“Fancy meeting you again,” came the slimy voice of Adrian. “And so soon.”
Drake met his gaze evenly. “Crazy. I’d resigned myself that I’d not see you until lunch.”
“Then isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Adrian said, coming closer to Drake. Drake didn’t move. He wouldn’t back down.
“Isn’t it just,” he said softly.
Adrian was almost touching Drake, he was so close. When he spoke, Drake could feel the boy’s breath on his own cheek. “I look forward to seeing you again, Dray.” Then he backed away, half-nodded to Harry, and carried on down the hallway.
There was silence for a moment, and then: “Well,” Harry said, “looks like you’ve already made yourself an enemy. Congratulations-it took me three full months.” He grinned and started off toward the calculus room nearby. Drake and Dean looked at each other, both slightly alarmed, then followed suit.
Calculus was as interesting as could be expected-that is, not at all. Drake spent the entire time fiddling with his pencil and glancing at the clock. The teacher, a Mr. Burke, had a slow, monotonous voice that was impossible NOT to tune out. At least everyone else in the class was doing the same as himself, Drake reassured himself.
The bell for the next class couldn’t come soon enough-Drake had a free period. After saying goodbye to Harry and Dean, who both had classes before lunch, he set off for the dorms. After a walk longer than he’d estimated, he arrived, only to find no one was in the large commons. Well, Harry had said no one really stayed around there.
But entering his own neighborhood, he found no one was there, either. Didn’t anyone besides him have a free period before lunch?
Just as he thought this, a door opened, and a boy stepped out from his room, iPod earphones firmly in place. He was a little too tan for November, and had the slightly unnatural look of a fake bake. His hair was strawberry-blonde, but obviously dyed, with several highlights and lowlights throughout. Even his eyebrows looked plucked.
“Hello, can I help you?” he asked, pulling one earphone out. The boy had one of the poshest accents Drake had ever heard, besides some of his parents' friends.
“Er, no, not really. I’ve a free period now, so I thought I’d come back here and rest or something...,” Drake explained. He shrugged. What was one supposed to do in a free period, anyway?
“Oh, you’re the new boy,” the other boy said, comprehending. “I’m Ryan Davison. Would you like a tour of the school? I could take you around campus, if you like.”
“That’s alright, I’ve already had one,” Drake said. He hadn’t, but he knew enough to get along, and he didn’t want to go anywhere with this boy, really.
“You have? Who’s your mentor?” There was something demanding about his voice, like he was used to asking and getting results.
Maybe he was one of the Ristos Harry’d spoken about earlier.
“Harry,” Drake answered simply. “I think I’m going to go take a nap or something. Lovely to meet you, Ryan.” He put out his hand, once again, to be shaken.
“And you, Drake,” Ryan said, with a firm shake of Drake’s hand. Drake nodded and turned to his door, entered, and collapsed on the bed. It was a few moments before he realized he’d never told Ryan his name.
Oh, good, he was already infamous.
Lunch was much the same as breakfast. Drake and Harry sat with the same people at the same table and talked of mostly the same things-classes and Drake. However, now they were talking of Drake and Adrian’s “big fight,” as the rumors were calling it. Ginny’s eyes were wide as she asked how his arm was doing, and could she sign his cast? Hermione snorted and pointed out that he obviously didn’t have a cast, and then eagerly questioned him about the knife Adrian had stuck in his leg. The rest of the group had similar ideas.
Drake sighed. Well, he’d never been good at staying low-profile at his other schools, either. It had just been longer, there, before he was clearing up rumors.
“We didn’t fight,” he said. “We just had a little chat. An inconsequential one, at that. Don’t worry; all’s well and good.”
The others-sparing Dean and Harry, who were laughing quietly-went back to their meals, still looking at him suspiciously. He sighed again and dug into his faux-chicken nuggets; they were actually quite good.
Everyone was silent for a while, but slowly the chatter grew back. Drake finished his meal and rose to throw away his trash, stacking it all on his tray. No sooner had he set away his tray, however, than Adrian found him.
“Drake, darling. Lovely to see you again,” the boy said. His eyes were a bright hazel color, Drake found. They were almost yellow, and sort of...feline.
“And you, Adrian,” Drake returned with a polite nod. “Think I’m going to go back to my table, though.” He turned around, but Adrian caught his shoulder and spun him back.
“Why don’t you come and sit with me? I’m sure all my friends will love you. Oz and Sam are quite taken, you understand.” Adrian smiled and shook his head a little. “Harry says you’re not interested in boys, though... It’s a shame. Such a waste.”
“I suppose it is, for you,” said Drake. He smiled a little, as well-his signature smirk. “I’m afraid I was rather busy at my own table, right in the middle of a conversation. Sorry, mate, maybe another time.” With a look to his shoulder, where Adrian was still gripping tightly, he said, “If you could please let go of me, I’d appreciate it.”
Adrian scowled. He wasn’t so model-esque when he was angry. “Drake, I insist you sit with me,” he said. Instead of letting go of Drake, he tightened his grip. “I think you’ll find our table quite fun.” He moved closer to Drake.
Drake knew people were looking at them. This would be all over school in a few moments, and it had to end soon. He would not run, and he would not fight like an animal, though. “Adrian,” he said softly. He knew no one would hear but the other boy. “I don’t know what your game is, or what the rules are, but I can assure you-I play by my own rules. I will not sit with you, and I will not be friends with you or any of your group. I have my own friends here. You can’t win against me, I warn you. You may threaten me all you like; push me and shove me, grab my shoulder until it breaks, turn all your little cronies against me. I don’t care. I can fend for myself. I have at past schools and I will here. Now, please, release my shoulder and go back to your own table. I will go to mine, and you can spread rumors that I’m a wimpy child begging for mercy to your heart’s content. All it takes is the truthful version from me, and you’re ruined.”
For a moment, Adrian’s face was writ with shock-but only for a moment. He looked around to see the entire lunch room was staring at them, then turned back to Drake with anger and humiliation in his eyes. However, he released Drake with a rough shove, enough to drop Drake back against the rubbish bins behind him. With a satisfied, malicious grin, he left.
Harry and Hermione rushed to Drake’s side; obviously it was safe now that the big scary Adrian was gone.
“That was amazing, Drake,” Hermione said. “What did you say to him?”
“Oh, nothing. A little of this, a dash of that. Just a friendly talk,” Drake said, wheezing slightly. His shoulder was throbbing from Adrian’s grip and his head probably was split open from where it had hit the wooden trash bin.
Harry’s face looked concerned. “Are you okay? Maybe we should take you to the infirmary.”
But Drake didn’t hear, as he’d passed out.
The first thing Drake saw when he awoke was white curtains, and then a white, tall ceiling. He squinted for a moment and the first thing that came to mind was ‘heaven.’ Next came ‘asylum.’ Maybe that said something, or maybe it didn’t. His head hurt too much for him to care.
A head suddenly entered his vision. A black-haired, green-eyed head.
“Harry,” Drake breathed.
The emerald pools flooded with relief. “You’re awake,” Harry said softly.
“Yeah,” answered Drake.
“I thought you were dead,” the other boy said, brows furrowing. “You must have hit your head really hard.”
Drake frowned. His head was throbbing in time with his heart. “I think so. Actually I think there is a split in my head. Like a glacier or something.”
Harry laughed and Drake flinched, the sound reverberating in his ears.
“Is he awake?” asked a snappish woman’s voice. A large, motherly-looking woman who appeared to have no room in her soul for excuses came to Drake’s side. “Mr. Malfoy, I understand you were knocked backward into a rubbish bin?”
Drake nodded, then scrunched up his face in pain.
“Obviously, you’re hurting. Please take three tablets from this bottle and keep that ice pack on your head.” The woman handed Drake a plastic bottle and he obediently took three, wondering what in the world was wrong with him.
As if reading his mind, Harry said, “You’ve got a concussion.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “Great.”
The nurse-for she must be the nurse, Drake thought-gave him a bottle of water and a stern look. Slightly afraid of her, Drake sat up and took the pills. When his head hit the pillow (and the ice pack), Drake discovered he was actually very, very tired.
“Now, Mr. Malfoy, I insist you stay here and sleep for a couple of hours, at least. We don’t need to risk you hitting your head any more today, hm?” the woman said.
Drake closed his eyes and nodded. “Of course.”
Just before the world slipped away, he heard a quiet voice in his ear saying, “Sweet dreams.” It could have been Harry, or it could have been a trick of the air currents. Either way, Drake smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
Part Three
Author: justllove
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU, lightlightlight violence.
Summary: Drake Malfoy, whose family is old and all about proper, is moved to a new school--again. There he meets Harry Potter, the cheerful and artistic boy who is his mentor and, soon, a very good friend. But art school is more complicated than Drake realized.
Word Count: 5961
Author's Notes: Phew! This turned out a loooot longer than I thought it would be. Fourteen and a half pages! Crazy. I've never written anything this long. xD Hope you enjoy.
In case you're behind:
Chapter One
The next day was Monday, and therefore Drake’s first day of classes. He woke early and dressed in his favorite jeans, the tight red ones, and a simple, black, 808 State t-shirt. Before doing his hair, Drake plugged speakers into his iPod and put on Stone Roses, one of his all-time favorite bands.
Turning on his flat iron, he began to sing softly along to Elephant Stone, and didn’t hear the door opening as he searched for his glasses in the desk drawers.
“Ooh, are you new boy?” an effeminate, Welsh-sounding voice asked from behind. Drake spun around, surprised by the intrusion. Before him stood a small, black-haired boy, dressed in jeans with entirely too many holes to be considered trousers, and tight enough that they left nothing to the imagination. He wore an emo-looking shirt, complete with small monsters screen-printed along the sides.
Drake raised his eyes to the shorter boy’s face. “I am. My name’s Drake. Yours?”
Another boy entered the room, this one auburn-headed and dressed similarly to the first boy. “You’ve found him, then, Oz?”
The first boy-Oz?-nodded. “I’m Osley, Oz for short, and this is Samson, or Sam. Sam, this is Drake.”
Drake, true to his upbringing, reached out to shake both boys’ hands. “Hello, Sam, Oz. Nice to meet you both.”
Sam and Oz grinned at each other. “Wait until he meets Adrian. He’ll love him, don’t you think?” Sam said, appraising Drake as if he were a car or a horse.
“I definitely do. With his manners and those pants? Oh, Drake, we’ll make you a star, love,” Oz said. “Why don’t you come down to breakfast with us? We’ll introduce you to some fellow students.”
Drake bit his lip briefly. “Actually, I’m going to do my hair, I think. I’ll head down in a few minutes, and maybe I’ll see you there.” His first instinct was to go with them, probably because Oz had mentioned the word ‘star’, but somehow he thought maybe he should wait for Harry.
The boys looked put out, but both said goodbye and left. Drake turned back around to the mirror he’d propped up on his desk and began straightening his hair, trying to remember where he’d placed his glasses. After dinner last night, he’d showered, and... Had he left them in the-?
“Drake? Hey, I think these are yours.” Harry came into the room holding up Drake’s glasses. “They were in the bathroom.”
“Thanks, I was just wondering where I’d left them.” Drake pulled the flatiron through his hair, concentrating on those pesky ends.
Harry sat on the desk beside the mirror. “It’s no problem. Why do you do that to your hair, though?” Harry’s own hair was scruffy-looking, as if he’d never combed it. At dinner last night, Harry had complained about the mess, saying he tried everything and nothing made it look presentable.
Drake laughed. “So I don’t end up with hair like yours.” Harry rolled his eyes, grinning. Drake quite liked this easy friendship that had developed between them. He’d known Harry for less than twenty-four hours, and already they could joke and poke fun at each other. It was a nice change to the formalities and months of small talk before becoming friends with anyone at his old schools.
“You’re just jealous that you can’t achieve the just-shagged look, I know it,” Harry teased.
“I could if I’d just been shagged,” Drake said, laughing.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before saying, “No, I doubt it. I think your hair would be perfect even after the craziest shag.”
“You’d be wrong, then. Obviously you’ve never seen me after a shag. I look like I’ve a fur ball atop my head.” Drake shuddered. “It’s awful.”
“I thought you said you’ve only had one girlfriend, though?” Harry asked curiously.
“I have. Do I need a girlfriend to get shagged?” Drake asked, eyebrow raised. Harry laughed, shaking his head.
The truth was, Drake had only been shagged twice, and both times had been awkward and unsatisfying. But Harry didn’t need to know that.
When the song switched to Standing Here, Drake grinned widely. This was his favorite song by the Stone Roses. He began to sing along, eying the door to make sure it was closed-he didn’t need everyone in the dorm to hear his awful voice.
“I really don’t think you could know that...I’m in heaven when you smile,” Harry intoned softly. “I know this song. I love it.”
“It’s my favorite one by the Stone Roses,” Drake said, swaying to the music as he examined his finished hair in the mirror.
“You’ve got good taste in music,” Harry said. “Anyway, we should head down soon. Breakfast ends in a bit and you can’t be late for your first day of classes.”
Drake took one last look at himself, turned off the music, and gathered his books and things for his first few classes. “Let’s go,” he said, opening the door and walking toward the commons. “Oh, by the way-who are Oz and Sam?”
Harry stopped. “You’ve met them?” he asked. He looked sort of worried.
“Er, yes? They came into my room this morning and invited me down to breakfast. Said something about making me a star?” Drake said, biting his lip. Harry’s reaction confirmed that Drake politely refusing them was the right course. But what was so wrong with the two boys?
“And you said no?” Harry asked, smiling slightly now.
Drake furrowed his brow. “Yeah. I said maybe I’d see them down there.”
Harry laughed. “Oh boy. I’m carting around Public Enemy Number One. I can’t believe you refused the Queens. It’s near impossible to do. Well, you were only up against Oz and Sam. They’re pretty tiny, I guess. Not very intimidating.”
“What do you mean, the Queens?” Drake asked, confused. He put air quotes around the word ‘queens’ because Harry had said it with some significance.
“Oh, they rule the school,” Harry answered with a wave of his hand. He started walking toward the stairs again. Drake followed. “Well, they think they do, anyway. Them and the Ristos. A bit like West Side Story, isn’t it?” He laughed. “The Queens are a bunch of girly gay boys who all banded together and took over. The Ristos are the rich kids of the school-Ristos as in ‘aristocrats’, you know? Clever, I thought.”
Drake shook his head. “Great. I’ve just ditched the rulers of the school. Excellent way to start out.”
“Oh, but you’re forgetting what I said-they only think they do,” Harry corrected him, holding open the staircase door.
“Who does, then? The Ristos?” Drake asked, beginning the trek down the stairs.
Harry’s laugh echoed around the stairwell. “The Ristos desperately crave power. The truth is, we only indulge them because they buy us things-like free drinks for underage kids in town. And you’d better watch out-they’ll be coming after you to join their little society, what with your fortune,” Harry warned, waggling his finger. “Really, you’ve chosen the best path, staying with me. I’m sort of famous.”
“Sort of famous? How is someone ‘sort of’ famous?” Drake asked, turning around to the next flight of stairs. One day, he’d look for an elevator around here.
“Well, my parents were detectives. They helped bring down this really dangerous mob leader when I was a baby. But before he got locked up, he came ‘round to our house and killed them both. My mum put me in a closet, so he never got to me. The newspapers were calling me ‘the boy who lived’. Once he decided to kill you, you were dead, and he was after my whole family,” Harry explained nonchalantly. They reached the bottom of the stairs.
Drake looked at Harry, shock all over his face. “Wow. I’m-I’m really sorry. I must seem like such a snob, always-“
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t remember anything. It’s hard to miss people you knew when you were one. And anyway, if he’d never come to our house, he’d have never blown his cover. It’s thanks to my parents he’s somewhere in the Black Sea now, rotting away in a high-security vault.” There was pride in Harry’s voice. Drake’s heart ached for his new friend.
The door opened, nearly smacking Drake in the face. A boy with sand-colored hair and freckles popped through, and the only word Drake could think of to describe him was ‘bright’.
“Harry, lad, where were ye yesterday?” he asked, his voice thick with an Irish accent. “And who is this? Picked up another toy, then? I’ll tell Jon on you...” he teased.
Drake stepped forward, hand out. “I’m Drake Malfoy, new here. Harry’s my mentor.”
The boy shook his hand. “Well, I’m Seamus Finnigan, and Harry’s me friend,” he said with a laugh. “Why are you so serious? This is liberal school, lad. Be liberal.”
Harry laughed, too. “Drake, please excuse Seamus. He’s a little insane. But don’t worry, he’s straight, and won’t proposition you like a lot of the boys here will.”
“Another straight one? Lord in heaven, at last!” Seamus said in delight.
Drake laughed and the three boys headed to breakfast. They served themselves and Harry and Seamus lead the way to what Drake guessed was their usual table. Sitting round it were a thin, black boy; a very tall, redheaded, befreckled boy; a small, redheaded girl; a bushy-haired girl with honey-colored eyes; a plumpish, shy-looking boy; and a spacey blonde girl. Drake took a seat next to Harry and Seamus sat on his other side.
“Who’s this, Harry?” asked the bushy-haired girl.
“If you hadn’t been out with Ron all night, you’d have met him,” Harry said with a grin. “This is Drake, everyone. Drake, this is... Well, just introduce yourselves.”
“I’m Dean, Drake. Nice to meet you,” said the black boy. His voice was sweet and slow, like honey. Drake decided he liked that boy. “I’m in painting. You?”
“I am too,” Drake answered. “Good to meet you, Dean.”
“I’m Hermione,” said the girl who’d spoken earlier. “Lovely to have you here. Hope you like it. I’m in computers for architectural designs, so maybe we’ll have some classes together. For technique, and all, you know.”
“Hello, Hermione. I hope we do,” Drake said with a smile.
“Well, I’m Ron, then,” the red-haired boy said. “I’m in sculpting, so we’ll have some classes together, too.”
“And I’m Ginny,” said the girl next to Ron. “I”m Ron’s sister, yeah. And I’m in classical instruments, I play violin, so I’m betting we don’t have any classes at all.” She laughed and Drake laughed, too.
“Nice meeting you both,” Drake said cordially.
“Hello, Drake. I’m Luna,” breathed the blond girl.
Drake’s eyes widened slightly, but he shook Luna’s hand and said, “Hello.”
“Nev, come on. He’s nice,” coaxed Harry to the last boy.
The boy looked up at Drake and blushed. “H-hullo,” he said. “I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom. I’m in Composing.”
Drake smiled at Neville and said, “Pleased to meet you, Neville. Don’t worry, I won’t bite you or anything.” Neville smiled a little and went back to his eggs with a muttered ‘thanks’.
They ate and made small talk, including the usual questions about where Drake was from, what schools he’d been to, and oh, did he know so-and-so from the school of this-and-that? It was actually sort of fun, and Drake knew he’d get along very well with this group.
About fifteen minutes after they sat down, a tall, brunette boy sat next to Harry. He had the air of superiority about him, and all heads turned toward him as he sat.
“Good morning, Harry, darling,” he said. “Who is your new friend?”
Harry glared at the boy. “Good morning, Adrian. This is Drake. He’s new here. And completely straight.”
Ah, thought Drake, this must be the boy Sam and Oz were talking about this morning.
Adrian reached out a hand and shook Drake’s, and, apparently disregarding Harry’s last remark, said, “Hello, Drake. It’s a pleasure. Would you like to join my friends and I at our table?” He waved to a table filled with boys all similarly dressed (in tight pants and emo-style shirts, just like Oz and Sam had been) not far away. When Drake looked, all the boys waved and smiled at him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see everyone at his own table was looking at him intently, including Harry. Judging by that, and by a certain gut feeling, he thought maybe Adrian wasn’t to be trusted. So, he said, “Lovely to meet you, Adrian, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve got to go to classes now. I’m sure we can chat later, though.” With plenty of people around, he didn’t say. Something about this boy-maybe the feeling of power about him, or the hungry look in his eyes-made Drake sort of afraid to be alone with him.
“I’m sure we will,” Adrian said with a frightening smile. “Have a good day, then. Hope to see you in classes. Oh, yeah, what’s your major?”
Drake glanced at Harry, who nodded. All good, then. “Painting and creative writing,” he answered politely. “And yours?”
“Acting and ballet. Guess we won’t be seeing each other. Maybe in academics, hm?” With that, the boy stood, brushing his clothes off as if he had crumbs all down the front. Really, the motion just seemed to be an excuse to accent his features-which were very nice, if you liked boys. “See you,” Adrian said with a small, practiced wave. He turned and headed back to his table.
Everyone at Drake’s table seemed to exhale collectively.
“I don’t like him,” Drake said decisively.
Harry laughed. “Nor do I. Don’t worry, you’ve politely rejected him. He’ll leave you alone.”
“Well, good.” He stacked his trash on his tray and stood. “Shall we go to classes?”
The others nodded and stood as well, splitting up.
“I’ll take you to your first class,” Harry said, “but after that you’ll have to find your way around. You can ask anyone that doesn’t look like-,“ he motioned at the Queens’ table, “them; everyone else is pretty nice. And if anyone especially rich-looking asks you about your fortune, just tell them to talk to me.” They both laughed and left the cafeteria, unknowing of the glares they were receiving from Adrian and all of his friends.
Drake’s first class was Classic Literature, in the creative writing/painting building, from eight to eight forty-five. At nine, he had Anatomy until nine forty-five. Then came Calculus, and then a free period. At noon was lunch, and then Painting Techniques. Last, at two, he had English Composition, and at two forty-five, he was free for the day.
Mondays, he had all these classes, but on Wednesdays and Fridays, he had only half of them-Classic Lit, Calculus, and Painting Techniques on Wednesdays, then on Fridays, Anatomy, free period, and History.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were studio days, meaning students spent from at least eight AM to three PM in the studio, working on their various projects. Students with more than one major switched studios at eleven.
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “You’ll get it, I promise. And you’ll have your timetable, so until you remember all this, just look at that.”
Drake just nodded and let himself be lead upstairs to the Classic Lit room. Once there, he wasn’t really sure what to do-enter, or wait outside for a teacher, or...?
“Go on in. I’ll introduce you, and then I’ve got to leave,” Harry said, opening the door for Drake. He walked into the room and waited for Harry, who strode up to the teacher’s desk. A large, burly man sat there, ruddy in his face and with a wild mane of red hair, complete with a moustache. He looked more like a mountain man than a literature teacher, but then, appearances could be deceiving.
“Mr. O’Hare, this is Drake Malfoy. He’s new to the class.”
Drake stepped forward, hand extended for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Mr. O’Hare shook it in a strong and self-confident manner, and Drake was almost scared of his stony, ‘I-eat-babies-for-breakfast’ face.
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy. If you would please sit in the second row, next to Scott,” the man said. Drake didn’t think for a moment of disobeying, and sat next to the curly-haired boy Mr. O’Hare had pointed out.
“See you later, Mr. O’Hare. Please do try not to eat Drake. He’s worried enough about his schedule,” Harry joked, and winked at Drake.
“Yes, yes, Mr. Potter. Please scoot along to whatever mischief you’re up to, and I’ll see what I can do to welcome Mr. Malfoy, and, as you say, not eat him.” Mr. O’Hare smiled, and Drake was surprised to find his face didn’t crack in half.
Harry left with a wave to Drake.
Scott, the boy next to Drake, leaned over and said, “Don’t worry. He’s actually quite nice, and very funny. Harry was just joking.”
“Thanks,” Drake said with a smile. He was slightly reassured...but not really. “I’m Drake, you?”
“Scott,” the boy answered.
“Alrighty, time to start, I guess,” said Mr. O’Hare. “Please get out your books, and we’ll start from Chapter Five... Mr. Malfoy, do you have a copy of Pride and Prejudice?”
Drake shook his head. Was that on the list? He had one at home, maybe he could write his mum and ask for her to send it.
“Grab one from the cupboard and be sure you get one very soon. Have you read it?” the man barked. He was almost military in his speech.
“Yes, several times,” Drake answered, standing to get a book.
“Very good, then. Now, starting from Chapter Five, as I said...”
The rest of the class passed uneventfully: they read from Pride and Prejudice and then discussed what had happened. A short essay was assigned on characterization, and the last ten minutes of class was left to begin the homework. Of course, all of the students disregarded this in favor of time to socialize.
Scott moved over to the desk in front of Drake and smiled. “You’re new, then? What’s your major?”
“Painting and creative writing. How about you?”
“Creative writing. Seems we’ll be seeing each other again, eh?” Scott said with a broad smile. “And Harry’s your mentor, I guess?”
Drake nodded. “Yeah. He seems really nice.”
“Oh, he is. Shame we’ve different majors, I really like him. Alas, we’ve no classes together and our dorms are clear across the building from each other. Oh, well. Guess I’ve got Seamus.” Scott rose and started to gather his things. Drake started doing the same.
“I like Seamus, too. Loud. Irish,” Drake said with a smile.
Scott laughed. “You’re spot-on. He’s the most Irish bloke I’ve ever met, and he’s proud of it, too. Don’t get him started on football. He goes on for ages about his boys in green. The Bohemians will make a comeback, Alan Blayney needs to be replaced, yada yada yada.”
“I’ll be sure to avoid that. I don’t keep up with football. Not my cup of tea, really,” Drake said apologetically.
“Oh, you’ll learn,” Scott said with a chuckle. “Between Seamus and Dean and Ron, you’ll learn to love the good old World Game.” The bell rang as he finished talking, and they started out the door.
“What class do you have next?” asked Drake. For that matter, what class did he have next?
“Free period. I expect you’ve got an art class, though,” said Scott.
He was right; Drake had anatomy next. “Yeah. I’ll see you later, then.” They parted ways, Scott going up toward the dorms and Drake left toward the art section of the building.
The anatomy class wasn’t hard to find-it was another warehouse-sized room, but this time on the top floor. There was a circle of easels and stools, most with pads of paper and people accompanying them, all gathered around two women in the center. The women were clearly naked, though they had cloth wrapped around them for the time being.
“Drake, hello!” called Harry. A few heads turned, and some were already familiar-Dean, Oz, and Sam sat in the circle, too. Two other boys were there, and several girls, that he didn’t know.
“Come in, Drake,” greeted an airy voice. A woman dressed in a gauzy dress and wooden beads floated toward him-or it looked like she did, anyway; it was hard to tell with all that cloth whether she had feet or not. “You’re new, I understand? I’m Miss Geralds. Go ahead and take a seat anywhere you like. We’re drawing models today.”
The only open seats were one between two girls and one between Dean and Sam. Drake took the one by Dean. Dean smiled as he sat down and Drake smiled back.
“Here’s a pad, Drake, and there are pencils and charcoal in the tray on your easel,” Miss Geralds said, setting a brand-new sketch pad in front of Drake. He opened it and stroked the expensive-looking paper inside with a lover’s caress. Dean sniggered, as did Harry, who was sitting on Dean’s other side.
“What?” asked Drake defensively. “It’s nice paper.”
“Yes, but you’re not going to make love to it. You’re going to draw on it,” Harry said.
Drake rolled his eyes. “There’s not much of a difference.”
“Attention, class!” came Miss Geralds’ breathy voice. “Prepare your pads and utensils. Today, we will work with a detail sketch-pick a single part of either Lilian’s or Julia’s body and draw everything you can of it. I will come around and critique you at the end of thirty-five minutes. And please, don’t make me have to critique the bit of the girls you choose.” She shot a glance at the boys in the room. Drake wondered if she knew most of them were gay. He guessed not.
The models unwrapped the cloth from around themselves. Drake looked carefully at them both. One was full-figured, curvaceous, and very pale; she sat lounged on the arm of a chaise positioned in the middle of the easels, chest pushed out and arms hanging back. The other was very thin in a graceful way, but not anorexic-looking. She had big eyes and was sitting on the floor, cloth beneath her naked bottom. Leaning back against the chaise, she managed to look bored and beautiful at once.
Drake decided he’d draw the dangling hand of the curvy model, and dug out a piece of charcoal from the tray. With a lingering glance at the hand, he bit his lip and began to sketch.
When Miss Geralds called time, Drake sat back and looked at the large hand on his pad. It was busy, what with all the cross-hatched shading and mistake lines, but he was satisfied. This was only a sketch, and he’d done the proportion very well in the finger segments, he thought.
“Drake, let’s see what you’ve got...” Miss Geralds came to his easel and furrowed her brow. “Very interesting technique... Class, come and look at this.” Drake blushed. He didn’t want to seem a show-off on his first day.
Everyone came to look at his easel. Harry said, “Budge up and share your seat with me.” Drake was glad for the excuse to look un-horrified and scooted over for Harry to sit down. Harry, though, studied his sketch just like everyone else.
“Do you see how he’s used negative space and shading to IMPLY a hand, but has not drawn it?” Miss Geralds observed. “Very, very interesting. What do you think, class?”
“Think he’s a bloody goody two-shoes, that’s what,” came a mutter from one of the girls. The other girls tittered in response.
“I think it’s cool,” Harry said loudly. “Wish I’d thought of it.” The gigglers stopped immediately and nodded. Drake had never been more glad for anyone in his life.
“I quite agree, Harry. Drake, maybe you could spend a lesson teaching us all about negative space?” Miss Geralds surely had no idea what she was doing.
Drake swallowed and said, “Yeah, I’ll-I’ll think about that...”
A shrill ringing took the air and Drake thanked the gods for bells. Miss Geralds ran around collecting pads as the students sprinted from the room. Dean, Harry, and Drake were first out. They had to go to the academic building, so Harry lead them all outside, where the sun was bright and the air was crisp.
“That was embarrassing. God, I’m sure everyone hates me in there, now,” Drake said, fixing his hair with one hand-it was a terrible nervous habit. And oh, look, now he had charcoal in his hair, too. Perfect.
Harry grinned. “Yeah, maybe, but only because you’re ten times better than them. I haven’t seen talent like that since...Dean.”
Dean laughed and shook his head, holding open the door to the next building. “I dunno, I’d have never thought of that.”
“Well, I’d have never bloody done it if I knew I was going to be the only one!” Drake said, entering the lobby with the other two.
“Don’t worry about it, Drake. Well, do worry, but only for Geralds-she’ll be all over you, now,” Harry said with a snort.
They all laughed as they turned the corner, but stopped as Drake bumped into someone.
“Fancy meeting you again,” came the slimy voice of Adrian. “And so soon.”
Drake met his gaze evenly. “Crazy. I’d resigned myself that I’d not see you until lunch.”
“Then isn’t this a pleasant surprise,” Adrian said, coming closer to Drake. Drake didn’t move. He wouldn’t back down.
“Isn’t it just,” he said softly.
Adrian was almost touching Drake, he was so close. When he spoke, Drake could feel the boy’s breath on his own cheek. “I look forward to seeing you again, Dray.” Then he backed away, half-nodded to Harry, and carried on down the hallway.
There was silence for a moment, and then: “Well,” Harry said, “looks like you’ve already made yourself an enemy. Congratulations-it took me three full months.” He grinned and started off toward the calculus room nearby. Drake and Dean looked at each other, both slightly alarmed, then followed suit.
Calculus was as interesting as could be expected-that is, not at all. Drake spent the entire time fiddling with his pencil and glancing at the clock. The teacher, a Mr. Burke, had a slow, monotonous voice that was impossible NOT to tune out. At least everyone else in the class was doing the same as himself, Drake reassured himself.
The bell for the next class couldn’t come soon enough-Drake had a free period. After saying goodbye to Harry and Dean, who both had classes before lunch, he set off for the dorms. After a walk longer than he’d estimated, he arrived, only to find no one was in the large commons. Well, Harry had said no one really stayed around there.
But entering his own neighborhood, he found no one was there, either. Didn’t anyone besides him have a free period before lunch?
Just as he thought this, a door opened, and a boy stepped out from his room, iPod earphones firmly in place. He was a little too tan for November, and had the slightly unnatural look of a fake bake. His hair was strawberry-blonde, but obviously dyed, with several highlights and lowlights throughout. Even his eyebrows looked plucked.
“Hello, can I help you?” he asked, pulling one earphone out. The boy had one of the poshest accents Drake had ever heard, besides some of his parents' friends.
“Er, no, not really. I’ve a free period now, so I thought I’d come back here and rest or something...,” Drake explained. He shrugged. What was one supposed to do in a free period, anyway?
“Oh, you’re the new boy,” the other boy said, comprehending. “I’m Ryan Davison. Would you like a tour of the school? I could take you around campus, if you like.”
“That’s alright, I’ve already had one,” Drake said. He hadn’t, but he knew enough to get along, and he didn’t want to go anywhere with this boy, really.
“You have? Who’s your mentor?” There was something demanding about his voice, like he was used to asking and getting results.
Maybe he was one of the Ristos Harry’d spoken about earlier.
“Harry,” Drake answered simply. “I think I’m going to go take a nap or something. Lovely to meet you, Ryan.” He put out his hand, once again, to be shaken.
“And you, Drake,” Ryan said, with a firm shake of Drake’s hand. Drake nodded and turned to his door, entered, and collapsed on the bed. It was a few moments before he realized he’d never told Ryan his name.
Oh, good, he was already infamous.
Lunch was much the same as breakfast. Drake and Harry sat with the same people at the same table and talked of mostly the same things-classes and Drake. However, now they were talking of Drake and Adrian’s “big fight,” as the rumors were calling it. Ginny’s eyes were wide as she asked how his arm was doing, and could she sign his cast? Hermione snorted and pointed out that he obviously didn’t have a cast, and then eagerly questioned him about the knife Adrian had stuck in his leg. The rest of the group had similar ideas.
Drake sighed. Well, he’d never been good at staying low-profile at his other schools, either. It had just been longer, there, before he was clearing up rumors.
“We didn’t fight,” he said. “We just had a little chat. An inconsequential one, at that. Don’t worry; all’s well and good.”
The others-sparing Dean and Harry, who were laughing quietly-went back to their meals, still looking at him suspiciously. He sighed again and dug into his faux-chicken nuggets; they were actually quite good.
Everyone was silent for a while, but slowly the chatter grew back. Drake finished his meal and rose to throw away his trash, stacking it all on his tray. No sooner had he set away his tray, however, than Adrian found him.
“Drake, darling. Lovely to see you again,” the boy said. His eyes were a bright hazel color, Drake found. They were almost yellow, and sort of...feline.
“And you, Adrian,” Drake returned with a polite nod. “Think I’m going to go back to my table, though.” He turned around, but Adrian caught his shoulder and spun him back.
“Why don’t you come and sit with me? I’m sure all my friends will love you. Oz and Sam are quite taken, you understand.” Adrian smiled and shook his head a little. “Harry says you’re not interested in boys, though... It’s a shame. Such a waste.”
“I suppose it is, for you,” said Drake. He smiled a little, as well-his signature smirk. “I’m afraid I was rather busy at my own table, right in the middle of a conversation. Sorry, mate, maybe another time.” With a look to his shoulder, where Adrian was still gripping tightly, he said, “If you could please let go of me, I’d appreciate it.”
Adrian scowled. He wasn’t so model-esque when he was angry. “Drake, I insist you sit with me,” he said. Instead of letting go of Drake, he tightened his grip. “I think you’ll find our table quite fun.” He moved closer to Drake.
Drake knew people were looking at them. This would be all over school in a few moments, and it had to end soon. He would not run, and he would not fight like an animal, though. “Adrian,” he said softly. He knew no one would hear but the other boy. “I don’t know what your game is, or what the rules are, but I can assure you-I play by my own rules. I will not sit with you, and I will not be friends with you or any of your group. I have my own friends here. You can’t win against me, I warn you. You may threaten me all you like; push me and shove me, grab my shoulder until it breaks, turn all your little cronies against me. I don’t care. I can fend for myself. I have at past schools and I will here. Now, please, release my shoulder and go back to your own table. I will go to mine, and you can spread rumors that I’m a wimpy child begging for mercy to your heart’s content. All it takes is the truthful version from me, and you’re ruined.”
For a moment, Adrian’s face was writ with shock-but only for a moment. He looked around to see the entire lunch room was staring at them, then turned back to Drake with anger and humiliation in his eyes. However, he released Drake with a rough shove, enough to drop Drake back against the rubbish bins behind him. With a satisfied, malicious grin, he left.
Harry and Hermione rushed to Drake’s side; obviously it was safe now that the big scary Adrian was gone.
“That was amazing, Drake,” Hermione said. “What did you say to him?”
“Oh, nothing. A little of this, a dash of that. Just a friendly talk,” Drake said, wheezing slightly. His shoulder was throbbing from Adrian’s grip and his head probably was split open from where it had hit the wooden trash bin.
Harry’s face looked concerned. “Are you okay? Maybe we should take you to the infirmary.”
But Drake didn’t hear, as he’d passed out.
The first thing Drake saw when he awoke was white curtains, and then a white, tall ceiling. He squinted for a moment and the first thing that came to mind was ‘heaven.’ Next came ‘asylum.’ Maybe that said something, or maybe it didn’t. His head hurt too much for him to care.
A head suddenly entered his vision. A black-haired, green-eyed head.
“Harry,” Drake breathed.
The emerald pools flooded with relief. “You’re awake,” Harry said softly.
“Yeah,” answered Drake.
“I thought you were dead,” the other boy said, brows furrowing. “You must have hit your head really hard.”
Drake frowned. His head was throbbing in time with his heart. “I think so. Actually I think there is a split in my head. Like a glacier or something.”
Harry laughed and Drake flinched, the sound reverberating in his ears.
“Is he awake?” asked a snappish woman’s voice. A large, motherly-looking woman who appeared to have no room in her soul for excuses came to Drake’s side. “Mr. Malfoy, I understand you were knocked backward into a rubbish bin?”
Drake nodded, then scrunched up his face in pain.
“Obviously, you’re hurting. Please take three tablets from this bottle and keep that ice pack on your head.” The woman handed Drake a plastic bottle and he obediently took three, wondering what in the world was wrong with him.
As if reading his mind, Harry said, “You’ve got a concussion.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “Great.”
The nurse-for she must be the nurse, Drake thought-gave him a bottle of water and a stern look. Slightly afraid of her, Drake sat up and took the pills. When his head hit the pillow (and the ice pack), Drake discovered he was actually very, very tired.
“Now, Mr. Malfoy, I insist you stay here and sleep for a couple of hours, at least. We don’t need to risk you hitting your head any more today, hm?” the woman said.
Drake closed his eyes and nodded. “Of course.”
Just before the world slipped away, he heard a quiet voice in his ear saying, “Sweet dreams.” It could have been Harry, or it could have been a trick of the air currents. Either way, Drake smiled as he drifted off to sleep.
Part Three