The Slytherin Common Room - D.M. ✔️

ᴘᴀʀᴛ 61

btw just to be clear it's now the beginning of december :)

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Draco Malfoy

The corridors sway as I walk through them. They only become still when I squint. I stumble into Transfiguration, feeling the comforting weight of my flask hidden in my pocket. The passing bell rings just as I walk into class, and the only seat available is behind Y/N.

Sighing, I sit behind Y/N. As soon as I do, the scent of her perfume wafts around, dancing in the air so hauntingly that it's the only thing I can think about. Her hair shimmers under the golden chandelier candle lights, and I'm tempted to brush my fingers through it like I used to, but I curse myself at the thought and keep my hand glued to the side of my desk.

"Pull out your quills," Professor McGonagall instructs as soon as everybody is seated and the class is quiet.

Professor McGonagall then flicks her wand, and thick papers float through the air to our desks. The room is silent, and everybody takes the quills beginning to write and read through the packet. I take my quiz,  grumbling when I have to stick it so close to my eyes to be able to sharpen the letters. It gives me a headache. The top of the page reads 'Chapter 173 Unit Quiz.'

We have a quiz?

I don't remember there being a quiz.

Fuck.

I flip through the pages of the packet, scanning for any words I recognize. My quill tics in my fingers and my usual neat handwriting is nowhere to be seen. Everything I write jumbles and almost illegible.

A headache ensues as I try and read all the questions. I can hear the ticking of a clock countdown the seconds until the quiz time runs out, driving me mad. When I take a break from the cursed words, looking up, I see Y/N's back, and consequently, I drop my head, feeling my jaw click to clench.

I press down hard on my quill, and the nib breaks, but of course, because it's magic, it repairs itself to get back into perfect condition. Groaning, I return to my quiz, writing nonsense and hoping that I get the answers correct.

The clock ticks come to a halt, and a chime rings. The ink in my quill disappears, and even though I know it won't work, I try and keep writing. All that happens is I create a streak of indents in my paper.

I rub my forehead with the heel of my palm as Professor McGonagall flicks her wrist, her wand moving with ease in the air. Then magically, the packet in front of me is instantly corrected. Red marks indicate my wrong answers. As I flip through the pages, I exhale slowly, seeing many less blaring crimson x's than expected.

Just as Professor McGonagall opens her mouth about to speak, the unmistakable cackle of Peeves is heard coming from the corridor, and Professor McGonagall's eyes narrow.

"Hand your quiz's to the front, and I'll collect them when I get back," Professor McGonagall looks at the front of desks before speeding out to the corridor to see what trouble Peeves is getting into. The class doors slam behind Professor McGonagall, shaking the room.

My shoulders drop when I realize I'll have to give my quiz to Y/N. She doesn't turn around to grab my packet, and I wait for a brief second expecting her to shift in her seat. She remains still and hunches over the top of her desk to whisper something into Pansy's ear.

Growing impatient, I bend the corner of my paper. When I let go of the tension, I regret it. It's no longer perfect.

Biting the corner of my lip, I tap Y/N's back. She goes stiff when I touch her, but she does turn around. When she does, her expression is dull, but she looks stunning as always. Her eyes are tired as she looks me down, but no matter what, I still get lost in her mesmerizing irises.