𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍 - 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞

❃ chapter five

❃

It was a warm Friday afternoon, and Daphne was preparing for the best party of the year.

It was a phrase Daphne had used more in the last three days than she had in her entire lifetime.

"Is the playlist ready?" She asked hurriedly, dashing about their dormitory like a prancing reindeer.

"Yes ma'am," Pansy answered, taking another bite of chocolate frog, "Naevah's getting Neville for the weed, Draco's got the alcohol."

Maybelle pulled a black satin dress adorned with lace from her closet, holding it up to her figure in the mirror.

Naevah suddenly burst through the door, a discreet bagful of weed stuffed in her arms.

"Sorry I'm late," she panted, tossing the bag on the floor, "Had to run away from a group of prefects, asking what I was doing. Fucking buggers."

Slipping on their dresses and heels, they walked down to the common room, now filled with blasting music, sweating bodies and the scent of weed and firewhiskey.

Draco stood in the corner besides Theodore, a blunt between his fingers as he watched a slightly dazed Maybelle get dragged away by Daphne Greengrass, dancing to the music with her friends.

He imagined all of the things he'd do to her if he could, watching as the curves of her body moulded to the music, her dark brown waves swaying behind her back as she swigged down a bottle of firewhiskey.

The things he would do to taste the spice of the whiskey on her tongue.

Snape had told him absolutely no distractions. This year was for The Dark Lord. He had been chosen.

His father told him he was special. That this was an opportunity to prove their loyalty. He didn't feel special at all; even the thought of the vanishing cabinet sitting in the overwhelming room of requirement made him want to vomit.

He thought after that night, after confronting her, his desires would fade away, but the way his name rolled off her tongue only left him wanting more.

Now the sight of her barely covered body, the way she moved her hips, was making him lust for her. Lust for her presence. Her hands all over him, and his hands all over her.

He wanted to gently wrap his hand around her neck. To take her by surprise so she would look up at him with those big brown eyes, her eyelashes batting as he placed his arms around her waist.

He knew he shouldn't do it. Even he couldn't figure out if he truly loved her or if he just wanted a distraction from the burning sizzle of the dark mark that sat inked into the skin on his forearm.

He didn't want to hurt her, but he was so shattered he felt as though the only way to love her without the feeling of guilt pooling into his chest was to break her down beside him; to asphyxiate himself in his own self destruction, then force his hands around her throat and drown her in whatever little love he had left.

It was all he knew how to do.

Love had been stolen away from him when he was just a little boy, like a scar that never learned to heal. a scab you'd pick open over and over again. A bandaid peeled from the skin too soon.

He didn't know if his self destructive behavior was learned from his own father or hers.

"You've been staring at her for ten minutes, mate," Theodore scoffed, punching his arm, "Go get her."