The Devil | D.M 18+

Chapter 13

"How much do you remember about spells?" Draco asked, he quickly took off his longcoat and threw it on a lonesome chair nearby.

Evie stood opposite, several feet away from him. Wand in hand, tension mounting up her shoulders.

"Not much," she said, more like whispered. "I've read a few things in books to remember. There's different types. Transfiguration, charm, jinx, hex, curse, counter-spell and healing."

He nodded, though unlikely impressed. "Any in particular that you recall?"

"I remember almost every spell, maybe a little hesitant on how to cast them." Her voice trailed off. Only then did she realise that she couldn't remember her patronus. Or if she ever cast one.

She wondered if Draco had one too. What animal he'd be. Dragons seemed fitting, yet for some reason, her mind constantly resounded to a silver fox.

Intelligent, cunning and adaptable. Draco's unwavering loyalty to his family, to the Dark Lord and... somewhat Evie, his swiftness in ability to adapt to any challenging situation at rapid pace like he did in St Carta.

They rigorously trained for six hours that day, practicing casting spells, transforming animals into goblets. Basic, first and second year stuff.

Then, for the last two hours, Draco began working on occlumency.

Until she mastered shielding, she wouldn't be thinking about legilimency at all. With that, she wasn't complaining. As much as she wished for it, seeing the world through Draco's eyes sounded more terrifying when said aloud.

All that darkness and terror.... Perhaps not.

"Who taught you occlumency?" Evie asked, looking up at him.

Draco's mouth twitched, answer hot on his tongue but a battle of hesitation, of honesty, he appeared conflicted.

After a moment of silence, Draco said, "Bellatrix. After I killed Dumbledore, I trained with Snape."

"So you're well established, then," Evie commented.

She flinched as Draco pressed a cold, damp towel against her nose, wiping away at the excess blood.

"Is it normal?" she asked, gesturing at her nose.

"Well, you're one of the lucky ones. I vomited after my first try." He said the words as though something still bothered him. Like something clouded his mind and undeterred, it was picking at him slowly. Bit by bit.

"What is it?" Evie tilted her head. "You can ask."

Draco leaned back and threw away the towel with a breathy sigh. "How do you know about St Carta?"

Oh. That.

Blushing, Evie cleared her throat. "I saw it. In a Pencieve. Your mother wanted to show me—"

He held up a hand as if to gesture her to stop talking. Draco's eyes were wandering. Though what swirled in them this time wasn't anger. Wasn't bitter rage.

He looked— guilty.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said. It'd been the most genuine she'd heard him ever.

Surprised by the apology, Evie paled. "Why are you sorry? You're the one who faced Death. If anything it should be me apologising for giving you a hard time, reminding you about it and all."

"But it also doesn't excuse me being so hot and cold with you." Draco wooshed the bucket and towel out of existence. "I've just been incredibly conflicted lately."