"I'm going to fucking ruin you."
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The Dark Lord conquers the wizarding world, Harry Potter is dead. Muggleborns are slaughtered. Halfblood's are shoved into imprisonment, conditioned to alter their beliefs and dictated to worship Purebloods.
Y/N Y...
If you don't remember y/n getting pushed up against a bookshelf then you should go back and read chapter 36 — wattpad did not send everyone the notification for chapter 36 😒.
chapter 38 is publishing in a few seconds .
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 | "𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭."
━━━━━━━━━━━━ D A Y T W E L V E/ F O U R T E E N (part 1) « a stroll » ━━━━━━━━━━━━
ϟ
Oh, to have his fingers graze upon the crude surface of my skin, the passion emitting from his body to mine. I desire for our souls to tangle up in each other's tenderness, our devotion — the golden threads of each other's values weaving through one another's hearts.
Every living, flourishing, prosperous individuals are driven by love— as invisible and weightless as it is. That is the purpose behind why it is only love that provides the ultimate answer to healing hearts and societies, and it is love that makes our moral compasses function.
Love is not represented as a throwaway emotion, an expression to conjure spontaneously.
It is not transitory like lust or something to regret like anger.
When love is granted to permeate every action, influence every thought, guide every deed, it prompts an internal harmony not achievable by any other method.
It is the light in each interminable dark evening, shining splendidly into the recess of the mind, healing, easing, and igniting passions that would otherwise have blown away in the breeze of distractions, hatred and betrayal.
There is a deep rooted slice of our souls that understands the connection between self-sacrifice and love. By giving so freely of ourselves, beyond what anybody might ask, we communicate in the true language of love, for love is a language best spoken without words.
I see myself learning to cherish Draco, developing a love for him.
Alas, Draco is not quite fond of me.
Yet, there he was, dressed in his signature black suit, strutting down the main corridor. His eyes are straight ahead, flattening his blazer with his palms, his blond hair winding through the breeze of his walk whilst he sharply turns a corner to the left.
I wish to have simply plucked him from his position, placing him in my pocket for the benefit of my own comfort.
"Where is he going?" I mutter to myself, a curiosity blanketing over the designs of my imagination.
"Well," a grainy voice rips the silence from the air, nearly scaring me into oblivion as my body is quick to position into facing the individual. "I suppose I'd know the answer to that." Dumbledore, dressed in his night robes, his crunchy white beard braided evenly with a yellow silk ribbon clasping the style in place.
My tone is dipped in fear, panic spilling from the visual representation of my fingers fiddling with each other."I'm so sorry, I didn't eve— well, I know it's past curfew and—"
"—Y/N, I am not here to deliver a consequence." He says reassuringly, "I was simply taking a stroll."
The tension in my shoulders relax, the thumping of my heart reducing in speed. "Oh, okay I'll go back to my dorm now."
"Y/N.." He says, pressing his lips into a finer line than it already were, the knuckles in his right hand balled into a fist that adhered to his right waist as he shook his head. "We both know you are not going to your dorm."
"I—" tension saturates into the crevices of my muscles, fear lurking through my ability to conjure an ethical lie. My name and trouble have never been included in the same sentence, the singular occurrence of my actions receiving a discipline was in first year for misplacing a charms textbook. I cried about it for months. "Eventually, I was going to return to my dorm. I'm sorry, headmaster."
"Your play of words may prove to be useful in future years," he states, bringing his left palm upwards to harshly grip his pale beard. "Writers like your father love a good ulterior motive beneath his writing, sort of like an escape."
The road between my brows reduces as my brain attempts to scramble his statement into a sentence that seemed sensible to grasp. "Wha— I'm not sure I understand."
"You'll be just fine." Dumbledore shrugs, pivoting his body to face the corridor he had emerged from as he spoke. "Oh, try the room of requirement if you wish to find him but I advise you not to let him know that I know."
