the girl who lost it all [d.m]

fifty three: proditio

He didn't trust what anyone with a wand could do in their fear. He'd known instances where a wizard or witch had burned the whole place down just because they got a little too angry. "Just put it down, Pans."

"We should kill them," she hissed back at him. "He—It's not safe for you, Draco. The Dark Lord might think you're working with Orion. He might think you've turned against him too—"

Elara's eyes met Draco's and he saw her swallow hard, saw her questioning look. What do we do? she was silently asking.

He wanted to dip into her mind and reassure her—but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he switched strategy. "I'm sure there's an explanation for this. This is Orion, Pans. You know he wouldn't help the enemy."

He could take her down—but he didn't dare risk it when her wand was so close to Orion's chin. One wrong move and she could injure him—or worse.

"Draco, they're in his house. You saw how they were talking. He's their friend."

Orion said nothing, although he pulled at the ropes binding him.

"Let's just—calm down, okay?" Draco moved closer, his hand still outstretched. "C'mon. None of them have their wands. Let's just—"

Her head snapped to the side to look at him and he saw the terror in her gaze. She would do anything—anything—to save herself and her friends. And that included giving Elara up, even when she'd known her all those years ago.

Maybe that was why she wasn't looking at her. Maybe it hurt less to act like she wasn't there, like she was just another enemy she had to turn in.

"Pansy," Draco said softly, meeting her eyes. "I—"

"Why are you defending them?" she hissed at him. "How can you—You think that because he's your friend, he didn't—"

Elara was there then, having moved so fast Draco barely saw her and she would've tackled Pansy to the floor if Draco's eyes hadn't flitted to her as soon as he noticed she'd moved.

He couldn't help it—it was second nature for him to watch Elara and know where she was at all times, especially in situations of danger—but it alerted Pansy a split second too early and she whirled to face Elara, wand directed right at her throat.

Draco's ended up directed right at Pansy's temple before he'd even realised he'd drawn it.

Everything seemed to halt in the room, the air stilling as if it sensed what he'd just given away.

"Don't. You." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Dare."

Both Pansy and Elara had gone rigid, Elara because a wand was pressed to her throat, Pansy because there was one aimed right for her temple.

He couldn't even Obliviate her—not when she knew Occlumency so well.

But as she turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide, shock printed on every feature of her face, Draco knew he'd go to worse extremes if she laid a hand on Elara.

"No," Pansy whispered, realisation rippling through her. Her hand shook. "No. It's impossible. You're—You're—The Dark Lord, he—You're his right hand—"

"Lower your wand," Draco ordered, not moving his own an inch from where it was now aimed at her forehead. "Now, Pansy. I won't ask again."

"Draco." She sounded like she was begging and he hated it. This was his best friend. The girl he'd known as an awed first year in Hogwarts, the girl he'd grown up with.