the sweetest con [d.m]

thirteen

It's early April.

Is she rushing this?

Mavi can't tell. She doesn't know why she's suddenly okay with the thought of sex — and the high of it drives her to a club with Nezryn one Friday night.

I've healed, she thinks as she dances beside her best friend, grins plastered on both their faces. I've finally healed.

She's tripping over her own feet, loud with laughter as Nezryn leaves to get them some more drinks. Everything feels new and joyous and she feels strong. She feels proud of herself.

And then someone grips her hips from behind — a quick glance behind her tells her it's a cute redhead, freckles splattered over his face. This is okay too. She can like this.

On and on, to the music they sway — and when he leans down to whisper in her ear, she nods. She nods because she's healed and she doesn't have to be treated with velvet gloves anymore, right? Easton is long-gone and so is the trauma he inflicted on her body.

And then the redhead is kissing her in an alley behind the club, hands gripping her waist — and this is nice too. He's a good kisser. Not as good as Draco — but good. She can like this too.

But then he reaches for the button of her jeans — and suddenly, all at once, with no warning at all, there are sirens going off in Mavi's head and panic sets in.

She jolts, gasping and pressing her hands flat against his chest, shrinking back against the wall to put distance between them. He's tall and strong and doesn't budge, blinking down at her with confusion on his face — and all she can think about is the fact that he won't move. He won't move and he'll tell her to relax and he'll kiss her some more and she'll make some sort of weak protest but he'll hush her and say no one will catch them here, she has nothing to worry about and he'll slip his hand into her jeans and—

The redhead steps back, taking with him the taste of vodka and the smell of pomegranates.

"Is everything okay?"

His hands are off her. He's not touching her. He's not advancing towards her.

"I..." She can't seem to draw enough breath in through her lungs. "I don't think I want to go any further."

He watches her, puzzled, and says, "Okay. But are you sure you're alright? You look like you need a moment."

"Just..." She can't form a sentence.

"Do you want me to wait out here with you?"

She shakes her head, still trying to process what's happening, her head still reeling and he backs away further, heading for the door that they'd stumbled out of ten minutes earlier.

"I'll be inside if you want to come find me again." He gives her a smile and disappears inside, leaving her along in the alleyway.

It's early April when Mavi realises she can say no.

———

Draco watches the reporters gather outside the gates to Malfoy Manor and reaches for his wand.

———

"What the fuck?"

It's the first thing out of her mouth as she Apparates right into a crowd of reporters, all chattering and lying in wait, turned towards Malfoy Manor.

They pause when they see her — and then pounce like jackals, flashbulbs going off in her face, shouting questions at her, as if she can even process a single one of them.