Ophidian Crown | A Draco Malfoy FanFiction

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔵

"Finally, I was wondering wh-" He stopped, his smirk falling into a frown when he saw the brimming tears. Ophelia risked the urge to sob, clamping her mouth shut with a sweaty palm and muffled her cries. He had no idea what to do. She let her neck hang and clutched her stomach as he pulled her into an awkward hug, manoeuvring around her limp head and rested his chin upon her bony shoulder. He rubbed her upper back slightly before letting go.

"Don't worry about them," He shifted his gaze towards the departing trio, practically seething.

"You've got me." Draco held out his elbow, but she clutched onto her book tighter, pushing the novel into her chest and making it harder to breathe, as if it was the only thing that could ground her. He sighed before motioning his head towards the training grounds. Ophelia nodded timidly, wiping away her tears as they made their way. Was she truly where she desired to be?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

She frowned as she watched Hermione struggle to lift her broom, her tiny hand outstretched above the freshly varnished piece of wood. The girl scowled at Harry as it sailed into his grasp with ease. Ophelia held her grip tighter on her broom as she watched them do so. To tell the truth, it shouldn't have been that hard for her anyways. Two days in, and she's already at the top of their class. She began to feel sharp prickles against her palm and released her grip, placing the broom in her other hand to inspect her palm.

Splinters, and a lot of them. Ophelia hissed, plucking out a few protruding pieces with her nails. She heard someone let out a yelp, snapping her head in the direction of the sound. Ron was clutching his nose, keeling over in pain as Harry snickered. He said something inaudible to the hurt boy, who spat something back as he picked up his broom. The two held their breath before breaking into a fit of giggles. Hermione did the same as Ron, huffing at her failure. Ophelia couldn't help the sly simper the crossed her face before Madam Hooch caught her attention.

"Once you've got your brooms," She eyed Ron.

"I want you to mount it." Ophelia smoothly mounted her broom, making sure her robes didn't snag on the bristles at the tail of the handle. She grinned over at Draco, who beamed right back. The looked back at Madam Hooch.

"Hold it tight, we don't want you slipping off the end." She adjusted a Gryffindor girl's grip, who blushed profoundly when Hooch turned around. Ophelia let out a breathy tch, wringing her hands around the dense timber.

"When I blow my whistle, I want you to push off from the ground!" She motioned her hands down while rolling up onto the balls of her feet. She took her whistle into her hand, pinching it in between her forefinger and thumb.

"Hover for a moment, then lean forward and touch back down." Gasps and whistles of excitement as students lifted into the air. Draco was incredibly happy, smirking gleefully as he lifted into the air. Ophelia tightened her grip as well, bending her knees and pushed up from the earth. She watched as the soil below her drifted away, grass fronds dispersed, and weeds narrowed but crunched underneath her weight as soon as they were freed. A smug simper crossed her face as she high-fived her fellow Slytherin, crossing her arms as she stared over at Harry, who also completed the task with ease. Of course, he would. The bloody Boy-Who-Lived had everything handed to him on a golden salver with Dumbledore and McGonagall wrapped around his pudgy, little, finger...

Ophelia shook her head, bewildered. What in the bloody hell was that?! She was starting to think like... oh no. Draco. She gnawed at her lip in contemplation. Sure, she didn't particularly like Harry at the moment, but she would have never gone that far. She'd never bashed someone like that, even if it was hidden in her own thoughts. Confiding in someone wouldn't be an option, at least not now. Draco would praise her for it, tell her she was finally becoming a true Slytherin. Not that he was a real example either. Hermione wouldn't utter a word to her at all, having her nose cleft in a book just to evade eye-contact. And Ron, poor Ron. He would get defensive of his new best mate.