the boy who had no choice [d.m]

𝖋𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖞 𝖋𝖔𝖚𝖗

Bursting into the Potions classroom, she rushed over to the vial, thankfully still sitting on the table, untouched, and stoppered it quickly, noting how it had faded into a dark pink colour after being allowed to settle.

Tucking it into the pocket of her robes, she took one last look at the classroom, remembering Draco getting detention for her and the sly smiles he would give her when no one else was looking. The brush of his ringed fingers against her knee, the warmth of his hand on her thigh.

She wondered if he'd be torn apart when he found out what she'd done.

McGonagall's office wasn't far and Elara slipped inside to wait, the vial heavy in her pocket. Away from danger, she finally allowed herself to breathe and leaned against the desk, forcing deep breaths.

She didn't dare close her eyes - partly because she couldn't let her guard down completely and partly because everytime she did, she saw Fiona, Lucy -

So many dead. She would be just another statistic soon enough.

Her name, written in McGonagall's cursive handwriting, caught her eye and she straightened, frowning as she reached for the parchment on top of the pile.

ELARA ROSE JACOBS

Ravenclaw. Sixth year. Seventeen years old.

Final Rank: First.

Comments: None.

Below it were her grades, all Oustanding. But it was impossible - she could believe she'd beat Hermione since she'd been ridiculously busy and stressed over the Dark Mark spell but Draco had been better than Elara at almost every subject. He'd been teaching her in the last weeks before the finals and she had even commented about how he'd surpass her in everything - he knew the material that well.

But - McGonagall had written her up as first.

Elara's eyebrow furrowed as she slid off her transcript, shuffling through the pile of papers until she found the one she was looking for.

DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY

Slytherin. Sixth year. Eighteen years old.

Final Rank: Third.

Comments: Sudden drop in final grades. Troubled? Tell Snape to keep an eye on him.

He had come third. For as long as Elara could remember, since first year, he'd always been second, beating everyone but Hermione.

She knew what he'd done. There was no other way he would've come third - unless he'd purposely done badly to help Elara with her parents.

The knot in Elara's throat grew larger. He should've come first - she knew he deserved it more than she did.

But he'd helped her.

She didn't have time to dwell on it because she heard footsteps stride down the hall and turned to face the door, her wand at the ready.

But it was only McGonagall who burst into the office, her bird-like eyes stern, strands of her hair loose from her bun.

"Professor," Elara breathed, lowering her wand, but McGonagall barely glanced at her, moving to the large chest of drawers behind her desk and muttering a spell, waving her wand in a complex formation to get the third drawer to open.

"I trust you know what you're doing, Miss Jacobs," the teacher said, sounding a lot like she did when she was scolding students. "Because if this doesn't work..."

"It will." Elara had no idea if it would.

McGonagall stepped back from the drawers and turned to face her, looking down at the silvery liquid in the vial in her hand. Elara's fingers drifted to the one tucked into her pocket.