the girl who lost it all [d.m]

five: tactus

He shook himself out of his thoughts, bending his head to rest between the tops of his spread knees, his arm draped over one of them, wand dangling.

This was a war. People were dying left and right on the daily—but somehow, nothing mattered but her.

|

"That's new."

Draco glanced up from where he was standing over maps in the dining room of Malfoy Manor, his hands braced on the table on either side of the parchment, supporting his weight.

Celeste Zabini strode into the room, followed by Pansy Parkinson, the first girl's face covered in a smirk as she nodded at the scar peeking out from under the collar of Draco's black shirt.

"I didn't know you spent enough time ogling at me to know which scars are old and which are new, Celeste," he drawled in response, reaching one hand up to adjust the collar of his shirt, hiding the scar again.

Blaise's cousin snorted and sent a glance over at Pansy who looked grim, her arms crossed over her chest. "Can you believe this guy? He still thinks I have a crush on him."

Pansy rolled her eyes, the dark Death Eater robes stark against her pale skin as she shifted closer to lean over the table, opposite to Draco. "Well, you did—as far as I remember."

Draco smirked at Celeste as she glared at Pansy. "It was like six years ago—"

"Yeah, and poor guy didn't give you the time of day," Pansy responded, casually, frowning down at the maps. "I heard the Weasley girl got away in Albania."

Draco's lip almost curled. He hated being reminded of his failures—especially since he knew he could've easily succeeded if he hadn't been a spy.

"You hurt his feelings, Pans," Celeste giggled, giving her girlfriend a nudge in the ribs. "Look, I think he's going to pout—"

Draco gave her a shove with his magic, watching as she skidded back, hitting her back against the wall. She struggled there but he held her down with his power, still leaning on the table.

"Draco," Pansy scolded, looking up at him. He rolled his eyes and released Celeste who glared at him as she trudged back to Pansy's side.

Where Celeste had seemed to thrive with the war, exercising her powers and heading missions, gaining the reputation of a trusted Death Eater, Pansy had seemed to retreat into her shell. The war seemed to take out of her, draining her like it drained Draco—and he wondered if it was because her best friend was on the other side of it.

He hadn't seen Blaise since the night of the final Quidditch match in Hogwarts—when Gryffindor had beat Slytherin.

But Pansy had told him Blaise had found out about his three best friends being Death Eaters. She hadn't told him what Zabini had said when he'd found out—but Draco knew whatever it was, it had broken her heart.

"How's Astoria?" Celeste asked, perching on the arm of one of the chairs around the table and resting her elbow on it, propping her chin onto her palm.

"Good," he replied, curtly, turning his head back down to look at the maps, locks of his hair falling forward.

"Any heirs on the way yet?"

Pansy shot her girlfriend a look but Celeste looked unbothered, moving her chin off her palm to clap her hand over mouth as she yawned, still looking at Draco.

"Don't you have anything better to do, Celeste?" he shot back, something heavy curling in his chest. To bring a child into this war was the last thing Draco wanted to do.