Malfoy's Moon

his moon

She skips breakfast the next morning and stays in her dorm room. She lays on the window seat, tracing patterns on the window, trails that clear the glass where her breath fogs upon.

Leaning her head on the glass, Pansy's kitten settles in her lap and she absently strokes his fur, listening to his soft mewls and feeling his slow breaths.

The door suddenly creaks open and Malfoy walks up to her, his steps urgent and holding a piece of parchment in his hands.

She jolts up quickly, the kitten leaping off her. "How – how did you get into my dorm?"

His face is stony, the muscles of his jaw tensing as he holds out the letter. "A letter came for you at breakfast."

Her breath stops – heart thudding violently. She takes the letter with shaking hands and tears it open.

Miss. Hawkings,

As a follow-up from our last meeting, it is absolutely crucial you send a return letter for an update on your task. You have only a few months until the end of the school year; time is running out quickly.

If you have succeeded and you can not dispose of the boy yourself, send a note and I will arrive. We can have a meeting arranged, perhaps during a Hogsmeade weekend when you can get out of the castle.

- Barty Crouch

"I've already read it," Malfoy says, his lower lip twitching.

She looks up, eyes widened and horrified. She can't seem to speak, the words trapped in her suffocating throat.

"I thought this – your attacks – they were just some sick prank of Potter's. I thought you were trying to put some silly leg-locking jinx on me, make me some kind of joke." He says, his tone barely above a whisper. "I didn't know – didn't know you were trying to..." His voice stops and silence rips the room like a penetrating knife.

"I'm –" She can't continue; she knows she has no place to apologize, knows that's not enough. She can't look at him, knowing she isn't worthy of letting her eyes capture that cerulean gaze.

She knows now; knows that even if love did exist in in those dark, unforgiving places; crevices of an abandoned castle, a haunted ballroom of lingering spirits, or the ominous blade of a knife, it never stayed.

He sits on the window seat, across from her.

She waits for him to shout, to hurt her, to even take out his wand and curse her. And when it doesn't come, she looks up to see him watching her.

His expression is crest-fallen, eyes tired, lips no longer curving into that smirk she's been familiar with, eyebrows no longer raised but subjected to gravity's pull.

"Why are you still here?" She whispers. She'd rather him leave, report her, have her forced to leave so he'd never have to see her face again.

He doesn't speak for several seconds. "You could've done it," he says. "You had – so many chances."

"I had to do it – I have to do it," she says, choking on the words.

"Then do it."

She stares, completely bewildered at his stoic expression; not afraid, not angry. "What do you –"

He takes out his own wand, points it towards his chest, and forces the wand into her hand. "If you really wanted to do it, then do it."

Hand shaking, she lowers the wand. "Malfoy –"

"The Dark Lord gave me a task, too," He interrupts as she drops his wand into his lap. "I have to – to kill Dumbledore." He pauses. "We're not so different."

"It's different for me," she says softly. "It's different when the person you have to kill is someone you –"

"Someone you....?"

"Someone you – you love." The words feel foreign as they escape her lips; she's not just admitting it to him, but to herself, to her mind that's been denying everything her betraying heart has been beating for.

He stares, just stares without speaking for a while, as though trying to make sense of the unfamiliar words. Then, he takes her hand in his cold one, drawing her to his lap.

"Don't –" she breathes. "You shouldn't –"

"Do you know what you've done to me these past weeks? I just – I couldn't stop thinking about – hell, I thought you'd given me Amortentia or something –" He presses his lips onto her forehead, mumbling. "My moon."

Tears burn the back of her eyelids. "You wouldn't want me to be." She takes a great, shuddering breath. "The moon just revolves around the earth – doesn't do much else."

His voice comes out choked and urgent. "Then let me be your moon – let me revolve around you and you don't have to give me anything, just – just let me be yours, Astra."

The tears escape the prison of her eyes, raining down her cheeks.

He'd never tell her – he wouldn't be able to find the courage within himself – but that moment, even in her despair, her face is more captivating than a Renaissance painting with tears streaming down her skin like watercolor, her features parallel to carved art, her melancholia-induced eyes a gift from the heavens.

So, instead of speech, he brings her closer, wrapping his arms around her, sharing her warmth.

"Don't – don't leave," she murmurs against his chest.

Pause. "I won't."

Mr. Crouch,

Here's your update:

I'm not going to do it.

- Astra Hawkings

a/n: thank you all so much for reading this story and i love you  <3

update january 5th - 

hi! so i know i planned to end this story here but since you all seemed to enjoy this story a lot, i've decided to add a couple more chapters! ;)