conquinatus: tainted, contaminated, polluted
———
ELARA loved sunsets.
There was just something magical about sitting on the roof of the safehouse watching the earth begin to settle in for a new night.
The sky turned pink and orange and red and the breeze carried the last fading songs of birds getting ready to huddle in for the night to her ears.
She sighed and rested her chin on her knees. It had been a long day—her friends had gone on another raid and come up empty. No supplies, not even a single Calming Draught.
It was getting more and more difficult to concoct the potions themselves—they rarely had all the ingredients needed for them, although some of the herbs could be grown in the area around the safehouse.
"It's your turn to do the dishes."
Elara was pulled from her thoughts, glancing over her shoulder to see Luca standing at the top of the stairwell that led to the roof. "Oh. I'll be right down."
He gave her a small smile, hands in his pockets. "You alright? You've been up here for hours."
She nodded, turning her head back to face forwards as he approached. "I'm fine. Just thinking."
"Yeah?" He came to a stop beside her, looking out across the sunset. "It's beautiful."
"It is," she echoed. "It reminds me of Hogwarts."
"You remember?" Luca asked, sending her a sideways glance. He took a seat next to her, pulling his legs up to his chest too.
"Not enough." She gave a dry laugh. "But sometimes—glimpses."
He nodded, slowly, his eyes on her as she placed her chin on top of her knees again. "I remember you."
She let out another soft laugh. "I should hope so. We do live in the same house."
Luca ducked his head, smiling, wryly. "No—I meant—from Hogwarts."
The smile slid off her face and this time when the breeze passed by, it made her shiver.
"You were a year below me," he said, softly, looking thoughtful. "I'd always had a thing for Ravenclaws—maybe it was 'cause our houses never got the spotlight. Gryffindors were always worshipped and Slytherins always hated—but Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs never got the attention."
"I can't remember you," she said back. "I mean—I can't remember alot—"
He shook his head. "I don't expect you to even if you had your memories." He blew out a breath. "We never came into contact—I never made a move."
Elara focused on a cloud on the horizon, avoiding his gaze. "Why not?"
Luca shrugged. "There were always rumours that you were with someone else."
She blinked. "Like who?"
"George Weasley. Stuart Banks. Malfoy. Even Pansy Parkinson at one point." He snorted, lightly.
But Elara's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry—what? Malfoy?"
Of course, it explained a lot of things—like the flashbacks she'd been seeing whenever he touched her. But being romantically involved with someone was completely different from—
"I don't think it was ever true," he responded, flicking a piece of lint off his sleeve. "Just—rumours. You know how kids are."
"Yeah." She sounded far away. "Yeah."
He side-eyed her. "You want me to do the dishes?"
"What? No, I'll—"
"It's okay. You can stay out here a little longer—"
"No. No, Luca. I need to do something or I'll go insane." She shook her head, watching him as he stood.
"Okay," he said, cheerfully, holding out his hand. "But I'll help you anyway. Don't you dare say no—I need something to do too."
She smiled and took his hand. He pulled her up, his hand warm against her own and didn't let go till they reached the stairwell.
"The others should be arriving soon." He let her pass into the kitchen first a minute later. "Mariko and Jasper are organising the healing supplies—they think they'll need it."
"Malfoy said the Patil twins were captured for a few hours," Elara answered as her eyes fell on the pile of plates stacked up in the sink. "If nothing else, they'll probably need Calming Draughts."
Luca was quiet as he followed her to the sink.
"You soap and I wash?" she inquired, glancing at him.
He nodded and picked up the first plate. They worked in comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds the running water and the squeak of the sponge against the dishes.
He could easily clean them with just a flick of his wand—but everyone knew Elara liked to do them by hand and didn't complain as he helped her.
"You don't take them," he spoke suddenly, his hands covered in soap suds as he finished another plate and handed it to her.
"What?" she asked, puzzled, holding the plate underneath the running water. "Take what?"
"Calming Draughts." His mouth was a firm line. "You were in captivity for much longer than the Patil twins and you said they'd need Calming Draughts...but you don't even take them yourself."
Elara felt something in her stomach curl. "Do I seem un-calm to you, Luca?"
A smile formed on his lips and he shook his head. "That's not what I mean. I just mean—they were only captured for a few hours before Malfoy got them out but you were there for two years. Don't you—feel like you need to take them?"
There it was. She was suddenly a fragile specimen to him.
"No," she said, sharply, aware of how rude it sounded. "I don't."
He blinked, seeming to be taken aback and turned his gaze back to the glass in his hands. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine."
His mouth snapped shut and she knew she should've felt bad—he was only trying to help—but couldn't bring herself to muster that much empathy.
She couldn't care about someone else when she could barely handle herself.
"Why were you in the snow?" Luca asked, tentatively, a bit subdued now. "With Malfoy."
"I wasn't with him," she said back, hot water running down her palms as she turned the glass this way and that to get all the soap off. "He seemed to think I was trying to kill myself and wouldn't let me just sit there and enjoy the weather."
"It was below zero—and you were only wearing pajamas."
"I like the cold."
"Oh? For someone who's so warm—"
Elara almost gaped at him. "Warm? I am not warm."
"Sure you are," he replied, easily, and there was a fleck of soap on his cheek. "Figuratively, of course. You're kind and caring and always put other people before yourself."
Elara's chest tightened because she didn't. She wasn't any of those things—maybe she had been before but then everything had changed.
She was sick and bitter and twisted now.
"I'm not." A knot appeared in her throat and she tried to swallow it, feeling ridiculous. "I'm not any of those things." She stared at the plate in her hands.
Luca fell silent, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, you are."
She didn't respond; her mind slipping into some unknown space. How could she be any of those things when she didn't even know who she had been before? How could she meet their expectations of her—when she didn't even know if she was capable of it?
"Hey." His voice was soft as he reached forward to shut the water off—it had been running uselessly for the past few moments—and took the clean plate out of her hands, leaning over to settle it onto the rack next to her. "I'm serious."
That makes it worse, she wanted to yell. That makes it so much worse.
"You're everything good personified." His hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "And I know you don't believe it—but it's true. Anyone who went to Hogwarts with you will tell you that."
Her eyelashes fluttered as she finally raised her eyes to meet his. He was so close she could count the beauty spots dotted across his jaw and down his neck—one, two, three, four—and his hand moved to cup her face, his thumb dragging across her cheekbone.
She didn't want to be all the things he'd said. She couldn't take care of anyone but herself—but they all seemed to expect her to be the same person she'd been at Hogwarts, apparently self-sacrificing and kind.
"Trust me." His breath ghosted over her face. "You're perfect."
She stiffened almost immediately—how could he say that? Doesn't he know how damaged I am?—but didn't pull away even as his hand grew firmer against her cheek, more confidently.
"I'm—" she began but then a dry voice spoke from behind them in the direction of the front door.
"How lovely."
Malfoy did not sound amused. Luca and Elara wrenched apart like they'd been scalded, turning to face Malfoy and Harry standing in the doorway.
The Death Eater's eyes were fixed on hers, silver and debilitating, and she realised she wasn't breathing. Harry just looked embarrassed, shifting from foot to foot, slightly pink.
"Hey," Luca chirped. "Did you get the maps?"
Harry nodded, seeming relieved. "Yeah, Malfoy got them to us." He held up a roll of parchment. "We should check them out now—after today's failed raid, we'll be needing to go on another one pretty fucking soon."
Luca nodded, beginning to move for the doorway that led into the hallway before seeming to remembering and casting a look over his shoulder at Elara. "You okay to finish up on your own?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I—Yeah."
He gave her one last warm smile before following Harry out of the kitchen and into the hallway, leaving her alone with Malfoy.
She avoided his eyes and turned to turn on the water again, picking up a bowl and beginning to scrub at it.
Was he just going to stand there? Watching her? She'd caught a new bruise on his cheekbone—she wondered if he'd gotten into a fight—and she was disappointed that the purple bruise hid the permanent scar he had.
"If I'd known doing the dishes involved whatever that was," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "maybe I would've signed up too."
Elara's hands slowed their movements and she dropped the sponge to rinse the bowl. "Don't flatter yourself. If you think I would ever let you touch me like that, you're wrong."
He scoffed from behind her. "You let me touch you plenty that day in the study."
Muscles in her shoulders went rigid at the memory of him teaching her Occlumency. "You said it would help with the learning process." She shut off the water, placed the bowl on the rack and dried her hands before turning to face him, her arms crossing over her chest. "Or was that just an excuse to get close to me?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes. His hood was still over his head, pale strands peeking through, and everything about him exuded self-assurance and power. His movements were languid as he raised his hand to roll his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, eyes still fixed on her, and she nearly cursed when her heartrate picked up.
"You're getting ahead of yourself. Unlike Carter, I don't find you perfect," he mimicked Luca's words and despite herself, she felt her cheeks heat. "So fucking perfect."
Her mind didn't resist when a new memory sunk into her consciousness.
There was a table underneath her and the air was cool on her skin. Her heart was thrumming in her chest as she gazed down at a very familiar blond head as he left hot open-mouthed kisses against the swell of her breasts.
She was squirming underneath him, her hands lost in his hair and then he mumbled something against her skin, the words vibrating deliciously. "So fucking perfect."
The memory evaporated as she strained to see more and her shoulders with a gasp, blinking rapidly as she took in the kitchen around her, Malfoy still standing on the opposite side of the room by the door.
His expression didn't flicker—not even a shred of curiosity or concern—as she pressed a hand to her head, gripping the counter, tightly.
"What is this?"
It was a breathless gasp from her mouth, her heart still pounding in her ribs, painfully. She had been wrapped up in his hands and his mouth, splayed out on a table but—there was no way. No way she could've ever been with him.
When he didn't answer, she pushed on, steadying herself. "You—Where were we? Were we at a hotel? You—"
Oh, Merlin. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets, tall and cold and austere. She was suddenly freezing, goosebumps erupting on her arms and she was sure he'd be warm. If she touched him, he'd be warm and smooth and steady. Why did she want to touch him?
It's the residues of your memory, she told herself, finally letting go of the edge of the island. That's it.
"Did we—" She rounded the corner of the island and still, he just watched her with expressionless eyes. "Did we sleep together?"
She knew they had. There was no other explanation for her memories and it was a realisation that stumped her as much as it felt familiar. She didn't know why she wasn't more shocked.
He was Draco Malfoy—Death Eater and spy, dangerous and powerful, with unknown ulterior motives.
She almost felt proud.
"Malfoy." She was a few steps away from him now and he was so silent, she wondered if he was even listening. "Did we?"
His eyes flicked between hers and she was startled at the sudden animosity in them. "You're seriously asking?"
Offended, Elara frowned. "Yes! I am. Because I just had a flashba—"
"For fuck's sake," he half-groaned and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling, looking like he was silently asking for help, "how many times do I have to tell you we never even talked?"
She glared at him but her eyes flicked down to the scar above his lip. She wanted to touch it, feel the roughness of the healing skin with her fingers and then maybe—
"Stop looking at me like that."
"I'm not looking at you like anything."
"If you want me to fuck you, just ask."
Elara scoffed, scandalised, and folded her arms across her chest. "Honestly, it seems you want that more than I do."
His lip curled. "I would never want to put my hands on someone as tainted as you."
The air stilled. She knew it shouldn't have meant anything. But it did—it did because there were initials carved into her hip that made her feel filthy. Like she was marked and—tainted.
She slapped him. It was a resounding crack through the air and the force whipped his head to the side. He stayed like that and she stared at the crimson blooming across his cheek, realising she was shaking.
It felt good to slap him. To hurt him. She wanted more.
She raised her hand to do it again, her head buzzing, but his hand shot up to wrap around her wrist, freezing her mdi-air. His head finally turned to face her again, slowly, his expression deadly.
"Don't even try."
She had never heard a voice so laced with hatred.
"Don't call me tainted," she hissed back, well-aware that his hand was still around her wrist and he was indeed warm, just like she'd thought.
"Are you forgetting that I don't give a fuck about what you feel?" He shoved her hand away with such force, she swayed. The initials on her hip were beginning to burn. "You're tainted."
He took a step closer and she retreated one, although she kept glaring at him, rage flaring in her chest.
"Did you hear me?" he bit out, moving another step and she mimicked him backwards, the murderous gleam in his eyes enough of an incentive. "You're fucking tainted."
Another step and she could hear her pulse hammering in her ears.
"Filthy," he snarled, silver eyes flashing. "Tarnished. Stained."
She wanted to scream at him but all she could think about was the way he smelled like parchment and firewood. And how he was radiating heat and she wanted to pull him in almost as much as she wanted to push him away.
He took another step. Her back hit the wall and suddenly, he was there, in her face, so close she could actually see the scar that was hidden by the new bruise on his cheekbone.
She inhaled one sharp breath and she saw his gaze flicker. "Damaged," he forced out, quieter now. "Broken."
"I am not—"
"All alone."
Those two words made her sentence stick in her throat. No one had ever said that to her—no one had seemed to realise that even in a house full of people, she was still so alone. And in his eyes, she saw herself mirrored.
Maybe they had a lot more in common than she thought.
"You're the same." It came out as a defiant statement even when she'd thought she wouldn't be able to get more than a whisper out. "You're exactly the same."
Something in his face crumbled and for a second, she thought she may have actually gotten past the impenetrable shield he had up all the time.
But then he blew out a breathless laugh and it was without humour. It gusted against her face and it smelled like peppermint.
She'd been this close to Luca just a while ago—but she hadn't felt the desire she did now, hands aching to latch onto the front of his cloak and yank him towards her just to feel skin on skin.
She didn't know why she wanted that. Figured it had to do with her flashback.
"Yeah," he said and it was edged although soft. "I am. But the difference between you and me..."
His hand drifted from where he had cornered her in, his palms pressed against the wall, and moved to brush over her hip. The light touch over the letters made her gasp, the burn suddenly unbearable and she almost squirmed before she reminded herself that she couldn't let him win.
"Is that I accepted it," he finished, still a whisper against her lips and her nerve endings fizzled. "But you're still trying to fight it."
He was too close—it was all parchment and peppermint and warmth and she was never going to give in—
Malfoy stepped back and the pressure on her lungs eased with the distance. Her head still reeling, she watched as he backed away until there was enough space between them.
All of a sudden, she wanted to close it.
"You're fighting a losing battle." His tone was infuriatingly calm as he lifted his hood back onto his head from where it had fallen off when she'd slapped him. "The sooner you accept it, the faster you'll heal."
"I don't need to heal." It was a lie and she knew he could tell.
"Right," he chuckled and it was cold. "That's why you were out in the snow, freezing to death, right? Because you don't need to heal. Because those fucking letters on your hip don't make you feel like you're property."
Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
"Lie to me all you want," he said finally, meeting her eyes one last time. "I'm used to it."
She made a move to say something but he had already vanished out the front door.
———
so sorry for the late update <3
draco is getting on my nerves fr like we get it, ur in love w her just relax
men <<<
for anyone wondering, this is who i picture luca as:
this may turn into a luca fanfiction LMAOOO. special thanks to hellenwilder for sending me this dude <3
vote!! or clem will attack u with her skis <3
kisses,
nyx