(starts the morning of the break up)
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draco's pov
"wakey-wakey malfoy!"
a pillow hits me across the face roughly as a body sinks down at the end of my mattress. i groan, turning onto my stomach and burying my head into my pillow.
i have not missed sleeping in the dormitory.
"you're missing breakfast!" blaise shouts again, pulling down my covers and standing up off my bed.
"who cares— i'm not hungry," i mutter against my pillow, reaching down to try and grab the blanket again just as blaise pulls them completely away.
"crabbe said you didn't end up eating dinner last night. therefore, i'm forcing you to eat breakfast."
"zabini—"
"up! up i say! or i'll tip the bed over myself."
i sigh and flip back over to face him, seeing him standing beside my bed holding my covers against him— grinning from ear to ear proudly.
"is she down there?" i tilt my head, frowning at him.
he stiffens for a moment, and then casually says, "is who down there?"
"you know who i mean—" i groan, "y/n. she's— well, i've fucked up again, massively— so she's all pissed at me—"
"mm," blaise nods, watching as i climb out of bed and make my way towards the bathroom to get ready.
"and she says she wants to 'talk' later—"
"after your date?" blaise says, leaning in the doorway.
"no, she's cancelled that. says she has to help daphne with a divination project."
"oh," he says quietly, furrowing his brow and staring at the floor.
"shit, i'm just— she's never been this mad at me before, mate." i finish with my hair and brushing my teeth, before walking past blaise back into the bedroom. "and i never say the right things. i'm too— blunt. but i don't know how not to be. so another talk will probably just end in another fight."
"i'm sure it'll be fine," blaise smiles, sitting down on my bed as i pull clothes out from my trunk.
"right," i nod semi-confidently, pulling out my usual attire of a black turtleneck and black dress pants.
"did your mum send you that? doesn't look like something you'd buy." blaise questions, pointing to a sweater at the bottom of the stack.
"oh— no, it's from y/n. valentine's day gift," i shrug, pulling it out to inspect. "not really my color is it?"
"all you wear is black, mate. nothing's your color," blaise chuckles, swinging his legs off my bed and walking towards the door. "breakfast, ten minutes, malfoy. i'll be watching you!" he sings as steps out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.
i laugh softly under my breath, dropping the sweater and drawing on my pants. as i reach for the turtleneck, i eye the sweater for a second. i suppose it is a nice green.
i narrow my eyes at it for a second before grabbing it up and throwing it on, finding it fits perfectly and smells of her perfume.
i smile to myself before clearing the emotion from my face, exiting the room to go find blaise in the great hall.
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i convince blaise to come back up to the room of requirement with me for a bit. seeing as nott's off with pansy, crabbe and goyle are who knows where, and whatever girl he's shagging from ravenclaw is unaccounted for— he ends up being left with little choice.
"i'm not just shagging her— i'm in a relationship with her," blaise frowns, flicking a jelly bean from his bertie bott's bin at my head.
"sure you are blaise," i chuckle, restacking the books on my desk.
"what! i'm exclusively shagging her. that's a relationship if i've ever seen one."
i turn over my shoulder to raise my eyebrow at him, and he returns it with a smirk.
"i will ask her out— eventually. just got to see if this one sticks, you know?" blaise shrugs, moving over on the couch to make room for me.
"good luck with that," i smile, reaching over to collect some candies from him before settling into the seat.
as i eat, i sweep my eyes across the room— observing the neatly made bed and the well kept books. the vanishing cabinet covered by a tarp. the empty corner where a christmas tree once stood.
"i insulted the christmas tree," i mumble, staring at the space it used to inhabit.
"hm?" blaise hums, looking up from his potions essay.
"when— when we fought. i think i said it was stupid or something," i sigh resting my head in my hands. "it wasn't stupid. i don't know why the fuck i said that."
"because you're stupid, mate. you talk out of your ass half the time with no regard for how your words affect others."
i look up at blaise, who's still casually taking notes and popping jelly beans into his mouth.
he notices me staring, and shrugs with a smile, "just a theory, of course. i could be way off base."
"asshole," i roll my eyes, picking up the nearest book and pulling it into my lap.
"once again— that's you, mate." blaise smirk, nudging me with his elbow.
i scoff, smiling slightly down into my book as i shake my head.
"blaise?" i say after ten minutes, tapping my fingers anxiously against the book cover.
he looks up at me warily. first-naming is always reserved for serious occasions in our friend group.
"yeah, draco?" he replies quietly, pushing his homework off his lap and onto the table.
"i—" i cough, shaking my head. "in the case that her idea of a 'talk' today is... rather negative... i should— i should put up my defenses right? so i don't snap?"
blaise bite's in his cheek, and i can see him staring intently at me from my peripheral vision.
"occlumency, you mean?"
i nod slowly to confirm, still staring at my book.
"it could be a good idea. will help you stay calm." he agrees with me, "just in case it's— bad news." he adds quietly, shaking it off as he turns sideways on the couch to face me— anticipating what's coming.
"can you— help again?" i sigh as i ask, turning my head to him awkwardly. "with the process."
"mhm," blaise nods, lacing his fingers together and pulling them away from his body, cracking them slowly.
reluctantly, i turn to face blaise, taking a deep breath before i open my eyes— and let him in.
finding out blaise was a natural legilimens was a godsend. he— being the idiot he is— thought it was his proclivity for divination that kept allowing him to figure out people's thoughts.
but no, from somewhere in the zabini line— he had been passed down the ability to magically navigate through peoples minds with legilimency. and he was quite good at it.
he was much kinder than voldemort. i could hardly feel his presence in my mind as he searched about, pushing memories behind walls or locking them in boxes.
it helped quell my panic attacks over the last couple months. whenever i felt one coming, i could just call blaise. he could delve into my mind and slash the fears or push them away when i was in to much of a frenzy to do it myself. he started his true efforts after christmas, banishing the lingering effects of my hysteria after y/n and daphne had left the bathroom.
now, he tests my limits, tugging at the chains on y/n's little green door as i fight to keep it closed— mentally trapping heartwarming memories of her behind it in a desperate attempt to make the impending conversation with her easier.
the process of tucking away feelings was always better with blaise helping. it felt painless, and my deepest fears suddenly felt securely hidden in the depths of my mind.
as he withdraws from my thoughts, he collapses back onto the couch with a exasperated sigh.
"what?" i say, concerned, looking over at him.
"your mind's freezing," he chuckles, "ice cold, mate. nott's feels like a fucking sauna. i don't know which is normal, considering you're the only two i've practiced on— but i'd assume you're the odd one out."
i laugh along with him for a moment, shoving him away as i stand to gather my things, feeling much more calm and settled then before. all anger and resentment and sense of impending doom are dulled in my mind, pushed down by the mingling of blaise and i's magic.
"laps on the pitch?" blaise suggests, standing alongside me. "help cool the nerves?"
"you're on," i smirk, racing him to the door to go search for our brooms downstairs.
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i renter the room of requirement after lunch, wondering if y/n will have beat me there.
i find she hasn't, although i'm welcomed by another surprise.
everything's changed.
or— shall i say— everything's gone back to normal.
the bed's— gone. my desk is no where to be seen. my books are stacked on the same old bureau i used to keep them on. the cabinet is further into the depths of the room— now extending as far back as it used too.
two couch's stand in front of me, ominously facing each other.
well, that can't be a good sign.
i swallow and strengthen my walls, blocking out the anxiety creeping up my chest. i habitually itch at my arm, walking further through the room.
"y/l/n? you in here?" i call out, sweeping my head around. this sure as hell wasn't the room i was seeking. although, the magic here has a funny way of working— of picking up on your subconscious thoughts of what's waiting on the other side.
i sigh as i hear no response, forcing me further into the room to search for the cabinet— hoping to pass some time.
i'm working for about twenty minutes, muttering spell after spell to the cabinet, when i head a loud thud from the front of the room, and a soft muttered, "shit," that could only come from one person.
i hesitate for a second, my mind racing for a moment as i try to calm all of my fears before speaking.
"y/l/n? is that you?" i shout out into the room, tucking my wand into my pocket.
"yeah, it's me!" she says quickly, with less dread then i had been expecting. it sparks the smallest amount of hope in me as i turn the corner, attempting to fix my hair at the last moment.
the look on her face instantly kills that hope. fucking grabs it by the throat and avada's it right in the face. maybe lacerates it afterward for good measure.
point is— the hope is dead.
she compliments the sweater, a foolish gesture seeing as she obviously likes it— being the one who purchased it— and i shoot her a smirk with my response. she simply clears her throat and looks me over quickly, crossing her arms and leaning back into the couch.
really not good sign.
"how much are you occluding?" she taunts, raising her eyebrow at me.
i almost laugh at the question, amused by how transparent i've become around her. "a fair bit," i lie— knowing very well that i've numbed every memory of her i could recall until i knew it wouldn't sting. but, it's better than a calming draught would've been— and that is what she wanted.
i settle further into the couch, eyeing her suspiciously as she spins her ring around her finger.
i ask her about daphne's project— a clear last minute excuse to get out of hogsmeade— and she responds gracefully with a smile. still pretending we're having some oddly formal conversation. i nod to her, crossing my legs and leaning back on the couch— bored and tired with small talk an anxious to just get this over with and hear what she has to say.
"yeah— um. there's a lot to say so— i would appreciate if you could just let me get it all out and then we can— discuss afterward," she responds to my prompt, looking at my hopefully.
yet another horrible sign.
for some reason, i find myself nodding in agreement— although every fiber of my being is screaming at me to refuse. to continue dismissing and ignoring and just fucking pretending. because pretending is so much fucking easier than talking.
pretending i can forget about christmas. pretending i can forget about the cabinet. pretending, pretending, pretending.
i tense as she says we've been having problems for a while, pushing away our fights about her nightmares or the spats over my work. the little digs i make at theo or my refusal to accompany her to party after party.
in my efforts to dull the regret, i stay silent, and she continues speaking.
i nod along to her spiel on my home life, on the strain it's causing her. i push down memories of aunt bella. i fight to keep images of voldemort's cold, red eyes staring into mine— the searing pain of his legilimency flaying my nerves. she mentions her panic attack, and her door behind which the fight following it rattles, attempting an unwarranted escape.
on the outside, i keep it all suppressed, staring back at her calmly as she speaks on.
"and— yes, while your intention was not to invalidate my problems or my feelings— that is what you did. and i'm not sure you fully grasp how've you've done that and how you need to change in order to stop doing that. while saying sorry a hundred times is a nice gesture— what really matters is you changing your behavior. which you have not. the day after i voiced my concerns, you continued to invalidate what i was going through— and that is not okay."
her door slips open, and clear as day her crying in our bed appears at the forefront of my mind. my arms wrapped around her as i mumble 'i'm sorry' over and over again.
i'm about to say that i'm a fucking idiot for not asking more questions that night— but she silences me with a wave of her hand.
i shove the memory back down and throw a fucking mental bureau in front of it to keep the damn door shut.
between it all, i faintly register, "we both have things we need to work on— you more so than me— and we need to do so separately," and it snaps me to attention.
separately.
aside from short summer's of fighting or lost letters— we've hardly done anything separately in four years.
i'm not sure i know how to do anything separately.
"y/n—" i start to protest, thinking of every promise i can make to get her to take that fucking word back. to erase it from existence and replace it with together.
she cuts me off again, her voice starting to grow shaky and unsure. not unsure of her decision, unsure of itself. on the brink of breaking again.
and i'm taken aback.
i quell all of my selfish notions of how badly i need her, and watch as her face changes while describing how badly she needs to not be with me.
and i know i have no choice.
she's not giving me one— but even if she was, i would have to pick this. i would have to pick...
separately.
and the realization hits me like ton of bricks, stacking up in a line around my emotions and only further strengthening my resolve to stay calm and resolute— to follow her lead.
then i hear— temporary.
and temporary sounds like a fucking string quartet compared to separately.
i glare down at the table, trying to work out how to get this temporary separation business over with as soon as possible.
she rambles on, something about continuing to make the potion for me and something about being— friends.
that word must sting the hardest.
because how the fuck are we supposed to be friends?
despite what i tell her— blaise is absolutely right. i've always fancied her. i can't just be— friends. not when i've seen the other side. there's no going back now. i've moved on to greener pastures, 'friends' is like the sahara.
"stop. just— stop it," i sigh, setting my head in my hands as a painful ache starts to develop in the forefront of my mind— the occlumency straining my senses. i know it will only hold up so much longer. behind the wall of bricks, locks are clicking open, boxes are bursting at the seams— and i'm fighting just to keep that one little green door safe and hidden.
"temporary?" i ask, feeling that small flame of hope light itself again, burning brightly in my mind's eye. she nods slowly, and i contain my sigh of relief and smile of joy, rolling my head to look at the ceiling.
i don't like this, at all, and i tell her that. i tell her i would rather do pretty much anything but this— but that i clearly have no choice.
she's telling me we're taking a break. and i don't even have the resources or soundness of mind to argue.
i instruct her to let nott handle the potion— knowing full well i couldn't handle being alone in the potion's laboratory with her, where so many memories are held.
i express my concerns with this whole 'friends' business— a wholly absurd idea in my opinion. if this time is to 'heal' or whatever, i frankly don't see the point in pretending to be happy in each other's presence. both of us would be miserable— at least, i know i would. knowing i couldn't speak to her or hold her or kiss her the way i want to.
no, no friends just won't work.
the memory of her and adrian dancing at the party somehow escapes, and the flame reserved for the hope turns into pure rage, burning even brighter than before. god knows what pucey will try with her now. or brian. or blaise. or any number of blokes from any of number of houses from any number of grades.
i would go fucking mad if she did that.
she agrees to keep her business private. least then i can pretend she's not seeing anyone at all if she decides to— which i desperately pray she doesn't.
i'm briefly hopeful of returning to a normal sleeping schedule. of finding time to do all of my schoolwork and attend all of my classes. i'd hardly realized just how much of my timetable revolves around making time to see her—
and how little i had done with that time.
fucking idiot.
"draco—" she argues back at my snide comments about my busy schedule, sighing as i lift my head to look at her.
i take one look over her as i clap my hands together, feeling pressure well up in my throat and images of water flooding my brain. it's pushing— crashing against the bricks in an attempt to knock them down and open the floodgates.
not now. not here. i will not start this break by forcing her to comfort me again.
"now, get out, please," i say as sternly as i can manage, "and send nott and zabini up when you have the chance."
i nearly ask if they could be notified to bring alcohol as well— because lord knows how badly i need it right now.
i stand swiftly, feeling the waves spray through the cracks in the mortar, a few of the higher bricks falling away.
christmas at her mum's house, fifth year, plays in my mind.
dancing at yule ball, playing quidditch together for the first time, bickering at pansy's birthday, stargazing in the astronomy tower.
those memories fall from the stacks, and i turn away to conceal the panic arising on my face— the weight of the conversation hitting me all at once. all of what i'm losing— everything she's so willing to give away.
"are you sure you're okay with—?"
she's got to be kidding.
"no i'm not fucking okay!" i exclaim, turning back to her. "i mean— i knew we were having problems, but i didn't— i wasn't expecting this!" i shout suddenly as the wall cracks, and all of the bricks holding me together tumble down. her door slams open, and ever midnight conversation, every stolen kiss, every clandestine meeting is played in my mind. the rushing water that's carrying them travels all the way to right behind my eyes— where i can feel it begging to be released.
i swallow and breathe slowly, staring at the door over her shoulder. "get out, y/l/n, i don't want to yell at you."
it's a plea, in my mind. i'm begging her to leave before i break. or before i break her.
i turn away just as the first tears escape onto my cheeks, and i rush back through the bookcases towards the cabinet as quickly as i can.
i reach it and my breathing's ragged, my cheeks stained with tears and my mind's aching from prolonged occlumency and from her words.
blinded by the flood of tears, i bang into a shelf, sending a cascade of ancient silver coins out onto the floor.
i curse over and over again, kicking a nearby table before collapsing to the ground, curling into a ball and burying my head between my knees— hyperventilating as i beg the memories and the feelings to just go away.
that's how blaise and theo find me twenty minutes later, cursing and throwing my magic around the walls— leaving my journals torn and strewn on the floor surrounding me, the cabinet with a new crack running up its doors— and me in the center of it all, sobbing quietly as they try to pick up the pieces.
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just saying you guys asked for draco's pov 🙄🤝
fun little sad moment.
i think my interview went well???
additionally: we adopted kittens!!! here's a picture, as promised.
they are only two weeks old, so they aren't home yet, but we will be able to take them home with us one they're done nursing (so about 8-10 weeks)! i can visit them weekly, though, and this is me holding them! i'm visiting again on monday :)
sticking with the theme of norse gods, as we did for thor and odin, these kittens will be named freya (the grey kitten, she's a girl), and loki (the black and white kitten, he's a boy)!
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