ZILLIAH 's next weeks at Hogwarts are filled up with stress and work. Professors become ruthless in giving homework and assignments and it's all she has time for. Umbridge has also been appointed as Hogwarts High Inquisitor and it just made everything ten times worse.
After what feels like an eternity, she finishes her History of Magic homework and closes her books, shoves them into the bag, and gets up to leave the library. She walks to the dormitories with a scorching headache she couldn't seem to escape for weeks now. It seems as if a hundred knives sharpened to perfection for the sole purpose of an agonizing murder were plunged deep into her head.
She presses her hand to her forehead on the way, willing the inside of it to just calm the fuck down. But as she reaches her dorm, something else grabs hold of her attention- a quiet sobbing. She carefully opens the door to find Pansy crying into her pillow.
"Pansy.. are you crying?" What a stupid question, you dumbass!
Pansy jerks her head up, rubbing her nose and sniffling loudly. "No. I'm just.. allergic."
Zilliah raises an eyebrow at her. "To what exactly?"
"Life."
"Oh love." She drops her bag and walks upto her. Pansy sits up in her bed leaving space for Zilliah. She takes the place and sits cross-legged facing her mess of a friend. "What happened?"
"I broke up with Jones. I found him cheating on me", she chokes out.
"Oh no. That's-"
"And do you know what the worst part is?" Her voice is suddenly laced with utter disgust. "That motherfucker didn't even deserve me. Hell, he couldn't even make me finish once. No one I've ever been with could make me."
"No one?!", she asks in surprise, even though it shouldn't be an element of much of surprise to her.
"None! What is wrong with me?!", Pansy cries into her shoulders as she wraps an arm around her.
She knows what exactly is wrong with Pansy though it is not at all a wrong. She has been watching her for a long time now- tracing her glances and noticing her expressions. Anyone could see it. Even Pansy herself could if she wasn't so hellbent on hiding from it. Zilliah wants to shout the truth at her face but knowing that it'll only make her angrier, she settles to hold Pansy as she weeps and complains.
There was a Hogsmeade weekend coming and the idea of a small getaway is all that aids Zilliah from losing her sanity over the next week.
The day comes and she dresses up fit to go out into the cold- a chunky grey sweater and skinny black jeans with black coat, black gloves and black boots. Maybe, a little too much black but black was her favorite color- so don't judge.
At first, she hangs out with her group of friends but when it gets too loud for her to bear, she quietly sneaks away.
She has always preferred the quiet anyway.
She breathes, calmly. This is the only peace she has managed to get in weeks. The pain in her head slowly ebbs away with each passing moment. She loves this. Silent and cold, alone.
If she could move afar into a distant cottage by the sea and have sufficient amount of books to read for a lifetime, she feels like her life would atlast be meaningful and complete. No one else but the moon and the stars to talk to- none but the sun to blaze through all that cold and to envy all that she owned.
Surely, humans need company- or that's atleast what people say. But she's sure that to her- the stars, the moon, the sea, the books- it would be more than enough. Not another soul in her vicinity-
"There you are!"
She turns in her spot, shocked at the sound. Draco! "The fuck are you doing here?"
He looks breathless and sweaty, as if he ran here. "Just..", he waves carelessly, panting. "fresh air!"
"And you couldn't get that somewhere else?!", she shoots metaphorical daggers at him with her words and eyes and wishes she had the power to make them real.
A small smirk crawls up into his features and it makes her scoff. She turns back to face the hills she was staring at before the interruption, lost in her own little world.
"Can I join you?"
She doesn't reply. She should probably tell him to fuck off but she doesn't. Instead she thinks. She made sure that no one noticed her when she slipped away so it was really a surprise that he found her.
He joins her side and stares into the endless before them, just like she was.
"What do you want?", she asks him with an irritated air.
"I don't want anything."
"Then why are you here?"
"I told you. Air." A smug shrug of the shoulders. God, was he infuriating.
She lets out a frustrated sigh which in turn makes him chuckle. But she isn't amused in the slightest, as the severe headache is back again- the few moments of calm she managed to get wholly disrupted.
"You alright?", he turns to her and asks.
She doesn't answer.
"I'm talking to you."
"And I'm avoiding you."
He groans, low in his throat and falls silent for a moment. She almost thinks that he is going to leave her be. But of course he doesn't. "What's that in your hand?"
She considers not speaking but then even the silence would become too hard to bear. "A dove pendant", she replies, opening her gloved hand to reveal the silver necklace in her palm.
He reaches for it but then hesitates. She notices it even though it was just the slightest movement.
"You want it?", she asks, finding that talking with him is actually kinda helping her ease.
He considers. "No."
"Why not?"
"If it means anything, I do not want to take it from you."
"Why would you think it would mean anything?" She can feel herself getting calmer.
He chuckles.
"What?" She raises an eyebrow at him.
"You're supposed to be mad at me. You know.. not talk. Not ask questions." A cheeky grin.
Ughhhh. "I know.."
"Then why aren't you?"
She sighs, feeling the fatigue within threatening to overwhelm her at any given second. "I don't know. Indifference. Coldness. They demand a lot of energy from one and let's just say that I'm running low on fuel at the moment."
She turns to look at him but all he does is stare straight ahead, his lips sealed, and with hardly any emotion in his eyes. He looks like a ghost too- she notices. And there was this sudden urge she felt- to give him every last bit of comfort remaining within her- even if it would make her utterly lost and weak.
Why?
Now that's a great question. A really great question.
If only she had the answer.
"I'm sorry.." It's a whisper- no, barely one. She might've thought she had imagined it if he had not locked his eyes with her at the same moment.
"How hard did you have to fight with your ego to admit that?"
He smiles- that unmasked smile of his- that smile she found quite beautiful. "Surprisingly.. I didn't have to fight at all."
She notices the sudden change in his features as those words slip out. She watches as the mask claws its way back. He turns his gaze back upon the hills. "Uh- the pendant. So is it.. you know- special to you?"
"No.. I found this in a muggle shop, fancied it and bought it. It's nothing special to me. You can have it if you want."
He scoffs. "I never said I wanted it."
"I think it would look good on you. Would bring out your eyes."
"What next? You're going to tell me to wear a dress?" Forced disdain.
"You would look good in one though", she replies giving a sly smile.
"I'm a man!" His voice is all of a sudden hilariously high.
"So?", she asks, trying hard not to laugh.
"I don't think anyone would want to see the Malfoy heir walking around in woman's clothing."
"Would you like to wear them, though?", she turns to him and asks with genuine curiosity in her voice.
He turns to her too and meets her gaze. For a moment, he only stares. But then he clears his throat. "I have.. once. My mother's. Only she has seen me in it. It was too long for me and I kept falling over with each step." He laughs slightly at the memory. "But it was fun. I loved it."
"How old were you?"
"Seven.. I think."
She tries to imagine seven-year-old Malfoy wearing his mother's dress in her head. "I can't quite place your young self but that sure must've been lovely."
"It was."
"Would you want to wear a dress again?", she finds herself asking with the utmost interest.
He scoffs again. "I'm a ma-"
"Man. I know. But would you want to?"
He stares deeply into her eyes for yet another moment before speaking. "It was fun. It might be too now."
"Hmm..", she mumbles, making a mental note. She grabs his right hand, startling him. She opens it and places her pendant in his palm. "It already looks prettier."
"Pretty?" He quizzes as she lifts her eyes onto his. From his tone and look, she could understand he has never ever been called pretty before.
Despite herself, she assures him. "Yes, pretty." She then offers him a small smile before walking away.
But his face after she called him pretty- his unconvinced eyes and shock- it stays with her.
How has such a beautiful thing never been called pretty before?