TRIGGER WARNING:
self harm and mentions of abuse.
Please skip this chapter if these topics are triggering to you🤍
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Draco Malfoy was no longer envious of Ophelia Rosier. No, not after he'd watched her limp, unconscious body be carried carelessly from the ballroom. He'd only heard tales over the years of the excruciating pain that receiving the Dark Mark caused. There hadn't yet been one person to endure it without falling unconscious, and Ophelia Rosier was clearly no exception.
'An honour' his parents had always quoted when speaking about when it would come to be Draco's turn, as if nothing else in the world mattered to them other than proving himself to the Dark Lord. They had been grooming him since he was just a boy, being conditioned to believe anyone with anything other than pure blood was dirty, and those of pure blood who stood behind them were even dirtier. They had taught him nothing about Muggles other than that they were the scum of the earth, and magical children born of Muggles or Mudbloods were abominations.
He'd endured seemingly endless punishments for placing a single toe out of line. 'A boy should be able to endure punishment if he is to serve the Dark Lord dutifully, Draco.' His father would say after a sharp rap across his knuckles with his cane. This was one of the milder punishments. Lucius believed it would make Draco stronger, make him more valuable in the Dark Lord's eyes, but then along came Ophelia Rosier and took his place.
Lucius had been angry when he discovered Draco wouldn't be the first teenaged Death Eater, taking out his frustration on his son as if it had been his fault. It was his fault he wasn't good enough in the Dark Lord's eyes. As if Draco could have somehow summoned the power to become a Seer and just couldn't. Always a failure in Lucius' eyes, and Draco had accepted it. He knew he'd never be worthy of Lucius' respect or love, Merlin forbid his father could ever love him.
The only thing keeping Draco from running away was his doting mother. Narcissa would do anything for him, well, except leave Lucius. She'd turn a blind eye when Lucius would take Draco to his study for his punishments, but she was always there to nurture him afterward; to stroke his hair as he cried into the fabric of her dress all the while her own silent tears made trails down her pale cheeks. Draco only wished she was strong enough to stand up to her husband, but he didn't blame her for not being able to. He couldn't either.
Narcissa had instructed Draco firmly to remain in his room for the duration of Ophelia's ceremony. He was plainly not invited, and to risk being seen lurking around by the Dark Lord would have severe consequences. However, Draco didn't often abide by his mother's rules, so he perched himself on the top step of the grand staircase, which gave him a distant, yet clear view of the ballroom doors.
Draco's heart lurched at the sight of Greyback's large frame carrying such a lithe girl. He stomped out of the ballroom, looking around the foyer for something, or someone. Draco watched as Greyback twisted his body quickly to the right, causing Ophelia's limp arm to fall from the confines of his grasp, but the Werewolf paid no mind. He truly was a ruthless creature. Draco almost got up to take Ophelia from Greyback himself before he would just dump her somewhere and go back to his little celebration, but before he could, Narcissa darted out from the den while ushering Greyback towards her.
Narcissa was never welcome in the meetings either. Having never taken the mark herself, she was excluded and often kept in the dark. Draco was glad his mother hadn't sold her soul to the Devil like his father had. He'd often hear Narcissa muttering to herself about the 'old boys' club' with such distaste he'd thought venom would be dripping from her lips. Even though her own sister was practically welcomed into the Dark Lord's club with welcome banners and confetti many years ago, Narcissa hadn't shown the Dark Lord as much promise as Bellatrix did, either that or Lucius had made her out to just be some dafty trophy wife.
Draco's mother rushed to Ophelia, pointing her wand to her chest, instantly levitating her from the burly man's arms. He wasted no time turning on his heel and returning back to the ballroom. The chatter and cheering echoed throughout the otherwise empty manor as the door opened momentarily, before it shut again, drowning the foyer in silence once again.
"Winnie." Narcissa's cool voice echoed against the cool tile of the foyer. There was instantly a popping noise, and a small house elf had appeared in front of her, bowing deeply. "Please prepare Miss Rosier a meal for when she wakes. Something nutritious, she's had quite the ordeal today."
Draco's lips quirked upwards. His mother was truly a saint, he didn't know how she ended up with someone as hardened as his father. She wore an impassive expression as she looked down at Ophelia while levitating her toward the staircase. Draco knew exactly what she was thinking — she was sad for her, but was grateful it wasn't her child. Not yet, anyway.
As Narcissa approached the staircase, Draco darted back down the corridor and snuck quietly back into his bedroom. He knew all he'd receive from his mother was a sharp scolding, but he didn't even want that. His mother was tired. She was tired of hosting the Dark Lord in her home, catering to his every want and need as if she were a house elf herself. But she did it regardless of her pride, for the greater good.
When Draco knew it was safe, he slowly exited his room and strode down the hallway, down the staircase and across the foyer to the kitchen. He hadn't spent much time in the kitchens the last few years, not since Dobby left. Draco, surprisingly, had grown quite fond of Dobby throughout his childhood. Since he hadn't many friends until he attended Hogwarts, Dobby had been the only kind ear he had in his house, at least until Potter freed him.
Now, Winnie stood in Dobby's place, her bare feet slapping against the marble floor as she quickly collected everything she needed for Effie's meal. Draco had never really paid much mind to Winnie. She was a very obedient House Elf, never stepping a toe out of line in fear of his father's cane. Draco was sure Winnie's had her fair share of rappings from Lucius regardless of her acquiescence, but he had been too ignorant to notice.
"Winnie," Draco started, and a sharp yelp erupted from the tiny creature, causing her to drop the dinner plate she had in her hands. Panic struck her face as she bent down, her knees digging into the shards of glass as she attempted to tidy up the mess.
"I am so sorry, Master Draco, I did not hear you." She whimpered, the blood from her knees staining the white tile. "I will clean this up right away."
"No matter, Winnie, I will do it." Draco moved forward, pulling his wand out of his jacket. There was so much magic being performed in the manor, the Ministry couldn't know it was him performing magic outside of school. "Reparo."
The plate immediately returned to its original form, without a single crack, and Winnie slowly rose to her feet with a horrified stare. "It will not happen again, Master Malfoy." She stared shakily at him, as if expecting to be punished, but Draco merely glanced back at the prepared food.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take the food to Ophelia myself."
Winnie shook her head frantically. "Oh, no, Sir, Mistress Malfoy has instructed me to bring her the food and me only. I could not go against Mistress' orders."
"It's fine, Winnie, my mother won't mind."
"I—I can't, master. I cannot disobey or I will be punished."
Draco sighed, slightly annoyed by Winnie's utter devotion to their family. "I promise, you won't be punished."
"I'm sorry, Master Malfoy." She squeaked, turning away from him and returning to the plate for Ophelia.
"I swear to you, if you get punished for this then I will free you with clothing. That's how sure I am you won't be punished."
Winnie's beady eyes widened and stared. There weren't many house elves that dreamt of freedom, they were bred to work and serve rich families. Some would say they enjoyed it because they didn't know any different, but it seemed that every house elf that worked for the Malfoys dreamt of freedom, and Winnie was no different.
Without a word, she stepped away from the plate. "It is ready for Miss Rosier," and she disappeared with a pop.
Draco carried the tray all the way back up the stairs and down the corridor to the guest room that Ophelia was staying in. It was the same room as the last time she was there, Narcissa wanted her to feel as little out of place as possible. The only sound Draco heard were his own light footsteps against the rug and the light chattering of China as it shook unsteadily on the tray. He wasn't sure how Ophelia was going to react to him being the one to bring her food, they hadn't exactly been on the best terms lately.
He knocked, once, twice, thrice, with no answer. She was probably still sleeping, Draco deduced. He figured he'd go in and leave the tray at her bedside, so she'd have something to eat when she woke. Holding the tray in his right arm, he turned the handle, clicking the door open, letting the light from the hallway flood into the room.
He had expected her to be sleeping in a lump in the massive bed, but instead it was empty. The sheets were creased, so he knew she had been there, but she no longer was. There was no light in the room other than the dim light emanating from the bathroom. Draco strode forward, prepared to leave the tray on the table, but something caught his eye. A speck on the otherwise white carpet. Draco's brows furrowed, knowing that his mother would never allow anyone to stay in a dirty room, so Draco pressed further toward the bathroom, noticing another speck, and another. As he squinted his eyes at them, he realized they were crimson. He swallowed hard.
Draco roughly set the tray down and rushed to the bathroom. He didn't care anymore about invading Ophelia's privacy, not if that was what he thought it was — blood. He burst through the doorway, stopping dead in his tracks. His eyes were first drawn to the mirror, now cracked and shattered, shards scattering the counter and the floor. His eyes widened as he saw her, sitting cross legged, torso huddled forward, hair shielding her face like a dark curtain. She held a piece of the broken mirror in the palm of her hand, and dripping from that shard was the same crimson liquid that littered the carpet.
Draco rushed forward, knocking the shard of glass from Ophelia's hand, sending it clattering somewhere across the bathroom. Kneeling beside her, he placed a pale hand on her shoulder.
"Effie— what's happened?" He demanded, trying to catch her eyes, but she refused to look up from where she was huddled— over her left arm. "Eff, look at me."
He pulled her arm out from behind the curtain of hair that shielded it, and his breath immediately caught in his throat. Her mark, dark and new, was mutilated by deep gashes in her otherwise perfect skin. It was horribly clear that she'd tried to cut it out. Ophelia had to have known better, Draco thought, it was impossible to remove, no matter the manner — either by magic or not. The Dark Mark was there to stay. Forever.
Draco's eyes were still wide with horror as he slowly lifted Ophelia to her feet and helped her to the counter, where he shoved the other broken shards of glass to the floor with the sleeve of his jacket. He hoisted Ophelia up onto it before grasping each side of her face, forcing her to face him.
What he saw next horrified him more than the cuts could have. There was a vacancy in her eyes. She was completely void of emotion, she was basically void of her own soul. Not a single tear stained her cheeks as he had expected, she just looked... empty. Ophelia's eyes refused to meet his, directed somewhere behind him, over his shoulder, as he reached into his pocket for his wand. He pointed the tip at the broken skin that was still seeping that pure, crimson liquid. Such a waste, his father would say. Any pure blood spilled is a waste. When the healing spells he'd tried hadn't done anything but clean up the blood staining her skin, he sighed, lowering his wand. Despite her efforts, the mark was still there, mangled, but visible... dark and menacing. It was such a shame it tainted her perfect skin.
Draco knew that the Dark Mark wasn't just a mark, it was a curse. There was no way that he was going to be able to heal her, the Dark Lord wasn't daft enough to let someone try to quite literally carve the mark out and allow them to immediately heal. No, he was going to make her suffer now, she was meant to heal the natural way: a long and arduous process.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" He muttered, trailing his fingers gently aside the sharp gashes, heart aching for her. This could have been him. It should have been him. Effie didn't deserve any of this. His eyes moved back up to hers, and they finally were looking at him, still void, but they met his own nonetheless. Suddenly, she reached out, gripped the sides of his face pulled his lips down onto hers.
She tasted like she always did — like berry chapstick, intoxicating and addictive. Draco kissed her back, their lips moving together fervently as they usually did. It had never been soft and slow like their first kiss had been, it was always desperate— as though she was telling herself it would be the last time, and Draco always feared each time that it would be their last. She gripped tightly onto his shirt, balling the fabric tightly in her fists. His hands reached back up to cup her face as her tongue grazed his bottom lip. Draco felt like putty in her hands, she had some kind of control over him that no other girl ever had or ever would. If she'd asked him to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower, he probably would.
Draco felt the grip on his shirt release, and her hands were immediately fiddling with his belt. Draco's heart leapt into his throat, his teenage urges threatening to take over his actions and allow Effie to do whatever she wanted with him in her moment of distress. With shaking hands, Ophelia had pulled Draco's belt from the loops, tossing it on the floor with a loud, echoing clang.
Draco swiftly caught her wrists with his hands, pulling hers away from the fly of his pants, while simultaneously and reluctantly pulling his lips apart from her.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He hissed. His chest was heaving as he tried to calm his erratic heart and to shake all impure thoughts that had entered his mind.
Ophelia looked up at him through thick, dark lashes. She was so wistfully beautiful; her brown eyes reminded him of chocolate swirled with caramel. Her hair, long and velvety, cascaded down her back in dark, almost-obsidian waves, but he'd never failed to notice the lighter, blondish hues when the sunlight hit her in just the right way. Her soft, pouty lips suddenly quirked up into a smirk as she watched him watch her intently. "Come on, Draco, you know you want this."
He did want this. It was something he'd always imagined behind the confines of his four-poster late at night, or in the showers as the hot water beat down on his back. But this wasn't even close to how he'd ever imagined it happening.
"No." He said simply, watching her smile falter. "Not like this."
She shoved him away.
Ophelia leapt off the counter and began to stride away from him, swiftly leaving the bathroom. This was unlike her, she wasn't herself, and understandably so. She'd been through so much in the last year. Draco followed her, catching her hand and spinning her back towards him.
"Leave me alone, Draco!" She nearly shouted, tearing her hand from his grasp and continued back into the bedroom.
"What the fuck going on with you?!" Draco shouted back, causing her to spin back towards him. Her eyes were wide now and crazed.
"What is wrong with me?!" She shrieked. "Nothing is wrong with me, that's the problem!"
Draco stared.
"I need to feel something, Draco! I can't feel anything! It's all numbness and emptiness. I tortured and killed someone tonight and I felt nothing. I endured the Dark Mark and felt nothing but pain and emptiness. So forgive me for trying to feel something, Draco, because I thought you would be the only person who could make me—"
Draco pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms tight around her tiny figure. She was still breathing heavily, but the longer he held her, the slower her breaths became. When she finally slumped in his arms, her body heavy and tired from carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, he lead her to the bed. Draco helped her under the covers, and she immediately shut her eyes. He stood next to the bed for several moments, watching her calm, slow breathing before turning to leave.
"Can you stay?"
Draco halted. He didn't turn back to her, fighting within himself to rush to her and pull her back into his arms. But Ophelia Rosier didn't want to be coddled, she was an enigma, she flitted through her difficult life alone, dragging no one down with her.
"Please?"
Her voice wasn't pleading, but Draco knew she needed him to stay. He turned back to face her, and their eyes locked again. Her lips stretched slightly into a smile. Draco nodded curtly, striding to the other side of the large bed and lay down on top of the covers.
Ophelia and Draco weren't strangers to sleepovers. They were best friends for four years, after all. While completely innocent, it never stopped Draco's heart from beating heavy in his chest when he would watch her sleep; a yearning to reach out and stroke her flawless skin, to tuck that stray strand of hair behind her ear. He didn't quite understand it at first, but as time went on he began to realize what it was. She was the forbidden fruit that he'd never be able to have. Kissing her was just like having a taste, only leaving him wanting more, and she was also the snake tempting him to indulge.
"I think I might be broken."
Her voice was so quiet that he'd barely heard her. He didn't turn his head to face her, and they both continued to stare up at the ceiling.
"You're not broken, just... guarded, I think." He replied, and he believed it.
He heard Ophelia sigh. "Do you think I'm like him?"
"Not in the slightest."
"But Draco, when I was the Snake that night Weasley was attacked, I enjoyed the feeling of his skin breaking, the sounds of his screams." She explained, her voice still calm and monotonous.
Draco shook his head. "But that wasn't you. That was the snake. I'm sure Potter was feeling the same thing."
"And I felt nothing tonight. I watched the life leave that man's eyes and I felt nothing."
There was a pause. Draco couldn't even imagine being in her position; being forced to kill. He might even consider her lucky that she doesn't have to feel the remorse. "I don't think you're like him, Eff. I think that little piece of him in your head is controlling your thoughts more than you think. If you ask me, I think you're incredibly brave for what you did tonight."
He could hear her head shake against the pillow. "Brave? Brave would be refusing. Someone like Potter would sooner die before he'd take another life."
"You're brave in a different way than Potter." He answered quickly. "You do what you need to to survive, to protect those who are important to you. I know you. You'd burn cities to the ground if it meant protecting Thomas and Daphne and Blaise and—"
"And you."
There was another long silence.
"You're not like him, Eff. I promise."
"Okay."
Silence.
"Draco?"
"Hm?" He was drifting off now.
"I'm sorry, you know." She whispered, causing his eyes to open once again. He finally turned his head to her and stared at the side of her face. Her eyes were closed now. "For invading your privacy. It was wrong of me."
Draco didn't say anything. The words couldn't find their way out of his mouth. He had so much he should have said, but his lips clamped shut.
"We're going to go right back to hating each other, aren't we?"
Reluctantly, Draco heaved a sigh. "Yeah."
She let out an airy chuckle. "We've just gotten so good at it, haven't we?"
But Draco wasn't very good at hating Ophelia Rosier. He'd long since forgiven her for what she'd done, but he was too stubborn to admit it. He could try to hate Ophelia as hard as he could muster, but she was in his veins like poison.
A/N:
I've been waiting soooo long to post this chapter!! It's been mostly written since I started this story...a scene that popped into my head very early on in planning. I feel like the first half of this act has been kind of gruelling to write because she's such a mess and her thoughts and emotions (or lack thereof) have been hard to write. You may have noticed this in some recent chapters— my writing kind of took a bland turn lol. I think you can tell which chapters I'm passionate about and which ones are almost like pulling teeth to write (*cough* chapter 33, *cough*) This is a pivotal moment in the story where things start to get worse before they get better.
I also love that it's through Draco's eyes for once... I'm thinking of doing some more chapters in his pov to shake things up a bit, and give me a break from Ophelia's dreariness. It's nice to write in the view of someone with feelings instead of emptiness. Lol
Anyway, let me know what you all think!! xx