The Slytherin common room is a sea of dark green, light barely reaching the dark room, the walls faintly tinged with a rustic color. You're laying across a black leather couch, your legs propped up on Draco's lap. The common room is empty except for you and Draco.
"What are you always writing in that diary?" You say, breaking the silence.
He moves the dark red book away from your sight. "It's not a diary. It's just a book where I write things in."
"So like a diary?"
"Oh, shut up Aurora."
"Are you writing about me?" You tease.
He raises an eyebrow and says sarcastically, "Oh, yeah."
"Can I see it?"
"No, this is for my eyes only. Stupid book, really. My mum got it for me." He says, closing it.
"And yet you write in it every day?"
Ignoring this comment, Draco shoves your legs off his lap. "I'm going to be right back. I've got to meet someone."
"Who?"
"Doesn't matter. I'll be right back." He says shortly. He leans forward, burying his face in your shoulder and kissing your throat before he exits the common room.
You rest back on the couch and doze off into a light sleep. When you wake up, the room is completely dark. It must be late in the night. You see a tall figure on the ground, laying his head against the couch.
"Draco?" You whisper, getting up. The figure doesn't move. "Lumos!" You say, pointing out your wand.
The beam of light coming from your wand illuminates Draco's face. You gasp as the light falls on a busted lip. You immediately fall to his side, shaking him awake.
He opens his eyes, blinking in the bright light.
"What happened, Draco?" You say.
"Nothing," he mutters. "You should go back to your dorm room... It's late..."
"So, you're not going to tell me why you have a bleeding lip?"
"I told you, it's nothing. Can you just leave me alone for once?" He tries to get up and then gives a sharp gasp of pain, clutching his ribs. You move your wand light onto his shirt. Several of the buttons have been popped open, and just from the small parts of skin showing between the buttons, you can tell there are bruises.
"Can you tell me what hell happened?" You say, feeling numb. "Who did this to you?"
"Sod off – "
"Who did this to you?"
Draco grits his teeth in irritation. "Adrian Pucey. Happy?"
You can feel fury rooting in your stomach. Anger at Adrian. "Why?"
"Why?" Draco says, angrily. "Because he knows I'm with you."
You try to ignore this. "Let me help you – "
"I don't want your help – "
"Stop being so difficult, I'm serious." You say. Finally, he relents.
You fumble for the buttons of his shirt, tearing them open. "This might hurt," you say quietly.
"Just do it." He says, taking a deep breath.
You slowly draw your wand onto the bruises and whisper the healing spells over them.
Draco gives a groan of pain and leans his head back onto the couch, shutting his eyes closed.
"Vulerna Sanentur," you whisper, dragging your wand across his bare skin.
His hands curl up into fists and he bites his bottom lip to prevent him from shouting in pain.
"There." You say as you finish. The bruises fade to a lighter shade of lilac. "If I were more experienced with a spell, I could've done a better job. Maybe even make it painless." You turn your wand light onto his bleeding lip. "I don't know how to fix your lip with magic though –"
"Forget it, it's fine." He says. "You should leave now."
"Draco, I'm only trying to help – "
"Healing all these bruises," Draco shouts, "doesn't help. It doesn't help at all. There's only so much you can do physically."
"Then ask me for help," you say quietly. "You're not a coward? Then prove it."
He just stares at you, at a loss for words.
"I see," you say stiffly. You stand up and leave the common room.
Time is being foolish of you. The next several weeks crawl by like months and your heart feels so heavy like one that has lived for centuries.
You have not seen Draco Malfoy much the last couple weeks. You may see a flash of him in the hallways, or in the back of the class, but you don't so much as make eye contact with him. It's like how it was when you were younger – but even worse. Even then, he would antagonize you and your friends with his cruel words only a foolish bully could possess, but this was completely different.
This was indifference and cold silence.
One afternoon in late January, Professor McGonagall calls you after class as the rest of the students file out.
"Miss. Ollivander, would you be so kind as to return Mr. Malfoy's books to him? He seems to have forgotten them." She says, holding a tattered Transfiguration book and a dark red one – one that looks just like his diary.
"Sure, Professor," you say, taking the books. As you hold his books and hurry through the hallways, your fingers subconsciously begin tracing the lettering of the dark red one. You pause at the bottom of a staircase and look closely at it.
His diary. His.
You've always valued privacy. And this is highly private. Your breath hitches as your fingers run along the spine of the book.
Who knows what Draco Malfoy's secrets are?
But do you need to know? Are you that curious, that intrigued to pry into his private diary? Would you stoop that low?
You pause. Yes.
Your breathing quickening rapidly, you open the dark red book.
Letters and words, handwritten in black ink, spill out like blood. All for your eyes to see.
August 30th
I wish Father would cancel our subscription to the Daily Prophet.
Don't get me wrong, I feel nothing but joy at their daily attacks on Saint Potter about him being a delusional liar. But it's highly annoying seeing his name written in print every other sentence. Even his name disgusts me.
September 28th
That Ollivander girl may be in Ravenclaw, but she's the most daft person I've met.
Isn't it obvious what Adrian wants? But no, she's clueless.
And she's atrocious. I feel hatred looking at her blood traitor face and her little blood traitor friends.
But I also want to slam Adrian with my fists.
And her for being so utterly clueless.
November 28th
Whoever invented dance balls deserves a lot of pain. Full of people dancing with their stupid smiles painted across their faces. It gives me flashbacks of those dance lessons I used to take when I was younger.
Pansy asked me to the ball.
If I had it my way, I would've not gone at all, but Father would've wanted me to. He highly respects Pansy.
December 2nd
Ollivander should've been put in Gryffindor with their arrogant, brimming confidence. Or better yet, Hufflepuff, with their foolish smiles.
Not Ravenclaw. Because she's done it again.
She's chosen another idiot. And this time, it's Michael Corner. Though I suppose she deserves him. Two blood traitors deserve each other, right?
But it felt such a relief to punch him. To watch him in pain.
And God forbid anyone to know I was forced to spend the night with Ollivander in Hagrid's hut. It was traumatic enough.
December 4th
I don't know what she's doing to me.
It's making me insane.
I've lost all my self-control. Not all of it, but almost.
December 12th
This book is cursed. I've tried four times now. To throw it in the bathroom, outside in the dark forest, burn it in the fire in the common room. And then I when I get back to my dorm room, it's sitting on my bed. Completely undamaged.
It must've been Mum's idea. To get me a book I couldn't throw out. She'd know I'd try to throw it out the first chance I get.
December 16th
I've made a mistake. Lost my control.
December 24th
I've made her cry. I watched those tears brimming, and then stream down her face.
At least I wasn't the only one hurting.
And yet, that pain I felt before only grew as I watched those tears. Because I'd never seen her cry before.
I suppose it's my fault?
December 25th
She's a terrible ice-skater.
But then, if she was a good ice-skater, I wouldn't have been able to hold her as tightly as I did today.
This is the last entry. You close the book. You walk into the Slytherin common room, drop the diary and his textbook right outside his dorm room, and then leave.
And you feel numb. Shattered like the ice on the lake when the Weasley Twins threw a Bludger in the center of it.