Two months later... 23rd December
I lay in the bathtub of Hermione Granger's dormitory, wearing my winter ball dress and watching the ceiling spin above my head.
The sound of girlish chatter floated around the room, alongside the crackling music drifting from a wireless radio on the sink.
I lifted my heavy head up to see that Hermione and Ginny were holding hands, spinning around in circles. The skirts of their dresses swirled majestically about them, and I reckoned if anyone were to have walked in on us right now, they would have assumed we were all completely mad.
But we weren't. Not really.
We were only high.
Hermione had invited us to her dormitory to get dressed for the ball. It had been an event that had sparked excitment in me ever since it'd been announced. Hermione was going with Ron, her boyfriend. Ginny with Harry. I was going with Fred -- strictly as friends, of course.
He'd asked me since everyone else had someone to go with, and because "I'd rather sit in the corner and get drunk with you than be forced to dance with some random girl."
I felt the same way. Dancing was in no way my thing. Although I did like dresses. And just the thought of going to such an event filled me with a childish kind of excitement. The entire concept was the stuff of fairy-tales; although right now, me, Hermione and Ginny were not acting very much like dignified princesses.
I'd made a quick, very much needed trip to the prefects bathroom half an hour ago. Nothing big. Nothing too awful.
But it had been getting so boring, waiting for the two of them to finish their makeup. Ginny had brought some firewhiskey but that didn't cut it for me. I was getting restless for some real excitement.
I'd been feeling that way for the past two months, ever since Draco had left.
Or at least, he'd been an absent figure in my life. He hadn't actually left Hogwarts. All that had happened was that he'd been put in isolation after beating Crabbe up, which meant he'd been made to do all his lessons in a seperate classroom - away from everybody else.
Rumour had it he was also forced into writing lines everynight, cleaning up the classrooms and teaching the first years how to fly.
That last one was a laugh. Draco -- teaching someone. I expected he'd do something like accidently on purpose push one of the poor children off their broomsticks. He was too. . . intimidating, for me to picture him doing such a normal, helpful thing. Yet I suppose, despite his status and connections, even the richest boy in the school couldn't escape Dumbledore's punishments.
Hence why I hadn't had contact with him. Not in the evenings in the common room either, or at breakfast, because even then he was kept isolated. And I felt waves of guilt lapping up at my conscious every day, every night, from knowing that he'd gotten himself in such a harsh position - isolated and shunned by all teachers and students - all for the sake of defending me.
I wasn't sure how long he was going to be forced into this regime, but I secretly hoped it would be over soon. Although I was ashamed to admit it, I did miss him. Alot more than I should've. At the same time however, I dreaded the day he would make his return. The day he'd walk into class and sit behind me again.
It would be too much. Merlin, I might even faint on the spot.
Mostly because I felt like I knew too much: his Death Eater secret still loomed over my thoughts day and night like an ominous shadow.
It was a shadow which had only grown darker as the weeks dragged on, filling me with so much guilt and despair it made sleeping even more impossible than usual.
I'd undertaken some sly research ever since I'd read his diary. All I'd been able to find out was the things everybody else at Hogwarts already knew, that Voldemort was, in simple terms:
Every single nightmarish thing rolled into one.
And that the future for the wizarding world in general, thanks the Dark Lord and his army, was not looking bright.
Perhaps all this was the reason why I snuck of to the prefects bathroom to steal Draco's drugs.
I knew it was wrong. Stealing, that is. Not taking drugs. Although that was probably wrong as well -- but it didn't make feel guilty. Taking one of the white bags of powder out of the box and slipping it into my pocket was what made me feel guilty.
Because I was a thief. A nasty, cunning little thief.
I reassured myself with the fact he would never know it was me. Alot of students went in that bathroom these days -- it had become the latest hookup spot of the school. His hiding place for the box wasn't all that good anyway; I was sure anyone could've easily found it.
I hoped.
"We can't take that!" Hermione had exclaimed in horror when I'd pulled the bag out. "We-- we might die! Or worse, someone will catch us and we'll get expelled!"
"If Malfoy didn't get expelled for nearly killing his best friend, I'm sure we won't suffer much harsher consequences." Ginny had pointed out.
The two of them had no idea me and Draco ever had anything going on. I didn't like to imagine the judgement in their eyes if I ever told them. Only Fred knew, but he was careful enough to never bring it up.
Draco was sort of growing invisible to everyone at Hogwarts. And I got the feeling that he wasn't as highly thought of as he used to be. That he was slowly become a background character rather than the main, centre stage attraction. It sometimes felt like I was the only one who ever thought about him. Worried about him.
I wondered if he ever thought about me. Even just as a passing thought.
Unlikley.
There was a sharp knock at the bathroom door.
Hermione and Ginny's laughter cut off. I sat up in the empty bathtub -- perhaps a little too quickly -- and had to grip onto the edges to keep myself steady.
Ginny had a mircrophone (which was really just her wand) gripped in her hand. Her mouth froze, hanging open. Hermione looked terrified as she scurried to hide behind the sink like a startled mouse.
There was another two knocks.
"Who's there?" I called out groggily, and Hermione and Ginny started making angry slashing gestures through the air for me to shut up.
"Uh, room service! Honestly, who the fuck do you think?" Fred's voice shot out from under the door. "Open up then."
The three of us all slumped in relief.
"Fred! You scared the life out of us!" Ginny cried, marching over to the door and opening it. There he stood, taking up the whole doorframe, with not one but two bottles of Butterbeer clutched in his hands.
"The door was open. And we were supposed to be meeting in the common room twenty minutes ago." Fred made a face at his sister. "Harry's waiting for you, lazy. Poor guy's getting all worked up and nervous."
"Really?" Ginny flushed and brushed down her dress. "Well we better go then, come on."
Fred nodded, raising an amused eyebrow as he scanned across the bathroom. His gaze fell on me and he chuckled.
"Violet, why are you lying in Hermione's bathtub?"
I offered him a lazy smile, letting my head loll back. The three of us had only taken half a line each -- we didn't want to get too messed up; but the drugs were still hot in my veins, and the vodka shots I'd also not so wisely taken beforehand were making me feel all light and floaty.
Suddenly mixing the two started to seem like a bad idea.
"I dunno," I told Fred. "It's comfy here. Feels like... a coffin."
He laughed again, brushing past Hermione and offering me a hand. I took it willingly, letting him hoist me up. The room tilted and my head spun; suddenly a pair of strong hands were being gripped around my waist.
"Woah, steady." He said. Then his tone was struck with disbelief. "Hang on, how much have you guys been drinking? Vi's nearly legless!"
"I am not!" I gave him a playfull poke on the shoulder of his suit. Then another. Because the fabric felt really nice and springy under my fingers.
"Oooooh. You look fancy tonight." I told him. Fred just raised a disbelieving eyebrow down at me, smirking. Hermione called out from the bathroom door.
"We're not drunk Fred, we are high." She spoke with a proud gleam in her eye, announcing it like it was some great achievement.
Then she nodded at me with a small grin. "Violet stole Malfoy's coke."
"Oh for Merlin's sake you did not!" Fred gaped at me, then chuckled. I nodded my head. It felt perfectly light. Fuzzy and warm.
"Yep." I popped the "p" Then did so again. And again. My lips were still tingling. "Can we go now?" I said, tugging impatiently on his arm.
"Yes, and you look lovely by the way, Vi. Green really is your colour."
"Why thank you Freddie." I smiled. I was wearing a long, emerald green silk dress.
Perhaps it wasn't the most modest of gowns: it showed alot of cleavage and there was a slit revealing my leg. It hugged my body a little too tightly at the waist, but I thought it looked nice enough. Ginny had straightened my hair for me as well, so it hung in a silky, glossy sheet past my shoulders.
Fred linked his arm around mine and led me out of the bathroom. We followed Hermione and Ginny out into the hall, and all was running smoothly - until I nearly tripped walking down the staircase.
I blamed it on my heels. I wasn't used to walking in them.
"Oh dear oh dear," I chuckled, unable to feel my lips when I talked. Fred gave me a long, long look, as though he was trying not to laugh.
"Violet, please, I love you, but for Salazar's sake -- please refrain from trying to dance on the table tonight. I'll be too drunk myself too drag you away, and so i'll probably just stay sitting in the corner laughing at you instead."
"I won't do any such thing!" I laughed, although there was a tiny part of me that disagreed. It was only eight PM and I was already out of it.
Perhaps I should've been feeling more cautious towards what the rest of the night would bring.
But on the other hand, the truth was simple: I really had no fucks left to give.
---
Fred and I walked through the darkened hallways, linking arms. Hogwarts was always warming and atmospheric, but now -- what with it being decked out with an exessive amount of decorations -- it was breathtaking to look at.
Orange candle light lit the way, and the view outside the high, arched windows was a picturesque blanket of snow.
Gazing out at the dark school grounds brought me this strange urge: I wanted to run out there, into the night, collapse in the snow in my ballgown and make a snow angel. I pleaded with Fred, telling how we needed to make snow angels, how it was really important that we do it right now, before the snow melts, yet he only chuckled and muttered something about 'getting me some water.'
I didn't want water. I wanted ice. But it was all too late to dwell on, because then we had neared the ballroom.
I dreaded the idea of walking in there. Out into the open, where hundreds of prying eyes would be. Crowds made me feel strange. Something about them made me claustrophobic, and with each passing second that me and Fred drew nearer, the worse the knot in my stomach got.
That knot grew suffocating when I glanced up and saw a flash of snowy hair at the very end of the corridoor. I halted in my tracks, head spinning. Fred gripped my elbow, concerned.
"Vi...?" His voice trailed off when he saw what I was looking at. "Oh. Didn't realise they'd let him out of isolation." Fred clicked his tongue. "Bloody posh twat. I bet that suit costs more than my mums entire wardrobe."
I squinted to get a better look at his tall figure in the distance.
He was wearing an all black suit -- looking expensive to the point of being intimidating. Or at least, more intimidating than usual. He was standing side on with his hands shoved in his pockets, talking to Blaise, so luckily he didn't see us. It seemed it was only the two of them. And whatever it was they were talking about, it must've been either a very serious or boring subject, because both of them looked grave.
I felt the knot in my stomach loosen slightly: at least he didn't have Astoria on his arm. At least he was. . . here.
Draco suddenly turned and spotted me immediately. My heart stopped cold in my chest. Even from a distance of around twenty meters away, I could still see the surprise, the brooding recognition, flash across his expression.
He stood a little staighter, his unfathomable, steely gaze taking a swift glance over my dress.
My legs grew weaker, Fred gave my arm a little shake.
"Do you want to walk in through some other entrance?" He asked quietly.
I glanced up at him, offering a reassuring smile. Then a devious, scathing idea hit me. I don't know why I acted on it: whether it be out of sheer pettiness, or because I was high and therefore even more impulsive than usual, but I suddenly smirked at Fred.
Then wrapped my arms around his chest and buried my face into it, giving him a hug. He hugged me back without any hesitation, laughing in my ear.
"You're a crafty one, Vi. I see what your doing. Trying to make old lover boy Malfoy jealous."
"Yeah, well, it's his fault for glaring at me just now. . . Is it working though?" I whispered loudly, giggling in Fred's ear. I truly doubted Draco would even care. Fred drew away from me and gave me a devious smile of his own.
"I don't know, but this certainly will."
And then he grabbed my face and kissed me on the forehead. Both our eyes were wide with shock when he pulled away -- until we burst into laughter.
When me and Fred got into one of our laughing fits, there was no stopping us. One time I very nearly wet myself in the library because he'd had me laughing so hard.
"What-- the fuck -- was that?" I wheezed, clutching his arm for support. Fred was doubled over, nearly dropping to the floor he was laughing so hard.
"Don't look now -- but his face -- Vi! His face--" He broke off through his own breathless laughs. "Your laugh sounds like a whistling kettle! Stop! No, stop!" He slapped my arm desperaetly, causing me to laugh harder.
After a good twenty seconds of us hysterically loosing it in the middle of the corridoor whilst everybody else threw us strange looks, we finally collected ourselves. I cleared my throat awkwardly - then stilled as a thought suddenly hit me.
"Oh no no no no no no no! I forgot my bag!" I groaned, gripping Fred by the elbows. "It's in my dorm! I've gotta go back for it!"
"Why'd you need your bag?" Fred stuck his bottom lip out and blew his hair from his face. "I'll be your bag, Vi. I'm not designer but I'm pretty robust."
I rolled my eyes. "I have to get it, it has my out- inhaler in it." I gave his arm a squeeze, walking back a few hesitant steps. I couldn't help but glance up instinctivley, just to see if Draco was still standing there.
He was gone.
"I'll be back in a minute. In fact, meet me in there? And save me a drink."
Fred shoved his hands in his pockets, nodding and turning away. He was busy eyeing up a group of girls by the door -- probably already planning on going over there and flirting with them.
"Alright, don't be long."
"I won't!"
I turned on my high heel, and began walking back down the empty hallyway, my shoes making a satisfying, clicky noise which echoed and bounced back around the stone walls.
I was too caught up in my own spinning head to notice that there was another pair of heels also clicking close behind me.
I didn't notice my stalker, not until a shadow loomed over me. I froze, confused. Not expecting anything of great danger, except for when I turned around and my eyes fell on no other than Pansy Parkinson.
She wore a black, velvet low cut dress; her red-lipped smile was sickly sweet and oh-so sinister.
"Hey, Mudblood. Fancy seeing you here." She smiled sweetly.
My heart leaped into my mouth, petrified.
Before I could react in any way, someone else had stepped behind me and darkness clouded my vision as a bag was shoved over my head.
I tried to scream, but as soon as I took in a breath a strange, overpowering chemical scent invaded my nostils.
I choked, my head growing heavy as I panicked and tried to kick against the arms that had me trapped. Screaming was no longer an option -- neither was fighting. All I could do was panic. I heard another male laugh -- a familiar, cruel sounding cackle.
Crabbe.
"Take her into the classroom." Pansy snarled, and those were the lasts words I heard before the chemicals hit my brain, knocking me clean out in his arms...
***
Draco
I don't see the point in leaving a fucking note behind.
Because once I'm gone, it wont matter: it will be too late. People will soon forget about me entirely. I'll cease to be nothing but a bitterly spoken name on people's tongues, and I imagine the majority of people who know me will secretly be ecstatic when they hear the news -- "Thank fuck for that, Draco Malfoy's finally dead. Now the world has one less evil prat living in it."
There is truth though, in what they say: I am evil. Because I have done evil things, and commited atrocities that are equivalent to the work of those deranged muggle serial killers. The only thing seperating me between those bastards is that I don't actually enjoy killing people. Of course I fucking don't. I'm sadistic, but I'm not that fucking sadistic. I'm quite certain.
Either way it doesn't matter: I don't exactly have a choice.
Which is probably why I crave the idea of making a desicion by myself for once -- an irreversible, permanent desicion which nobody can do fuck all about.
Permanent. Just like the deaths of the muggleborns I've killed. Just like where I stand in the ranks of his army: A permanent, powerful position that's only going to keep going up, and up.
There is no other way out, but I am a Slytherin, therefore I am resorcefull.
And so I have created my own way out.
I don't have the strength in me to even think clearly anyway these days. I'm so tired I can't even eat. Sick of waking up every day and playing the part of Draco Malfoy. It's like life is one big performance and I keep on forgetting my fucking lines all the time.
I'm a completely different person these days. I don't even recognise myself anymore.
I blame that one on you, Violet Lockwood.
You know, I used to love that muggle song, Moonlight Sonata. Now I hate it -- pathetic as it sounds -- because it reminds me of you. I used to hate the colour green and now I hate it even more. I do. Because green is your colour. It is in your eyes. In that jumper you wear -- my jumper -- and I can't help but hate the way it looks on you. I hate how it's so oversized, and how the sleeves go past your fingers. It makes me want to do--- too many things to you. Things I shouldn't give myself the satisfaction of doing. The biggest regret of my life was letting you draw me in like that. Yes, you lured me in like a bloody siren, and now I might as well be drowning in my own regret, you sly, manipulative little bint.
And I can't say the things I want to say out loud. I never fucking can. And it pisses me off that I'm leaving this place now, and I never said any of this stuff to you. But you have to understand -- I couldn't. For my safety, but more importantly, for yours.
So instead I'm writing all this now for nobody to read aside from the bloody stars above my head. Because as childish as it sounds, if I even just write it down on paper, then its like it is out there. Even if it will never be said, even though you will never read this: it still exists. I'm pouring it out right now, out into the universe and into existence.
Violet Lockwood, I fucking hate you. I hate you. I hate you so fucking much it scares me.
There.
I think I have for some time now. Although I don't reckon I could give you a precise date. It just built up slowly, in the storage cupboard, the woods, the common room, the classroom, the bedroom, the shower -- even when we were yelling at eachother, it was still there. The nagging realisation that I could never bring myself hurt you. Only hate you.
And that made me realise that all hope was well and truly lost.
Fuck, my wrist hurts from all this writing. This was supposed to bring closure on everything, but now I just want stab my eye out with my bloody quill. Fuck fuck fuckety fuck.
So now, without having much ink or patience left to keep this note going for any longer, I think its time I say goodbye - to the world, it's petty humans, their petty wars, and to you, Violet, who will never ever read this note. You, Violet: bane of my existance, cause of my affliction: you're everything right in the world, and that is exactly why us being together is so bloody wrong. So goodbye, so long, farewell, au revoir, I hate you adieu adieu adieu - oh yes, it's been a wild ride Lockwood, truly, but I'm ready to get off. After all, I'm sure you know yourself what it feels like to be tired. You and me had more in common than I ever cared to admit.
-- I half wish I could bring you with me, Vi, selfish as it sounds. I could really use some company down in hell, and I'm sure the devil would love your hair colour.
I know I hate it. I always fucking have, always will.
Draco stared blankly down at the note in his hands. He didn't bother reading through it. Just folded it in half with shaking fingers whilst he stared down upon the moonlit school grounds.
The winter air was twice as cold up here on the astronomy tower, and snow dusted the brick walls. He stood, leaning over them. Then he took his lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on, holding it up to his note.
A sudden gust of icy air blasted by, and the slip of paper flew out of his grasp. He cursed, trying to reach after it, but it was too late. It had already been stolen by the wind, and was now floating down into the darkness.
Fuck.
It was an immense drop -- one which should have brought him immense vertigo just by looking down at it.
But Draco still didn't feel anything as he used one hand to brush the snow off, before carefully stepping up onto the stone. He straightened up, his heart thumping to an anxious rhythm in his chest.
He need to do it quickly, before he lost his nerve. Before he had time to think.
He glanced up, hoping to take one last glance up at the moon. But she was hidden behind thick clouds. That sense of darkness was everywhere, these days it seemed, and impossible to escape.
This was the only way out.
And so he fixed his blank expression into the distance, and prepared to step into the void. He hoped an eternal sleep would welcome him:
One that would be free from all nightmares.
***
Violet
I awoke to the smell of dust and old books. To a ringing in my ears and a thudding heart. I was disorientated yet still aware enough to remember what had happened.
My eyelids wrenched open, I was greeted by a shadowy, quiet space: the library.
The bag they'd shoved over my head was lay to the side. I whipped my head around, panicked. Scrambling up into a sitting position against one of the bookshelves, I rubbed a hand at the back of my neck and winced as white-hot pain shot through.
Before I could even begin to imagine what the hell they wanted from me, or even start screaming for help, a pair of black, shiny heels stepped into view before me. I lifted my head up, paling when I came eye to eye with Pansy.
She looked furious: her fists clenched, red lips pressed together. Her dark, feline eyes glimmered with spite, and I shuddered, wondering if I was in some kind of nightmare.
I had a bitter feeling as to what this was all about but I asked her anyway, speaking before she had the chance.
"Why the fuck did you bring me here, you crazy bitch?" I coughed -- my throat felt raw and it was making my voice hoarse and weak.
Pansy's expression tightened. I wondered where Crabbe was, until I glanced to the left and saw him leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed, his beady eyes smug as they scaled over me. I shuddered harder.
"What do you want?" I asked, irritated when she gave me no reply. I went to push myself up off the carpet, but was met with a slap across my face. An icy command shot out from Pansy:
"Sit the fuck back down. As if we're just going to let you go." She scoffed. "I've been looking forward to having a little talk with you, Lockwood."
I stared at her, pulling a dissaproving face. "Is this about Anastasia? Because I saw you and her in the bathroom?" My heart rate sped back up when I watched Pansy's expression darken. I took that as a yes. "Look, I didn't tell anyone about it! I swear, I promised you I wouldn't--"
Her hand went flying down, striking my cheek even harder. I flinched, my chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, resisting the urge to cower away. Pansy's reply was scalding to my ears.
"Shut up! I'm not here to listen to your excuses. I've not brought you here simply because you let slip my secret. I've brought you here, because you're a vile, relationship wrecking, ugly little bitch who deserves to get her face smashed. Again."
And with that, Pansy brought her wand out and jabbed it into the hollow of my throat, making me gasp and choke. I tried to pull it away but she kept it there. Kneeling down so we were glare on glare.
"You want to know what happened?" She snarled.
I didn't. Not really. I just wanted to go back to the party and get drunk. But it looked as though she was going to tell me anyway.
"She broke up with me! Because of you! Once the rumours started spreading, she got scared. And she fucking ended things!" Pansy was trembling with rage -- eyes suddenly glittering with despair as well as anger. Her voice became low and sinister.
"The one good thing I had in my life -- gone. Because of you. It's all your fucking fault, Violet Lockwood. You've ruined everything." And after that last sentance, I caught onto the crack in her words. Sadness was radiating off of her, strong enough to make me feel sick with guilt.
"Pansy," I began softly, "I didn't realise -- I'm sorry--" I was not sorry. But I also didn't fancy dying tonight either.
She struck me again. This time I lost my cool and next thing I knew, I was curling my hand into a fist, swinging it back - only to hold my arms up in surrender when she pointed her wand right at my face.
I started mentally planning how I'd go about pulling my own out, when she snapped again:
"Don't even fucking think about it." She slowly stood up again; I began shivering violently, dizzy with terror. And from the drugs. And due to the fact I'd just been knocked unconcious -- but my head was certainly spinning.
Pansy jabbed her wand deeper into my throat, and my chokes and pain-filled splutters filled the air.
"You should know better than to try and apologise -- it's only going piss me off even more. I've brought you here to give your sorry ass one last message before I leave this fucking school."
She was leaving?! Thank fuck for that! Tonight's celebrations just kept on rolling in.
"--Crabbe," She suddenly called, snapping my attention back into focus and spiking my alarm. "Are you going to just stand there like some useless fucking statue or are you helping me?"
I glanced up at him in horror. He hadn't moved from where he was leaning against the bookcase. And he'd positioned himself a safe distance away, standing with his arms crossed almost defensivley.
To my surprise (and relief) he scowled, but shook his head.
"I never said I was getting involved. Just that I'd help you out. I told you -- I'm not risking it." Then he directed his beady eyes down towards me, a sick smirk pulling at his lips. "But that doesn't mean to say I wont stay to watch the show."
Pansy released some of the pressure of her wand against my throat. I gulped in air, too weak to move. Too disorientated to plan an escape from the two psychopaths that had trapped me. She shot me a loathsome stare, her lip curling in disgust.
"You're such a fucking coward, Crabbe. This is because of Draco, isn't it?" She sneered. Crabbe flushed, enraged. "Scared he's going to smash your face in again if you touch his precious Mudblood?"
My eyes went wide. There had been a small, very brief rumour that had spread around the school after Draco had caused that scene in the corridoor. People were quick to have ideas about why he beat him up. The rumour was there was something going on between Draco and "That American Muggle-born transfer student"
But that rumour had luckily been quick to die as soon as Astoria Greengrass had opened her mouth, and had made it her buissness to tell everyone that she and Draco were in fact still a thing. And yes, he was inviting her to the winter ball and no, silly, of course she didn't cheat on him with Timotheé! How absurd!
Nobody thought to question her. Even I thought there might be some truth to some of her claims.
Crabbe shot Pansy a hateful glance, moving and stepping away from the bookshelf. I automatically pressed my back further into the shelf behind me.
"You know what, I am pretty fucking wary about this!" Crabbe shot out. "Don't get me wrong, I see the need for revenge and all Pansy, but this -- this is extreme. And if you were me you wouldn't want to piss off Malfoy again. Isn't this enough of a reason why?"
He pointed a finger to his face, drawing my attention to his nose. Through the shadowy lighting of the library, I could just about make out the faint line of an old scar cutting across the skin.
Pansy gave a hostile little "hmphh!" sound as she eyed Crabbe with disdain. "So much for helping me then. Suit yourself." And she turned her cruel eyes back to me.
"Hey -- look, it's not my fault he has some weird fixation with her!" Crabbe complained and Pansy eyed me like I was dirt. I stared at her blankly, hoping that the more impassive I was, the sooner she'd tire of the whole ordeal and leave me be. A lazy mindless plan that was.
"Mmm, I can't imagine why. Look at you. Your not exactly his type, are you? Apperance wise and bloodline wise. I really have a hard time believing all those rumours." She shoved my shoulder back, knocking it into the bookcase.
I glared at her, jaw clenched, trembling head to toe.
"So? Is it true then, Lockwood?"
A nasty smirk crossed her red lips. "Have you been fucking my ex boyfriend as well as ruining my current relationship? Hey? Have you?" She suddenly grabbed my by the shoulders and shook me visciously, making my panic sky-rocket. "Answer me you nasty little bitch!"
"No! No -- I don't even speak to him, I swear!" I disguised the rage in my voice as a plea, figuring the helpless act would piss her off less. "Please, just let me go! I don't see how this is going to change anything!" I forced myself to stare right into her eyes, and offer the only thing I could. An apology.
"I'm really sorry, Pansy. I am."
"Yeah." She gave a dark, manic sort of laugh. "You will be."
She held her wand up, but I reacted faster. Panic makes you quick. I snatched it from her hand, and threw it -- hard as I could -- across the room.
It clattered into one of the bookshelves and the books flapped their pages in complaint. Before she could react, I'd already sprung to my feet - and had seized her throat in my hands.
I squeezed it tight. Automatically knocking the strength and the oxygen out of her. Watching her eyes go round, her face flush scarlet brought me a sick sense of satisfaction, but it wasn't enough.
Even though Crabbe was striding over now, I had to get one last thing in before all my power was stolen again.
So I drew my fist back and smashed it into her face. Again. And again. And again--
"Fuck you--" Punch. "You little--" Punch. "Pug-face looking bitch!" Punch.
Blood was spurting out of her nose by now, and her cries were painfull and pleading. "--With your stupid fucking haircut--"
Crabbe suddenly wrapped his big arms around my waist and pulled me off her, kicking and screaming profanities.
Pansy stumbled back into the bookshelf, gasping and clutching her bleeding nose. She fell back a little too hard: one of the books dropped off and bashed her on the head.
Still, she didn't tear her eyes, shiny with shock and tears, away from my hysterical flailing form.
I couldn't believe what I'd just done. Never in my life had I acted out in violence - apart from where Draco was concerned. I'd learnt that it was better to just sit back and take it. That fighting back only made them angrier. But tonight rage was hot in my blood and Pansy's face was looking like the perfect punching bag.
Maybe it was the drugs. Maybe it was just me. Is this how Draco felt, when he smashed his fist into Crabbe's face?
If so, then I can see why he didn't want to stop. Why he just kept going, and going:
It had felt euphoric.
Maybe there was a dark, violent streak in me as well. If so, that streak was going to pay for the consequenses now because Crabbe suddenly put me down so my feet were back on the ground. He let go off my waist, only to snatch my flailing hands up, and pin them beind my back.
"You fucking crazy bitch!" He laughed spitefully in my ear, giving me a shove. "Look at her, Pansy! You'd think she'd come out of a mental institution."
I stilled in his arms. My head suddenly throbbed, and my mind grew foggy. Like it became harder to think...
Pansy snapped my thoughts back into focus when she stepped forwards so she was towering infront of me -- why does everyone have to be so fucking tall around here? -- and calmly wiped the blood from her nose. She looked disturbingly cold: no emotion except a cruel blankness hung in her eyes.
"Crabbe," She said quietly. "Hold her arm out." There was a pause in which the arms holding me seemed to stiffen.
"Now!" She hissed.
My arm was grabbed and brought out despite my desperate attempts to wriggle free.
Before, I had been alarmed. I'd accepted the fact that I was probably going to get my face smashed in. Now I felt sick with dread. Wondering what the hell they were going to do with my arm. Cut it off?
Shock had frozen the words in my throat, but I finally managed to choke them out.
"Wait--don't--" Pansy silenced me by grabbing my forearm, and holding her wand up to it.
A twisted grin stretched across her face; she began muttering something under her breath. Dark eyes, glittering with spitefull excitement, stayed fixed on my arm, and I froze in complete terror.
The pain hit me all at once.
It felt like my skin was being doused with lava; the burning sensation quickly shot up my arm and spread around my entire body: a searing, blinding sharp pain, which caused a torturous scream to go tearing out of my throat.
It got worse.
Made my limbs grow weak until I couldn't move enough to breath -- until my legs gave way and I dropped to the floor. My eyes squeezed shut as staggered sobs filled the otherwise thin, silent air.
I clutched my forearm, screaming. A withering, shaking, twitching mess.
Somehow, one of my arms still managed to have a little fight left in it. My shaking hand travelled down to the slit in my dress, where the inside pocket had been stitched.
Specifically taylored to fit a wand without ruining the shape of the dress. I finally grasped my fingers around it and yanked it free with the arm that wasn't being subjected to the torture.
I pointed it up at Pansy and cried out, "Expelliarmus!"
She cursed. I was still faster than the both of them. "Stupify!"
The vibrant spark hit Pansy right in the chest, causing her legs to give way. She dropped to the floor with a painful shriek. Perfect.
Crabbe was grabbing my hair, pushing my shoulders back so he could pin me to the floor. I struggled, kicked and managed to point my wand at his chest in the small space between where he was hovering over me.
"Stupify!" The temptation to use crucio was getting far too strong, but I somehow managed to restrain myself.
I kicked and pushed at his chest as soon as the curse hit him, pushing him off me onto the floor. Then I sprang to my feet in a blur, clutching my forearm which now had blood dripping out of it. Both of them were clutching their chests, already looking as though they were about to stand.
Pansy was reaching for her wand. I hit her with the curse again, my pants coming out in sharp gasps. Her high-pitched scream cut through the air like a dying seagull.
I turned on my heel, picked my skirts up and ran. Past the rows of bookshelves and through the empty, wide space of the library.
It was dark. Shadows hanging in every corner. And the lonley, vacant space only heightened my panic, spurring me into running faster still, not slowing even when I'd reached the doors and had burst through them out into the dark and empty corridoor.
Gasping for air, I spun left and right. Spotted a lucky escape at the end of the corridoor -- a door leading outside onto the school grounds.
I picked my skirts up again and ran again. Feeling very much like Cinderella, especially since the sound of the school clock was striking the hour now. Dong-- Pansy had tried to kill me. Again -- Dong -- my forearm was bleeding -- Dong -- my lovely dress had blood on it -- Dong -- I really couldn't fucking run in these heels.
I pushed through the double doors and staggered out into the night. Fresh, crisp air hit my skin -- soothing the burning in my cheeks, and I stepped forward, blinking and letting my eyes adjust the the darkness.
There was a smooth blanket of snow coating the grass; I looked down and saw my blood-stained ballgown was already dripping wet with it.
And so, with a shaky sigh, I reluctantly held my wand up to my skirts and muttered a quick transfiguration spell through chattering teeth. The emerald green silk of my dress swirled around me, and a moment later I was left wearing a mini dress. Similar as possible to my ballgown, except it hugged every curve in my body and was cut mid-way up my thigh.
There I stood: alone in the snow. Shivering violently yet too shocked to do anything about it.
I don't know how many moments passed with me just standing there, staring blankly up at the cloudy night sky and feeling like I wanted to fall into it. But finally, I plucked up the courage to take a look at my forearm. To see what damage had been done.
Despite the freezing air, heat still rushed to my face when the carving she'd left. It was deep enough to scar, and just as painful to look at as it was to feel on my skin. My heart sank as they traced along the letters. A short, two-syllable word I'd grown far too used to hearing.
Mudblood.
I let my arms drop to the side. Half wanting to collapse into the snow -- for it did look very comfortable -- and lay there for the rest of the night. Because what the hell was I supposed to do now?
I couldn't bare the thought of showing Fred. I feared what his reaction would be -- anger, probably. And him getting angry at Crabbe and Pansy would not end well, for anyone. . .
Conflicted and still in a daze, I reached under my dress and pulled out the small flask I'd attached to my leg via a garter. I took the lid of and held it to my lips, letting the contents slide down and burn my throat. Firewhiskey lived up to its name, in the sense that it immediately made me feel much warmer.
It also worsened the lightness in my head and the sway in my feet, but I didn't care. Sighing, I glanced up at the sky again.
My gaze was drawn to the astronomy tower.
It was a tall, daunting structure. Its shadowy silhouette a forboding sight in the darkness. At the very top I had to squint -- hard -- because I was sure there was the figure of a person standing on the edge. But it couldn't be. Why would anybody be standing there?
Perhaps it is a ghost.
Yet I was certain of what I saw. They were too high up and it was too dark to make the figure out properly. All that resembled of it was a blur -- and then, after a good few seconds of straining my eyes, a flash of platinum. White, like snow.
My throat closed up.
Not a ghost.
The wind was howling in my ears whereas my blood was surging through them -- louder and louder. Blood trailed down my wrist and dripped onto the perfect, white snow continuously -- drip -- drip -- drip. An internal clock was ticking in my head. A countdown.
Definitely not a ghost--
The figure was standing there -- standing as though they weren't inches away from a deadly drop.
-- But they soon would be.
And my pulse was ticking faster, like a bomb readying to detonate.
I began to run. Stiff and frozen and unsteady on my feet, slipping and sliding over the snow. I leaned against the doors, stumbling through them with a spinning head. Thoughts and heart racing.
And I ran like the wind -- as fast as my intoxicated, beaten, freezing body would allow me, in what I hoped was the direction of the astronomy tower. . .