Occulemens || Draco Malfoy

Chapter 8 - Speed of Sound

TW: graphic, blood.

I laid on my side, curled up under my quilt. The dorm room was dark, not even lit by moonlight tonight. Maggie and three other girls were fast asleep, giving me a chance to simply exist without monitoring my expressions. Even keeping a poker face was difficult these days.

The past couple of days had been somewhat of a chaotic time. Pomfrey had instructed me to have the four stitches I'd required removed from my forehead yesterday, which I had left my room to do so.

I avoided Maggie where possible, clinging to my newly-reestablished friendship with Daphne. Maggie had been suspicious of this new friendship, but eventually shrugged it off as she became closer with her newfound obsession, Alexander.

I thought about the week that was—thankfully—behind me.

When Dumbledore called Cedric's name—declaring him the Hogwarts champion—I had frozen in place. Cedric had, as well, but recovered within half a second to stand and bump fists with a number of Hogwarts boys as he stood to meet Dumbledore at the front of the Great Hall.

I felt nauseous even thinking about the strange, grey-haired man from my hallucination leveling his wand toward Cedric's head. I hadn't seen Cedric for longer than ten or fifteen minutes at a time since that night; with the challenges that came with the Tournament, he was otherwise occupied.

I wasn't sure if I wanted a romantic relationship with Cedric, but he was still one of my closest friends. I'd known him since we were children. I knew his parents; sweet Amos, who poured his heart and soul into raising Cedric. Without a shadow of a doubt, I knew he was in danger. I swallowed the lump in my throat, wrapping my arms around myself as I felt a cold chill erupt across my spine.

It was when they called Harry Potter's name that I truly needed to vomit. Danger followed Harry Potter around like an old friend; never far from him. It wasn't Potter's fault, I suppose, he was not a circumstance of his birth. He was only a child who had angered the most powerful Dark Wizard in the world, right? That I could remember. His third year could've been peaceful, but I couldn't remember details surrounding even my own third year.

You could've heard a pin drop as Harry turned a shade of green—something I could even see from afar. I scanned across the faces of his friends, but they all had the same, shocked expression painted across their faces.

I locked eyes with Daphne, who had wide eyes, her expression one that I could almost hear in my head. He's fucked, was definitely something rolling around in her brain at the moment. I had allowed myself one glance at Draco, who had his jaw locked into an ice cold expression of contempt.

Since spilling to Draco Malfoy, I'd felt foolish. It was a confession made in anger, in spite. He knew what was going on, and I hated that.

In my bed, I drew my knees closer to my chest.

I had eaten breakfast with Daphne that morning, which earned my a cold glare from Malfoy all morning, only corked when I went to Potions and sat behind him where I could no longer see his face. His glare was a warning.

It was hard to take his 'warnings' seriously when he'd never given me a reason to feel frightened of him.

I'd considered his reasons for carrying me to Pomfrey on Saturday if he thought my existence was a mistake. He typically was careful to stay clear of me on a physical level. He was revolted by my Muggle father, never missing an opportunity to remind me of my blood status. Yet, he hadn't decided to leave me on the bridge. He'd hauled me up to make sure I didn't continue to bleed from my head laceration.