✓ WE NEVER SLEEP, draco malfoy

T W E L V E

"My melancholy was gold dust in your hands;"
— Alfonsina Stroni, tr. by Muna Lee, from Selected Poems; "Sweet Torture,"

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Draco watched Florence move through the common room, her little skirt brushing up against the leather of the couches and he found himself smirking. He couldn't help but watch, the way her hips swayed like she was putting on a private show just for him. 

He knew she wanted him and he also knew, at a point in his life, he had wanted her just the same. He understood their families had a promise to one another and wanted her, and god, did he want her. But he couldn't help how he was suddenly swaying towards the other Greer like a drunk on a rocking boat. 

But Florence was different than her red sister. 

Different hair, eyes, body.

Rowan was tall like her sister, and their builds were similar but she had more. She had curves in just the perfect places but he couldn't forget the way Florence's body molded so perfectly with his when he stole a dance with her at the Yule Ball. 

And of course, their personalities were completely different. They had the same mean streak, the same fire, but Florence was dark and twisted and complicated while her sister was open and bright and brave and-

He shook his head, tearing his eyes from the girl's legs to his lap. He knew there was a part of him that wanted Rowan to himself, to get utterly lost in her that he would be swimming in only her. She was so different and her different was refreshing from what he's been so used to. The same cut and dry personalities he'd surrounded himself with were beginning to bore him and he envied the people who got to spend time with her more than him. Yet, granted, he had done a pretty shitty job at keeping her close.

The one thing Draco Malfoy knew best was the perfect way to push people away.

"Lost in thought, Draco?" Florence's voice was cool and he looked up, watching her drag her long fingers across the armrest on the couch. 

He ignored her question and instead asked her abruptly, "Leaving for the funeral tonight?"

She nodded, sitting down with a swoosh of fabric as he crossed one leg lazily over the other. "Mother wants me home by the evening, I'll leave after dinner." She flicked a strand of black hair from her cheek, her eyes narrowing on the hearth and Draco got a glimpse at the sharpness of her features. Her jawline could slice through stone. "Have you spoken to Rowan about it?"

He shook his head, shifting uncomfortable in his seat. He didn't want to talk about her with Florence. It was a boundary he wasn't ready to pass, especially since the pair had done more than talk and study the other night in his room. 

"How do you suppose she's doing with it all?" she asked, finally meeting his stagnant gaze. "She's not good with coping."

He shrugged again, he wasn't sure what to think or say. The other Greer hadn't done much talking about her father since her breakdown outside the Great Hall the week before. Granted, he hadn't bothered to ask her about it to begin with but how does he bring up her father's death? He knew what his death meant for their family and he didn't want to get in the middle. He didn't need any more Death Eaters breathing down his neck.

"Are you scheduled to meet with him and the others yet?" Draco asked, reaching to the coffee table in front of him for his cup of tea. He took one long sip as he noticed her grim expression before murmuring, "It's bound to happen sometime or another, Flo. Sooner you do, the sooner it's over with."