Desired | Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, 18+

04

Isla was sitting next to the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, as she had been doing every night since she got back to school. She liked the silence there, the quietness and the calmness as she just drowned in her own thoughts.

The flames sparked in front of her, and the scent of burnt wood circled her as she slyly flipped through the newspaper resting on the table, wanting to pass some time until she was tired enough to go to bed.

Isla hadn't been sleeping well during the last couple of days. She couldn't seem to focus. Didn't want to focus. She didn't want to sleep, eat, or even drink properly since she found out who her choices lived to be and how much of a problem they would stir because of it.

This wasn't on her. She knew it wasn't.

This wasn't something she'd asked for or anything she wanted to happen. This happened to her, and she didn't have one single say in it.

Isla simply had to settle and try to get along with the two boys who had their names written on her letter.

She'd even sent her mother an owl, asked if it was possible that a mistake had been made — her mother said it hadn't. This was meant to be. It had to happen this way.

One of the worst things about it was that they weren't strangers. Isla was well aware of the two Slytherins she got, and she absolutely hated it because all they did was hate her.

Not because of her, they didn't spare her enough glares to be able to hate her, but they hated her best friends. Draco Malfoy always saw himself as a rival to Ava, both of them dominant, both of them extremely wealthy, and both of them ever so enjoyed doing everything they could to make the other one go mental.

She wasn't a breathing human being to them, simply someone who they could use to make her best friend mad.

Isla didn't like them either. She hadn't heard more than rumors about the two boys, and it wasn't appealing. She wasn't impressed, and she couldn't wait for the day she was allowed to divorce whoever she chose.

She shifted a bit in her seat. Dropping the paper and dragging her knees up to her chest, she closed her eyes, trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand that within the span of a year, her whole life was different.

She had just gotten used to life as it was before the war and then how it was after, and now she was doomed to adapt once again.

It felt like someone was sitting upon her chest, weighing her down. Her heart had felt so heavy for days and days. She just wanted to cry. Isla didn't like to cry, she barely cried, yet she wanted to rip her own heart out and throw it at the people who made her this way, and then she wanted to cry.

Bending forward, she arched her spine, hugging her arms around herself.

''Clarke,'' The hoarse voice ripped through her ears with force, and her whole self flinched. Her head snapped to face him. She wished she hadn't.

The brunet strode up to her. His steps held serious, severe as he halted only inches away from where she sat. He was tall. She had never been this close to him. She didn't realize just how tall he was.

He looked down at her with something mean stained in his irises. His eyes were narrowed, decisive to make her feel small and pointed out.

''Yes?'' Isla hushed. Her head tilted back and struck the backrest of the couch. She peered up at the boy towering close to her, not clearly sure of where she was meant to look, ''What do you want?''

''Did you tell anyone?'' Theodore rushed. His voice was fast-paced, hurried as his hand dove into his pocket, and he hauled a pack of cigarettes up, ''Did you?''