in the end ~ d. malfoy

Chapter Fifteen

𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟒

THE NIGHT IS CHILLY, as Draco Malfoy leans against a hedge.

His breaths shiver with each exhale, the fog stilling in the frosty air. The fabric of his suit may be expensive, but the thin silk does absolutely nothing to dull the cold that seems to seep into his bones. The view is worth it, though; the sky is beautiful this time of year, rich navy-blue, dotted with stars that seem to swirl within the vast cosmos.

Just like her eyes.

Damn it!

It's only been one dance, and Draco is unable to get Maya Rajesh out of his thoughts. He doesn't even know why she's in them in the first place. It wasn't like they voluntarily picked each other to dance; they had to, otherwise people would suspect something. He certainly didn't enjoy it, what, with the way he had to bend down for each step, to match her height. She wasn't even that good; movements barely synchronized with his, almost tripping when the music got fast.

But he can still feel her slender hands on his shoulders, warmer than he had expected. Up until now, Draco has always seen Maya Rajesh as cold, glacial in her appearance and behavior. She emanates the kind of frigidity that keeps people at a safe distance, thin sheets of frost covering rose petals. But up close, the heat of her is endless, white-hot flames burning under her skin. Her eyes looked piercing, carefully lined with black kohl, deep-set enough to seem as though they were staring directly into his soul. And when she smirked, he felt a chill go up his spine at the sheer wickedness of that expression on her face —

Draco stops his thoughts before he can even finish them.

"In all honesty, you don't look bad either, Rajesh. My sister's a lucky woman"

What is wrong with him? Why did he say those things, why did he do those things? Merlin's beard, the punch really must've gotten to his head, otherwise there is no way on earth that he would be thinking like this. Draco Malfoy is not a romantic. And although he's fancied one or two girls himself, they've always been pureblooded enough to making getting together not much of a risk to his reputation.

Not that he wants to be anywhere near her.

"Ah, Draco" comes a familiar voice, one that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, "Just the boy I was looking for"

Lucius Malfoy steps out of the shadows, hair identical to Draco's, except his father's is longer, tips brushing the start of his waist. He's dressed — as always — in immaculate black robes of the finest fabric, dragon-hide boots tipped with sterling silver. Draco immediately straightens up, schooling his features into that of an obedient schoolboy as he brushes the dust off of his suit.

"Father" he replies, calmly, turning up his chin, "I didn't know you were coming."

The tone of his voice is carefully neutral, calculated. It's a basic instinct for Draco to tread on eggshells around the man that contributed to raising him. His armor must appear flawless, all cracks and crevices momentarily hidden. One wrong move, one wrong syllable, one wrong breath, and the house of cards that is Lucius's rage will inevitably fall down. And when that happens, Draco knows that no mercy will be spared on him. Malfoy men are tough, according to his father. They don't slip up, adhering strictly to generational — and foundational — pureblood values that have been instilled beaten into them.

And somehow, before Lucius even speaks, Draco knows that he's landed himself in trouble.

"I had to be here" replies Lucius, coolly surveying his firstborn offspring, "Dumbledore was able to hold this event only with my....contributions".