Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Forty-Nine - Crossfire

'I'll kill him - I swear,' Flint ranted, while agitatedly walking lengths around the common room. Alternating between running his hands through his hair or clenching his fists, while imagining punching Draco in the face. He purposefully scowled at the floor, to avoid glancing at Ophelia.

He knew he would defend her in a fight or an argument but he couldn't comfort her. He would say the wrong thing. He would be too awkward, wouldn't know what to do with his hands. And by the looks of it, she doesn't want any physical contact, so a hug is out the window.

He was happy she had Millicent and Tracey. Shepherding her to the dormitory, since she was determined to change out of her costume.

Flint and Nott waited, quite impatiently. Worrying about how Ophelia was doing in that time apart. Pacing in circles around the room, to channel the rush of energy weaving through their bodies. To get some insight, in the tense silence.

Flint was struck by a wave of anguish, seeing Ophelia walk down that corridor. All of us in the same place at the wrong time.

He'd hoped, despite the odds, that Millicent would be able to get her away before she saw what was happening. It's like they wanted to be found, it's so fucked.

The cheating, lying, backstabbing assholes.

I can't believe I let myself think he was better - that he was a changed man.

Nott didn't know when he grew to care about Ophelia, to this extent. To the point that he didn't censor his words, for Draco's sake.

There was nothing their years of friendship, or loyalty, could do. Nothing holding him back from feeling appalled and expressing that fact vividly.

He was still struggling to reconcile the Draco he thought he knew, with the man he saw tonight - when Millicent and Tracey returned.

'Where is she? Are you both mental? She can't be alone right now,' Nott fumed, launching accusing glares at both girls before moving around them.

'Don't,' Tracey warned, barely above a whisper. Lifting her hand in the air and signalling for him to stop and listen. But he couldn't take her heavy-lidded gaze and unstable posture, seriously.

'She should be here, with us,' Nott replied, frustratedly pushing past Tracey's weak barrier.

'I'm scared I'll say the wrong thing. I've drunk too much... I-I can't think clearly,' Millicent admitted, choking on her words. 'I-I don't know what to do, please,' she whimpered.

'Well, for starters, don't leave her side,' Nott huffed, like it was obvious. Too pissed to care, or save Millicent's feelings - he reminded himself that she would be doing a better job if the alcohol flooding her system wasn't taking its toll. She was more sensitive and muddled. And needed to be wrapped in Flint's arms, to replace the guilty look setting her features.

So Nott went alone. Knocking on the door, to give Ophelia fair warning, before tentatively pushing it open. And finding her sat on the edge of her bed, blankly staring at the wall.

She'd changed into an oversized sweater and pyjama shorts. With her damp hair, falling in droplets onto the duvet and down her back. She was shivering after her cold shower. After washing away her makeup, besides the crimson tint to her lips. And the shadows beneath her bare and bloodshot eyes.

Nott fought the impulse to swaddle her in his arms; to take her away and keep her safe. 'Let's get you warm, okay?' He murmured, asking for permission, before drying her hair and heating her limbs with magic.