Winters Cloak | S.S

29 | Heartbeat

A smoky smell release from the fireplace at the Slytherin common room. It's crackling noise growing louder than ever as you continue to throw in tiny pieces of a ripped parchment.

It was Draco's apology letter. More specifically, his parents had sent it to you.

When you were writing a letter to France, a dark feathered, green-eyed Owl had dropped it off at the Owlery. But it was not a perfect drop off. The Owl had been screeching and making profoundly ghastly echoes all around the tower.

It was swooping, causing you to duck multiple times. The owl was terrible at balancing its feet, trying to jerk off the letter mid-air, which had been stubbornly tied to its leg.

Finally after a few tries, the letter slid down to its sharp claws and you flinch as you try your best to pull it out without pricking your flesh.

The Owl, so clumsy yet daring in nature, rushed out in the open, you watch its wings glide, freely.

Maybe carrying this particular letter led it towards a misfortunate messy delivery.

Curious, you had peeked inside. But the fancy golden ribbon did not shed any sympathy for its victim. Its cursive bold text was nothing but an egoistical statement.

Dearest Y/N, if only you had listened to us, we certainly would not have missed the opportunity to help you become an excellent witch. However, it seems like you have cursed our only son with your crude sense and fake love. We apologise for your unfinished dinner.

You remember, your head feeling faint from the quizzical night, so you had scrunched the letter with grit powered from your fury.

You wanted to puke.

Draco did not approach you after all the chaos his family had caused. You had a gut feeling that he had known about the letter, because he would stop and stare at you, each time you would walk by his group at the Great Hall.

Waiting for your reaction, you had figured.

So you did the obvious, igniting the letter, until there was nothing more than tiny particles of fine dust remaining.

And you could feel your burning satisfaction creep in when the handwriting of Lucius Malfoy's was melted off.

It was only until the after-hours, when everyone tucked themselves into bed, he found you. Exhausted, sprawled onto the couch. But as your body recognised his scent, you vowed to yourself, that every fiber of your being should stray away from his skin.

Except, that view was short-lived. His finger tips lightly trace your jaw, usual jittery hands, calm. His touch no longer surprising you, although you were desperate for a warm embrace.

His thumb taps on your bottom lip, slightly tugging it, his head hovering over yours. Asking for permission.

Despite your hammering heart, you disobey it. Your hand shoving his chest back, making his eyebrows furrow in worry.

Suddenly, he huffs, his frown visible.

"W-What are you doing?" You ask.

He proceeds to kneel in front of you. His body tense and stiff, you sat up on the couch, flabbergasted.

His face held an anguish expression, his body slouched and parted lips. Flushed pink cheeks possibly due to the undeniable shame he was constantly criticising himself on.

His hand slowly reaches for yours. He waits for a few seconds, before you given in. Not wanting to hurt the boy even more than he already was. His hands gently held yours, begging you to forgive him.