The Malfoy Project

𝟕𝟔 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨 (*TW)

*TW: self-harm, depression, panic attack, sexual assault trauma/self-blame. 

Note: The literary reference/inspiration for this chapter might be distressing to some (to this day it remains one of the most depressing books I've ever read). Please do not read the Glossary if you're sensitive to topics such as depression and suicide.     

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     We stood in the Entrance Hall, taking a moment to dust the snow off ourselves and savour the warmth. Ainsley unwound her scarf to reveal the delicate skin of her neck, where an ugly purple bruise had once been. I wanted to bend down and kiss it, then I had to remind myself that I didn't know her like that anymore.

     "Thank you for dinner, it was lovely," she said, even though we both knew it wasn't.

     "I have something for you," I said, and dug around in my jacket for the box. It was long and skinny, tied with a white satin bow.

     She swept a cursory glance around before taking it from me hesitantly. "You shouldn't have," she said under her breath. "You really shouldn't have." And I knew what she meant.

     When she lifted the lid there was a sharp intake of breath as she stared at it in surprise and confusion.

     "It's swan feather," I explained. "I know my parents gave you the Phoenix feather but I really wanted you to have this. Don't worry, no swans were harmed in the making of it."

     But I was mistaken. It wasn't the quill she was staring at. It was what was folded underneath it.

     It was a coil of maroon scarf — the same one she had offered me on the front porch of my house all those months ago. When she looked back up at me, her eyes were wide and glossy. "You kept it all this time?"

     I hung my head to the floor, shifted my weight to the other foot. "I think I already loved you then. I just didn't know it yet."

     Under the glow of torches, her smile was soft and cashmere-like. In a quiet voice, she says, "Me too."

     She picked up the quill between her fingers and twirled it around, like she did with the rose. "It's beautiful. You remembered my Patronus."

     "Not for your Patronus," I said. "For Cygnus. Because you won't let anybody fuck with you, remember?"

     Her cheeks balled up with her grin. "But they're welcome to try."

     As she replaced the lid, I willed all the strength left in me into that quill, prayed to whatever god that when she looks at it, when she holds the sturdy point between her fingers, she would be reminded that she is worthy, that she is loved. 

     I walked her back to her common room, where again we stood outside the door, trying to linger in each other's presence a little while longer. My eyes stung so much it was difficult to see. All I could think about was how she would be alone there, with nobody to watch over her or talk to. Montague could do whatever he wanted with her and no one would know.

     "We still have a few more months, you know?" she said.

     It nearly brought me to my knees. "Ainsley, I'm sorry," I said, invisible arms bursting from my heart and straining for her, begging her to forgive me, to take me in her arms; wanting so desperately to reverse the irreversible, unbreak the broken.