Phoebe Ellory, a talented pureblood witch, grapples with her burgeoning powers and the internal conflict between light and dark. As she navigates her studies, Phoebe's life takes a turn when she discovers her late mother's unfinished research on the...
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Draco
"Did you see a girl last night, Draco?"
I snatched the journal from Pansy's hands before she read any further. I didn't want her to spoil any details. To say that I was deeply invested was an understatement. I leaned back into the couch with my arms crossed over my chest.
"Well?" She waited for a response.
"You're right about not owing you an explanation, Parkinson." I finally said. "This thing we have going on — it's not exclusive. I understand how us going to the Yule Ball together last year may have seemed like we were a couple, but...we only hang out because it's expected of us. You understand, right?"
"Draco," she breathed in harshly, "how can you say that after we were caught snogging at the Yule Ball?"
"It didn't mean anything."
"But it meant everything to me." Pansy's brows furrowed and the corner of her lips pulled slightly down.
I took a moment to study her expression, evidently she was hurt by what I said. But it was true, and she knew perfectly well the dynamic of our alliance. Two pure-blood family names that wanted us to associate. Kind of like Theodore Nott. We tolerate each other because of the power both our families have, it was the same with Parkinson. Except she and I developed a buddy system in which we occasionally snogged.
"Not that it's any of your business, but no...I wasn't with anyone last night." I cleared my throat.
"Okay, that's all I needed." Pansy moved her hand to my knee before getting up to leave the common room.
I was finally left alone to wander the depths of my mind and think about our situation. My mind took me back to a memory from last year. A conversation I had with my father before the Yule Ball.
—
Mother sat on an accent chair sipping tea far from the inflamed fireplace. She was just another shadow in the dim room carefully watching me. It was hard to be home sometimes, although I enjoyed my mother's company and drinking tea on my breaks, there was this pressure of being powerful and perfect all the time — primarily from father. However, I knew he did everything for me because in the very depth of his being — he cared for me. In his own way, of course.
I stood near the inglenook staring into the crackling bits of wood and fire, sparks of it spitting out like a domesticated dragon. I was toying with some objects that had been passed down the Malfoy-Black family line, deep in thought when father walked into the drawing room holding a glass of Pure Malt Whiskey.
"We should have sent Draco to Durmstrang," father resented, "we still have time to do so."
"We will not be sending our son so far away." No one could change my mother's mind. Not even someone as stubborn and indignant as Lucius Malfoy.
