The Malfoy Project

𝟏𝟎𝟎 - 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈

     I stare at my dress in the mirror, admiring how the soft fabric moulds to my body, absorbing any light that had the misfortune of falling on its innocent tiny velvet hairs. It clings to me like a disease. It reminds me of failure, of death. The last time I wore the colour was at my father's funeral.

     In some cultures, black also means death, chaos, evil. Stare at it long enough and you might feel a twinge of something sick and dreadful in your stomach. The colour white, on the other hand, is open. Free. It represents life, air, newness. Rebirth. Together, however, they present entirely different things.

      Contrasted side-by-side: the paradox of human life, mundane oxymorons of this strange little world we live in. Mixed together, it represents the vast unknownness not many have the courage to wade through. It is the shade in between — a colour I have come to love.

     The Student Committee had chosen this theme to haunt Draco and me, I'm sure of it. It is Hogwarts' last middle finger to the both of us before they boot us out into the wilderness and shut its monstrous oaken doors behind us. Thank you for risking your lives for a boy you barely know, now kindly fuck off, please.

     Monty enters the sleek black frame. He places his heavy hands on my shoulders, sinking me like a cinder block in the Lake, down down down. A kiss on my neck, slow and lingering. His hot breath warms my ears as he murmurs, "Keep it sweet for me, will you?"

     Sometimes, I think, there is no 'why'; things just are so. Sometimes the innocent are punished and the wicked are rewarded. Sometimes things get tangled up with each other, and we must accept that some knots can never be untied.

     Philosophers call this destiny. And maybe it is after all Monty's destiny to be the man he is, and mine to be his pretty little wife. My parents are meant to be dead and Draco is meant to be sad and his family's persecution is meant to be permanent. There's nothing wrong with the world, really. There is no point in searching for reasons or answers or absolution — you will not find it.

     Because the real secret is that there is none.

༻⚜️༺

     Why am I even here?

     The question was looping in my mind like a scratched gramophone as I weaved through the crowd of familiar faces.

     Ernie and I were supposed to get ready and arrive together, but when I emerged from my shower the other boys told me he had already dressed and left, presumably to sneak a smoke before the party.

     I decided to go to the common room to wait for Hannah. To my chagrin, the Blasted Cat was already curled up at one end of the couch. Reproachfully, I perched myself on the other end. 

     For twenty whole minutes, I waited — me and the mangy furball, the only still-life amidst a mad tornado of swishing gowns and hairspray fumes — until finally, Aurora Crenshaw, having guessed who I must be waiting for, approached and kindly informed me that Hannah, too, had already left. Sufficiently annoyed, I had no choice but to brave the curious looks from the other Hufflepuffs and head upstairs on my own.

     The double doors to the Great Hall were closed and adorned with black and white streamers, a beribboned Christmas box hiding a bomb. Black and white balloons floated next to smiles of black-and-white garlands strung along the walls. It was simple and effortless (if any effort was involved at all), and much less grand than the Yule Ball. After all, there was nobody to show off to now, no rival school to impress. It was just us, one hundred-ish Eighth Years in all our arrogant glory, ready to conquer the Wizarding World with a rudimentary magical education and our war-inflated egos.