MEMENTO MORI | DRACO MALFOY

TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

     Massive droplets of rain splattered relentlessly against the windows of the library. It had been pouring down in sheets for days, and Ophelia had almost gotten used to the low thrumming of rain against the castle windows wherever she was. It was like white noise to her, lulling her into a state of calm, which was just what she needed after everything that'd happened in the span of the few weeks back at Hogwarts.

     She looked up at Blaise and Theodore who sat across from her, both immersed in their Herbology essays, while Ophelia couldn't find it in herself to focus. She kept thinking about Harry Potter. Harry fucking Potter! If she had told herself last year that she'd spend countless hours thinking about the Gryffindor boy, she'd have laughed and smacked herself upside the head. She felt time slipping away from her, and surely the Dark Lord will have noticed by now that the connection was weakening. He needed her to continue to interact with him, but it was practically impossible. Firstly, he was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin—that was the first obstacle. No Gryffindor wanted to befriend a Slytherin and vice versa. Second, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't force herself to not despise him. Harry Potter was the epitome of everything she hated: his Gryffindor privilege, his craving for attention, and his holier-than-thou attitude. Sure, perhaps her views on Harry Potter had changed subtly since watching him endure what he did in that graveyard, but if anything, she'd have thought it would have humbled him. No, now that he's fought the Dark Lord and survived, and even though no one believed him, he behaved as though everyone should be worshipping at his feet. He expected her to throw away everything to confirm his story. As if she would do anything for that insufferable boy.

     "You alright, Eff?" Blaise's low voice cut through Ophelia's thoughts. She realized she'd been staring blankly out the window, though there wasn't much to look at other than the wetness of the rain cascading down the panes. It almost looked as though it was nighttime, the clouds had been tarry black for days. Ophelia wondered when they'd finally empty themselves and allow the sun to come out again.

     Blaise and Theodore were both watching her now. Blaise appeared far more invested than Nott, who, like her, didn't usually show much emotion. He'd always been rather quiet, keeping to himself and fading into the background. She liked that about him, he couldn't be bothered to insert himself into the dramatics of his friends' lives.

     "Yeah, fine." Ophelia finally responded, picking up her quill again and hovered it over the sheet of parchment that still only had her name and the date written on it. She had so many other more practical things to worry about other than Herbology.

     "Have you spoken to Thomas?" Blaise asked, causing Ophelia to set down her quill again. To be honest, she was glad for the distraction.

     It had been several days since the incident in the Common Room, and everyone seemed to be treading lightly around her, even Daphne. She hadn't been able to so much as speak to Thomas, not with the way Gemma Farley had been completely shutting her out. Ophelia thought the seventh year girl was overreacting a fair bit, especially with not knowing what really happened.

     "No, Farley has me on strict lockout from even looking at him." She answered, rolling her dark eyes. "I swear, I used to actually like her, but now, not so much."

     Ophelia had given Cassius Warrington a piece of her mind that very night once Madam Pomfrey had reset his broken nose. She reiterated over and over that she did not need him nor anyone else trying to stand up for her, especially with saying what he did to Draco—she was disgusted. She would be lying if she said she wasn't tired of Cassius either running his big mouth, or the fact that he'd used their relationship to get a rise out of Malfoy, but instead only got a rise out of Thomas... and it wasn't pretty. Ophelia thought about it constantly since that night. She'd never seen Thomas so angry or violent. She knew it was his worst fear to end up like his father, and it almost scared Ophelia to see the same look in his eye that his father often wore: a menacing, sadistic glare as he relentlessly smashed his knuckles against Cassius' face. It was a look that could have instilled fear in the Dark Lord. She never wanted Thomas to have to endure that again.