𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐝.𝐦.

twenty five

The sun is blistering this morning, blazing rays of light reflecting onto the murky lake as the red sun itself looms over the horizon.

The heat is no wonder, considering the approaching summer season. Which is a hefty reminder of the nearing dateline as well, and the time crunch Betty is on with her plan.

She doesn't willingly leave the dorms nowadays, and that includes Draco's, as she often spends her days in his dorm, shielded from all the other students, revisiting old newspapers that might get her an idea on how to evade the ministry's - and with that, Voldemort's - radar.

Draco doesn't mind the mess that she has created in the corner of his dorm, only pleased that she is lingering more frequently in his room, which she has yet to notice.

Betty constantly loses track of time, huddled in the arms of the boy as she searches through frayed newspaper that barely anyone keeps.

The pair of them have missed out on multiple breakfasts, falling asleep on the tiny cushions sprawled across his floor, hands all over each other, pieces of parchment lying messily everywhere, too.

She doesn't know how it happens - when she's fallen asleep. Only that when she wakes, she is in his heavy arms, hearing the lulling rhythm of his heart. In the bright morning sun, she spends seconds admiring his jaded features, before wrenching herself out of her gruesome thoughts and pulls him awake herself.

The feeling is ghastly. How strong and quick the giddiness overwhelms her, frightens her. It's only been a matter of months, but with every passing day, she feels herself plummeting deeper into a black abyss where she only longs for his presence and touch.

And when she is with him, despite the part of her that still believes that he is as loathsome as ever, she never wants to leave him, never wants to stop hearing the intoxicating sound of his voice, never wants to feel his touch grow distant.

Something about them being a secret only the two of them share excites her too; enlivens the blood that rushes through her veins, ensues a beam to her face when she sees him across the hallway but they are forbidden to acknowledge each other with something more than an insult which they will later tease each other about, a coy smile playing on their faces as they face each other.

Now, Betty leans against the rugged wood of an old tree, head tilting heavenwards to catch a bit of the sun and a load of luck with her prayers as she issues another knight forward.

"Ooh, you've made a terrible choice, Betty," Harry says, shaking his head miserably as he watches the match carry on between Ron and her.

"Thanks for the confidence, Harry," Betty tells him sarcastically, studying Ron's shaking gaze as his blue eyes dart across the pieces.

After much consideration, the redhead, gnawing on his thumb, instructs, "Rook to E7."

"Now, you've done it, Ronald!" Harry grumbles, smacking the boy by his head. "I thought you were good at wizard's chess!"

"I was!" Ron huffs impatiently, rubbing the back of his head. "I mean, I am! You just aren't skilled enough to imagine what I am about to pull, Harry."

"I'm plenty skilled!" Harry defends indignantly, placing his chin back on his hand again. "I was taught by your father, after all."

"My father's no expert - not as much as me!" Ron says, scrutinising the wooden pieces on the brand new board. "Just sit back and observe, Harry. You're supposed to be on my side, you already betted on me."

Hermione chuckles softly at the boys' tamed dispute, places a hand on Harry's shoulder to pull him back.

Betty has ignored this pesky noise that envelopes her, has been examining the board carefully and figuring out her next move. It is easy to do so since she doesn't have an accomplice screaming down her ear. Hermione is far too collected and careless for that.