vicious [d.m]

three: death & the devil

They've been hunting Draco Malfoy for years.

It's one of the Resistance's biggest goals — to kill him. To deface Voldemort's façade, to take down his strongest weapon — the wizard who stands in front of her, twirling his wand in between his fingers.

But he's evaded death every time. Khione doesn't know how he does it — but even the Resistance's best assassins ended up being sent back to them in a box. In several pieces.

Cold dread slithers down Khione's spine as she stands there on the forest floor, wand by her side, the breeze picking up strands of her auburn hair.

"Do you have a name?" Malfoy cocks his head, a lock of pale hair sliding across his forehead with the movement. "You look like you should have a name."

Khione's grip tightens around her wand. His voice flows smooth like silk — but she has no doubt he can maneuver that very same silk into a noose. "My mother taught me never to talk to strangers."

His eyebrows raise — like he's surprised she spoke. "I'm hardly a stranger now, am I?"

His accent is high-society British. Khione has only heard it as a child when her father would have friends over.

Malfoy pushes off the tree trunk, taking a step towards her. She holds her ground, her pulse racing.

"You know all about me, don't you?" Malfoy says, his voice a low purr as he tilts his head. His silver eyes narrow, surveying her from head to toe.

She almost feels self-conscious. "I can't say I recognise you, I'm afraid."

He laughs then, quiet. "Tell me your name."

Her heart hammers, threatening to escape through her ribs. "What do you want?"

He gives her look not much different from one a parent uses to reprimand their child. "I just told you. Your name."

Khione narrows her eyes at him and the corner of his lips twitches as if he may smile. "Why?"

"Well, it's only polite, isn't it? That's how introductions work."

"I don't remember wanting an introduction."

"I don't remember asking you if you did."

He's much taller than her — probably six foot three. She should be intimidated — but there's nothing in his stance that tells her he wants to kill her. Yet.

Small consolations mean big things in desperate times.

Malfoy cocks his head, gaze still fixed on her. She can't read his expression. "Well?"

"Khione." She's stalling for time. Stalling until she can figure out what to do next.

He raises an eyebrow. "Khione," he says, slowly and the way it sounds off his lips makes her muscles tense. "The goddess of snow."

She hides her surprise. Not alot of people know the origin of her name. "Yes."

His lips turn up. "You're surprised I know."

She blinks, unsure how he could tell and shrugs. "Not many people do."

"I'm well-versed in several mythologies."

"I'm glad to hear it. Can I go now?"

Malfoy blinks — as if he'd forgotten they weren't talking over tea. "Well, that'd be rude of me, wouldn't it?"

Khione takes a small step back, trying not to draw attention to the movement. "What would be rude?"

"Not to invite you to my place for tea." His smirk is suddenly wicked and her blood chills. "You will accept, won't you?"