Deathly Hallows
As a child, my mother forbade me to interact with the house elves. I secretly painted them pictures and dressed them up for tea, anyways. I found their long noses and stout structure funny, and I like to think they've taken a liking to me as well.
Not these ones, though. Not the ones currently unshackling me and tending to my bruised shoulders. They barely spoke, if at all, and never caught my gaze. A red and yellow sweater was placed next to me, along with a pair of blue jeans. If I wasn't so drowsy, I would've asked where they'd gotten them from.
"Master wants you to change out of the dress," one of them says, hesitantly.
"Master can fuck off," I spat, not wanting nor caring to sound friendly.
"Big words for someone who's just been knocked out." Under my cloudy gaze, a voice. A voice so scarily familiar.
The house elves rushed away, frightened.
"Of course it's you."
Pucey grinned, coming into my blurry view from behind a staircase. "You say that as if the entire world isn't hunting you down."
"Congratulations, then." My voice is hoarse and I shift uncomfortably. "You found me. How much am I worth? Two hundred galleons? Far too much for my shoddy soul. Tell me, Pucey, why am I not in my death bed?"
"Because you're with me," he replies, blankly.
"Ah, yes. I suppose it's just the same."
He actually laughed at that. It weirdly sounded offensive to me. It reminded me of the promise I made to myself, to never see him again. His manic laughter held the same compassion as the boy he once was.
He was never going to be that boy again. Not ever. Not since the moment I lifted up his sleeve, mere months ago. It was comforting to me, knowing my Adrian Pucey is long gone. If this man's blood were to be spilled, it would be the death of a wretched war creation.
"Where's Harry?"
"I should be asking you the same thing." He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, as if asking me to glance at his forearm. I couldn't bring myself to even look at his face.
The floor was an icicle, sticking to my bare legs. "Tell me where you put him!"
"You've always been stubborn."
"What is that supposed to mean?" My breath was coming out in uneven heaps.
Pucey picked up some lumpy bags and chucked them on the counter. "I don't know where Potter's hiding, and if you do, you'd better keep your mouth shut."
"I don't know where he is."
He shuffles around, looking inside each of the bags. "Perhaps it's better that way."
I'm not bleeding. I'm not dead- I think. He hasn't hurt me, not physically, and he's giving me safety tips?
"What are you doing?" I ask as he places a smaller cloth bag beside me and the red quidditch sweater.
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𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 || H.P
Fanfiction"You're too stubborn for your own good." "Yeah? Well, fuck you." And that's when we knew, we had both reached our breaking points. - Alicia Shallow was loved by all, with her long list of pureblood ancestry, it was hard to find one Slytherin who did...
