cruel | d.m.

14.care

November 1998 | H E R

The worst days are when it's silent.

When your mind won't scream at you, but whisper little reminders while you do day-to-day stuff.

You're worthless, when brushing your teeth.

Look how sick, when popping a zit.

You disgust me, when changing clothes.

The silent days are what complete the neverending cycle. Cause that is what Quinn's life has become—a cycle. The phases are unreliable, can last from days to months, and when you think you might have an out—gotcha—lay in bed all day and overthink the origins of your faults.

But that is not what Quinn did for the weekend. Like a fool—the remains of sex hormones in full blame here—she roamed around the castle on Saturday to spot a glimpse of Draco, went to every meal and sat through the whole thing should he appear at some point. He didn't. On Sunday, she finished off all her schoolwork because that is what distracted her from waiting for a knock on her door.

But nope. Nothing. No explanation. No apology. No sign of Draco Malfoy after leaving her like a used toy on that bed.

That is it then, she thought. He got what he wanted. He is done with her and Quinn tries to convince herself that she is done as well. No need to fall into false hope. Hope is what drives people mad, what hurts them.

She can ignore the fact that he is the only person getting her—not only in this damn castle, but in her entire world. She can ignore that not only she, but he as well, felt safe with the other.

She can all ignore it if that is means she can step away at the right time. She wouldn't have expected such a dick move from Draco, though.

Misjudgement at it's finest, right?

Monday morning, it's hard to keep her head up. Quinn keeps rubbing her neck, because she slept wrong and feels the consequences. Much like she feels them when the one and only careens into Potions class.

Feels like a hit in the diaphragm when he won't even look at her. His head is down when he takes seat at one table over, not caring to take out his stuff. Very unlike him.

Don't care. Don't care.

Slughorn starts the class with his everlasting enthusiasm, telling the lot about Rat Tonic and it's side effects when taken too much before letting them brew it themselves.

Quinn gets up to get the ingredients, turns on the burner, prepares the potion base and cuts what is needed. Potions has always been therapeutic. Most of the time, Quinn has to get over herself to do something but once she's in it, things go smoothly.

Her neck keeps bothering her today though—a headache formed. Plus, it's an effort not to look his direction, especially since he seems so fidgety and on edge, but Quinn remains as focused as she can on following the instructions.

I don't need—

A loud crash comes from a student next to Quinn.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Quinn looks from Bulstrode to Slughorn, who looks at the door, which is falling shut after Draco. Shit. No, play it cool. He didn't acknowledge you the entire weekend, he surely doesn't want you to—

Cursing the moons, Quinn leaves her station and goes after him while Slughorn thankfully has his back turned.

Heart beating out of her chest, she walks down one side of the hall in hopes it's the right one, looking into every alclove there is. Faint chocking sounds come from around the corner, leading Quinn to sprint to it.