Cover credits to @callagraphics
Two broken souls, two lives laced with nightmares and fears of the non-existent. Both fighting their own demons.
Draco Malfoy, former death eater and the prince of Slytherin is not the cocky, arrogant, and prejudiced...
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18 September 1998
"Occluding?" Blaise's voice cut through his train of thought.
He scoffed and took the bottle of firewhiskey from his hands, taking a long swig.
"Is she that horrifying?" Blaise chuckled, watching him drown the bottle to the last drop.
"Horrendous," Draco responded.
The door creaked open and Draco felt his heart plummet to the pit of his stomach. He hadn't placed his Occlumency walls yet. Hadn't arranged his features into a mask that he required to face her presence.
"Drinking in mid-day," Pansy's voice reached him from the entrance of the empty classroom they were in. "You both have reached a new low."
He felt a surge of relief but knew it was short-lived.
"Don't you two have any work to do?" He asked.
"Well, torturing you is much more fun," Blaise said off handedly and Draco scowled, throwing the bottle towards him.
Blaise made it float mid-air with a simple swish of his wand.
"We have and I'm here to fetch Blaise," Pansy said pointedly.
"What work do we have?" Blaise questioned, frowning at Pansy.
"You said you'd help me with potions," she hissed.
"Oh, right," Blaise grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Good luck, mate," Blaise said to him, giving him a hard encouraging shove.
"I'll need it," he mumbled more to himself than anyone else.
It was useless to deny the fact that Hermione Granger's confession about how much she hated him two days earlier hadn't affected him. He couldn't stop thinking about it. How she had burned with fury, ready to consume everything around her. How her words were laced with poison. She was lethal when angry.
Somewhere, a small part of him had thought that if anyone in the entire castle or the wizarding world of London could find it in themself to not hate him, it would be her. He knew it was stupid. After everything he had done to her, he deserved every last bit of her poison.
But it didn't mean he hadn't been furious at her as well. He disliked her just as much as she hated him and she was right. There was no need for them to interact unless absolutely necessary.
Like this dueling session they were supposed to lead.
He took a deep breath and collected his thoughts and emotions, locking them in a box that he placed at the furthest corner of his mind. He arranged his face in a practiced mask just in time as the door swung open and she walked in.
She wore a blue top with jeans and her hair was up in a bun, held securely at the top of her head with her wand.
"Hi," she greeted as she took an unsure step toward him. Her eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on him.
