Spellbind

11. Obsidian

A/N:
>>>>> = Time Skip
<<<<< = Flashback
*=*=*=*=* = Next Scene

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Niyla POV:

Draco smiled, amused, at my hesitation to walk through the threshold of the Hall. We were one of the last to take our seats in the large candle-lit room, Krum sat across from us with Poliahoff and a few other Durmstrang. I settled in the space next to Draco, with a sigh of the faintest relief; our backs were turned toward the other House tables.— No chance of catching a glimpse of George. The odds of him scrambling my thoughts with just a single glance were near zero.

"Not hungry?" Draco went on solicitously, after a while of watching me move my food around my golden plate.

I shrugged, a blush inviting itself to settle faintly on my cheekbones.

"You need to eat," he encouraged.

A smile twitched on the corner of my lips, a bit intrigued to see Draco was concerned for my health.

"I'm not all that hungry," I said, taking a nibble off the slab of bread to satisfy him.

"It's so like you," he sighed inwardly.

"What is?" I raised a brow, chewing my food robotically.

The grudging look in his eyes was stifled by his ability to compose a jocular facade. I completely met his gaze then and he was smiling so convincingly I felt a need to no longer strain to comprehend his thoughts.— I would contemplate them later, if necessary.

Draco raised his eyebrow suggestively. "You, overthinking everything."

I guess in some sort of way he was right. I had been thinking too much of everything that could go wrong once George and I spoke. But mostly about everything that could go right. After so long of coming to terms with rejection, acceptance is too strange to welcome.

I rolled my eyes dramatically, "I was just thinking— wishing— this night would be over already."

For a brief second his eyes seemed to read past my half-lie, the next he shook his head once with a smile of disappointment. I watched him, stabbing a chunk of beef and twisting his fork into his mouth; dropping his wrist he let the golden utensil fall to his plate and wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand.

"You just can't wait to run back to the common room," his eyes were mocking.

"Am I that obvious?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Yeah," Draco snorted, leaning toward me and whispered. "You haven't stopped blushing since we walked in here."

"I wonder if Weasley is the same—" he started to swivel his head in the direction behind us.

"No, don't!" I hissed, grabbing his arm, and forcing him to turn back to our table.

"Ohh," he hummed through a chuckle. "Careful Darling, you might make him jealous touching me like that."

My hands flinched away from him, squinting my eyes with disbelief. I'm not above using Draco to make George a little jealous, but I rather not give Draco the satisfaction of knowing I'd need his help in such a situation.

"Don't flatter yourself," I said, flushing uncontrollably.

His smile widened.

"But you agree it could?" It sounded more like he was telling me this was my thought, instead of a question.

His smug expression turned my skin pinker. Suddenly the chatter in the Hall lowered, the silence piercing the air as Snape, McGonagall, and the two headmasters of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons stood from the staff table; their expressions ranging from disquiet to frustration. I watched as Karkaroff stood behind Krum and Poliahoff and led them away from the Slytherin table.