Inferno | Draco Malfoy

085 | Slashes & Traces

My... affinity with Draco Malfoy has been uncomplicated, characterised by a mutual recognition of the absence of animosity between us. This understanding is evident to both of us and likely to our friends as well. Nonetheless, the inquiry into the nature of my feelings continues to haunt me; I have opted to set it aside until a more opportune moment arises. I possess a degree of clarity now, yet I anticipate the necessity for closure later.

Draco and I have developed a new routine to manage the dual responsibilities associated with the Vanishing Cabinet more efficiently and effectively. Specifically, we have adopted a collaborative strategy. Previously, our efforts were limited to individual work and the exchange of notes. Currently, we are jointly casting spells and charms on the cabinet, while also experimenting with various items for transportation. Among the successful trials, we have transported an apple, a damaged antique clock, and notably, a bird that was successfully returned alive today.

It is a relief to recognise that our efforts are beginning to pay off. Furthermore, the collaborative nature of our work is fostering a deeper connection between us. We no longer operate in silence; instead, we engage in verbal exchanges and support and encourage one another with affectionate gestures, such as brief kisses... among the few make-outs here and there and even interesting eye-opening talks.

Currently, it is lunchtime, and we have chosen to pause our work. As we step out of the Room of Requirement, Draco releases the bird from his grasp, a hint of amusement evident in both our demeanours.

"It's starting to come together." Draco's expression masks his enthusiasm, although his tone is slightly elevated, revealing a hint of optimism. "I'll send a message to Borgin."

The thrashing wind startles me as it pounds against the windows. One would think that May offers beautiful weather with sunshine, however, this is not the reality in Scotland. It appears that a storm is approaching, and as I find myself shaking my head, I reflect on the modest, bright semi-achievements we have made so far.

"But first, let us have a little celebration." I smile as I entwine my arm with his in the deserted corridor on the seventh floor. "I believe that cauldron cakes are being served as the dessert for today's lunch."

"Ah, that does sound pretty tempting." He chuckles. "So tempting, in fact, that I wonder whether all the younger students will finish it before we have a chance to enjoy even a single bite."

With a lighthearted jab to the lad's arm, I seize him by the hand and hasten down the stairs, determined to prevent his prediction from materialising. The cauldron cakes were rightfully mine; I had not indulged in one since the winter, as the children typically do eat the entirety of the supply. But, this occasion would be different, as I had been craving that cake.

"Carissima, be careful, slow down," Draco warns as I drag him. "I am sure we will get there in time."

"You snooze, you lose." I merely retort, quickening my pace with a laugh.

Upon entering the Great Hall, there is an unmistakable group of seventh-years all clumped together in good spirits. Among them, I identify Potter as he pivots to face me, and soon after, I notice the face of Katie Bell, surrounded by her friends, who smear and shower her with affection, enveloping her in hugs and squeezing her hand warmly.

In all honesty, my concern for Katie is minimal, practically non-existent; however, I find some comfort in the knowledge that she is recovering from the ordeal inflicted upon her by Draco. She appears quite pale, lacking any hint of colour in her complexion, and her eyes seem to grow increasingly wide as they fixate on the lad next to me.

My attention is immediately drawn to him, and it feels as though the glee we had just experienced dissipated entirely, for his essence appears to be overshadowed by a profound sense of guilt. There is a kind of shame that eludes verbal expression, stemming from his evident distress. With each passing moment, his eyes widen, as if his memories are tormenting him more intensely than ever. I do not blame him, as it must feel like a folly in his mind, a hallucination.