Scorched and Bruised ; Draco Malfoy

☾｡✩˚𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓼𝓮'𝓼 𝓑𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂˚✩｡☽

She wasn't anxious.

No—not a single grain of nerves seeped through that hourglass; she was angry. She was so very starved, kindle to the fire, and she was going to look good.

Velvet the color of a moonless night cascaded down her perfumed skin like a constricting corset. Teasing gloves enveloped her arms, leaving them half-bare to the chilly air of the Slytherin Dungeons. Glistening pearls—authentic and a birthday gift from Pansy—embellished her neck. Standing on the devastatingly lower side of average, she now gained four inches of stature, graciously granted by her platform pumps.

A deep breath in.

Not a single hair out of place that wasn't intentionally slipped from her ponytail. Sharp lines—crafted to intimidate—bold colour—designed to command attention—composed the art on her face.

That's how Star decided to adorn herself for Blaise's birthday party.

A deep breath out.

Classy, elegant, fierce. Perfect.

She willed herself to calm. Even though she could comprehend him—his position—she also recognized her own.

Understanding someone's actions doesn't justify tolerating them; empathy isn't an excuse.

'The same could be said about you. Who fought so ravenously? Who kicker higher? Punched faster? Tossed endless hexes?'

A deep breath in. A shake of her head.

Star willed the thoughts away.

Anger was all-consuming, like a snug and warm embrace from familiar arms, yet she had never directed it towards herself. Experienced it toward herself.

What could she do? What should she do? She couldn't possibly rip herself to shreds.

A deep breath out.

Oceana's tips weren't helping. How did controlled breathing ever help anyone? Star didn't know. It was bizarre.

Precise hands adjusted her appearance one last time as she stood in front of the mirror.

The end of October's crisp chill was descending into a freezing tundra. It was funny how the days slipped by when one was encompassed by soul-devouring emotions.

Katie Bell had been cursed, and fear had spread throughout the school. That widespread panic had, however, not stopped the Slytherin common room from gathering up and seizing the opportunity to indulge in the free liquor that came with a typical house party.

Her eyes flickered to the two golden chains delicately placed on a necklace display, delicate fingers tracing the expensive metal. They had been fixed, brand new as if the assault of their battering hadn't happened. As if Draco had never ripped them off her with such ease.

Sparks ghosted her neck in the momentary lapse in reverie.

Cas had fixed them.

He'd been tirelessly vying for her attention after Star had thrown his gifts at him. But, he had become more gentle, less clingy, and less overbearing. Now, he was tolerable.

On the other hand, she hadn't seen a glimpse of Draco after that day.

She knew he was fine, her friends had mentioned it. She knew he was alive, but was that enough for her? No. It wasn't.

When she had enough time to think on it—why he'd fought her—it became clear. He had been under immense stress, teetering on the edge of breaking for so long. She herself didn't even know what had transpired over the summer in that manor—how he had acquired the mark, how he had suddenly mastered new tricks like Legilimency, how his duelling skills now levelled with hers. And from the sounds of it, Voldemort had overstayed his welcome in Draco's home.