Filthy Little Mudblood

Distraction

Y/N POV

After being left stranded in a sea of words, I am now suddenly acutely aware of how alone I feel. There was no stolen kiss, no whispered promises, just a lingering touch, a hollow ache in my chest and the sting of his words.

Angelina. I want to tell her everything, the stupid hope, the fleeting touch, and the crushing disappointment that followed. But I can't seem to face her. Every step I take in the direction to the Gryffindor common room feels off. It feels wrong. How can I explain the tangled mess of emotions churning inside? Shame coils around me, like a viper refusing to release its suffocating grip. Fitting considering I'm a Slytherin.

Was it me? Did I misread the situation entirely? The agonising self-doubt gnaws at me. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, blurring the corridor lights into a hazy mess. I just want Angelina's fierce loyalty, her unwavering support. But the fear of judgement, of appearing foolish and naive, will keep my lips sealed. I don't deserve her loyalty or her support. Not when I've betrayed my beliefs, her judgement and even my roommate.

With a shaky breath, I turn around, heading to the Slytherin Common Room. Maybe, with time, the fog of humiliation will clear. Maybe then, I might find the courage to face Angelina and untangle the mess Draco left behind. For now, I just need to lay down in my bed and think.

Reaching my dorm room, I fumble with the doorknob, praying for an empty haven. The sight that greeted me was worse than a locked door would have been.

Pansy Parkinson is sprawled across her bed, her green eyes staring me down. Her jet black hair looks meticulously straightened, a stark contrast to the mussed state of mine thanks to Draco's hands running through it.

"Draco's on his way, wouldn't want him to find you here now, would we?" Pansy remarks. So much for a greeting.

My throat tightens. "I... I wasn't planning on staying," I stammered, the words catching in my dry throat.

Pansy's smirk widens. "Convenient. Because frankly, darling, you won't want to be here for what comes next." Her words laced with a cruel amusement.

The implication is clear: Draco, the boy I'd just foolishly entangled myself with, was coming for Pansy, not me.

Panic claws at my insides. Defeated, I grab my bag, the weight of it a mere fraction of the humiliation and guilt I feel pressing down on me. As I slip out the door, the scent of her expensive perfume that smells of black orchids and vetiver stings my nostrils, a final reminder of the night's unwelcome reality.

With seemingly nowhere to go and a desperate need of comforting I head to the gryffindor dorm room, my feet turned on autopilot, leading me not to Angelina but to Cormac's door.

He's not perfect. Flirting with other girls might just practically be his national pastime. But with Cormac, there were never any mixed signals. He always made it abundantly clear I was wanted, juxtaposing Draco's actions.

Hesitantly, I raise my fist to knock. A distraction, that's all I need. A break from the suffocating shame. Maybe a night of mindless flirting, of easy laughter, is the antidote to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside. Taking a deep breath, I rap my knuckles against the worn wood, the sound echoing down the silent hallway.

The door swings open a moment later, revealing Cormac in all his glory. A surprised look flickers across his face, then a grin erupts, crinkling the corners of his cornflower blue eyes. "Hey there, stranger," he said, his voice warm. "Everything alright?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken concern. For a moment, the dam holding back my emotions threatened to burst. But then, remembering why I was here, I forced a smile. "Yeah, just peachy," I replied, my voice light, maybe a touch too light. "Just... could use some company."

Cormac's eyebrows shoot up, a playful glint entering his eyes. "Well, come on in then," he said with a smirk, stepping aside to usher me in. He closes the door and turns to the sight of me unbuttoning my shirt and his ravenous grin turns even more ravenous.

"My favourite type of company." he says playfully.