Your still mine D.M

Echos of the Past~Chapter 3

Avery's POV
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of half-hearted conversations and distracted nods. My mind was elsewhere—still in that dungeon classroom, replaying every word, every glance exchanged with Draco. I tried to push the thoughts aside, but they clung to me like a stubborn shadow, following me through the corridors of Hogwarts.

By lunchtime, the Great Hall was buzzing with the usual chatter. The long tables were filled with students from every house, their voices blending into a constant hum. I picked at my food, my appetite long gone, while Pansy prattled on about some upcoming Quidditch match. I nodded along, but my thoughts were miles away.

"Are you even listening, Avery?" Pansy's voice broke through my reverie, sharp and insistent.

I blinked, looking up at her. "Yeah, sorry. Just... thinking."

"About Draco?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. Her tone was teasing, but there was a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

"No," I lied quickly, stabbing at a piece of bread. "I'm just trying to get used to being back."

Pansy hummed, clearly unconvinced, but she let it go. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He hasn't taken his eyes off you, you know."

My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced up, following her gaze to the Slytherin table across the room. Sure enough, Draco was there, sitting with Blaise and a few others, his expression as unreadable as ever. When our eyes met, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I quickly looked away, my cheeks flushing with irritation.

"I don't care what he does," I muttered, pushing my plate aside. "He can stare all he wants. It doesn't change anything."

Pansy chuckled, clearly amused by my discomfort. "You keep telling yourself that."

I glared at her, but before I could retort, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Students began to rise, gathering their things for the next class. I was more than ready to leave, to escape the prying eyes and the unspoken questions that seemed to hang in the air.

As we made our way to Transfiguration, I couldn't shake the feeling that Draco's gaze was still on me, a constant, oppressive weight that made my skin prickle. But I refused to let him see how much he was getting to me. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

Professor McGonagall's classroom was a welcome change from the dark, suffocating dungeons. The tall windows let in plenty of light, and the air felt fresher, less charged with tension. I took a seat near the middle of the room, Pansy beside me, and tried to focus on the lesson.

But it wasn't long before the door creaked open, and Draco slipped in, his presence instantly drawing the attention of the entire room. He moved with an easy confidence, like he owned the place, and as much as I hated to admit it, there was something almost magnetic about him.

I kept my eyes fixed on McGonagall, determined not to acknowledge him, but I could feel him settle into a seat a few rows behind me. Every fiber of my being was aware of his presence, and it was infuriating.

McGonagall began her lecture on human transfiguration, her voice crisp and authoritative. I took notes diligently, grateful for the distraction, but even as I scribbled down the details of the spellwork, my mind kept wandering back to Draco.

What was his game? Why was he so intent on pushing my buttons, on reminding me of everything we'd once been? It was like he was trying to dig up the past, to force me to confront things I'd long buried. But why? What did he hope to gain?

When McGonagall instructed us to practice the spell on the small wooden mice she'd conjured for us, I seized the opportunity to channel my frustration into my magic. The first time I pointed my wand at the mouse, I focused hard, envisioning it transforming into a goblet, just as McGonagall had demonstrated.

"Transfiguro!" I muttered, flicking my wand with a sharp, precise motion.

The mouse twitched, its whiskers bristling, before slowly morphing into a somewhat misshapen goblet. It wasn't perfect, but it was close enough, and I felt a small surge of satisfaction.

But just as I was about to try again, a low voice whispered from behind me, too close for comfort. "Nice try, Sinclair. But you missed a spot."

I didn't need to turn around to know it was Draco. His breath tickled the back of my neck, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine.

"Go away, Malfoy," I hissed, refusing to let him rattle me.

He chuckled softly, a sound that grated on my nerves. "You always were so serious about your magic. Guess some things never change."

I gritted my teeth, trying to block him out, but he wasn't done.

"Do you remember the first time we tried human transfiguration?" he continued, his tone almost nostalgic. "You were so determined to get it right, even though we were just kids. You spent hours practicing, and when you finally managed it, you were so proud."

I clenched my wand tightly, willing myself to focus on the task at hand. But his words had already opened a door I'd kept firmly shut—a door to memories I wasn't ready to face.

"Shut up, Draco," I snapped, my voice low but sharp.

He didn't reply, but I could feel his smirk, hear it in the silence that followed. After a moment, he moved away, returning to his seat, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

I tried to focus on the spell again, but my concentration was shattered. Draco's words hung in the air, intertwining with the memories I'd tried so hard to forget. Memories of long afternoons spent practicing spells together, of shared triumphs and whispered secrets.

It was infuriating how easily he could unsettle me, how quickly he could drag me back to a time I'd sworn I was done with. And worse, it was like he knew exactly what he was doing—like this was all part of his game.

By the time class ended, I was more than ready to leave. I gathered my things quickly, avoiding Draco's gaze as I made my way to the door. Pansy followed, her expression carefully neutral, but I could tell she was dying to ask questions.

"Not now," I muttered as we walked out into the corridor.

She didn't press, for which I was grateful. I needed space—space to think, to process, to figure out how the hell I was going to deal with Draco Malfoy.

But as we headed to our next class, one thought kept looping through my mind, a relentless, nagging whisper that I couldn't shake.

No matter how hard I tried to bury the past, it seemed determined to dig its way back up. And Draco was right at the heart of it, pulling the strings with that infuriating smirk of his.

Whatever game he was playing, it was far from over. And somehow, I had a feeling that this was just the beginning.

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