𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

1

"I am too heavy with guilt. And with sin."

"Give me your hand, Draco."

She extended her hand, her ivory skin as smooth as silk and rose petals. A gentleness lived beneath her skin, softly awaiting a kindred spirit to share its gentle ways. Draco was not that person. In contrast, there were fires and obscurity under his own skin.

Her delicate brow uplifted in wait. "Your hand, Draco."

He shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will stain you too."

"Then, stain me."

Without waiting for his response, she reached out and enveloped his hand in hers. And somehow, that gentle warmth seeped into Draco's being, quenching the flames that had long ravaged him.

"Do as the heavens have done, forget your evil; with them, forgive yourself."

Draco blinked. He had never known such softness—not one that was aimed at him. "Shakespeare."

The girl smiled, a smile that melted his defences as though he were sand slipping through her fingers. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Really? You think that's wise?" Blaise Zabini lounged back, his scuffed boots resting on the intricately carved, 18th-century Louis XVI coffee table, its polished mahogany surface reflecting the soft glow of the crystal chandelier above. The table, a family heirloom from the Malfoy estate, was adorned with delicate inlays of ebony and gilt bronze, a testament to the Malfoy's impeccable taste and wealth.

Draco's scowl deepened, his annoyance palpable as he gazed at Blaise's feet. "How very... distasteful, Zabini," he muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. Discourteous ravenous hound.

Pansy Parkinson sat primly in the plush, velvet recliner, cradling her steaming cup of tea in delicate, porcelain-like hands. She blew on it daintily, her gaze flicking up at the two men through lashes. "I'm quite certain Professor McGonagall wouldn't have extended such... fortuity, unless she expected success."

It had been a nearly a decade since the war's dark shadow had lifted, ushering in a fragile promise of redemption, peace, and renewal. Six long, arduous years that had tested the mettle of those who had once called Hogwarts home. The Slytherins, once notorious for their cunning and ambition, had evolved, shedding some of their schoolyard arrogance. Or so they fervently hoped.

Pansy Parkinson, once the embodiment of haughty disdain, had transformed. Her perpetual sneer had softened, her sharp tongue now spoke with gentle elegance. The passage of time had refined her, polishing the rough edges of her youth. Her elopement with Anthony Goldstein, the Ravenclaw's charming and introspective son, had been a surprise to many.

Though Draco never voiced it aloud, he suspected Anthony's gentle wisdom and unwavering empathy had been the catalyst for Pansy's remarkable transformation, tempering the once-cruel girl with compassion and humility.

On the other hand, Blaise Zabini's transformation was a departure from the expected. Tired of being confined by the pure-blood stereotype, he rebelled against the constraints of his family's legacy. His indifference to conventionality had become a badge of honor. Gone was the reserved Blaise of yesteryear; in his place stood a confident, outspoken individual, unapologetic and unbridled.

Blaise's neutrality during the war had brought him a sense of liberation. He had avoided taking sides, instead focusing on survival and self-discovery. While Draco sometimes raised an eyebrow at Blaise's unbridled humor, he admired the courage it took for Blaise to break free from expectations.