DISCONTINUED--Letters I Can't Send (draco x reader)

43

Y/n's POV

I told Quinn. I told her everything. I told her everything that happened with Draco in the Room of Requirement and everything about my visions. I told her I understood why she told the professors because life is too short to hold petty  grudges.

Now, we sit in the potions room that has been transfigured to look quite different than the normal lesson day. The chairs and tables have been relocated elsewhere so the floor is clear.

Quinn and I stand in the crowd of people surrounding Snape, whispering to each other curiously.

"As you might already know," Snape says slowly in his gravely voice. "it is tradition of the Triwizard Tournament to host a Yule Ball, which will take place on the evening of Christmas Day. And if you have any true brains in your small heads, you can understand that this is a dance including the other two schools." He pauses, his cold eyes passing over each and every one of us to study our reactions.

I shift on my feet, suddenly acutely aware of the blonde boy on the other side of the room.

Snape continues. "And I hope that your faithful Slytherin families have taught you to dance properly. But, we will use class today to ready yourselves for the ball." He steps back and waves his wand slightly, and suddenly, everyone is moving around the room, being pulled to a dance partner.

All of us, confused at the way we are gliding across the room, start muttering in protest, until we stop, all of our partners found.

I look up, recognizing who I'm with immediately. Because of course it's the one blonde boy I've been avoiding for the past week.

I roll my eyes. Pretend like nothing happened. I think he catches on.

Our arms move before either of us can make any sort of comment. His hand goes to my waist and mine to his shoulder. Our other spare hands clasp.

"I sure hope you know how to dance, Malfoy," I say, looking past his shoulder.

"I probably can dance far better than you, Ellis," he retorts.

"Well, I happen to be an excellent dancer, so I wish you luck," I smirk.

I hear him scoff. "I don't need luck, love, unless you're holding this bluff, because you really are a truly terrible dancer."

I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

I'm about to give him some snarky comeback, but then the music starts playing. It's Vienna by Billy Joel.

My eyes instinctively go to his. Uncontrollably, we start moving, but expected to do the real dancing.

We sway at first, then he takes us in a small circle in the little amount of space we have. He spins me gently, and while my back is to him for a moment, I let a small smile run along my lips. I let it fall away as soon as I face him again.

We separate, opposite hands clasped, circling each other gracefully. Then, he comes close to me again, his hands guiding mine to his shoulders. Then he lifts me up and spins around, like in movies. I notice the others in the room, trying and failing at this. Snape looks thoroughly disappointed.

I can't help the grin I have plastered on my face as I look at him when our hands join again. Then we're spinning and moving fluidly and it feels like we are the only ones in the room. Just us moving together like we were made for this moment. 

Our feet step in time to the music, neither of us stepping on each other's toes once. I bend my head back when he twirls me again, living in the moment.

When the music slows to a stop, we slow as well, both of us slightly winded, but smirking at each other. For a moment, his hand stays on my waist and our hands still lightly clasped, just us looking at each other. Then the ringing in my ears ceases and I hear the people moving around us. I clear my throat and let go of his hand. His hand reluctantly slips from my waist.

Then, he says, despite the tension, "Who taught you to dance like that?" he's staring at me with such intensity and intrigue that it makes me wonder who taught him to look at someone like that. But I don't dislike the way his eyes bore into mine. It feels welcome, wanted, almost.

"My... my father," I say slowly, my eyes digging into him just as much as his.

He tilts his head like a dog. "They taught you to dance even on the lonely streets of Massachusetts," he says.

I scoff and cross my arms over my torso, my brows shooting up. "It was hardly lonely in Massachusetts,"

He just shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets.

..........

It snows as the month of December goes on, and I keep visiting Professor Moody. He is trying to teach me to control the visions. But every time I try to ask a question, he interrupts me or causes me to have visions.

I have learned a few things though. Like Moody can make me have visions, but most of time, the forced visions are meaningless, so I have no idea how it is helping me.

As I make my way to my next class, I overhear people being asked to the Yule Ball, people accepting excitedly or people being rejected—I watch their faces distort in disappointment and the uncomfortable way they walk away.

No one has asked me. I haven't thought about asking anyone. I assumed I would just go with Quinn.

But, there is this nagging feeling, this little spark of an idea, a finger tapping at my brain trying to remind me of something. Someone, actually. I shake it off every time I'm reminded.

It's a rare evening that the library is empty besides me. I'm walking down the isles of dusty covers, when a title catches my eye. Visions: The How, Why and When. I stop and slip it off the shelf. It's a thick book, and looks as if it hasn't been touched in years. I use my hands to wipe off the dust from the cover. It's a deep plum purple with a faded silvery title.

Intrigued, I take the book to my small table and open it. I scan the table of contents until I find a topic of interest. Forced Visions; Not Always a Safe Option. My brows pinch together when I read this topic. Unsafe?

I read the section with concern. It is best to let visions come naturally, for unnatural visions are unnecessary and therefore can be dangerous to the person having the vision. Can result in severe headaches and mental confusion and illnesses (see page 231). I look up. If it is so unsafe, then why is Moody making me do it?