The Draco Malfoy Imagine Book

Temporary Bliss

It all started with that obnoxious muggle game. I had never thought that said game would change my life so drastically. Of course, everybody has welcomed sixth year with unprecedented paranoia; what with the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and all his newly recruited as well as faithfull Death Eaters. Yet, as I lie down with my long-time fellow Slytherin enemy, with his arms around me and his head on my chest as I hold him close to me, I sense the fear that upholds us.

****3 months ago*****

The usually dark and cool Slytherin dungeon smelled thickly of alcohol- Firewhisky to be exact. Let's state the obvious fact- leave it to hormonal 16-year-old Slytherins to drink illegally when they are underage and throw a wild party to a pug-faced little bitch named Pansy Parkinson as a little "birthday bash". I had no idea why I was invited to this party at all, judging by the fact that I am the Silver trio's worst enemy, apart from Potter of course. Maybe, they were planning on killing me that night after getting me drunk, which was why I was staying away from all the cocktails and any kind of drink around me.

Crossing my leg across my knee, I sat on the black couch beside my best friend. She seemed merrily interested in what Theodore Nott had to say about cursing Filch's cat. I understood that  their conversation had nothing to be dealt with by me, and found the satisfaction of keeping my eyes closed with my head resting against (Y/b/n)'s shoulder appealing, and, which I proceeded to do.

Suddenly, all the excitement of the room died down, which caught my attention, and as I reopened my eyes, my sight filled with Malfoy's glistening blonde hair and his newly acquired soft face, so unlike his former harsh expressions.

"Sod off, you dirtbags. Don't you all have a party to enjoy?" He said, spite added to his tone, along with a tinge of self-doubt which only I seemed to recognise. I had asked many people if they found something wrong with Malfoy's behaviour, but most of them replied that they didn't, and I realised that they didn't care to think enough about him. Maybe I shouldn't too.

He walked over with his shoulders hunched, as he grabbed himself a glass and filled it with the amber liquid. He chugged it down in two gulps and proceeded for another peg. I decided to leave him to his thoughts, but all I could think of was- since when did Malfoy drink so much when he originally used to avoid these as it leads to "weight gain and unnecessary flab"? Yes, he had lectured everyone last year that he stays away from drinking as it might ruin his carefully and hard, worked-out abs. But, what now? Did nobody notice?

Several moments passed and the very next moment, I realised, although it was a very vague instinct, that my life is about to change. Someone at the far corner of the room suddenly shouted, "Truth or Dare time!"

I was familiar with this game, though I had never taken part in it, due to the fact that I befriended several muggle-borns from other houses. This was obviously the reason of enemity between me and Malfoy- he believes that muggle-borns are nothing but filth, and I hold the opinion contrary to his. The daring game was nothing but extremely idiotic. There was absolutely no point in spilling out your darkest secrets to a room full of people who could later use them against you, or, end up having to complete an obnoxious dare.

I had no will to participate, until (y/b/n) dragged me down into the circle, leaving me no choice of fleeing as the doors were magically locked. Malfoy didn't want to take part either, and I was surprised. He was usually one who initiated these games. What happened to him? But similar to my situation, he was forced to sit down with everyone by Pug-face as she was intending to kiss "Drakey-poo" to raise his spirits.

His eyes weren't focused, and I wouldn't blame just his careless drinking for it. They seemed vacant, they lost that silvery charm in them, those same orbs that become bright with excitement when something interesting happens. He stared at the bottle every time it spun, and only seemed to regain conciousness when his turn came. Parkinson, who was sitting opposite to him, asked as he chose Truth, "What's your deepest, darkest secret, Drakey-poo?"