"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
——————
Draco Malfoy was sitting alone. His hands fidgeted tirelessly together, head hung uncharacteristically low. He seemed sunken into himself, huddled, and his eyes darted back and forth between his twiddling fingers and the rest of the Slytherin students, who were sitting considerably far away from him. They were whispering to each other, occasionally shooting a furtive, quick look at Malfoy. He pretended not to notice, but grew sicker and paler with every stolen glance, his fingers rubbing together so frenziedly his skin was beginning to dry and redden, scarring under his short, manicured nails.
"Stop staring," said Hermione without checking to see if Harry was actually staring; she clearly knew he was, but he waved her off.
Something about Malfoy was different now; it unsettled Harry. The last time Malfoy spent this much time without insulting or humiliating Harry, he had been preoccupied with hatching a murder plan for Albus Dumbledore. Granted this, Harry didn't trust Malfoy despite how much Annabelle and Ginny insisted he changed.
So, making sure his eyes were narrowed into little green slits, Harry kept his glare fast on Malfoy.
And beside him, Harry noticed with a start, were the two blonde heads of Luna and Annabelle, bubbly enough for the three of them. It looked ridiculous for them all to be sitting together: they all had varying shades of blonde and stuck out like a sore thumb against the sea of black robes. Annabelle was across from Malfoy, her hands folded on the table, listening intensely to his mumbling. Luna, her dreaminess exuding into the corners of her face and a pair of radishes dangling from her ears, rubbed small circles into Malfoy's thumb. Annabelle leaned back, letting Malfoy talk to her.
"Stop staring!" Hermione repeated, batting his arm.
Again, Harry waved her off. "What's Annabelle doing talking to Malfoy?"
"Annabelle?" asked Hermione. She looked up from her book to peer at the Slytherin table. "Huh, she is talking to him. That's interesting."
And Hermione returned to her book, looking the very opposite of interested.
"I'm going over."
"Harry, no." She snapped her eyes up from her book and grabbed his wrist, looking slightly panicked. "Annabelle has it handled, don't —"
Hermione was probably right, but Harry was already going against her advice before she could even finish it.
Harry, feeling intrusive but overwhelmingly curious, made a point of saying something to Annabelle in case she was being coerced into talking to Malfoy.
