WHEN GODS SLEEP - DRACO M.

ELEVEN.

WHEN GODS SLEEP
Chapter Eleven

Epione had been staring at her immaculate reflection in the vanity for, at least, the past ten minutes. She'd worn the most Slytherin of the dresses she brought – her mother wouldn't let them leave without packing appropriate attire for any occasion – and it was quite the mesmerizing sight. It was a pine dark green, tight only until her waist, where it flowed down in layered tule The torso was made of spots of flowery embroidery mingled with golden beads, pressed against a slightly sheer fabric, and it modestly dipped down into her chest. The skirt, on the other hand, began with the same lace detailing only up until her hips, leaving the waves of fabric to form an a-line shape.

           Her hair had been charmed by Tracey - who seemed apologetic since the afternoon in the library, - to hold a couple of scarce golden speckles in its long waves; it was now long enough that the tips reached the small of her back. She was a sight to behold, yes, and her family wouldn't have had it any other way.

          The confidence-boosting properties of staring at oneself wasn't why Epione was so lost within her own eyes. Instead, and as always, she had her mind occupied with Draco Malfoy. The Potions class had left quite the impression on her, and yet it made no sense. Daphne, herself, and Millicent were the only Slytherins in the N.E.W.T class, Hermione Granger was the only Gryffindor and she'd taken her vial. From Ravenclaw, they had Padma Patil, Lisa, and Mandy Brocklehurst and from Hufflepuff, well, they had Megan Jones, who wasn't even worth mentioning considering she was a Muggleborn.

          Epione could find at least a fault in nearly every single one of the women that would make them unattractive to him, and at least a couple she'd heard who their vials fell with. But it couldn't be her either, it would contradict everything he said and did since the school year started. She knew it couldn't be her, or, at least – she tried to convince herself of that. It's one of the harshest sides of unrequited love, after all - fooling yourself into believing that their actions are signs of reciprocity, and being, every single time, painfully wrong.

          It was a bit past eight o'clock and she'd promised to meet on the fifth floor, just before Slughorn's office and by Ravenclaw tower. Daphne too was coming, bringing her less capable little sister with her, and Blaise had, for whatever reason, invited Pansy to be his date. They sat in the common room, conversing loosely as they waited until the appropriate fashionably late time, and she couldn't help the chill that caressed her spine as Draco raised his head to meet her.

          She didn't know if it was more proper to give him a smile or ignore him completely. Stuck in an infinity limbo between do and don't, she did absolutely nothing other than stare back. His expression was as closed off as ever, and it was difficult to tell whether he also wanted to partake in the festivities of if he'd rather work on his task. Either way, he still appeared quite sickly, grey-ish almost, yet still so handsome even under his regular robes.

         Blaise cleared his throat before clapping his hands loudly – it tore them both off the strange trance. 'It's time, everyone! Let's parade, my very attractive friends.'

           She made it a point not to glance back at her fiancé, afraid she might just snap right there and ask him all the questions plaguing her mind. In near unison, they stepped outside the common room.

          He wasn't exaggerating. They did appear like a couple of stray models preparing for a fashion show, and it offered a different strut in her walk to be in such a group. Theodore Nott too had joined them, and soon a couple more gatherings of different years trailed behind them as they promenaded up the grand staircase. Beautiful, luxurious evening gowns and tailored suits nearly glowing, the grandiose type of presence and feeling only the Slytherins could convey. Even for an event like this they were dressed and prepared to kill.