The Boy on the Train (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Chapter 7

Draco POV

No matter how hard I tried, I could not respite my mind of (Y/N). It was as if her name was etched upon my psyche, demanding its full attention every waking hour. I lay awake that night, reminiscing of my shared memories with her. Not that there were much, but what was there left a lasting impact on me.

My stream of consciousness lifted away, flowing back to our first years.

I sat in the library, unbelievably absent-minded. My dead gaze traced up and down the rows of books lined up in front of me. My eyelids were heavy with fatigue. My eyes unable to focus on the pages below me. Our potions class was to spend the period in the library today, Professor Snape had important business to attend to. 'What's more important than your own students.' I thought.

The flipping of a book page next to me snapped me out of my gaze. (Y/N) I was assigned to sit next to sat with her nose buried in a book, and one hand steadily writing upon her parchment. It was a group project we were to be working on, but why should I lift my hand when she so enjoys doing work herself? Who am I to distract her? I rolled my eyes, returning to my empty activities. I could mess with her, but it is just no fun. Besides, who's to say she won't hit me a second time? She had better be glad no one saw; my father would have had her hand removed.

"Draco."

I looked up; half startled to see her staring at me with wide eyes. She pointed at my shirt. I looked down confused. She sighed, almost annoyed, at my lack of response. She stood and moved as close as she could to me. I flustered and pushed her away.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing?" I tried my best to appear a threat, however I am sure my red face spoke for itself.

She grabbed my hand and pushed it away. "I'm just getting the book that's behind you." She held a large dusty book in her petite hands. "I kept asking for it, but you were in la-la land." She opened the large book on the table with a thud and returned to her studies as if the encounter had never occurred.

I was angry, she always catches me off guard and makes me to be the fool. She is a ratty bitch. I stood to my feet and grabbed the book from her, the book hitting her in the nose and knocking off her glasses in the process. I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh, half because I was thoroughly amused, and half because I was scared out of my wits. I was only going to tease her by taking it, I didn't mean to hit her.

Her hand cupped her nose and a small tear dropped to the desk. Keeping her hand close to her nose, she reached to the floor to pick up her glasses. She shakily put them on and lowered her hand to view small droplets of blood. My face paled.

She looked up at me, not in a sad way, or angry, just confused. Little tears pricked the corners of her eyes and her nose was flushed pink. Small trails of blood flowed out of her nostrils and onto her hand.

"What was that for?" She asked calmly.

I had nearly forgotten the weight of the book in my hand, the weight of guilt was heavier a burden. I didn't show it though, nor would I ever in a million years.

"Wipe your bloody nose, you're disgusting." I offered her a grimace.

"I wouldn't have to wipe my bloody nose if you weren't so reckless and actually studied." She smeared the blood across her upper lip.

I looked about the room, we were somewhat hidden from the rest of the class, as most groups were spaced out. I sat the book down and opened to somewhere in the middle. Without a second thought, I grabbed the center of one of the pages and tore down slowly and quietly.

She began to tug at my white-collar shirt and voice her whispers of protest.

"Draco! What are you doing? That is a 200-year-old book! Are you insane?" I ignored her. She tried to grab at my hands, but the page was already separated.

I folded it in half and smushed her nose in between the page. Her muffled noises amused me to an extent, and her eyes scrunched shut and the shock was enough to make me bellow out in laughter. However, I contained my expression to a small, mischievous smile.

I lowered my hand, the tan parchment now blotted with dark stains. I looked at her face, fuming with fury. If anything, the smears were worse.

She scolded me vehemently. Ironically, she was not upset at my forward solution, but the act of ruining a sacred text. If I'm being honest, her words went in one ear and out the other. I just watched her vividly animated face.

What brought me out of my trance was the movement of her hands to grip my wrist. In an instant, she brought my shirt to wipe the stains off her nose. I was so shocked I just watched as she jerked my hand back and forth.

The substitute sounded that class was dismissed for the day. She dropped my hand, picked up her bag and books and swiftly exited the library. Only when I saw the last sway of her (H/C) hair leave my vision, I looked to see my shirt. The wrist area was smeared with dried blood.

My blood boiled, and anger rose to grace my features. The thought of her muggle mixed blood on my sleeve sent me into a rage the rest of the day.