Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Wet

The windowless storage cupboard was small, cluttered, and tucked away at the very end of the main hallway on the third floor.

It would have also been a wonderful place to cry.

Except, I didn't cry. Couldn't. Even though it was all I wanted to do right now, because crying - while a rarity for me to experience - always brought me peace, afterwards. Like a spring-clean of all my bottled up thoughts and emotions.

My shallow breathing was the only noise aside from the hum of blood surging through my ears. I had company -- it came in the form of the stone wall I was staring flatly at.

Weirdly enough, there was something about the frigid air and lack of life in the tiny room that felt calm. It made the pulse in my chest slow again. Steady.

The door handle suddenly rattled and I stilled, shoulders tensing.

A ray of light seeped in from the corridor as the door slowly creaked open, yet I stayed facing the wall, keeping my arms wrapped defensively around my chest. Holding my breath. Not daring to breathe. I am invisible right now.

I am a potted plant...

There was a sharp rapping at the door which made my body jolt -- flinch. Someone impatiently cleared their throat, and then:

"Knock knock,"

Draco.

I stayed hugging myself, not turning to face him in the doorway. Instead, my eyes fell on a cracked mirror that leaned on one of the many cluttered shelves: in it, I could see the doorway through the silvery reflection-

Could see the tall, looming figure that was Draco carefully, almost cautiously, step inside my hiding place. Eyeing me up and down suspiciously as he did so.

I heard the door click shut.

"Who's there?" My reply was thick with emotion and sarcasm and I hugged my arms tighter across my chest.

I had been keeping a careful eye on Draco's reflection, still with my back turned. His brow was bent like a cliff over his thoughts; I had never seen him look uncertain before. If I didn't know him any better, I might have mistaken the flash in his eyes for concern.

"The Postman, of course." He replied, and his snide tone didn't match up to the soft, troubled look which was hanging over his stare. "I've come to deliver you a package, actually."

Without pulling his gaze from the back of my head, I watched in the reflection as he pulled something blue and small out of his robes.

My pulse skipped a beat and I pivoted around, the blood fully drained from my horrified face.

"You dropped this," Surprisingly, he outstretched his arm between the meters distance between us. That softness in his expression -- gone.

It'd rapidly flicked back to a derisive, cold stare.

I snatched my diary from him and gripped it to my chest, eyeing him warily. Wearily -- for I was long past being in the mood for another Draco-vs-Violet argument match.

I expected arrogance, slyness, and scorn: "A thank you would be nice!" Or something petty along those lines.

"I didn't read it." Is all he said, in a mild, careful voice. "Honest."

I sniffed, my gaze dropping to the floor where I scuffed my shoe against the stone. "Right."

My reply hung in the frigid air between us for a painfully long moment. Something began pressing behind my eyes, and I kept my gaze fixed firmly on my shoe, scuffing it against the flagstones. I sighed.