to be or not to be| sixth year | draco malfoy

eighteen

"what are you willing to do?"
-

I walked silently down the dimly lit hallway of Hogwarts, the cold stone walls seeming to close in around me. The holidays were over, and school had resumed. Hermione was beside me, her eyes glued to the Daily Prophet, the rustle of the paper the only sound between us. The latest headline was about yet another Ministry official who had vanished without a trace, the whispers of fear and uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. The news didn't surprise me; in fact, it barely registered. My mind was too consumed by other things—things I couldn't seem to escape.

My hands felt cold, my fingertips tingling, and I wondered briefly if anyone else noticed how much paler my skin had become. I hadn't been able to bring myself to eat properly, the food sitting uneasily in my stomach like lead. The sleep, or lack thereof, was another matter entirely. My dreams had become something darker, something I couldn't explain, and the exhaustion that followed was like a constant weight pressing down on me. But I couldn't focus on that, not with everything else swirling in my mind.

"It's so easy for them to get to you, Violet," Hermione's voice cut through my haze, her words sharp with worry. "You're bloody lucky you weren't killed. You have to realize who you are."

Her words hit me like a slap, though not in the way she intended. They were heavy, loaded with truth, and yet, I wasn't sure I could process it all. I felt a sudden heat rise in my chest, irritation bubbling up before I even knew what to say. I snapped before I could stop myself.

"I know who I am, Hermione," I retorted, my voice louder than I meant it to be. The anger, the frustration, the sense of helplessness—I couldn't contain it.

But just as quickly as it flared, the spark of irritation flickered out, replaced by a knot of unease in my stomach. My shoulders slumped, and I let out a slow breath. "Sorry," I muttered, glancing at Hermione, who was now watching me with a quiet understanding in her eyes.

She didn't say anything at first, allowing the tension to dissipate between us, but her voice came again, softer this time. "Have you seen Draco lately?" she asked, her tone thoughtful. "He looks... well, a bit more ill, doesn't he?"

I felt my chest tighten at the mention of his name. The question had been circling in my own mind for days now, the sight of Draco's increasingly gaunt face, his sharp eyes that seemed to hold something far deeper than just exhaustion. His strange behavior, the way he'd retreated further into himself, leaving more and more unsaid. I hadn't been able to get a good look at him for a while, not really. But when I thought about it, there was no denying it.

"I guess he does," I answered quietly, my voice almost lost in the empty hallway. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either. I had wondered if his condition had something to do with the same thing that was slowly consuming me—the darkness that had taken root within us both.

Before Hermione could reply, we passed by Lavender and Ron. Lavender had her arm wrapped around Ron's, a tight, possessive grip that left him looking uncomfortably stiff. It was always like that now, since they'd gotten together. She was clinging to him in a way that made me feel suffocated just by looking at them.

Hermione, her face pinched with annoyance, didn't spare them a second glance. "Excuse me, I have to go and vomit," she muttered, turning abruptly and walking away.

I sighed heavily, the air in my lungs feeling heavy. I didn't need to see Ron's awkward expression or Lavender's tight grip to know what was happening. It was always the same, wasn't it? The world around us felt more fractured with each passing day, the cracks widening, the tension rising. But there was something more pressing, something that lurked beneath the surface of my thoughts, making everything seem less certain, less real.