𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐫 [ON INDEFINITE HIATUS]

03 | The Game

Draco exhaled loudly, his lips felt dry from being out in the cold for so long. All he wanted was a warm shower, not get dragged around the entire school by Granger. He could still feel the ghost of her blood on his fingers and his head was heavy with thoughts. He desperately needed some alone time to think clearly.

"I just want to be warm, Granger. I don't need you to lead me to another mess," he grumbled, unraveling his scarf. He went to pull off his gloves but realized he'd left them lying in the snow. Draco made a mental note to owl his parents and ask them to mail him new ones.

"Trust me, it'll be worthwhile, Malfoy," she said in an assuring tone. He scoffed, walking in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room, "I don't trust you. I'll pass."

"You owe me for putting that gash on my forehead."

He stopped walking and turned to glare at her, "Yeah, I couldn't care less. Go bother the death magnets."

Hermione frowned, watching as Malfoy disappeared down the hall. She brought her hand to her forehead, her fingers gingerly brushing over her new scar. He'd healed her and she had no clue why. She came to the conclusion that he'd done it to save his own arse –– if they'd discovered her frozen body the next morning, things would not play out in Malfoy's favor. He surely did it out of selfish intentions, that had to be the reason. Spinning on her heels, Hermione headed toward the kitchens. She desperately needed a steaming cup of hot chocolate to warm her shivering body.

⚯͛

Thank you, Malfoy.

- H

Draco studied the small rectangular piece of paper with knitted eyebrows. Minutes before, there was a knock on the Slytherin Common Room door, and when he answered, a mug with steaming brown liquid inside sat on the floor. A note was slipped underneath the grotesque maroon cup. Clearly, it was meant for him.

He leaned out the door and looked to his right, then to his left, but he was only met with the heavy darkness. He drew himself back into the warmth of his Common Room, several pairs of prying eyes glued on him and his every movement.

"What have you got there, mate?" Theo asked curiously.

Draco took a sip of the mysterious drink. The warm elixir tasted like chocolate, it was delicious. After he'd taken another sip -– this time a longer one ––, he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. "Is this another one of your bloody pranks, Nott? Who's H?"

The look of confusion on his friend's face gave the blond the answer he needed. "Nevermind," he shook his head quickly, shoving the note into his pocket. "I'll see you all tomorrow morning."

Retreating to the dorms, Draco placed the mug on his nightstand and analyzed the note again. H... Could it be from Granger? The sickening color of the cup indicated it was undoubtedly from Gryffindor. Mumbling a curse word, he crumpled the small piece of paper into a ball, tossing it across the room. It rolled across the carpet before coming to a stop under Zabini's bed. Fucking Mudblood, he didn't need anything from her.

Mudblood.

That fucking term again, the events came rushing back to him like a turbulent wave crashing against rocks. He lifted himself onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. Thank Salazar he was alone. His roommates were still in the Common Room, he could hear their laughter from up here. 

Mudblood. Dirty-blood. Impure. 

The young wizard placed his hand on his forehead, brushing the fringes of his blonde locks backward. He'd drawn and seen the stupid git's blood this afternoon; it looked identical to his. It had to have been a trick of the light, there was no other explanation for it. He closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully, even that answer wasn't convincing. He felt his head spin and the feeling ran down his spine into his abdomen. His stomach lurched and suddenly, Draco felt sick –– very sick. He hopped off his bed and ran to the toilets, not stopping until he was kneeled over one, his head in the pristine porcelain bowl.