Prologue: Six Months Later
"Don't move." The voice was as sharp as a knife. I stopped suddenly, catching my breath as I felt a figure push a wand to my cheek. I swallowed, balling my moist hands together and trying to pretend that I didn't know who was talking. Trying to pretend that I had absolutely no idea whose shivering breath was tickling the back of my neck and who was pressing his wand to my face and threatening – and I didn't doubt this – to kill me. And maybe I could have if I couldn't tell that his hand was shaking and smell the sharp cologne that I had mocked a million times.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" He snarled, not even pretending to be calm. I heard so much in his voice: hatred, pain, fear. I closed my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath as I tried to think of what to say, but what could I say? That I didn't hate him? That I thought he was an asshole? That I was surprised that he was here? That I was in love with him? Because saying anything otherwise would have been a straight up lie.
"Trying to talk to you one last time," I said impatiently.
"We didn't ask you to come here," He reminded me. I rolled my eyes.
"And I didn't wait for your permission," I snapped back. "I came here to fix this." His lips were close to my neck, dipping towards my ear but hesitating to speak.
"Leave," he said coolly, "We didn't need some fake Slytherin here." I chewed the inside of my cheek.
"You're wrong," I differed. "For years I thought it was your fault that I landed myself in Slytherin – I hated you for seven years. I went back to the memory over and over again, trying to figure out what would have happened if I hadn't gotten in a fight with you on that train, and if I never told that stupid hat what had happened when he pondered of what house I should be him, but you want to know the truth? I'm the most Slytherin-like person in this goddamn room. So I'd suggest you move your wand, Malfoy."
Before I continue, anyone like it or nah?
