Unforgivable.
Heartless.
Whispers, rumors, always. Of course it hadn't changed.
(they won - judging by house, what was so different?)
He isn't entirely sure why he returns.
He has something to prove, he supposes.
Anyhow, he regrets the rash decision as he stands on the platform, a desolate shadow surrounded by buzzing clusters of harried witches and wizards, but of course it's too late. It's always too late for him.
(what was he to prove to them anyway? He doesn't know)
They throw those same poisonous two words into his face, as if it explained everything. As if it justified how his hand would clench until the wand threatened to snap, how he would spend hours on the end in the hospital wing from the discreetly muttered hexes. As if it was the sole reason for the hateful glares and hissed taunts.
(they say he joined the wrong side. What was the right side anymore?)
He haunts the dark hallways at night, a pale ghost slipping through corridors echoing with the faint peals of derisive laughter. He pretends he cannot hear the murmurs reverberating still in the empty spaces, pretends he cannot see the gossiping crowds still lingering long after their quarry had fled.
It's an aimless wandering, really, with nothing to gain but the silent companion of the moon and stars.
Still, he reasons, gazing absentmindedly at the shadowy grounds, anything would be better than returning to the ever-oppressive gloom of silence pervading the dormitories.
(occasionally a spell breaks with a piercing scream, shattering the deathly quiet)
On the darker days, he finds his mind drifting towards thoughts he cannot fully suppress.
If I could've just tried harder-
If I wasn't so bloody weak-
If I had been more loyal, less hesitant-
If-if-
Non-stop, the muted voices penetrating his barriers with ease, cackling wildly as they wreak havoc upon his mind.
What if-? What would've happened? Every crossroad greeting the wild path of the unknown, the malicious spirits veiling the obscure thorns lining the way.
It would've been different, they sigh wistfully, soft breaths caressing the shell of his ear. Had you chosen this, perhaps there might've been a day when you finally were accepted.
(eventually, he's not sure whether he's listening, or if the whispers have melded into him)
It's pathetic, really, seeing the numbers of quietly meandering eighth-year Slytherins in the Great Hall, their soft chattering lending a somber air to the festively decorated space.
He supposes he shouldn't be the one judging.
A sharp laugh rings out from the Hufflepuff table, where three fifth-years are huddled in a jubilant group. The sound echoes disconcertingly in the vast room, the handful of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws glancing at the source in curiosity.
None of the green-clad students turn their head, their ever-alert postures never faltering to acknowledge the sorely out-of-place mirth.
Others may have found it odd.
They all know they've heard the hollow tones too many times to care.
(later, when the silencing charms are done and cast and he's alone in the unnatural stillness, he dares to allow himself to speculate whether the other houses do so as well)
They sleepwalk through their days, the hours falling into a regular routine.
No one bothers to rouse them.
(he wonders if this is what it feels like to be soulless, the thin wisp of their consciousness slipping farther and farther away from their miserable forms with nothing more to hold on to)
He stumbles upon her in the Astronomy Tower on one of the many dreamless nights, her profile perfectly drawn by the starlight. He freezes, cursing his nonstrategic roaming, frantically playing out possible escapes.
She spots him anyways, not stirring in the least bit. Reading his uncomfortable silence expertly, she merely states, You didn't think you were the only one, did you?
He can't place why this girl unnerved him so thoroughly. Anyhow, he remains rooted in place, silently staring across the dark room in response.
Her lips twitch upwards in a miniscule smirk. The great Draco Malfoy, rendered speechless by a simple question.
The sound of his name pronounced without a sneer strikes him out of his reverie, and he finally gathers enough sense to inquire, Who are you? A nagging suspicion at the back of his mind mutters that he should already know.
Astoria Greengrass. Her eyes calmly study him from her place next to the windowpane.
His own stony grey ones flick away from her gaze on habit, and a sudden sense of ridiculous self-consciousness overwhelms under her scrutiny. All acceptable replies flee his mind, leaving him stranded. After a few beats of awkward silence filled with nothing but his own rambling thoughts, he desperately blurts out an unfinished question. Why do you-?
She offers a careless shrug in return. The worst of it skipped me. But the common room is too quiet.
Understanding solidifies a tremulous, temporary rope between the empty void. No further words are spoken, a stillness descending upon them. Perhaps it was the trick of the mind, or the unignorable presence of another hovering nearby, but the silence was not the unwieldy burden weighing heavily upon their shoulders as it too often was, but a thin, fragile cloak like it had used to be.
(he tries convincing himself that there was a reason his feet kept guiding him to the tower the nights after and that it was most definitely not for the unsettlingly infuriating girl always perched in her designated niche adjacent to the window)
He doesn't know when she became the anchor preventing his sorry strand of a soul from floating off, but something shifted in those nightly encounters.
At first, more often than not, quiet awareness bridges the gap between them, the need for words wholly unnecessary. But as the hours of the night slip away, blurring together, he soon finds himself murmuring thoughts he never would've dared to voice before. He blames it on the surreal, dreamlike air of the pale moonlight cascading through the splendid glass panes.
He finds her a decent listener, if nothing else, and far more favorable to the cold isolation of his previous wanderings.
And so day by day, the dulled grey eyes hold a bit more of the former intelligent silver, the pallid complexion gradually returning to the previous healthy shade of white tinged with a hint of pink flush.
He still stubbornly won't acknowledge the change to her, though he is fully aware she already knows why, from that sly smile playing upon her lips one night as she sees him entering the tower.
(and oh, of course he won't admit for the life of him why her tacit understanding hidden in those mischievous smiles mean so much more to him than the empty words of others)
One of them broke the tentative dance around the truth that night.
He doesn't remember who, but all that matters is the following outburst of sensations as unfairly smooth lips are pressed against his, stealing his breath away. His hands find their way through her luscious waves of hair, pulling her closer still and Merlin how is it possible for him to be undeniably drowning in her scent of pine, her teasing butterfly touches on his skin, the contours of her mouth on his, and be half-satisfied yet craving more of the exhilarating rush of her proximity? How is it that the world loses meaning, tunneling to the sole figure both a stranger and yet so familiar who smirks and knows what that little twist of the lips does to his heart and pulls it off anyways? And time loses all meaning because all that matters is the burning feeling of her consuming everything around him, lighting a fire he didn't know existed inside.
When, after an indefinite number of fluttering heartbeats, she finally draws back a breath for much-needed air, his kiss-addled mind manages to piece together a few semi-coherent thoughts of amazement and disbelief before oh Merlin she's kissing him again and he can't think straight-
(he supposes it would be futile to deny anything now, not after Blaise takes one glance at his sparkling eyes and sends a knowing smirk in his direction. Especially not after his half-hearted retort gives all the more cause for the devious grin to widen)
The end of the year approaches quickly, carried on the wings of nightly rendezvous and whispered confessions, of promises made anew.
The insults never cease, but he shoulders through the torrent of derisive sneers, head held high, the old confidence restored bit by bit through encouragements concealed in dry remarks from a certain girl in the Astronomy Tower.
The dormitories aren't silent like they used to be, nor are the meetings a secret any longer - once Blaise found out, the whole school effectively knew by the end of the week-but it was a routine, and one he loathed to break at that.
And so they continue on, the hours lost amidst of teasing jabs, slow kisses, and the rare darker times. Stolen moments, slowly rebuilding from the destruction of war.
(they don't need to say the words; she's there for him, as he is for her)
No longer soulless, she declares one night, piercing the comfortable silence.
He glances at her, startled, at the words of a lost boy so long ago, before his mouth curves upwards in a rare smile. No longer soulless, he agrees.
End
I've been wanting to write a DM fic for a while now, and a certain nagging idea just wouldn't let it be - hence, this story that's half-darker half-lighter...
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Please review and let me know what you thought!