A/N: I'm trying my hand at the QLFC bootcamp. Every story must have a known Quidditch player as the main character. There are 50 prompts at three levels.
I'm in for: Hard: You must use the same character for all 50 prompts.
Character: Draco Malfoy
Prompt: 9. Blanket
Word count (before A/N): 3,930 words
A special thank you to Ashleigh for beta-ing!
Draco scuffed his shoes against the cobblestone floor, a scowl still seared onto this face. He'd been wearing it since he'd left the Hospital Wing, his mind racing through all the horrible things he should have said to Madam Pomfrey when she told him his arm was perfectly fine.
"Perfectly fine," he mocked. He had been attacked by that wretched beast. He was in a bloody sling as a result, wasn't he?
Draco sighed. If Potter had been the one who'd gotten hurt during their Care of Magical Creatures lesson, the whole school would've been in an uproar. But not for Draco. Oh, no. He must be faking it.
Though, he thought bitterly, he had to admit the initial pain of Buckbeak striking him had already faded.
Draco turned the last corner before entering the Slytherin Common Room. The Black Lake looked damn near iridescent during the daytime, its murky waters highlighted by shimmering rays of sunlight. But Draco found it eerie at night. Black Lake, indeed. So black, it was like facing a wall of all-consuming darkness. Why Salazar Slytherin thought that was the aesthetic to go for, he couldn't say.
Draco trudged toward his dorm's stairs, only pausing for a moment, distracted by a raging fire still nestled in the hearth of one of the Common Room's three fireplaces.
Odd. The other two were down to their embers.
Draco changed course, slugging off his sling and testing his arm's limits. It did feel fine, even though Draco fully intended to keep it wrapped up for a few days. Just in case.
As he approached the fireplace, he heard the gentle sound of snores coming from the other side of the leather couch. He quieted his own shoes squeaking across the floor with a silencing charm. He wouldn't risk waking his sleeping victim, whoever they were. It was an unwritten rule in Slytherin house, after all, to torment any poor sap who had the misfortune of falling asleep alone in the Common Room. Such a vulnerable state. Draco had seen the pranks play out often enough—coarsely dyed hair, missing school books, clothes magicked to stick to the leather fabric.
Draco knew never to be on the receiving end, especially after that last prank, when Kenneth Tolbert had to exit the Common Room without his pants because he couldn't get them unstuck from his seat.
The only thought Draco had now as he rounded the couch was the utter joy in potentially causing his own chaos. Then, his eyes landed on the sleeping form on the couch.
A first year. He didn't know how he could tell; he just knew. She was curled up on two of the cushions, her face buried in the crook of her arm. She was still in her uniform, her dress shirt coming untucked from her grey skirt, knee socks bunched by her ankles. Shoes still on, tangled around each other like puzzle pieces made of rubber. Dark, wild curls surrounded her face, framing rosy round cheeks. A distinct line of dried tears stuck out against her tanned skin.
Draco grimaced. Something told him this wasn't the golden opportunity for a prank like he'd originally thought. Instead, he sighed, disappointment settling in quick.
The girl shifted. Draco froze. But she only moved a fraction of muscle, a chill running through her tiny body. He looked back at the fireplace and noticed the flames dying down.
"Bloody first years," he mumbled, trudging over to the good reading chair a few paces away. He grabbed a knitted grey blanket from its arm and threw it over the girl. Then, turning back to his dorm, he laced his arm back into its sling and headed for bed.
Saturday night Prefect rounds should have been labeled a crime against all students. Draco didn't even care that he'd caught several Hufflepuffs out after curfew, which normally would have filled him with an innate sense of power and pride; he just wanted his weekend back.
Unfortunately, it was late, and Saturday was already long gone for him.
It was shite scheduling, if you asked him. Biased and completely unfair. Stupid Head Boy Ellis Gropher was such a pain in the Slytherin Prefects' arses and always seemed to schedule them for the worst rounds.
It stemmed from Gropher's Ravenclaw-induced distaste of Draco's house. He was certain of it. Luckily, his shift was over and he wasn't scheduled on a weekend again till February—a whole two months away. Now Draco just wanted to climb the stone staircase that led to his dorm room and crash face first into his pillow.
He stepped through the Common Room entrance, fully intent on mounting the stairs, but an odd sight stopped him in his tracks. A small chill ran up his spine as he spotted two fireplaces with nearly identical burning embers—and the third filled with dancing flames.
He'd never set foot in the Divination classroom before, but he was pretty sure this was what that batty old Trelawney would have called some kind of deja vu premonition... or something. Instinctively, his eyes went to the back of the leather couch.
Draco walked closer, positive he'd find another sad, little firstie curled up there. He'd nearly forgotten about the first girl from two years ago. This time, he'd make a point to complete his prank idea.
As he rounded the corner to view the couch, however, he discovered the space was empty. Instead, the reading chair by the fireplace, its view obscured by the couch from the Common Room entrance, held the same first year as before. Or, Draco corrected himself, third year now. He looked her over, her head lopped to one side as she slept upright in the chair, dark curls spilling out of a messy bun. She wore weekend clothes—no stiff uniform emblazoned with the Slytherin crest. Instead, she was bundled in casual robes, a dark red in color that only served to accentuate the rosiness of her cheeks.
Draco noted that this time, her face was tear-free.
He decided to ignore her.
But, as last time, she shivered, even by the fireplace as it roared, and Draco felt something pull taught inside his chest. His eyes quickly took stock of the room, until they landed on the same grey blanket as before, though this time it was folded neatly beside one of the other fireplaces.
Draco retrieved it quickly.
Just as he was about to toss it over the sleeping girl, he spotted a book splayed out across her lap. One hand seemed to be clutching it, even in sleep, while the other lay palm up across its pages.
The sight made Draco smile, if only for a moment.
He tossed the blanket onto the couch and gently grabbed the book from her hands. He was fully expecting a school book, but instead, his eyes lingered over the sentences, barely comprehending at first what he was reading.
Jane Eyre. One of his mother's favorites. He'd read it himself, mostly because Charlotte Bronte and her sisters were famous wizarding writers who had found instant success amongst Muggle markets, and he'd wanted to see what the fuss was about. He'd told his mother the book really didn't suit him, but secretly, he'd read it three times since.
He'd never tell anyone, though. Merlin forbid Goyle or Crabbe learned he had a penchant for romance classics. Draco would never live it down.
He grabbed a spare piece of parchment from the little table beside the fireplace and slipped it into the pages of the girl's book. Then he set it back in her lap so she could find it later.
And, just as he did once before, he threw the blanket over the sleeping girl and set off for his own bed.
Draco took a shaky breath, the very movement exhausting. He was so tired. So over everything and everyone and…
He sighed. He'd had another unsuccessful attempt at getting the Death Eaters through the vanishing cabinet. And if he was being honest with himself, he was a tad relieved. The thought of actually fulfilling his mission and putting the Dark Lord's plans into play terrified him. How many nights of sleep had he lost now? How many meals had he skipped, either too nauseous to eat or too numb to care?
Merlin, he'd wept in front of that damned ghost girl because of the pressure building.
If he could just make certain his mother was safe. If he could just send her a letter that wouldn't be intercepted first and read and analyzed by his psychotic aunt or his father—or any other myriad of masked faces using his home as a Death Eater camp—maybe then he could feel calm again.
It took him a moment to realize he'd paused in front of the Common Room entrance, his eyes mindlessly staring at the stone wall like an idiot. He forced the password out, his voice cracking. As the door slid shut behind him, he paused again, momentarily distracted by the fires burning inside the green-and-silver clad room.
The girl.
He hadn't thought about her in a long time. But just like last year, a creeping feeling of deja vu tickled at the back of his neck. He instinctively turned toward the leather couch but stopped short. That fire was burned down.
He shook his head. How silly it was to imagine her lying there again. He didn't even know her name. Honestly, he'd barely taken the time to figure out who she was or even what year she really was in. He'd been guessing all this time. Besides, if he had seen her during his many trips in and out of the Common Room over the years, he'd probably missed her. It's not like he spent his free time cataloging the Hogwarts students around him.
And lately, the few innocent encounters he had felt like a far-off dream.
As he turned toward his dorm, however, he spotted her on the far side of the Common Room; this time curled on a lounge in front of the fire closest to the wall of the Black Lake. Behind her, it looked like a cavernous mouth, waiting to swallow. Draco's heart pounded against his chest.
He didn't even stop to analyze her this time. He grabbed the knitted grey blanket and approached, not even bothering to silence his squeaking shoes. He threw the blanket over her, the fabric falling just under her delicate chin.
"Thank you."
Draco froze. He looked back at the girl, his eyes searching her sleeping face. She seemed distraught, honestly, fidgety in her sleep, wet tears caught in the dark lashes framing her almond-shaped eyes. But still, she was asleep.
He turned toward the Common Room, looking for the real source.
"Thanks," Daphne Greengrass said from her nearby seat. Draco stood dumbly, unable to look away. He felt like he'd been caught stealing from Gringotts. Daphne, however, barely looked at him, her face downcast, her eyes trained on the sleeping girl still beside him.
"She finally fell asleep," Daphne continued. When she looked back at Draco, even she seemed surprised to be speaking to him. They might have been classmates, but they weren't exactly friends. "We heard our uncle died. Astoria was really close to him."
Astoria. Draco glanced back down at the sleeping girl. He knew her, or at least, of her. Astoria Greengrass. Well, at least she had a name now.
"Sorry," he said. He wasn't sure if it was to Daphne or Astoria… or maybe even a little to himself. But it felt like the right thing to say.
"Sure." Daphne nodded. Her eyes fell back on her sister, and Draco knew it was time to take his leave. He glanced back at Astoria one last time and headed upstairs.
Draco rested his cheek into the palm of his hand, his eyes barely taking in the words of his Charms book. He didn't really feel like studying. What was the point, anyways? He knew a good education wasn't going to send him out for a lustrous career anytime soon. If anything, he'd be forced to become a Death Eater in full upon graduation, a fate he was not looking forward to at all.
The Easter holiday was fast approaching. Draco had asked to stay at Hogwarts, if only to escape going home and facing the hellscape that had become Malfoy Manor. Since his failure to complete his mission, Draco had fallen victim to all the Death Eaters' taunts and hexes. Being in his childhood bed was suffocating.
But his mother insisted he come home, and Draco knew she needed him more than he needed to escape. Unlike Draco, she was actually trapped. Trapped in her own home, witness to murder and mayhem, possibly daily. He hated thinking about her alone like that.
Draco shook his head and sat up in his chair. If he could force his eyes to take in the book's lessons, maybe he could distract himself for just one night.
Around him, Slytherin students bustled about, their cheer grinding on his already-fragile nerves. Pansy was in the far corner, her voice carrying through the murmur of the Common Room like a shrill banshee. Draco tried to push out the sound, but his eyes betrayed him, instead locking on her round face. Her body was lazily strewn across Blaise Zabini's lap, her face tilted up toward his own. Good riddance, Draco thought. He felt lighter without her fawning all over him, he realized the first time he saw them like that. And now, months later, Pansy's absence was the one reprieve he'd had all year...
However, now that his eyes were up, he found it infinitely harder to look back at his book and feign interest. He scanned the Common Room instead, unsure what he wanted to see. Just hoping to pull himself out of his head for a few moments.
There was a group of first years by the wall looking out into the Black Lake. The sun was setting now, casting ominous shadows swimming about behind the lot of students.
Another group of students studied in earnest by the fire, identical scowls on their chubby faces as they poured over their parchment and texts. How odd it was to see students actually trying, Draco thought, when the school was being run by darkness incarnate.
He sighed. This was not helping. Just as he was about to pack away his things, however, he spotted Astoria Greengrass sitting off to the side by herself, her head bobbing up and down as her gentle eyes fought sleep.
He felt himself smile at the sight.
Draco settled back into his chair. He opened his Charms book and set it in his lap. For several hours, he glanced between the same three paragraphs and the girl across the room. He didn't quite know why he was doing it, just that for the first time in weeks—maybe months—he liked the distraction.
Astoria. He could've kicked himself for not recognizing her all those years ago. The Greengrasses used to come to every party his mother held… well until about the time the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. Mr. Greengrass had an idea about who helped open it, and his family disappeared from the pureblood circle after that. Draco's father used to call them worse than bloodtraitors, because they chose inaction over choosing sides.
Honestly, Draco admired it.
If he could have chosen inaction, Draco would have. But his mother's life had been at risk, as well as his own, and killing a person, in theory, seemed so much easier than facing that same person.
Especially if that person was offering the protection Draco so desperately wanted.
He shook his head, instead focusing on Astoria again. How many times now had he caught her in this very room? Asleep. Lost to dreamland.
She didn't act like the majority of Slytherin house, Draco noticed. She stuck to her own. She rarely spoke over others. Ever since he'd run into her and Daphne last year, he'd wondered what she was like in class. Studious? He couldn't tell.
As the Common Room emptied, Draco watched Astoria finally give in to her nodding, her eyes falling shut behind a curtain of dark hair. He waited until they were the only two left before approaching, as he'd done so often before.
"Goodnight," he whispered, throwing the grey blanket over her. Her shoulders relaxed under the fabric, her breathing calm and even.
Draco turned to leave just as a sliver of white caught his eye. He turned back to Astoria, searching for the tell-tale sign of tears.
That was another mystery he'd puzzled over. Why did it seem she was always crying?
But this time, there were no tears staining her tanned cheeks; instead, he noticed the white outline of a scar nestled into her skin. He took a step forward, puzzled. That hadn't been there before, he thought.
In a moment, his hand was up, long, pale fingers hovering just above the fifth year's face. Draco stopped himself. What the bloody hell was he doing? Wasn't it creepy enough to watch her from afar?
As if burned, he jumped back, pulling his hands behind his back. Astoria stirred in the chair, her eyes fluttering behind her darkened lashes. A lump formed in Draco's throat. He couldn't give her the chance to spot him. He turned on the spot and bounded up the stairs to his dormitory, heart racing as he admonished himself for being such a prat.
Astoria giggled as Draco sidled up beside her on the couch, their legs intertwined as he fell backwards, pulling her into him. She wasn't usually a giggler, but they'd had a few glasses of wine, and her cheeks were a pleasant rosy color. He placed a gentle kiss to her lips.
"Stay," she whispered against his mouth. "Please." She propped herself on her elbows, her emerald green eyes staring into Draco's with such clarity and devotion.
How'd he get this lucky?
They'd been on several dates now, four months since the first. He'd wanted her to spend the night at his flat more times than he could count but always chickened out in the end. Tonight though, they were in her flat, a tiny one-bedroom at the heart of Muggle London. He'd never slept in the city before, let alone surrounded by Muggles.
He'd never slept beside someone he was falling madly for either.
"Okay." Despite himself, he beamed up at her. The tiny freckles on her nose and cheek stretched, hiding behind her smiling skin. Radiant, Draco decided, wasn't a strong enough word to describe her.
He tugged her back to him, her chest falling onto his own, their hearts beating a steady pace against each other's. Astoria rested her head under his chin as he began to stroke her hair.
"Are you hungry?" he eventually asked.
"Starved." Astoria propped herself up again. "I can go make a call for takeaway. It's actually not too hard once you know how the telephone works."
"Nonsense," Draco said. "I asked. I'll get us something."
They'd already had dinner anyways, so Draco wasn't entirely up for a full second meal. Just a snack or something light to tide them over till morning.
Morning. He smiled again and kissed Astoria because he wanted to. Because he could. Then, he gently rolled her onto the couch, another giddy giggle escaping her lips. Draco stood, his feet aiming for the kitchenette down the hall.
"Ooh! I have leftover chips in the fridge!" she called after him. "I wouldn't be opposed to those!"
"Can do," he called back.
As he reheated her chips with a few wordless charms, Draco couldn't stop the smile taking over his face. Life certainly had changed in the three years since the war. For the better, of course. He'd changed so much in such a short time, but he had Astoria to thank for that. Not that he didn't put in the work; he tried to make amends where he could every day while keeping his head held high in the public eye. It was exhausting. Humiliating at times. But he never stopped trying. And Astoria played a big part in that, reminding him he was more than his former self. More than what others said about him.
Somehow, he'd made it through.
Walking back to the couch, plate in hand, Draco prepared himself for a night of uninhibited quality time with his girlfriend, no matter what that meant in her eyes. He'd take his cues from her, he'd follow every unspoken rule she'd make—not to say he wouldn't hope for less sleeping and more passion—but he'd leave it all up to Astoria and—
He stopped at the edge of the small living room, a snort already escaping his lips. There she was, right where he'd left her, asleep.
"Where have I seen this before?" he mused. He set the plate of chips down and knelt beside her, this time no longer scared of getting caught. He brushed back a tendril from her face, revealing her gentle face beneath. Her scar had faded—it was a mark from standing up to one of the Carrows, he'd learned recently. He felt enraged that anyone would dare touch her, but Astoria was proud of her defiance—a permanent crescent kissing her sweet skin.
Draco placed a kiss against it and went to fetch a blanket. No knitted grey in this apartment, he noted, but her checkered throw would suffice. He fanned it out over her.
"You!"
Draco jumped back, his eyes wide as Astoria bolted upright.
"It was you," she said, a cheeky grin spreading across her face, her index finger wagging at him from her spot on the couch. "You're my mystery quilt thrower!"
"What?"
"You covered me."
"Yes?" He laughed uneasily. "Just now. Story, how much did you drink tonight?"
"Not now." She waved his words away. "At Hogwarts. In the Common Room. I've always wondered… I wasn't sure."
He stared at her for a beat before his legs kicked into gear and he slid beside her on the couch. Pulling her to him, he couldn't stop the astonishment from filling his voice. "You—you remember that?"
"Of course!" She stared at him with dancing eyes, her smirk matching his own. "You always missed my feet."
"What?"
"You'd throw it and cover most of me. All but my feet." She stuck out her dainty little toes to prove it. "In first year, I had my shoes on still. I woke up at the crack of dawn with a blanket I'd never seen before, curled up on the couch. And one year, Daphne said she did it, but I knew it was you. Whoever you were. Because you missed my feet."
"Are you kidding me?" He laughed. "All this time, I thought it was my own little secret."
"Is that when you fell for me?" she teased. Draco bumped her with his shoulder before pulling her back onto him and settling in again. The blanket fell to the floor, forgotten.
"I fell for your feet," he kissed the top of her head, "I was covering up all the other parts."
Her laughter rang through the apartment. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pinning herself to him as she silenced them both with a deep kiss.
Whatever happened next, Draco knew he wasn't getting up for a blanket anytime soon.