Fault Lines pt.2
Chapter Thirteen
The group’s divisions grew deeper with each passing day, their once-shared vision crumbling under the weight of their personal conflicts. The magic that had once burned brightly between them now felt dim, sputtering like a candle in the wind.
Draco’s Solitude
Draco sat alone in the Slytherin common room, the flickering green light from the lake casting eerie shadows across his pale features. He stared at the empty fire grate, his thoughts racing.
Ginny and Harry’s betrayal had left him raw, his emotions churning with a bitterness he didn’t know how to process. He hated the way their actions had affected him, how vulnerable he felt in their wake.
A knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. He didn’t bother to mask his irritation. “What?”
The door creaked open, revealing Pansy Parkinson. She stepped inside cautiously, her usual bravado tempered.
“You’ve been hiding down here for days,” she said, her voice softer than usual.
Draco snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Not hiding. Avoiding.”
“From who? Yourself?”
Her words struck a nerve, but Draco didn’t respond. Pansy sighed, sitting across from him.
“Whatever they did, it’s not worth tearing yourself apart over,” she said.
Draco’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the mask slipped. “I thought… maybe I finally belonged. That they might actually care about me.”
Pansy reached across the table, her hand brushing his. “You belong more than you think. You’re just too proud to see it.”
Lavender’s Victory, Blaise’s Loss
Ron and Lavender were inseparable, their laughter filling the corridors as they passed by arm-in-arm. Lavender was radiant, basking in the warmth of Ron’s attention, while Blaise watched from the shadows, his envy festering like an open wound.
When he finally confronted Ron, it was in the middle of the Great Hall. The others watched in stunned silence as Blaise’s usual cool demeanor cracked.
“What are you doing with her?” Blaise demanded, his voice low but fierce.
Ron blinked, caught off guard. “What’s it to you?”
“She’s not right for you,” Blaise said, his frustration spilling over. “You know that.”
Ron frowned, his confusion giving way to anger. “And who are you to decide that? Stay out of it, Zabini.”
Blaise’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched. “You’re a fool, Weasley.”
Before Ron could reply, Blaise stormed out, his emotions threatening to consume him.
The Kitchen Pact
In the quiet of the kitchens, George and Theo worked in relative silence, their focus on brewing potions for the group. The tension that had gripped them before was absent now, replaced by a tentative understanding.
Theo stirred a cauldron with practiced precision, the faint scent of lavender and bergamot wafting through the air. “You’re getting better at this,” he said, glancing at George.
George smirked, adding a pinch of powdered asphodel to his mixture. “Maybe I just have a good teacher.”
Theo rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at his lips.
As they bottled the potions, George hesitated, his fingers brushing Theo’s. “You know, I didn’t expect to like this—working with you.”
Theo’s gaze flicked to George, his expression unreadable. “And?”
“And… maybe it’s not so bad.”
For a moment, the air between them felt charged, but neither moved to break the spell. Instead, they returned to their task, their quiet companionship speaking volumes.
Fred’s Frustration
Fred sat alone in the Gryffindor common room, staring at the fire. Hermione’s words echoed in his mind, her frustration and disappointment cutting deeper than he cared to admit.
He had seen her with Krum earlier, their easy conversation and shared laughter twisting something inside him.
George entered, his expression uncharacteristically subdued. “What’s with the long face?”
Fred shook his head. “Nothing.”
George sat beside him, his usual humor tempered. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hermione wants more than I can give her. And now… I think I might’ve lost her.”
George clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Then maybe it’s time to figure out what you really want. Before it’s too late.”
The Weakening Magic
In the Room of Requirement, Harry struggled to maintain control of his wand. The others stood in a loose circle, their faces etched with frustration.
“What’s happening to us?” Ginny asked, her voice tight.
“Our magic,” Hermione said, her tone grim. “It’s linked to our unity. The more we fracture, the weaker we become.”
Draco, who had remained silent until now, scoffed. “So it’s my fault, is it? Because I refuse to play happy families with the rest of you?”
“It’s all of us,” Harry said firmly. “We’re letting our personal issues tear us apart, and it’s costing us everything.”
The group fell silent, the weight of Harry’s words sinking in. They had come so far, but now the cracks in their foundation threatened to destroy everything they had built.
As they left the room one by one, their steps heavy with doubt, a single thought lingered in each of their minds: Could they find a way back to each other before it was too late?