Choice's Curse

The remaining weeks before break passed with relative normality; Harry and I were...still whatever we were, Ron and Hermione were happy as could be, classes and homework were growing harder by the day, but things were good. Cho and I were on amicable terms now, but between school and Harry, I hadn’t seen her much, and I really only saw Cedric at practice, as he was a year older and we had no classes together. Cold air constantly breezed through the cracks in the stone of the castle, and the dungeon was a miserable place to be now, for more reason than one. The class itself was all well and fine, but Malfoy had gone back to taunting me with relentless verbal attacks, which surprised me. I would’ve assumed that some of his fire would’ve been taken away by nearly dying, but it seemed to only spur his insults, making what had previously been a rather enjoyable class incredibly difficult. 

Transfiguration was a struggle, as well. Ron and I had fallen far behind because of our tendency to joke around, so McGonagall had split us up, and I now sat by another Slytherin who oddly always smelled strongly of brussel sprouts, and had a habit of spitting as he spoke, which meant I was constantly finding wet spots on my desk and robes that made me gag. I had become rather adept at that class though, managing to actually elicit praise from McGonagall on more than one occasion, which I bragged about endlessly to my friends. 

The rest of my classes continued without anything of note; Hagrid’s was always pleasant, if cold and a little odd at times, Snape’s was incredibly demanding, papers being assigned every other class, and the topics we covered were convoluted and confusing. Herbology and Charms were nice, if slightly dull at times. The air was continuously biting at our noses and cheeks anytime we went outside, and the grass crunched with a permanent frost underfoot. There had been one more Quidditch match, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, with Hufflepuff winning by a surprisingly large margin, which put Harry and Ron in a sour mood for a week straight. Hermione and I shared countless exasperated looks during that week every time the two of them whined about the unfairness of a certain call, or conspired that they were sure Hufflepuff had somehow cheated, to which I had responded that they were being sore losers and needed to put on their big boy robes and grow up a little. The comment was made in good fun, but I had apologized to Harry later, wanting to make sure he knew I was only joking. 

His response was a wonderfully passionate kiss, and a tight hug as he responded that he knew, and that I was sweet for worrying. Harry and I had grown even closer over the past weeks, too, though I still hadn’t confided in him about the origin of my scar, and he hadn’t brought it up again after Slughorn’s party. 

I was glad of that, as even though the scar had begun to fade to a faint pink, I still felt the flash of pain everytime I looked at it or bumped into something that hit my arm. His eyes lingered on the line more often than I wished they would, and I knew he thought I couldn’t see every time he looked at it, but I could, and it never failed to incite a sinking feeling in my stomach. It was so...unfair, as childish as it sounds, that I had to wear this permanent reminder on my body that my parents care less about me than everything else in their lives. I had learned to live with it over and over again during the years though, and I knew that eventually I would either be able to push it out of my mind, or push it down inside of me so deep that it would never come back up. 

What a healthy way to deal with things, right?

Come the end of November, the Great Hall as well as most of the rest of the castle had been decorated with a breathtakingly festive shine; there were Christmas trees lining the Great Hall, wreaths and vines of holly leaves were strung on doors and walls and through the railings of the moving staircases, and the first snow had fallen, covering the grounds in a great white blanket of sparkling ice. Harry and I had had an impromptu snowball fight one weekend, started by him when he had kicked snow at me playfully while we were walking. By the end of it, our hands were numb, and the cold air burned our tired lungs, but the smiles Harry sent my way the rest of the day were well worth it. 

And no, we still hadn’t talked about us, thank you for asking. 

I just...couldn’t. Not after the way my stomach churned when he called me his. Maybe I was scared, maybe I didn’t want to face the fact that I still wasn’t ready for actual commitment, even with the one person I’d always felt safe around. It was a problem I would confront later, but I knew that I couldn’t push it off forever, and that scared me more than anything. 

A week before the end of term, I went up to the owlery after class, as I had received a letter. It was rather odd, as the only people who actually cared about me were here with me, but my curiosity could never be ignored. I had no clue how anyone had sent me a letter, as all the people I knew back home were Muggles anyways. The steps were icy and the wind was unforgivingly cold as I made my way up the tower, trying to brace myself against the winter climate. As I neared the top, I nearly retched at the awful smelling wafting out of the owlery, the cold wind only driving it further, and covering my nose, I ducked inside, sighing a bit in relief at the reprieve from the bitter air outside. I stomped my feet a few times, trying to get my blood pumping again, before spotting the ashy grey owl that had white paper with my name scribbled on it tied to its spindly leg. I furrowed my brow in confusion as I recognized the disjointed loopy handwriting that belonged to my mother. Untying the note from the owl’s leg earned me a few snips on the hand with his beak, but I was so anxious about the contents of the letter I barely noticed. 

Elaine, 

Your father and I both miss you dearly. You are coming home for Christmas. See you soon.

-Mum

I snorted and barely resisted the urge to tear the note up or set it ablaze. We miss you dearly, I mocked silently, feeling annoyance settle in my stomach. They truly thought I believed that? Frankly, I could barely believe she’d put her work down long enough to even spare me a second thought once since I’d left, and probably not even before that. Going home for Christmas was an unappealing thought at the very least, but I knew there wasn’t really anything I could do about it, so I took a deep breath, trying to resign myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be going to the Burrows this year. I would miss Mrs. Weasley’s cooking, Mr. Weasley’s never-ending barrage of questions about Muggle objects, and mostly, I would miss spending the holidays with people who bothered to notice whether I was even alive or not. A sadness settled into me, washing away the annoyance that had previously been building. Shaking my head, I tried to ignore that loneliness, trying instead to move back to that cold, numb, disconnected part of my mind that I retreated to while at home, which was the only thing that got me through it every time.

With the letter crumpled angrily in my hand, I left the foul-smelling owlery and braved the harsh winter climate once again, taking extra care to tread lightly on the steps that were coated with ice. Once I had safely made it down the steps, I broke into a faster walk, wanting to get in front of a warm fire and defrost the bits of skin that the wind had been attacking endlessly on my uncovered face, ears, and hands. I cursed my parents again for neglecting to buy me new winter clothing. The pieces I had had completely gone to ruin, having been used so many seasons over that they could no longer offer any actual warmth or barrier from the cold. It wasn’t like I had money to buy my own, either; I barely afforded the books I needed this year second-hand. Even my coat, which was really just a heavy jacket, was beginning to fray at the hems and I had found a few holes when I had first pulled it out of my trunk when the air got too cold to go without it. 

The wind blew wildly, and I had to huddle into myself for any hope of protection from it as I walked, the letter flapping noisily in my hand. Finally reaching indoors, I hurried into the stone hallway, the absence of frosty air a welcome feeling. As I gathered myself, taking a moment to breath in the warm air, I felt the letter being snatched out of my hand by someone who had walked up behind me. 

As I turned around to protest, Malfoy strutted past me, my mail now held by his thick glove that looked so soft I felt jealousy bubble up for just a moment inside me. He had a wool black trenchcoat on that was buttoned up all the way to his throat, the collar high to fend off the cold. His cheeks were rosy from being outside, and his boots were tracking in snow behind him. He stopped, facing me with a rather vile glint in his eye. 

“What the fuck? Give it here,” I demanded, reaching for my letter, but Malfoy quickly stepped out of reach further into the hallway, shaking his head. 

“No, I don’t think I will. I’m ever so curious to see who could possibly be sending you mail, and why it made you so angry,” Malfoy said simply, as if he had any right sticking his stupid nose into my business. 

“It’s none of your fucking business. Don’t you have anything better to do?” I asked, resisting the urge to curl my fists in frustration, because I did not feel like dealing with him, not with all the angry and worry that was building up inside me stronger and stronger every second. 

Malfoy cocked his head to the side. “Now that is none of your business, Adler. Where are your manners?”

My mouth dropped open, and a sound of indignation came out. “My manners?”

He nodded. “Yes. You really should watch your mouth, you know.”

Disbelief rushed through me, and I made another swipe at my letter, Malfoy moving to hold it over his stupid blond head where he knew I wasn’t quite tall enough to reach. I wanted to yell, or at least let out an angry huff, but letting Malfoy know he was getting to me wasn’t worth the temporary satisfaction. 

Bringing the letter back down once again, Malfoy flipped it open and read it, the corner of his mouth twisting up into a sinister smile. “Going home for the holidays? How...fun,” He mocked, and I swore internally at my own stupidity for letting it slip that his knowledge of my father was correct on that Friday night that he had almost died. 

“It is none of your damn business where I’m going,” I ground out, my jaw clenched tightly to keep myself from raising my voice. 

He snickered. “Maybe you’re right, but I think knowing you’re going to be at home and not with your filthy little friends at that poor excuse for a house the Weasleys live in is better than any gift I’ll get this year.” His face turned down sympathetically. “You probably don’t get any, do you? Well, not if you don’t count the scars your father seems to enjoy gifting you.”

That evil, horrible, foul asshole. 

I was practically seething with rage at this point, his smug, pale face basically inviting me to hit it again. “I’ll give you one last chance, Malfoy,” I threatened, practically spitting his name. “Give me my fucking letter back.” 

Malfoy snickered again, seemingly genuinely amused by my words. “Or what, Adler? Gonna call Mommy? She doesn’t give a shit about you either; don’t think she’d be much help.” His voice was dripping with fake sweetness but his eyes held nothing but contempt and evil. 

Or what? I didn’t even know if I had the guts to do anything to him, but….but I couldn’t let him win yet another one of these awful encounters we continue to have and I really, really, wanted to do something to wipe that disgusting smile off his angular face. 

Pulling my wand out of my pocket so quickly Malfoy barely had time to react, I yelled, “Aguamenti!” 

A massive stream of icy water shot at Malfoy, and though he did twist to the side, the left half of his body still got hit with the spell, soaking his wool coat and dark pants. 

The look in his eyes was enough to make even the bravest person cower, but I tried to keep my face still as he looked at me with hatred. 

“You. Fucking. Bitch!”Malfoy yelled, so loud that I nearly wanted to cover my ears. “You’re fucking in for it now.” 

He drew his wand, firing back with a shout of “Confringo!” that I narrowly blocked with a simple Protego charm, and I barely had time to utter the word before he was cursing me again, using a variety of blasting spells that had me continuously blocking and ducking and moving. Malfoy’s attacks pushed me back out into the unforgiving winter afternoon, the snow wrapping around my boots and almost making me trip. 

The cold barely registered in my mind as Malfoy’s silver eyes pierced mine while he herded me back with his spells, even though a thick snow had begun to fall, clouding my vision. I had done a decent job of blocking all his attacks until he fired two almost simultaneously, the second one catching my shoulder and throwing me back into a bank of freezing snow. I gasped as my back hit the white powder, scrambling quickly to get back up as he stalked towards me. Making it to my feet, I finally had a chance to retaliate, and I sent a wild “Stupefy!” his way that he very easily blocked. I groaned at my stupidity, and when I went to block his newest spell, my shoulder exploded with pain and I took in a sharp breath. While my guard was down, Malfoy tried to hex me once again, but I dodged to the side, and, deciding I wanted to be done with this stupid duel I had started, I whispered, “Expelliarmus”, and to my surprise, his wand came soaring through the falling snow toward me. 

Grabbing his wand out of the air, I panted, trying to catch my breath. Malfoy turned to me, his entire body tense with rage. “Give me my fucking wand back,” He demanded, his words short and packed with resentment. “Now.” 

He walked towards me, and I stumbled back a step or two, afraid he might actually start using his fists, judging by the fury that shrouded him. The snowflakes were sticking to the wool of his coat, and I was sure the drenched half of him was far colder than I’d ever like to experience, but he didn’t seem to mind as he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. 

“I said,” Malfoy growled, so close now that the snow was no longer obscuring him, and I could see just how flushed his face was. “Give it back, Mudblood.”

My blood boiled when he uttered that word, and I noticed out of the corner of my eye that some students had gathered in the far edge of the courtyard to watch our encounter, which meant I really couldn’t back down. 

Your pride really is going to get you killed one day, you know. 

True, but I’d rather get seriously maimed than have everyone know that I backed down when Malfoy confronted me, so I stood my ground. “No.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened, and he stepped close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, even in the snow. “No?”

I gulped, and nodded. “That’s right, no. You want to hurt me; why would I let you do that?” I asked, sounding only slightly braver than I felt. 

Malfoy looked at me innocently, but I could tell that he was longing for blood as he spoke softly. “Why would I ever want to hurt you, Elaine?” 

I froze, and not just because of the chilly day. He leaned into my space so he could lower his voice to a gravelly tone that was barely audible. “It’s not like your very existence makes me ill, or that every time I hear you speak, I wish you had bled out on your bathroom floor.” His breath warmed the frozen skin of my face, and his voice sent shivers down my spine. It was so….purely wicked, worse than I’d ever heard it before.

I could feel the blood draining out of my face, and I stepped back so quickly I nearly fell over. “Fine, taking your fucking wand back,” I said, my stomach churning like I was going to be sick. “Stay away from me, Malfoy. I mean it this time.” But my words held little punch, and I knew it. 

“You don’t tell me what to do, Adler,” He sneered, snatching his dark wand out of my hand. “You’re a fucking waste of magic. You don’t even deserve to be able to use it.”

My stomach churned again, and I grit my teeth. “Fuck you, Malfoy.” 

He snorted. “What, is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” Letting out a low laugh, he finally stepped back. “Have a nice break,” Malfoy said sarcastically, and sauntered off, leaving me dazed in the middle of the continuously-worsening storm that was starting to cover the grounds in a deep layer of snow. 

The group of students had dispersed so fast after Malfoy had stormed off that I didn’t get a chance to see who exactly was present, but I knew by the end of the day, the news would circulate and I’d be surprised if a teacher didn’t hear about it and decide to tell our Head of House. My shoulder pulsed with an unpleasant ache as I ambled up the moving staircases, the feeling in my fingers still entirely gone, along with my letter. It felt like my very bones were tired and cold, and I longed to just sit by the fire and close my eyes and try to erase what had just happened from my mind, but as soon as I wearily answered the riddle and walked into the Ravenclaw common room, I knew that wasn’t really going to happen. 

Cho was sitting on the plush couch, her face twisting with worry when she saw me. “I-I heard what happened. Are you…” Cho started, motioning for me to sit beside her in front of the fire, and I only obliged because the warmth was far too enticing to pass up. 

“Okay? Yeah, of course I am,” I lied, keeping my voice disinterested. 

Cho furrowed her brow. “‘Lainy, I know when you’re lying. Neville told me it was pretty nasty.”

It being the duel that everyone had seemingly already heard about. I was barely surprised, given how fast news always traveled at this school. “It was fine, really. I started it, anyways,” I said casually, looking down to pick at my nails. 

“You did?” Cho asked, her voice laced with disbelief. 

I nodded. “He was just...pissing me off and it’s been a long day, I guess.” I shrugged. “Duels happen, Cho. It’s nothing new, really.”

She shook her head. “But this is you and Malfoy. I know how nasty he can get. I know...I know that he has a way of getting under your skin.” 

He did, but I wasn’t going to say that. “It really wasn’t a big deal, Cho. I’m alright,” I assured her, giving her a small smile. 

She looked hesitant, but eventually nodded. “Okay, Adler, but I still think you’re insane. I can’t believe you actually got his wand away from him!”

I laughed softly, the movement making my shoulder prick with pain, but I held back my wince. No use in making Cho fuss more. “What can I say? I’m incredibly skilled,” I joked, though I honestly was proud of myself for it. 

Cho’s bright laugh echoed in the empty room, and my heart panged with remorse as I realized how much I had missed her lately. We ended up grabbing dinner and studying for the rest of the night, though my mind was wandering relentlessly because of my mother’s letter, which I hadn’t mentioned to Cho. Thinking about it would only make it worse, so I chose to do the healthy thing and ignore it, telling myself I had the rest of the week to celebrate the holidays and revel in the love my friends were so excellent at offering to me before shutting myself down almost entirely to face the nightmare of going home. 

I didn’t bother responding to my mother, knowing she would likely not even notice that I hadn’t. The week went on, classes entirely taking up any free time I even thought about having, but even doing that with my friends was enjoyable. 

The thought of going to Potions that week was entirely dreadful, but I refused to let Malfoy think I was staying away from him, so that week I begrudgingly made my way down to the damp, numbingly cold dungeon, Hermione chattering by my side about the potion we were supposedly brewing that day. Entering the classroom, there were a few students milling about, but Hermione said goodbye to me, and went to sit down, wanting to get in a few last minutes of reading before class began. I sat down in my seat, taking out my book, a quill that was starting to look rather worse for the rare, and a small bit of parchment. 

Class was about to begin, Slughorn just getting up out of his high-backed chair behind his desk, when Malfoy, Crabbe, and Zabini waltzed in, looking like they couldn’t care less that they were nearly late. I rolled my eyes as they sat down, Malfoy’s cologne overwhelming my nose, making me sneeze. Malfoy shot me a disgusted look.

God, it was a sneeze. What a prick.

I rolled my eyes once more, and told myself I was going to ignore him for the entire class. Though Slughorn announced our potion would have to be a team effort today, I did a rather good job of avoiding any interaction with Malfoy, both of us silently following our respective instructions. 

Near the end of class, I was just thinking to myself that I could get used to not hearing Malfoy’s gruff voice ever again, when he spilt a bottle of aggressively foul-smelling orange liquid all over our table, and complained loudly: “Professor, Adler’s making a massive mess on my station.” 

I gave him a confused look as Slughorn begrudgingly put his paper down and waddled to the back of the classroom where our table sat. “What, pray tell, is the issue, Mr. Malfoy?” 

“Adler’s clumsy ass won’t stop messing up our potion,” Malfoy accused, though I had done absolutely nothing to warrant his complaints. 

I was about to splutter a retort, but Slughorn spoke first. “Mr. Malfoy, I do not have time to waste on such childish issues. You’re nearly an adult; act like one and begin solving your own problems,” Slughorn said, clapping Malfoy on the shoulder. From anyone else, those words would’ve been rude, but Slughorn was genuinely trying to encourage Malfoy to grow up in the kindest way possible. 

“You’re a fucking child,” I muttered, going to clean up the spill, as I knew Malfoy would never bother. 

“At least I’m not an annoying little bitch,” He shot back, and I, not having the energy to engage with him, merely shook my head softly and returned to my work.

My lack of response seemed to anger him more than when I spoke, but I carried on, not taking note of his tensed jaw or his tight grip on the table. The air felt thick, suffocating, with tension from Malfoy’s frustration, so once the class was over, I did my best to clean up quickly and exit the classroom, waiting outside for Harry and Hermione. 

They walked through the doorway not long after I did, and the three of us fell into casual conversation as we made our way to the main castle. 

“What are your plans for the holidays, Hermione?” Harry asked, struggling to juggle all his books and parchment in his hands as he neglected to carry a bag with him today. 

Hermione sighed. “My father wants us to go on some trip up north, though I’d much rather come with you two to the Burrows.” She shrugged, really not too upset about it. 

“‘Lainy?” Harry asked me. 

I mimicked Hermione’s shrug, “My mum wrote to me yesterday, telling me I’m coming home for the break,” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as I looked. 

Though they tried to hide it, I saw the worried look Hermione and Harry shared between them, and my stomach twisted. 

That is why I hadn’t brought it up.

The two of them stopped walking, moving to the side so that the rush of students could pass by, and I halted a second after, noting the stress creasing their expressions. 

“Do you…” Harry cleared his throat. “Do you have to go?” Balancing his books in one arm, earning an eye roll from Hermione as she helped him with some of his things, he reached out with the other hand, grabbing mine. The calloused skin of his palm brushed mine, and his thumb began tracing small circles on my hand in a way he only did when he was really worried. 

“I don’t really think I have a choice, but it’s alright. It’ll be fine,” I tried to reassure them, plastering a fake smile on my face, though neither of them looked even remotely convinced. 

Hermione shook her head, her curls bouncing softly. “Elaine, I don’t think it’s worth--” 

I cut her off. “I don’t have a choice, okay? My father will probably be passed out drunk the whole time and I doubt my mother will spare me a second glance once I walk through the door. I’ve dealt with this my entire life; why do you think I can’t now?” 

Harry’s glance at my scar wasn’t quite quick enough for me to miss it, and anger blossomed unexpectedly in my chest. “What, Potter? You obviously have something to say,” I accused, crossing my arms in front of my chest. 

The red blush that flared in Harry’s face did nothing to assuage me. “It’s just...C’mon, Elaine. We have a pretty good idea where you got that scar, and I still don’t know why you chose to tell Malfoy of all people instead of us, and we’ve tried to respect your privacy, but we’re worried about you.” 

Hermione nodded in agreement. “It isn’t safe for you there,” She said softly. 

“Yeah, well…” I sighed. “I’ve nowhere else to go, do I? Not going home during the holidays would only make my summer worse. It’ll be fine,” I said again, but I knew I was mostly trying to convince myself at this point. I felt the fear begin to fester inside me, and I tried to swallow it down, because fear made me vulnerable and stupid, and I didn’t have room to be either of those things for the next three weeks. 

~~~

Six days later, I trudged up to the front door of my two-story house lining a quiet street in Berkshire, the vines and flowers running across the front only kept alive and neat by the housekeeper my parents had hired years ago. The house itself was stone, but the shutters were an all too familiar shade of green that made my stomach sink, and the chimes hanging off the overhang clinked softly in the breeze. Taking a deep breath, trying not to feel anything besides complete indifference, I pushed open the white door and stepped inside.