Splinter
Going home for holiday break had been equally nice and stressful, as always. Draco’s father had never been the affectionate sort growing up, instead choosing to use harsh words and consequences in lieu of any sort of praise or encouragement, and this time was no different in that regard, though his father had been much, much angrier when he had come home for Christmas.
And he got through it. Like he always did.
Shutting down and pushing himself to the limit was really the only way to deal with his father; he had learned that as a very young wizard. Draco’s mother, though, was the day to his father’s night, the cool spring wind to his father’s raging fall fires, and Draco loved her dearly for that. His mother had showered him with praise and expressed how proud she was about his schoolwork this year, and gave him a wildly expensive engraved watch that read, To my son, who gives my life light and purpose. She had always seen the good in him, even when, like now, he hardly believed there was any left in him at all.
Returning to Hogwarts after break was always bittersweet, for as much as he spouted hatred for the school, there were quite a few things that he genuinely enjoyed, but he would never tell anyone that.
He did have a reputation to uphold, after all.
Draco’s break had gone by rather fast, and now he was returning to Hogwarts, the noon sun shining weakly through a heavy layer of clouds as he stalked into the castle and made his twisting way down into the damp dungeon. The Slytherin common room wasn’t very busy; a few bored-looking students ambled about, relaxing in front of the fire or talking in small groups with hushed voices. When Draco had walked in, a few first years stumbled out of his way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of one of his intense glares, which filled him with a nasty sort of proudness. He set his stuff down in his shared dormitory, the slightest whiff of boyish stink hitting his nose as Draco saw Crabbe lounging lazily on his bed, his things strewn about haphazardly, which had always annoyed Draco to no end ever since they began school here. Instead of deigning to speak to the brute, Draco simply huffed in disgust and began unpacking his things, his sweaters and jeans the same black and green and grey color palette of his current outfit.
He had tried his best not to think about the wretched cabinet in one of his versions of a room in the Room of Requirement during his holiday, but the moment the soon-to-be-tattooed pale flesh on his arm peaked out of the hem of his expensive black, rolled sweater sleeve as he reached into his trunk that he had placed on his bed, that ended. The blank space made his stomach roll as he remembered that he had to continue trying to work out that cabinet; merely being around it for too long made him feel awful and tired and he wished that he could figure it out already so that he could stop his semi-weekly visits.
It was an honour is what his father had whispered to him, his hand uncomfortably tight on his shoulder when he hesitated after the request from Voldemort had arrived at the Manor, and that is what Draco repeated to himself every time he had to make the long trek to the seventh floor like the way he was today.
Arriving at the non-descript hallway, Draco looked around to assure that he was alone before approaching the wall, the heavy door carving itself from the stone surface. As he went to open the door, the gentle, floating sound of what he thought was a Muggle composer’s piano piece met his ears, the sound growing clear as he silently opened the door and walked in. At the sight of who was at the piano, Draco’s lip curled ever so slightly in disgust, his enemy’s long, thick hair swaying as Adler moved softly with the song. He hated to admit that her playing honestly wasn’t terrible; no, it was so good that he almost wished her hand hadn’t slipped into a dissonant chord and that he hadn’t snorted reflexively at her misfortune.
Draco was a mere few feet from the threshold of the room, the piano being seven or eight feet ahead of him, but as Adler turned around, he could see even from his far position the vibrant bruise that painted her eye and temple, the purples and reds screamingly harsh even in the flickering light of the lamps strewn about the room. Disgust ran through his stomach, and Draco couldn’t decipher whether it was from his hatred for the girl, or the sick feeling was from her being in pain, because strangely enough, both feelings were competing in him.
Adler’s elegant face screwed into a look of frustration as she regarded Malfoy’s figure. “What the hell are you doing in here?” Her silvery voice asked.
“I could ask you the same. I thought others can’t get into this room. It’s mine,” He spoke, trying to make his words casual even as the large presence of the dark cabinet in the corner of the room was threatening to take up all his attention.
Her long legs were clad in jeans that were rather tight and her sweater, though thick, still hugged her new curves softly, Draco noticed as she stood. Yes, over the previous summer she had grown into her former ridiculously lanky build, her body now more slight and refined, but he refused to acknowledge how it made his brain perk with interest that first day on the train, mostly because his abhorrence of her was still the feeling that overwhelmed him merely at the sight of her. She made a bratty remark about his father forcing him to play piano, which was actually true, to Malfoy’s utter dismay as a child, but he, letting his gaze slip momentarily away from her, decided to needle her about that horrendous black eye she was sporting that looked like it still ached pretty terribly.
Draco let a sly snarl slip onto his mouth as he spoke. “None of your business, Adler. Nice black eye by the way. Must’ve been a pretty solid hit to get such a shiner.” And because he couldn’t help himself, hadn’t been able to help himself this year around her, he walked forward a bit, her vanilla and bergamot scent that he had become so familiar with the past few months brushed his nose, and he wrinkled it slightly. He knew that it would bother her to bring up her injury so brashly, and the evidence of that was clearly stamped in Adler’s expression as he looked at her.
“Fuck off,” She retorted, though her voice waved ever so slightly. “I fell.”
He couldn’t hold in the laugh that built in his throat at her obvious lie, the sound sharp and mocking. “Sure, Adler. I’m not a fucking idiot. I know a black eye from a punch when I see it. Did your father finally get tired of your ugly face, or could he just not put up with his pathetic offspring anymore?”
Adler’s face turned stone-cold, the way it always did when discussing her father. Draco hadn’t been completely honest; really, Adler wasn’t that ugly, and if she hadn’t been a Muggle, he would’ve chased after her with the offer of a one-night stand or some sort of meaningless, purely physical relationship a year or two ago when he began to really notice girls. Her hair framed her face in a way that always made her look soft, even though her cheeks were high and her nose was straight and strong, and her voice had a way of hitting a certain button within him that always caught his stupid attention, even when he was feeling more repulsed by her than usual. It just was a damn shame she was so dirty and the simple sight of her made him want to retch in disgust. Never in a million years would Draco ever lower himself so much as to be with her. He’d rather die.
“I told you, Malfoy. I fell. Drop it,” Alder said roughly, but he caught the sliver of pain that pierced her words, and he felt a similar feeling of... something run through him as it registered in Draco’s mind the way she tightened up with fury and hurt.
Her fiercely dark eyes met Draco’s, and he hoped that she hadn’t seen his moment of openness, but he knew he was foolish to think that she didn’t with the way her own shimmered in reply. He sat leisurely on the velvet couch, a bit tired from the day of travel. Her lie was ridiculous, and he hoped she didn’t actually think he was stupid enough to believe it, even for a moment.
“You’re a damn idiot if you think anyone will believe that, especially with what they know about your father,” He snapped back, that particular feeling of annoyance and revulsion beginning to flow through his veins as it always did when he spoke to her, and between that and the looming presence of the shadowy cabinet in the corner, his mood was beginning to sour at an alarming rate.
He could practically see the anger that burst in her, and he held back a mocking laugh at her clenched fists. Draco’s face was a perfect picture of arrogance and snark as he regarded her.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I fell. You can think whatever you want. I don’t care,” Alder defended, her entire posture filled with the hate Draco knew she felt for him.
He wasn’t entirely sure why she felt such an intense need to convince him, but he didn’t care because it was such an easy way to antagonize her, which was something he had found himself missing the past two weeks at home. It was an easy, rather quick way to relieve some of his ever-building stress that seemed to be always eating away at him no matter what he did. The only time it didn't seem so prevalent was when she was around.
“Then why, Adler, are you trying so hard to convince me? Why do you care what I believe?” He asked, scanning her face for any sort of panic or unpleasantry.
“I don’t. You’re just a cocky bastard who thinks he knows everything. You don’t, okay?”
And there was something about her tone, about the way she seemed as though she was trying to contain a huge amount of anger and hurt, that made him suddenly stand and move towards her until he was only a foot away. The bruises on her soft skin were even more intricate and colorful up close, and it made him want to reach out and feel the thing that had been splattered across her face most likely by her father’s fist, made him want to, in some sick and twisted way, be familiar with her pain the way she had been with his on that night weeks ago.
“I know far more than you think. I know what it looks like when someone gets hit in the face by someone else. I know what that pounding headache feels like the next day, and I know that every movement of your face makes it ache,” He said, trying to keep his voice low, level as he spoke. He ignored the flash of recognition in her eyes, because addressing what they both knew to be true about his father was simply a dead end at this point, and one that always made a spark of old pain pulse through him.
The colors gracing her skin were just too enticing; he had to reach out a large, pale hand and brush that marred canvas, had to feel the thing that had caught his eye the second she turned to face him. Her skin was fiery beneath his, a faint pink dusting her skin as his thumb rubbed over her bruising. His cloudy eyes met hers, and as though he had awoken from a trance, Draco realized he was touching her, a filthy Muggle, and snatched his hand back like the heat from Adler’s skin had hurt him.
The curious look in Adler’s eyes was far too close to something that made Draco’s gut swirl with unease, so he searched for anything to say that would bring that hatred back into her dark, chilling gaze.
“What did you do to make your father hit you?” He knew that wasn’t fair; his own father hit him for no reason, but he knew it was the perfect blow to anger her.
And who cared about fair? He didn’t; not as long as Adler was involved. Earning those pained, anxious gazes from him when he attacked her made him bristle with pride every single time.
Alder’s look was incredulous as she responded. “What did I do to makehim? You’re a fucking prick, you know that? I didn’t do anything,” She snarled, stepping out of his reach, which made a small part of him feel like he could breathe again.
Draco rolled his eyes, though her response had led them out of that too-close bit of their encounter. “Fine, Adler. Semantics. What happened, then?” And Merlin curse him, he was far too curious for his own good as he realized he was genuinely curious and not just to pick at her.
“Why do you even care? So you can throw it back in my face later?”
He wished that was the only reason as he spoke again. “What, I can’t be curious? You’ve shown up to school with a nasty black eye, one that is impossible to miss, and you’re angry because I asked what happened? You’re ridiculous.”
“Yes, because it is so insane for me to assume that you would use something like this against me, even though I never spoke a word about what happened the last time we were in here to anyone.”
Ignoring her, ignoring the brief flashback of pain, he persisted. “What happened?” He told himself he was doing it to bother her, to really make her hurt, but a nasty, tiny voice pestered that that wasn’t the only reason, and it made him bubble with fury.
“God, is that all you can say? I fell. Believe me or not, that’s what happened.”
Something about her use of Muggle slang, or something about the way Draco was so curious, so oddly disgruntled by her injury made him grip onto her bicep tightly, squeezing until he saw her familiar wince of pain. He pulled her roughly closer to him, until her frame was nearly entirely overshadowed by his taller one. Her warmth and the smell of spiced perfume and faint cigarette smoke met his nose as she stood so near to him.
Adler looked at him like he was out of his mind, and maybe he was. “What the hell? Let go!” Her feeble attempts to get out of his grasp make him snicker to himself, relishing the fact that he was so much stronger than her.
“What happened?” He asked again, the air between them suddenly too warm, too heavy as she searched his eyes, even flickering her gaze over his fucking mouth as he held her, making a flame flicker in his stomach, waiting for a response. He realized after the words left his mouth that his tone had become less angry and antagonizing, and more… soft , he realized with dimmed unease; dimmed, because the heavy scent of her was bombarding his nose and she had stopped trying to pull away, and was instead locking eyes with him.
“Fine. He hit me, okay? Is that what you want to hear? My father fucking punched me, and then told me to get out and never come back. I stood up to my stupid father, and he hit me and then kicked me out. Happy?” Alder hissed, though the faint shining in her eyes told Draco that she was far more wounded by the situation than she would ever admit.
Draco waited for that usual feeling of flickering pride as she spoke, but the thing was, as they held that weighty silence for a few long moments, he wasn’t. He expected to feel snide or haughty or anything of that sort, but instead, he just felt sorry for the girl, and strangely infuriated.
Kicked her out? His own child?
Even his own father, with all his faults and issues, would never leave him to his own devices like that, especially not while he was still in school, even though he was technically an adult. His father was rather harsh, but only for things that Draco could control or things that he should've done better; he never punished Draco for simply existing. Parents weren't supposed to do that, and maybe it was different in the Muggle world, but Draco could hardly believe it.
“See, was that so hard?” He inquired, not unkindly, and hated himself even more for it.
“Why do you care so damn much, anyways?”
Draco didn’t respond right away, because he truly did not have a decent answer. The only answer that was so faint in the back of his mind that he could barely register it would’ve gotten him actually killed by his father this time, so he merely stayed quiet, though he could feel the anger and confusion beginning to boil.
Adler’s deep, warm eyes searched his as she asked him again why he cared so much. Draco felt the ferocious fury inside him overwhelm any sort of gentleness at her pestering, and he struggled to keep calm before quickly letting go of her for the second time in as many minutes, barely holding in the urge to shove her away from him so roughly she landed on the hard stone floor. Draco struggled to keep his face blank as he spoke, almost too low for her to hear.
“Get out.”
Her irritating little face twisted with confusion, and he could see her trademark stubbornness rearing its ugly head within her. “What? No, I was here first.”
And Merlin’s Beard, he could not stand to be near this girl for another second, couldn’t stand her stupid doe eyes or her open emotions that plastered across her face or even just the feel of her skin under his, so he let that anger that had been stirring inside of him explode.
“Get. Out!” He yelled, noting the flinch it caused Adler and storing it for a time that he could actually enjoy his negative effect on her.
She stood there, stupidly still, until he yelled at her once more, the fire in his words scorching his throat. Draco knew that he wasn’t masking his feelings, and that was confirmed with the pitiful, scared look she spared him as she opened the door, but he couldn’t get a hold of the pure rage that was coursing through his blood, not until she was out of here and her scent dissipated as well. It had an irksome habit of lingering when he didn’t want it to.
Draco stood there fuming for a few more moments as the sweet, musky scent of Adler’s perfume still lingered in the air. He realized, disgusted with himself, that it had become familiar to him, had become commonplace, like that Muggle even deserved to be around him that much. Taking in a few deep breaths didn’t even help, as it only filled his nose with more of her smell, and he huffed in annoyance before deciding to leave the room, knowing that he had to clear his head before working with that accursed cabinet that stood over him almost mockingly as he turned and exited the room.
Knowing that going to his dormitory would only enrage him more, Draco decided to wander through the halls, seeing if there were any first years that he could scare or pick on. The corridors were filling as more and more students returned, and as he walked, he noticed that Adler was standing with her vexing little group of friends, Potter’s and the Weasley girl’s faces guilty as they regarded her.
It piqued his interest, and he needed to witness some more of her pain after two long weeks without it, so he lingered far enough away that they wouldn’t notice him over the rush of the crowd, but close enough that he could still hear them.
Could hear them, as Adler yelled at Harry for lying to her about how he felt, about lying to her about how he felt for that blood traitor Weasley girl. About...oh. So Harry and her had...
Draco felt a weird knot in his stomach as he heard the conversation go on, and an odd prick of jealousy ran through him at the thought of Harry being with her like that. No, not jealously. It had to be disgust. It could not be jealousy.
Adler is far prettier than that blood traitor. What a git.
Would be, he corrected himself, feeling frustrated once more. Would be . But wasn’t, because her blood was even dirtier than the Weasleys. He felt a small smirk paint his lips as he saw her stand up for herself against the idiot Potter, the pained look on his face far too good to miss, and Draco knew he would be reveling in that for a while to come. The shadows of the corridor corner that he slid into did an excellent job of concealing him, even as Adler spun and left the group, Potter and Weasley’s mouths still agape with regret, as they should be.
Draco had to admit, as he walked away, that he was surprised that perfect little Potter would do something so nasty, but it gave him another thing to hurt Adler with, so he was grateful Potter had decided to be such a dickhead. He wondered to himself whether Adler was crying or not, because he hadn’t ever seen her really cry, and a sick part of him wanted to.
And he wondered to himself after that thought why he had been thinking about that vile girl so much today. Draco asked himself that all the way to the second-floor bathroom that was tucked away in a far corner of the castle, where he regarded his own pale, drawn face in the mirror, the entire room empty except for him. He felt that sense of horrific pity again as he thought about Adler’s black eye, about the way that Potter had fucked her over, and he couldn’t help the blind anger at his own self as he lifted his fist and shattered the fragile glass with a hard punch, his voice shouting with rage. The silver glass fractured around his hand, the sharp pieces slicing open the thin skin of his knuckles and hand as he stood there, panting, frustrated, angry, confused.
He made a vow to himself, then and there, that he would stop whatever this sick, twisted dance was that he had going on with Adler. Draco thoroughly enjoyed hurting her, making her angry and take it out on him, relished in the fury that sparked in her warm eyes and loved the way she shook when she shouted at him, but he realized that it was in danger of turning into something more now, something that he couldn’t even fucking risk thinking about because he didn’t have a terrible inclination to be subjected to the full extent of his father’s horrific wrath. Draco looked at himself, disgusted with the man that stared back in the cracked mirror, his eyes too steely, his face too bony, his stature too relaxed for the amount of stress and confusion that he had been going through the past few months, though he had to commend himself for looking like he was doing just fine when he was splintering apart, just like the mirror. He hated that his heart faintly contracted at the thought of not being the cause of Adler’s agony anymore, and knew that he was so stupidly deep in shit that he had no inclination to get out of.
His pale hand was streaked with bright ribbons of crimson, and he didn’t even bother to clean it or the glass up as he left, needing the stinging pain to ground him and make him focus on the task that he had been given to complete before the end of the year. Drips of red liquid followed his exit, his hand burning horribly the second the chilly winter air met his open skin, and he fell wholly into the consuming pain and numbness that had become his closest companion.