Choice's Curse

The first Monday of second term was cold, gray, and bleak, which, incidentally enough, was perfectly fitting for the mood that I was in. I woke up with the left side of my face aching, and there was a hollowness in my chest that I knew was a result of Harry and Ginny’s actions from yesterday. As I lay still in my bed, listening to the soft rustle of fabric as Cho and Luna started to get ready for the day, I cursed myself for even letting myself consider the idea that Harry would actually want to be with me. I, apparently, had lost all my sense as soon as a boy showed interest in me, and though I was angry at Harry, and rightfully so, I was almost more angry with myself for the way that I let him in and how I was vulnerable with him.

I tried to tell myself it was okay that I had started to have feelings for someone for the first time in my life, but the small, obnoxious voice in my head whispered that it wasn’t and that I should’ve known that he would pull away as soon as I wanted to commit. It was this awful, constant struggle between allowing myself to be vulnerable with someone and wanting to shut anyone out who got too close, and at this point, I genuinely didn’t know which I wanted to do more. 

The bleak winter sun that peaked through the window next to my bed told me that I’d better get moving if I wanted breakfast, so I hauled my tired, heavy body out of my warm bed and began slipping on warmer day clothes, replacing my pajama top and bottom with my heavier school uniform, taking only a few moments to adjust my hair into a bun before heading down to the Great Hall. As I went to exit the dormitory, Cho caught up to me and asked if she could walk down with me. I only nodded in reply, and we made our way out of the Ravenclaw tower and down toward the hall.

There were a few moments of silence before Cho’s light voice began speaking. “Elaine, your eye…” 

Her question was unsaid, but I knew what it was. “Yeah. It’s fine, though. I don’t live there anymore.”

“What?” She exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “My father kicked me out, but it’s really okay. I honestly don’t feel like talking about it right now, if that’s okay.”

She pursed her lips, but nodded. “And about Harry...:”

I stopped her. “Again, Cho, I really don’t have the energy right now. Can we just talk about it later?” I knew my voice sounded tired, almost as exhausted as I felt. 

Again, she looked like she was going to protest, but thankfully thought better of it, and we continued our comfortable silence during the last remains of the walk to breakfast. Once we reached the Great Hall, I spotted Harry and Ginny sitting with Ron and Cedric, and Cho started to walk towards them, but froze after seeing the pained look on my face that I tried to hide. 

“You know what? Let’s sit somewhere else this morning. I don’t really feel like talking,” Cho offered, though I saw her cast a longing look at her boyfriend, and I shook my head. 

“It’s alright. I wanted to study before Transfiguration anyways, so I’ll probably just grab a quick bite to eat and then head up to the library,” I lied. I did appreciate her offer, but the situation was messy enough without anyone taking sides or choosing me or Harry over the other. 

Cho hesitated. “Alright, but let’s eat dinner together then. I want to catch up about break!” She said, offering me a warm smile. 

I smiled back as she kissed my cheek and sauntered off to the little group sitting near one of the raging fires lining the walls, my heart twisting as I saw Harry brush a stray piece of hair off Ginny’s freckled cheek.

God, this was going to be hard.

I figured since I told Cho I was going to study, I might as well, so after I ate a few bites of oatmeal and downed an apple, I wandered up to the library, finding a quiet corner to sit at until my classes began for the day. It was a futile effort, as my brain insisted on thinking about anything but the ancient book open in front of me, but I enjoyed the bit of silence before the day and before the unavoidable barrage of questions I knew I would receive about my eye. My shoulders slumped as I thought about the strenuous effort of explaining to every single person the cause of the bruise, and I sighed heavily, resting my head in my hands and staying like that until it was time to make my way to Transfiguration. 

I found my usual spot by the unpleasant Slytherin, and did my best to pay attention to McGonagall, but I found it difficult to do so when I kept catching Ron throwing pitiful glances my way that made my stomach stink. I was so distracted that I could barely get the quill in front of me to turn green, much less turn into a toad, and though McGonagall hadn’t said anything to me, I noticed her eyeing me throughout the course of the class. 

Afterwards, I stood up and made my way out of the class, my feet nearly dragging with how heavy and down I felt. 

“Wait up!” I heard Ron’s newly deep voice call out to me. 

I sighed internally, but paused, moving to the side of the corridor. 

“Elaine, listen, about Ginny and Harry. We really did think he had told you and we would’ve never supported it if he hadn’t--or if we knew he hadn’t,” He explained, his clothing slightly rumpled and his tie askew as always. 

His words sent sadness shooting through me, but I tried to brush it off. “I know, and I’m not upset at you or Hermione or really anyone but the two of them. I’ll be okay, you know me,” I tried to reassure him, though it was obvious that I was trying to reassure myself as well. 

Ron’s brows furrowed as he looked at me. “It was a really dickheaded thing for him to do and believe me, Hermione yelled at the both of them for a while.” He shuddered. “It even scared me, and she’s my girlfriend!” 

I didn’t doubt it. Hermione had a fire in her that came out at surprising times, and it warmed me to know she had defended me. “It’s just the way things go, y’know? I guess I shouldn’t be so upset. Harry and I were together, but we never talked about it in definite terms, so I guess he wasn’t completely out of place by getting with Ginny.” The words hurt even as I said them.

Ron awkwardly patted my shoulder, making me swallow a soft laugh at his attempt to comfort me. “Well, believe me, Ginny will probably get an earful from Mum about it too. You know how much she loves you,” Ron responded, making me smile. “And listen, Cho told us about what happened.” His eyes flickered quickly to my temple and I shoved down the urge to turn that side of my face away from his gaze. “I sent an owl to Mum before McGonagall’s class, even though I’m sure she’ll say yes, but you’re staying at the Burrow until you’re graduated.”

Gratitude swept through me at his offer, but I didn’t want to be a burden, and I knew I couldn’t repay the Weasleys. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ll find some to stay until I save up enough to get my own place, and I don’t have any way to pay you for letting me---” 

Ron stopped me with a look that said, Shut it, will you? “It’s not up for debate, ‘Lainy. Once Mum and Dad hear about it, they wouldn’t let you stay anywhere else, anyways,” He said decidedly, and I grinned at him. 

“You have no idea what it means to me, Ron, really,” I said, giving him a tight hug. 

His freckled cheeks flared red, and he waved his hand nonchalantly. “It’s nothing, really. Any of you have always been welcome there.” 

And I did know it, but I was so thankful for the offer that I promised myself I’d do as many chores or cook as many meals as I could while staying there to start repaying the Weasleys for the kindness they had always shown me. Ron offered me a quick goodbye, and we both went to our respective classes, a familial love heating my chest as I walked, realizing how lucky I was to be friends with the Weasleys and how much of a replacement for my own horrible parents Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been ever since I had become friends with Ron. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts was wildly intriguing, as always, even with Snape’s nasally voice droning through the lesson. He was spouting so much information that I didn’t notice Malfoy’s uncharacteristic quiet towards me, my only focus on scratching down as much of the lesson as I could onto my yellowed parchment. It was only when I entered into Potions at the end of my day that I realized how void of antagonism my day had been. My mind had been entirely caught up in throwing myself so entirely into my school work that day that I didn’t have to notice the lingering stares at my face or the sorrow that had lodged itself snugly into my stomach. Seeing Harry and Hermione chatting softly once I walked in, however, immediately brought my new reality crashing into me, and I did my best to avoid Harry’s eyes that I could feel were watching me as I looked anywhere but him. 

Malfoy waltzed in, a few minutes late as always, his normal nonchalant and arrogant air returned after his odd outburst yesterday afternoon. As Professor Slughorn began talking about the different kinds of emotion potions we would be studying, I noticed the garrish, tender red cuts littering Malfoy’s veined hand as he got out his quill and parchment. It wasn’t wrapped, and it looked as though it hadn’t been given any care at all. I knew the cuts had to be fresh, because neither of his hands had been marred during our encounter yesterday, and I wondered hesitantly if they were a result of our conversation. 

I found my eyes glued to tracing the injuries, the inflamed skin looking very sore and bothered. Malfoy caught me staring, and instead of reprimanding me or getting angry, he only snatched his hand off the table and nestled it in his robes so that I could no longer see the damage that had been done to it. I was shocked by his lack of an outburst, thinking to myself that I must be in some odd dimension where Malfoy merely ignored me instead of attacking me. 

His strange behavior continued even as we had to work together to make our first potion of the new year, his eyes never even meeting mine as we stirred and poured and chopped our ingredients. It was bothering me, like a little thorn in my side, that he wasn’t even giving me the time of day after his incessant demands to know what caused the mark on my face the day before. Maybe it was because I missed the normalcy of my friendships that had been blown to dust with Harry and Ginny’s new relationship, or maybe I was just feeling particularly prone to bothering him that day, but I began doing things that I knew annoyed him, like misreading the instructions. My purposeful mistake of letting the liquid simmer too low while he went to grab something from the storeroom only elicited a small huff out of him, and he went to correct my action without even saying anything. I felt a strange frustration rise in me, and I feigned reaching for an white powder to knock over his nearly full bottle of jet-black ink, making it slither over his book and stain it with a midnight shadow. 

Even this didn’t do anything to make him acknowledge me, and I felt as though I was invisible, or not truly there, and it made me more upset than it should have. I should have been grateful for his lack of interaction, especially after yesterday, but I, for some unknown reason, longed to have him snap at me like he usually did, because if this was his new way of bothering me, it sure was working well. I watched, confused, as he merely muttered a cleaning spell to suck the ink off the pages of his book and returned his attention back to the concoction. 

I felt like a petulant child with the way I longed for even a bit of his rageful attention, growing even more frustrated not only at Malfoy, but with myself for being so stupid and immature. Between doing my best to put on an air of uncaring to prove to Harry that what he did hadn’t hurt me all that much, and being horribly distracted because of Malfoy’s wounded hand, I found myself making mistakes that I normally didn’t, mistakes that were, by all accounts, simply terribly stupid of me. 

The worst of which was when I reached over blindly to grab my quill and stuck my hand into the flame heating the cauldron instead, making me draw back my hand quickly with a pathetic yelp of pain. My fingers instantly reddened, the pain from the fire still licking up my fingers into my hand even as I shook it to make the chilled dungeon air stuck the heat out of my injured skin. The class looked towards my table at my pained shout, making me flush with embarrassment, but even at this, Malfoy still did not spare me so much as a quick glance, his steel eyes fixed on his book in front of him. 

I felt my previous simmering temper boil into bitter indignation at myself for being so idiotic, at Harry for making me so distracted, and, for a reason that I could not figure out no matter how long I wondered that night, at Malfoy for his utter indifference to me. Maybe it was because it had seemed like he had so clearly, so oddly , cared about me for whatever reason last night, or maybe it was because he was the last remaining hope of normality that I had after my encounter with Harry last night and he was ripping even that away from me. This new cold wall of emotion, I found, was far worse than suffering the heat of his rage, because now I really had no idea where my place was at Hogwarts. 

It certainly wasn’t as Harry’s best friend, not anymore, and it wasn’t as the unbothered student from an unknown background; if it wasn’t those, and if it wasn’t as Malfoy’s biggest target, where was it? 

I felt tears of pure and unbridled resentment bite at my eyes and begin to burn my nose. It seemed as though the world found it funny to throw curve after curve at me sometimes, not giving me a moment to recover before the next was tossed my way. I vaguely noticed Professor Slughorn come up to me and suggest I go to the hospital wing, telling Malfoy he might as well take me since it seemed that our potion wasn’t really coming along very well. Malfoy tried to argue, but Slughorn had made up his mind, and being the stubborn old man that he was, there was no use protesting. 

The two of us stalked out of the classroom, the aching in my hand subsiding minimally as the cool corridor air wrapped around it, and as we left the dungeon, I muttered, “You can go back to your common room or something. I don’t need you to walk me to the hospital wing.”

Malfoy didn’t respond, of course; he simply continued walking alongside me, just out of arm's reach as I cradled my injured hand to my chest.

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t need you to escort me,” I repeated, incredulous that he would ignore even a direct conversation. 

We walked a few more steps, our shoes clacking on the stone, before he said, “You shouldn’t need someone to tell you not to stick your hand in a fire either, but apparently you still do.”

I didn’t even look at his surely smug face as I replied. “I was distracted. I know that you don’t care, so I’d rather not have to suffer your company for any longer than I have to.” 

Malfoy didn’t say anything to that, and I huffed, annoyed that I had to endure the embarrassment of being escorted to Madam Pomfrey’s for such a ridiculous and avoidable injury. The throbbing in my hand still pulsed terribly, and a shiny blister was beginning to bubble up along the length of my forefinger, making it painful to move. The silence that enshrouded us as we walked was nearly suffocating. For me, at least. 

Malfoy looked like he hadn’t a care in the world, and that made me want to give his stupidly marble-and-ice face a bruise matching mine. Some deep, hidden part of me was aching for him to even recognize my presence beyond a few, clipped words, and I was doing my best to shove it down, but it was a monster on a mission, clawing its way up into my stomach and chest to sit heavily and shove its want up my throat. That distant part of me was longing for our normal banter, even if it ended with me wanting to cry or hit him; I just wanted something normal to cling on to. 

We arrived just outside the hospital wing doors, alone except for the soft murmurs of a few people on the other side of the oak doors. I paused, just for a moment, to see if Malfoy would say anything, and to my surprise, he did. 

“We have to make up that potion because of your idiocy,” He deadpanned, and though he feigned causality, there was something more tense under it. Shoving his hands in his robe pockets, he finally looked at me with those disconcertingly piercing eyes of his that made a shudder run down my spine. 

“I know,” was all I seemed to be able to say under his intense gaze.

Malfoy scoffed. “Thank you in advance for wasting some of my free time. I’ll meet you in Slughorn’s class tomorrow night after dinner, and you’d better clear up whatever shit you’re going through with Potter so that you can actually focus this time,” He said icily, as if he was angry at me for something, though besides my antics in Potions that hadn’t seemed to bother him, I couldn’t think of what he could possibly be upset about. 

My chest tightened at his mention of Harry, and for what seemed like the millionth time just this year, I had no clue how he was so knowledgeable about the intricacies of my personal life. “You need to get your big, fat nose out of my business, Malfoy,” I snapped. “I was only so distracted because your hand looks like you ran it through a woodchipper and you didn’t even bother to clean it or bandage it.” 

His eyes squinted ever so slightly, and it looked like Malfoy hesitated for a moment before he retorted, “Don’t pretend like you give a damn about my hand. You’d probably just as soon cut it up yourself.” His words were short, as if he was restraining himself, and I found myself more confused, rather than satisfied, as our conversation lengthened. 

“So it’s fine for you to pester and hurt me until I tell you what happened to me, but the moment I point out that your hand is probably fucking infected ,” I said, gesturing to his robe pockets where his hands still sat.“You’re a massive asshole about it. Got it, you dick.” 

Malfoy’s expression was passive at best, but that odd glint had returned to his eye, only for a moment. It wasn’t quick enough that I missed it though, and I found myself absently wondering when I had become so in tune with his minute expressions that I could tell when the smallest change occurred. Rolling my eyes, I turned away from him to shove open the doors and see Madam Pomfrey about my hand, and I was half-expecting him to grab my arm or tell me to stop or at least yell at me, but he did nothing, so the only thing I could do was continue my course and let the doors slam behind me, leaving the air between us that was so thick with discomfort and confusion to fester, lingering around me even as I walked to Madam Pomfrey and showed her my hand, making her tut with worry. 

I struggled to focus as she gave me a tonic and wrapped gauze individually around my first three fingers and around the upper half of my palm, telling me to mind where I put it next time and to keep it clean unless I wanted to end up back here to see her again. Nodding half-heartedly, she gave me the go-ahead to leave, and I stood up off the crisp, linen sheets that lined the bed she had sat me at, noting that class was definitely over by now, if the rush of the students to the Great Hall indicated anything. 

Groaning as I remembered I had to return to the dungeon to grab my bag, therefore lengthening the time that remained before I could finally sit down and fill my growling stomach, I pushed against the flow of students, bumping into a few shoulders and wincing as my hand got hit by passing bags or arms. The trek to the dungeon took far longer than I hoped, and my mood soured even more as I saw Harry waiting by my abandoned bag. 

His face was hesitant as he saw me open the door and enter into the otherwise empty classroom, the rest of the people having left minutes earlier. 

“I--I figured you’d have to come back for your bag, and-- and I wanted to talk to you and I didn’t know when else you’d give me the time,” Harry began, looking sheepish. 

Rightfully so.

“Listen, Potter,” and he flinched as I addressed him so coldly by his surname, “It’s been a long, shitty day, and I feel terrible and I don’t want to hear your half-assed excuses, so let’s just agree to stay away from each other and we can be done with it,” I said shortly, reaching down to grab my bag from where it rested against the leg of the table. 

“What, we’re just not going to be friends anymore? Elaine, you’ve been my best friend for six years. How can you just want to throw it away like that?” Harry asked, stepping in front of my bag and making me huff with irritation. 

I stood back up, looking him dead in those stupid green eyes of his. “Yes, Potter, we’re not. Because you decided, the moment that you got with Ginny, that I was no longer a priority of yours. And that’s fine, that’s your choice, but I don’t have to sit around and have our group throw me sad, pitiful glances every time we’re near each other. I had hoped that you respected me more, not just as a potential girlfriend, but as your best friend , to tell me the truth instead of surprising me with it after I had just gotten kicked out of my own damn house,” I spat back, barely bothering to pull my punches, because as sick and awful as it was, I almost wanted him to feel the same hurt that I had when I had seen him and Ginny together. Harry flinched as I reminded him of my most recent fatherly misfortune, but continued.

“That isn’t fair! Just because I fell in love with---”

“Fell in love?” I laughed incredulously. “God, so I really was just a phase for you.” I ran my undamaged hand through my wild locks, trying to reign in my emotions. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“It wasn’t a phase! Merlin’s beard, for a Ravenclaw, you sure are thick,” Harry retorted, and the moment the words left his mouth, I knew he regretted them because I saw the shame begin to swim in his eyes. 

“Nice, Potter. Fantastic fucking friend you turned out to be. Of course I was a phase; how could I think otherwise? I was just a girl to fool around with and mess with until you found something better, and believe me, I get that that is how most people see me, but I thought you, of all people, saw me differently,” I said, going to grab my bag again, but once again Harry blocked my path. “Get out of my way, Potter.” 

“Or what, Elaine? I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry, that I shouldn’t have done it, but you’re so fucking caught up in drowning in self pity that you refuse to hear what I’m saying!” Harry exclaimed, throwing up his arms in frustration. 

“Self pity? God, that is rich coming from you, Potter. All we ever hear about from you is how terrible your aunt and uncle are and how hard it is to be the Chosen One, to be every witch and wizard’s damn hero. So don’t tell me that I wallow, because you are the goddamn champion of self pity.” I was nearly yelling at this point, my emotions heightened because Harry truly had been my best friend and as much as I acted that I was fine moving on from him, I wasn’t , because he had been there for me through all the terribleness and nightmares and awfulness that my family had put me through. 

“Could you be any more jealous of me? Jesus, Elaine, I thought you were better than this,” Harry sighed, rubbing his face as if he were tired. 

I scoffed. “Jealous? Of you? In your dreams, Potter. And I thought you were better than a cheater and a liar, so I guess we were both wrong,” I said. 

“I’m not a cheater,” Harry replied angrily. “We were never ever really together!”

And there it was. The thing that I hadn’t let myself think about until now; the thing that shattered the rest of my already-crumbling heart into pieces so small it was like I could feel it tearing apart. The stark, cold fact that Harry really hadn’t seen what went on between us as anything more than...than friends with benefits.

I felt the hot burn of tears prick my throat, and I swallowed hard to force them down. “At least I know that that’s how you saw it now. At least I didn’t make a joke of myself by telling you I was ready to be your girlfriend, even though you were the one who initiated everything!” And that word, girlfriend , seemed so stupid, so childish , as I faced him, his cheeks flush with anger and his eyes bright and bitter. 

“Like I believe that. Did you ever think part of the reason I got with Ginny is because she actually showed she wanted to be with me? That she wasn’t scared to be with someone she knew would never hurt her?” Harry questioned me, making me clench my jaw. 

And I noticed he didn’t address my accusation of him starting our relationship, which made a small sense of pride burst in me at the fact that I had, at least, won that point.

“Well, I guess Ginny is different. And yes, I did think at one point that you would never hurt me, because I thought you loved me, even as a friend. But I can see how horribly wrong I was,” I said, holding his gaze as I spoke, not wanting to show him that any of this was hurting me, even though I felt like I was splintering into little bits of nothingness. 

“You know I love you. Don’t pull that shit with me, Elaine. I’m the only person who knows you as well as I do, and I still love you with my entire heart. I have since our very first year here,” Harry said, a bit softer, as he leaned back to sit on the edge of the table. 

“You still love me? You think that the fact that you love me despite my shitty background is something you should be rewarded for?” I laughed bitterly, finally grabbing my bag and hefting it onto my shoulder. “Maybe I did dodge a bullet with you. I’m sure it’s much easier to love a girl like Ginny than a girl like me.” 

It was an unfair shot, and I knew that, but I was so sick of him talking and all I wanted to do was eat and sleep the rest of the day away. Before I could leave, Harry clamped a hand around my wrist, making me freeze.

“You know what? Fine,” Harry spat. “You tell yourself, like you always do, that you have it the hardest and that because of your dad, no one can love you or stick around. Did you ever think, even for a second, that it isn’t your dad, but you that pushes people away? You’re so scared of getting hurt, so scared of anyone really seeing you, that you’d rather live your life in sorrow and pity and bitterness instead of opening up and realizing how much about you there is to love. But fine, you don’t want to listen to me? Whatever.”

I looked him dead in the eyes, the boy who had been my best friend since eleven, the boy who had always been there for me and seen me as more than just a charity case, and I growled, “You ever touch me again, Potter , and I’ll curse you so hard you’ll have to go back to your stupid cupboard under the stairs.” 

Hurt swirled through Harry’s eyes and I stepped back, stopping once again as I heard Malfoy’s snarky voice whistle, slow and showy. “I didn’t know that I’d be getting a show when I went to get my book.” 

I turned and shot him an icy, hateful glare. “Fuck off, Malfoy. I don’t need this right now.” 

“Yeah, piss off, dickhead,” Harry chimed in, still sitting on the edge of our table. 

“How could I miss such a fantastically horrible conversation between Dumbledore’s golden boy and everyone’s favorite Mudblood punching bag?” Malfoy asked rhetorically, waltzing towards us with his signature elegant gait to grab his bag that was on the other side of the table. “I’ll admit, Potter. I didn’t know you had it in you. Maybe the Sorting Hat should’ve put you in Slytherin after all. Here I was thinking you were always too nice for that, but seems like the Hat was on to something.” 

And, being the stupid prick that he was, Malfoy didn’t even look at me as he leaned down and picked up his bag, his dark robes whirling around him like a stormcloud. He didn’t even look at Harry as he clenched his fist at his nickname for me, or as Harry snarled, “You ever call her that again, and I’ll--”

“You’ll what, Potter?” Malfoy drawled lazily, as if Harry’s threat was as dangerous as a buzzing fly. “You don’t have the guts to do anything to me, and even if you did, you wouldn’t live to tell any of your moronic friends.” 

Somehow, Malfoy had gotten so impeccably good at those little life-threatening insults that it took the both of us a few moments to register what he had said. 

“Get. Out,” Harry demanded again, his form still tense with anger at the blond who’s tall, lithe body was leaned up against the table next to ours. 

“Merlin’s beard, Potter, you’re so fucking dull it makes me wonder how you managed to score both Adler and the Weasley girl, though I’m sure Adler will take any bit of affection she can get, being the needy, whiny little shit she is.”

It was if I wasn’t even present, and I couldn’t handle it anymore. My day had been awful and long and it felt like I was living in some sort of limbo where everything was just a bit off, but not enough for anyone else to notice but me. “You know what? We’re done here,” I stated. “I’d rather jump off the Astronomy Tower than be around you two assholes anymore.” 

It hurt, honestly hurt, to lump the warm boy who reminded me of summer sunshine and the steely boy who’s alabaster skin and frozen eyes were enough to send shivers down my spine together, but after what Harry did, it almost felt like he deserved it. 

Almost. 

The pair sat there looking at me as I declared my exit, but I found it hard to stop staring at the juxtaposition of the two; Harry, so light and fluttery and messily loveable, and Malfoy, harsher than the deepest winter, a marble statue given the tiniest bits of life, and though I had always found myself instinctively drawn to Harry, this time my eyes had a hard time leaving the stoic form of Draco Malfoy, and my heart stuttered as I realized that Harry’s welcoming, warm presence no longer grabbed me as it had before. 

Malfoy’s blond eyebrow quirked up, and I stopped my study of the two boys, turning quickly enough that hopefully neither of them saw the embarrassment that kissed my cheeks. I left the two of them there, rushing out of the damp dungeon, feeling as though the air was fighting against my lungs as I breathed. It felt nearly impossible to keep myself together as I climbed stair after stair, the heavy, crushing weight of losing Harry threatening to splinter me into entire disrepair. Taking in a few deep breaths as I answered the riddle to the Ravenclaw tower, I stepped inside and finally put away my school things and tied back my wild hair with an elastic, before immediately turning around to get some food into my starving stomach. 

It was both a gift and a trial that my day had been so full that I had barely been able to stop, to think, and I knew that I would eventually have to confront my feelings of loss about Harry, but everything was just so incredibly confusing and rather terrible that that was the last thing I wanted to do in this particular moment. Dinner was uneventful, though sitting with Luna offered easy conversation, most of which was her talking absentmindedly about any number of odd creatures and inventions. I envied the way that she floated through life, and I knew she had her own set of problems, but it seemed as though she always was so sure about everything, and I longed for that comfort as I ate a warm, hearty soup and my fair share of rolls. 

It was still early, the sun having sunk behind the rolling green hills surrounding Hogwarts barely an hour earlier, but my body craved rest, so I decided to call it a day and got ready for bed, my warm pajamas cocooning my body with much-needed comfort. My dormitory was empty due to how young the night was, but it was a welcome reprieve from the stressful events of the day that seemed to plague me even after they were done. 

My thoughts drifted to Harry first, that pang of sadness hitting me as I recalled our conversation, wincing at the words he had thrown at me. 

He wasn’t wrong, though. Not entirely.

I hated that he wasn’t. I hated that he had been able to read me so clearly, and I hated that every bit of his words had rung true with a burst of embarrassed bitterness in me because I knew that he was right. My mind changed course, from Harry and I’s conversation to when Malfoy walked in, surrounded with all his usual irksome swagger and poise. His actions had changed though, and fairly dramatically, because his avoidance of me was something incredibly new and his supposed complete disregard for his injury was not normal. His hand had been gruesomely torn up, and yet he hadn’t bothered to do a thing about it, which surprised me, because he normally wasn’t so nonchalant about himself. I though I even saw, as he walked in, him clenching that hand, which surely hurt, though he had stopped so quickly upon his entry that I might've imagined it. 

That wasn’t the only thing that pushed him to the forefront of my mind; no, it was the way that he had almost entirely ignored me today, and the way that I almost missed our normal interactions made me despise myself even further than anything else that day had. How stupid must I be to want him to attack me? How lonely and afraid and utterly displaced must I be to long for his presence when it caused me nothing but agony?

And how horrifically, terribly, completely idiotic and self-sabotaging must I be to disregard my own safety and sanity to look forward to spending tomorrow evening with him?