Traitor: A Draco Malfoy Story

thirty-eight

"He's back!"

"Merlin's beard, he's back!"

"WHERE'S AZALEA?"

"She's here. She's here."

A cool, dusty hand brushed across my forehead and I slowly opened my eyes to see Luna kneeling over me. "Hey, sleepyhead," she whispered, a small smile dancing on her lips. "Think you can stand?"

I turned my head to see the Atrium filled with more people than I remembered being there before, several adults in official-looking robes, some grasping their wands and some holding cameras pointed at a tense Dumbledore and an emotionless Harry. The small explosive sound of the shutter went off letting out a flash that dug its needles into my eyes. I grunted and tried to sit up, but I could barely hold my weight. I tried to speak, but I'd screamed my throat raw, so I just gently shook my head.

"That's okay, Azalea, it's okay." She gently stroked my hair as Hermione came over to sit next to me as well, Ron following and standing by her side. Ginny was supporting Neville, who had a nasty cut over his eye that was bleeding steadily. 

I couldn't hear the words people were saying or pick up on conversation, and soon it all became too much. With an exhale, I closed my eyes and drifted off into the welcoming darkness.

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Draco's POV:

The cool night breeze brushed my face as I stood in the Astronomy Tower looking out towards the Black Lake. Several hours had passed since Professor Umbridge had dismissed us from her office. The sight of Nott and Beckett blatantly flirting crossed my mind with disgust. I unbuttoned my suit jacket harshly before leaning forward on the railing again.

Slipping my hands in my pockets, I could feel the cool metal of the Inquisitorial Squad pin that I had stuffed there after ripping it off my robes and changing. I hadn't even wanted to join that club in the first place, but extra credit was extra credit and Father wouldn't be pleased to hear that my grades were slipping. As fucking ridiculous as the Squad had been, Umbridge stayed true to her word and gave us a hefty grade boost in all our classes.

The last letter I'd gotten from my Father regarding the weapon was blunt, harsh, and to the point. I remembered reading the lines over and over: Get as close as you can. Get her to trust you. Stay in her good graces, and make her want to stay in yours. I'd tried that. The closer I got, the more vulnerable she was with me, the more I was with her, and the more I had to lose. That's what I kept telling myself.

It wasn't until I started seeing her as more than just a weapon for the Dark Lord that I knew it was over. I didn't blame her for telling Harry that our broom ride meant nothing, I hadn't necessarily assumed it did. But I'd shared something I hadn't with anyone else, not even Pansy, and she and I had been close since we were out of the womb. I was supposed to make her get close to me, not get close to her.

So I used it.

I used it to push her away. I hid it under the guise of wanting to experiment with her emotions, but I was pushing her away. I had to. I couldn't even keep my hands off her that night after the Slytherin victory. I couldn't get enough of how she melted at my touch, the sounds she made when I pleasured her, the way she looked underneath me...not just the way her body responded to me, but her emotions. The comfort I could instill, that she sought out from me, that I gave her solely under the guise of taking advantage of her. And I couldn't do it anymore. But I couldn't let down the Dark Lord, the consequences would be too dire, and I would make my family a disgrace.