The Malfoy Project

𝟒𝟎 - 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐯. 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧

༻⚜༺

     Anger.

     My blood boiled hotter than molten metal. Blinded my vision. Charged my walk.

     The castle passed by in a blur; stone walls and lit iron torches and glass windows. I didn't know where I was going, I only heard the sound of my footsteps echoing behind me.

      There were people in the Great Hall, eating and drinking and laughing. Eating and drinking and laughing while Gabriella Rose Ainsley cried in the bathroom alone and wears a pretty ribbon to hide finger marks on her neck.

     Montague was probably in there, too. I imagined striding in, marching down the long columns of students right up to the boy with immaculate hair and aggravating smirk and yanking him up by the scruff of his robes and feeling his jaw under my knuckles, again and again. I want him to pay for what he's done. I want him to bleed.

     Instead of going straight on to the Hall, I turned left and entered the door that leads down to the Slytherin dungeons. The cool air fizzled off my damp skin like summer rain on the pavement, the musty damp trickling sluggishly down my airways.

     I leaned against the bricks to catch my breath, but when I squeezed my lids, I was back at the Manor, behind the drawing room door. I see my father's hand around my mother's neck, his silver rings digging into the soft, vulnerable flesh. The strangled choking sound my mother makes, sharp and subdued like the rustling of autumn leaves. "You are not to see my brother again," he said to her. "Or I will kill you both."

     The first thing I saw when I entered the common room was Montague sprawled out on the  chaise, one arm behind his head and the other holding a book.

     "What are you doing here?" I asked in surprise, but it came out accusatory.

     "Wasn't hungry. Anyway I'm probably going to meet Ains later tonight and let's just say I'm going straight for dessert." He sniggers when he sees my expression. "What's up with you? You look like you've seen a ghost!"

     I went over to the mantel where various ornaments stood, neatly arranged in a row. A silver Basilisk and dragon, an ornate clock, a picture of the Slytherin Quidditch team. I fiddled with them, considering my options. The common room was empty. Everyone was at dinner.

     Montague spoke in my silence. "Speaking of Ains, how is she? Behaving herself when she goes over to yours, I hope." The haughtiness in his voice told me he was testing me. I'll gladly bite.

     "She's been great," I said, picking up a little Basilisk statue and turning it in my fingers. "Ridiculous outfit, though."

     "What d'you mean?"

     "That god-awful ribbon around her neck? She looks like that gaudy Madam Puddifoot's shop come to life. Should've let Pansy burn it."

     "Oi, watch it, that's my girl you're talking about." His tone was light. We were just bantering. But I heard him sit up, felt his eyes on the back of my head.

     "I wouldn't need to if you hadn't strangled her," I remarked casually. 

     "What did you just say?"

     I kept my full attention on the Basilisk in my hand, enunciating every word clearly: "I said, I wouldn't need to if you hadn't strangled her."

     He laughed again, carelessly, as if I had just been trying to convince him of the existence of Wrackspurts. "Mate, I don't know what lies she's told you, but I never bloody touched her. Is that what she's been doing? Going around telling people that I— I strangled her?"