The Malfoy Project

𝟕𝟐 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬

༻⚜️༺

     Two days ago, Montague caught me with Ainsley.

     The night before had been particularly bad: Ainsley had woken up twice in the middle of the night and was unable to fall back asleep each time. It was the kind of waking-up during which she wasn't actually awake but wasn't completely asleep either, teetering between reality and nightmare.

     She had been restless, tossing and turning in discomfort, but Lindström's potion had made her much calmer overall and her temperature was taking a slow, drawn-out fall.

     At that point I had been going on nearly sixty hours without sleep, and after I managed to soothe her back to sleep, I told myself I'd take a quick nap — one hour, that's all, then I will return to the dorms.

     The next thing I knew I was being jostled violently out of my chair and lifted away from the ground. For a split second it had felt like I was flying, suspended on a string in the air like a pendant, soaring high above the clouds.

     And then a force wrenched me from the sky, snatching me back to the real world, and I was staring right into Montague's angry frowning eyes.

     "What're you doing here?" he growled in a hushed tone.

     I had the sense to tear myself away from him immediately, before he could even think of hitting me, and he let go easily, surprised at my sudden force.

     I would have been perfectly happy to get into another fight with Montague. I knew I would be cleverer this time, quicker. If I had resolved to stay away from him, it was only for Ainsley's sake. But that day, in my exhaustion, I'd forgotten that promise.

     I stared him dead in his eyes and said: "Fuck you."

     But Montague didn't get angry. He didn't whip out his wand or rush at me with his fists, just looked at me with a vacant expression and said: "Get out."

     I had been meaning to, even before he told me. But now that he had, I naturally refused. "No," I said, certain there would be a reaction this time.

     There was none. He only smiled, a slow, lazy smile, as if that was the exact answer he had been hoping for. He dropped his head to the ground, then back at me.

     "And that is why she chose me and not you, Draco," he said, blithely. "You're too selfish. You don't see anyone else but yourself, can't make decisions for anyone else but yourself. Everything has to be about you, no matter the cost."

     I was too angry and confused to speak. My brain was straining to keep up with his sentences. I was so tired.

     "At least I don't hit her," I said.

     Montague remained composed. "Whatever problems Ainsley and I have are between us only. I think you forget yourself sometimes, Draco. And you forget me, and my family."

     And you forget mine, I think. I am a Malfoy; your family's wealth was built on top of the contributions of mine. My father has more connections in the wizarding world than you have . He could obliterate you and your family's existence with a single movement of his quill.

     Then I remember who my family was, and is now. Nothing. Our legacy had gone up in a brilliant pillar of flame not too long ago, leaving nothing but a smoking pile of dust and cinder.

     I could have gutted him right there and then. 

     He was playing king, one who could scare off enemies with just his words and presence, like my grandfather. It was a stupid game, because I could cast Sectumsempra before he next blinked. But he knew I wouldn't risk starting a duel with Ainsley in such close range and defenseless, and not when Madam Pomfrey or Nurse Wainscott might walk in any second. So perhaps it was a clever game after all. 

    I recognise a threat when I see or hear one. It was embarrassing and distasteful to do it with Ainsley right there, although knowing Montague, he probably knew that, and that was exactly why he was doing it. He gets off on it, knowing that the people around him are powerless; limp, soggy fruits that would yield to the faintest pressure.