𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 | 𝐝.𝐦

𝟏𝟖

Draco Malfoy | January 1996

Draco didn't understand.

He really didn't.

He did everything he could.

But that one piece of hair on the back of his head wouldn't go down.

He angrily tossed his comb on the dresser of his bathroom and stripped himself and went in the shower.

That should fix his fucking hair.

He kept the water cold, his back to the shower head. He exhaled heavily, head knocked forward and eyes shut as the water splashed onto his body. He felt the water roll down his neck and down his abs, and down the rest of him.

But there was another thing Draco still didn't understand.

Why did Kaimana need to be punished?

What could she have possibly done that was so bad, that Voldemort would have the motive to punish her?

She seemed so innocent—right, maybe not innocent.

That night they drunkenly hooked up... she did not seem so innocent then.

She was... Draco felt himself smirk at the memory.

He quickly shook his head and wiped his smirk off.

He had a girlfriend.

Oh wait.

He was supposed to end things with her.

Was Draco an awful person for not crying on his knees about having to end things with Astoria?

He cared about Astoria, he really did. But he just... he just wasn't sad about ending things with her.

Did that mean he never really fancied her? Did it mean he was an asshole? What did that mean?

He didn't know what it meant.

He didn't shed a single tear since he had been told to end things with Astoria for this task.

The task where he was supposed to get close and earn Kaimana's trust.

Well, how the fuck was Draco supposed to even speak to her, let alone earn her trust, if she kept running from him?

Every time their eyes met, she looked like she saw a ghost, and she would bolt in the opposite direction.

And he wasn't even going to benefit from this bloody task.

He was just doing it because his father agreed with Voldemort that he was good for the task.

Draco got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist.

♧︎

"Has your father spoken to you about what he said he needed to discuss?" Narcissa poured her son a cup of tea.

"Mhm." Draco nodded and leaned closer to the kitchen table table, his forearms crossed over the timber. "Did he tell you what it was about before he told me?"

"He did." Her voice was now apologetic as she took a seat next to her son at the table. "How are you feeling about it, dear?" She put a gentle hand on his arm.

He shrugged. "I don't know," he said because it sounded accurate. "I've got to end it with Tori." He rubbed a hand over his face lazily.

Narcissa's brows frowned. "I'm sorry, my boy," she crooned, and rubbed her son's arm gently. "I'm sure she'll understand."