Everlasting 2 (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Irrelevant

It's a pity, reader. I like to believe that I was always a good person. Sometimes, my intentions were a little out of line. My actions were extremely out of line. I had hurt many people in the past, I had killed countless. I like to think that I was hurt too; that my actions and my odd behaviours weren't completely baseless. That I wasn't simply a ... well ... a cunt. I never found any of it easy. I never found loving easy, in particular. I found hating much easier than I found loving, for I grew up around acts of hatred. And so, when I was placed in a situation where I was torn between my love for someone and hatred for another, I did not know in which direction to go. When the one I hated wished to touch the soul of the one I loved, I did not know whether to love the one I loved, or hate the one I hated. Doing both takes it out of a person - I had to pick one. I was burning in my confusion - whether to pursue the hatred or the love - whether to put myself into one or the other. I really was a menace. A huge menace to society, I tell you. But you know that anyway. In fighting Voldemort, though, I don't think it affected me in this way. These two situations were so very different. Voldemort wasn't personal; I was fighting for others too. I was fighting for the freedom of my friends and family, for the history of my parents and all those who died in fighting him. Here, I was fighting for my own personal gain. I was fighting for my own hatred. I was fighting emotionally against a worst case scenario that I had envisioned in my head. Envisioned ... in my head. Paranoid, they said. Not enough sleep. All the distress and guilt, they said. It's building up inside of you, Potter, and making you paranoid, you're making stuff up - they would repeat it to me over and over again. But reader, tell me, even in my most psychotic moments, was I ever wrong? 

She knew you before words could be exchanged; that was certain. Allow me to tell you, reader, from the start. You'd gotten enough sleep, and you ate, and you were quite the normal individual. It did not matter that internally you were biting your nails off, that you were whispering words over and over to yourself, that you were picking at your own skin and existence, for no one could see what was going on inside your head, and therefore it proved to be less important. [F/n] Potter knew how to control herself, alright. You weren't new to this, you weren't new to hiding plans and ideas. You'd been there, done that, just like Mr Worldwide. 

You anticipated their arrival. 

As you sat in the Slytherin common room, sitting alone at the large table in the back, the notebook open, scribbling down your thoughts and feelings, anticipating everything. 

I've dreamt it enough. Were they dreams or visions? Who could know these days? My head is a mush. That's okay. It's been a mush before. I'm still [F/n] Potter. 

And when Blaise made his way into the common room, catching your eye across the room, you knew you had no choice but to close the notebook, for his approach was inevitable. You were not wrong, and so, the closer he got, the more you put your hand over the notebook, keeping it under your palm protectively but subtly. 

"Can we chat about the other day?" He asked, standing beside you at the table. 

You paused, clearing your throat, avoiding his eyes for a moment, before gently moving the chair next to yourself out of the table, gesturing for Blaise to sit at it. He did so, causing the two of you to look at each other, sitting side by side at the large table.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you, you know?" You said, smiling gently, the usual, charismatic [F/n] Potter smile. "Everything has sort of spiralled onto me."

"I didn't take it personally," he smiled easily, "I'm just glad you didn't murder me or something. How have you been doing?"

"Good." You blinked for longer than usual. "Somewhat. Getting there."

"I'm glad. Though, I am still curious, and don't snap at me - "

"It was about the Greengrasses." You admitted, turning away slightly. "They're on their way, Blaise."