someday, somehow → d.malfoy [discontinued]

024

draco tilted the nib of his quill upwards.

then back down. he did it again, and again; all the while stressing the soft pink flesh of his bottom lip between his teeth. by now, he thought, his temple and part of his forehead must have been turned a flushing pink. the bony heel of his wrist dug like a knife into the space beside his eye, as he continuously tilted his feather quill back and forth. the slytherin common room was bright, still. while usually, most slytherins had deemed such an hour as a suitable time to fall asleep; the beginning of the christmas break seemed to promise of a longer day, and they resided in the dimly-lit common room for an extra few hours. green glow swum between the gathered bodies, weaving in and out of their limbs, and over the piles of discarded school robes. candlelight flickered smally, stroking the shadows of the statues and various instruments with its paintbrush-like flame. finally, draco placed the ink-filled nib to the creamy parchment he'd before placed in front of himself.

i know a girl, he started. from the amount of force he'd applied attempting to cross the four words out, there was nearly a straight tear in the paper. it wasn't right, not at all. yet, how else would he start? releasing an annoyed, guttural noise from the base of his throat, draco started once more.

i know a girl. she is an ethereal beauty, a summer sun brushing its warm light onto intricate golden carvings and statues. she is what the gods envy with their immortal hearts. she is someone that loves with caution, but loves with the entirety of her beating heart. for as long as she lives, the flowers and bees will sing in joy at her existence. her presence whispers of something ineffable; of something so pure and golden, that the common man struggles to grasp onto. she is gold dust in the sun, slipping through your fingers, right in front of your unbelieving eyes. she is the sparkling ocean, reflecting a thousand colours and rippling with life, or crashing onto the sandy banks with a ferocity which can only be described as captivating.

How is it that someone such as her can be so insignificant to most, when she is everything to those who have looked upon her?

what was that? draco's grey eyes glowered at the words for a while—mulling over the curling letters and the spaces between them, scanning each sentence so as to decipher some secret his subconscious had embedded into the writing. he, of course, found very little but the despicable words of a boy ready to give in. pathetic, he thought; and then he'd let out a sharp exhale, and his fingers had reached away from one another to resemble some sort of five-legged spider. he felt the crisp parchment underneath the soft pads of his phalanges, the half-dry indigo ink seeping into the creases of his skin. the page became a compact assemblage of crinkling paper, synchronicitous with the closing of his fist. soon after, draco dragged his toes up each step to the fourth year boys' dormitory—the parchment left just beside the pile of books on his bedside table. he was, however, sluggish in his exhausted state, and the deep-green blankets of his bed seemed a far more welcoming place to be, than the armchair in front of the fireplace.

.

a mere day later, blaise awoke to the absence of the morning's usual hum.

as he checked the clock beside his four-poster bed, he'd gotten his explanation: it was already past noon. he considered the fact that eventually, he would have to begin forcing himself to get up early again. blaise's face scrunched at the prospect of such a thing. he wished for an endless christmas break—days upon days of careless leisure; of nights in which he fed himself into a food coma; of mornings that begun consistently at twelve forty-five. blaise suspired, an elongated breath emitted from his nostrils as his arms remained tucked underneath the viridian covers of his bed, warm with the overnight heat of his own body. his long, brown fingers reached out first—horizontally, where he blindly reached for the handle of the top drawer belonging to his bedside table. once said drawer had been successfully pulled open, he searched for the creased surface of a piece of parchment, and carefully shimmied it out of its resting place to bring it up to his squinting eyes. he scanned the messy script upon it three times, before he proceeded to tuck it back into its hiding place (underneath two heavy books he rarely ever used).

"merlin," he spoke into the dormitory air, loud as a resting feline. his hand made its way to the crown of his head, combing gently through the growing curls there. "these two..."