someday, somehow → d.malfoy [discontinued]

028

december the twenty-fifth rushed into the present

far too quickly for draco's liking. it seemed as if one minute he were asking pansy to be his date to the yule ball, and the next minute, the ball had snuck its way towards him; shocking him with the daunting threat of its presence. draco wished, truly, that he could ignore it completely—cease to exist for just that night, in which he would have to dress in overly expensive clothes his mother had helped pick out, and waltz until he forced himself to resist tearing his own feet off. he knew—well; he assumed, rather—that the ball would only be a distasteful reminder of the many events his parents had dragged him to as a child. memories of glass chandeliers and uncomfortable dress robes and smoking alcoholic drinks in overly-shiny goblets flashed through draco's mind. swishing skirts and shoes that pinched his young toes—ones that he would undoubtedly grow out of later, and have no reason to wear again. his father introducing him, and urging him to spend time with his friends' children. crabbe, goyle. these are your friends, draco, seemed more like, you will associate with only those i approve of. eventually, draco had gotten used to crabbe and goyle; and the young malfoy heir learnt to seek them out automatically within the crowds.

draco shook the thoughts from his head, urging himself to cease thinking of the balls filled with pure blooded prejudice and overly pretentious wizards and their bitter wives. it was christmas morning of nineteen ninety-four; already four years since he'd been made to join his parents in such events. the yule ball could be starkly different. would be different. because this time, draco did not have his parents eyes pinned to him every three seconds. he would be able to enjoy himself and speak freely with whomever he wished (sort of) and feel as if there were no restraints to what he could do. just for a few hours.

the greenish sunlight had not yet begun to filter through the half-frozen water of the black lake, or caress the emerald bedsheets tangled through draco's thin, pale legs. he could still make out their tone in the midnight-black of the dorm. he frowned, his left hand sinking further into the soft mattress as he shifted his weight onto it and stretched his right in front of his face. his vision was still partly blurred from the transition between slumber and awakeness. still, he could make out the smaller details of the hand he'd so often looked at; the pale, fish-belly white skin, mostly smooth and flat save for the hills of his greenish veins. they looked like they belonged to the dead; his hands did. and yet, draco had given up spending time spending time under the sun so it might change. all he ever did was turn a hideous lobster-red; and then he'd had to endure the shame of letting someone (usually, it was his mother, or madam pomfrey in his first and second years at hogwarts) use magical ointments to rid him of the burns. 

draco brought his fingers to the inner corners of his eyes, squinting them shut as he rubbed them to clear his vision. once he'd opened them again, and slumped forward to give his left wrist some relief, he pushed the sheets away from his legs and tugged his baggy pants over the shallow curve of his calves. his eyes focused upon the usual pile of cleanly wrapped christmas gifts laying merrily at the base of his four-poster bed in a flood of silvers, greens, browns, blacks, and golds. at least half of them were from his parents, draco guessed. though he couldn't be fully certain; his mother had the house elves wrap his presents in different papers every year. even then, however, the wrapping was always inhumanely perfect. draco waited for just a second longer, seated in a lump of bones and skin and blood atop the mattress, before shifting his weight onto his feet, which he'd placed gently onto the plush carpet on the ground.

a breath escaped draco's lips as he peered

at his own face in the mirror of the slytherin boys' bathroom. his hair was unruly, wild. an untamed forest of silver-blond hair sticking into every direction imaginable. draco considered using the hair pomade his father thought he still used regularly; and then twisted up his facial features in repugnance. he had not used it since returning for his third year, and did not plan on revisiting a time when he did not know to be self-conscious of his broad forehead, and the almost indiscernible difference in colour of his hair and skin. the bathroom—only one of its many torches alight with the fire he'd lit in it—was glum and crawling with shadows; a fact which only enhanced draco's complexion. he averted his gaze from the mirror, then took a step towards the shower in the corner of the room. the bathroom was set up like this; showers on the left, toilets on the right, ornate sinks adjacent. if one were to tilt their chin up and look at the ceiling, they would see a detailed painting of four snakes, intertwined in a gruesome embrace as the dark, shifting vines and plants around them made their coats shimmer in a most unsettling way. the entire floor was tiled in precise squares of viridian green the size of draco's palm.

as he reached the furthest shower from the bathroom's entrance, draco reached toward the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it upwards—his fingers brushing the soft skin of his torso—over his head, until he was holding a bundle of fabric in his hands. he stepped, quietly, into the shower and locked the door behind him. it was a rectangular space; the shower itself a square, and the rest of the space held a bench and hook. draco set his shirt—and the rest of his clothes, which he'd reluctantly removed, as well—onto the bench; gooseflesh rising across his arms and legs as they became exposed to the frigid winter air. hurriedly, he reached to turn on the faucet. the water rushed out of the silver shower head in a wave of iciness; stabbing at and rebounding off of the tiled floor. draco jerked backwards, away from the winter's temperature. he stood with his jaw pressed shut taut, reaching out his hand every once in a while to feel the slowly warming water. the water fell, still, in its unbreaking sheets of wetness; until the viridian tiles had become slicker and shinier. it felt like forever, until the water was, finally, at a satisfactory temperature; in which draco felt comfortable immersing himself. the warmth of it only climbed as he stood underneath the shower. he sighed heavily and closed his eyes, letting the hot water scald the skin on his back and turn it to sunburn-red as his chest caved in on itself; deprived of the air it had a mere second prior. it poured steadily over his face, too; across his eyebrows, down his cheekbones, over the bridge of his nose, brushed against the curve of his parted lips and down his chin. the world disappeared, if only for a moment.

.

pansy awoke to find the rest of the dorm still asleep.

though, upon closer inspection; artemis' bed was unoccupied. her curtains were partly drawn, her emerald covers unmade still, and her gifts (there was a rather miserably meagre pile of them at the foot of her bed) untouched. perhaps she'd already opened half of them, before leaving the dorm alone, as she so often did.

then, pansy rolled from her four-poster bed with far more vigour than she would usually have at such a time of day; it was, finally, christmas—and this year would be especially memorable. the great hall would be especially packed this year at the feast (which she had only ever attended once) due to the presence of both durmstrang and beauxbatons students, as well as the fact that practically no one (save, perhaps, for the first, second and third years) had gone home, where they would have missed the yule ball. pansy was ecstatic with her anticipation—her gut teeming with a tingling sensation which pulled the corners of her lips apart in a giddy smile. she'd picked out a dress during the summer break, of course—a lovely shade of rosé with fluttering layers and ruffles that brushed the floor as she glided across the floor. she thought she looked as if she'd become the embodiment of early spring.

pansy reached the foot of her own bed, however; and any thoughts of the yule ball she locked away until after she'd opened her presents. the first gift pansy reached for was from daphne—she could tell because it was wrapped with the paper said blond girl had used for her other presents as well. pansy had walked in on her the other day; wrapping the very last of her gifts in the beige paper. gleefully, pansy tore at the wrapping—the ripping noise sounding loudly throughout the dorm. she couldn't get herself to care very much. if the others woke up, she would have done them a favour. who in their right mind did not want to be awake for as long as possible on christmas day? she nearly squealed once the paper had fallen away, brushing the fabric covering her knee. two slip dresses; one in deep scarlet, and the other in periwinkle. sure; pansy had not-so-subtly hinted at her desire for such a garment, but the expectation did not take away from the excitement of receiving them in the least. 

the second gift pansy reached for was thin, and cylindrically shaped; wrapped in pale canary and tied around the middle with a shimmery pink ribbon, a yellow rose was in its embrace. she wondered who might have gifted it to her—but her scattered mind came to no reasonable conclusion. pansy plucked the rose (which had been, thoughtfully, stripped of its thorns) out of the ribbon, and slid the latter down; watching it flutter gracefully into her lap for a moment, before tearing the canary wrapping paper. pansy froze—it was a tube of the quartz-pink lipstick she'd been secretly eyeing since the beginning of the year. the one artemis kept in her bedside drawer, except brand new. oh. well, she thought. now she knew who the gift was from.