get out [h. granger]

eleven

cw: vaugely suicidal thoughts

Shyla slammed her bookbag down on a small table near the vanishing cabinet. "I'm going to use the imperious curse on that barmaid in Hogsmeade you were telling me about."

Draco jumped at her entrance before staring at her incredulously. "What?!"

"You heard me," Shyla said, putting her feet up on the sofa. "I need to smuggle stuff in to make a poison so I can make ole Dumbles kick the bucket. All the surveillance here would send me straight to Azkaban if I had someone send it to me."

"And do you know how to use the imperious curse?" Draco asked, his tone dry. 

Shyla smiled sarcastically at him. "Oh, yes, of course. That was a key part of my education while I was pleading insanity for murder."

"It was a rhetorical question, you arse," he muttered under his breath. "If you don't know, how are you going to learn, then?"

"I'm going to practice on you, of course," Shyla said, lighting a nearby candle with her finger. 

 "No, you're not," Draco said. "Hold on, did you just light that candle with your finger?"

Shyla rolled her eyes. "There's a lot about me you don't know, husband," she said. "And as I was saying, you're going to help me learn to do the imperious curse—oh, don't look at me like that."

He stared at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "You're asking to practice an unforgivable on me, Shyla. Don't pretend like you're asking about the weather."

"It's not like it's one of the bad ones," Shyla said, looking at her nails and picking at her cuticles. "What could possibly go wrong?"

"Knowing you, plenty of things."

"Fine," Shyla said, her voice wistful. "If you don't want my help with murder, I suppose I'm perfectly happy to let you do it alone."

The color drained from Draco's face. "He'll kill you!"

Dark eyes met silver and Shyla's stony gaze was unnerving. "And what do I have to live for, Draco dearest?" she asked, her tone dark. She smiled tightly at Draco and stood. "I have to go and take my potions before Pomfrey hunts me down. Decide what you want, husband. I could care less about what happens here."

With that, she stood and grabbed her bag, throwing her hair over her shoulder and hoping it hit Draco in the face.

—————————

"Is that better, dear?" Madam Pomfrey asked, her fingers gently working at Shyla's stiff hand. 

"Much better," Shyla sighed, the hand beneath the stony calcification relaxing significantly more than it had before. 

 "Take your potion and then you're free to go," Madam Pomfrey said, standing from the stool she had pulled out of thin air. 

Shyla grabbed the potion off the bedside table, only gagging slightly at the taste. It had never gotten better, not after years and years of taking it. But seeing as it was one of the main things keeping her alive, she put up with it. She went straight to the astronomy tower after wrapping her hand back up. She had found it was a good place to get away from the hustle and bustle of the school. 

Staring out beyond the iron railings that separated her from the sheer drop off the tower, Shyla decided she had thought too much. As much as she was sure that Hogwarts would be her freedom, it didn't always feel like it. Working with Draco was suffocating. The more upset he got, the snappier Shyla got, and so the cycle continued until one of them blew up in a dramatic fashion. 

She had worked so hard to escape from the sluggishly boring endless routines of St. Mungos only to be stuck doing what she didn't want to do once again, simply in a different place. It was all the same, monotonous droning on of routine, whether she was kept in chains or her hands were free. If she were truly free, she wouldn't be marrying Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't have to serve some Lord, and she would be completely free to do as she pleased. If she wanted to befriend Hermione Granger, she would be able to try, even if Granger hated her. 

Shyla unwrapped her hand and stared at the mark again. Swallowing thickly, she took in every millimeter's progress the stone had made. She hadn't seen it progress in years, the sudden growth made her unnerved. And yet, the curse was one of the few consistencies in her life. It was a fact. One day, Shyla would commit enough evil acts that she would be consumed by the blood curse, and wherever she was at the time would gain a new statue. She felt slightly tempted to become a petty thief, or something of the sort, just so she could turn into nothing but stone. Just so freedom could stop being the carrot on the stick that she was endlessly chasing. 

Her lashes felt heavy with tears and suddenly her face was slick with them. Her vision blurred as she stared out at the setting sun from beyond the iron railing, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. 

"Fawley?"

Shyla snapped around, only to see Granger standing at the top of the staircase. She laughed dryly, using the end of her jumper to mop up her tears. "Always know how to ruin the moment, don't you Granger?"

"Are you alright?" Granger asked. For the first time since their first study session, Hermione's voice lacked the sharp edge that it had taken on. If Shyla closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back in St. Mungo's meeting the Gryffindor for the first time. 

"No, I'm fan-fucking-tastic," Shyla said, rolling her eyes. "Obviously not, Granger."

"No need to be rude, Fawley," Hermione said, and to Shyla's surprise, Hermione sat next to the Slytherin. 

Shyla quickly hurried to wrap her arm up again. There were few people who knew what the symbol meant but leave it to Hermione Granger to spot it and find out. "Being rude is my coping mechanism, Granger," Shyla grumbled. 

"Why is your arm always wrapped up like that?" Granger asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. 

"Because I don't like looking at what's under it," Shyla snapped. Granger was starting to get on her nerves again. "Or talking about it."

Hermione wasn't one to take a hint. "I used to feel that way about these," she said, turning her palm out to Shyla, revealing small crescent moon scars torn pink and white into her flesh. "But they're a part of who I am. They tell my story."

Shyla scoffed, standing and wiping her face one last time. "Well, yours aren't from a blood curse, are they Little-Miss-Perfect?" Shyla didn't know where the nickname had come from and for a moment, she felt almost bad as a shadow of hurt flickered across Granger's face. "Don't tell anyone I was crying or I'll curse your eyebrows off."

Granger raised one of her eyebrows. "You know you don't have to threaten me anytime you want something. You can just ask."

"You could maybe," Shyla said, the bitterness in her voice only growing. "Not a word."

And with that, Shyla was running back down the stairs, furious with herself for giving in to her emotions and even more upset with Granger for making them spiral completely out of her control. 

a/n: hi friends! sorry it's been a while, school is crazy! i am also so bad at writing slow burns 🥲 i am impatient and want to get to the ✨juicy✨ stuff. i read stuff where they don't get together for the first like 100 chapters of the story and by chapter ten i'm like where's the fluff!! but i like the pacing of this story! they still have a long way to go, but maybe some things are starting to change in the way they see each other...

see you all "soon" (as soon as i get my life under control 🤧)