Magic comes in all different forms, though until now - not like this.
Wanda Maximoff is born a witch. Albus Dumbledore finds her amongst the wreck of her obliterated apartment in Sokovia and takes her back to England; to Hogwarts. But she is not lik...
The silence of the corridors makes the thundering of my heart so much louder and I swallow back the dread growing with every second. McGonagall released me early so now I have nothing to occupy my mind whilst I wait, and wait, and wait for something to happen. For a whisper of news. For the gossip and questions and the crying and screaming and the cold that will seep into the castle. For the death eaters to swoop in and take Hogwarts for their own – for his own.
No.
What am I talking about? I should be proud of myself. How long has it been since the task was set? A month and a half? That kind of accomplishment will be celebrated. The Malfoy name will be relished once more as his loyal servants, as people of importance. Mother will be safe, even Father can be freed from Azkaban as a reward. Maybe. Would he be that generous? Surely taking down the most powerful man of wizardkind, and the Dark Lord's greatest opponent, would get us somewhere.
It has to.
A ripple of goosebumps spread across my skin and the urgency to reach my destination increases tenfold. The closer I get, the less I understand my thoughts and the less I seem to want to move.
My legs are jittery as I race up the last staircase to the fifth floor, my breathing uneven and ragged. Faster. Need to go faster. MOVE. MOVE FASTER.
I skid to a halt as I round the corner. Maximoff is trudging towards me, her eyes almost closed and entire body soaked from head to toe. She's- is she bleeding? Her chin is grazed and oozing blood, her nose disfigured. Bruises are peppered along her collarbone and her entire shoulder looks broken, hanging lower than the other one.
She doesn't notice me but, as always when I'm around her, I feel the need to be noticed.
I step in her way. "Walk into another suit of armour, Maximoff?" I sneer, a voice in my head wondering how much longer I can postpone fate.
She doesn't respond, just slowly shuffles to a stop and breathes heavily.
It angers me more than it should – perhaps because my nerves are already frayed, or perhaps because it's her. I snarl, "Or maybe you fell down the stairs?" I force a laugh at my own joke and grip the sleeve of my jacket tightly.
She finally looks up, her pear-green eyes glowering with hatred, "Go to hell, Malfoy."
I snort and feel my hands shake. There is a rather large gash above the curve of her right breast, the blood trickles down it and disappears below the neck of her top. I watch it hungrily, feeling my mouth run dry. And the thumping of my heart intensifies in a different way, my airways feel restricted – I hate myself for feeling it – I hate her.
"Hell's only reserved for filthy little blood-traitors like yourself," I hiss back. A lie. A downright lie. If heaven and hell did exist, I never wanted to die.
"And disgusting prejudiced pricks like yourself." She growled in response. Then she moaned and a hand flew to her jaw, she gasped for breath.
The sound sent a jolt of panic through me. It wasn't my fault, was it? She wasn't there, was she? "What's the matter with you?" I demanded, my heart hammering.
I barely even heard her response over the jumble of thoughts in my head, something along the lines of "You don't care so don't pretend to". But I did care. I wanted to know. I did ca- no, you don't. No, I don't. I don't care.
I straightened up and forced the nastiest snarl onto my face, clenching my jaw hard enough to hurt, "You're right," I laugh, giving her a contemptuous once over. "why would I ever care about a worthless piece of shit like you?"
I didn't wait to see the damage and shouldered past her, forcing myself to ignore the whimper of agony as I did so.
She wasn't important. She could never be important. We could never work, it would never ever happen. She was a disgrace to wizardkind, a traitorous, dirty excuse for an existence... but was she? I have tried for years to hate her with the same fervour as I do Potter, but there is something about her that I can't shake.
I feed myself lies to escape it, to block it out, to run from it.
I tell myself I hate her and that she disgusts me, but does she?
Yes.
I grit my teeth and force my feet forwards, wading through the invisible treacle between me and Dumbledore's office.
She will not break me. She will not change who I am to be. I will make my father proud. I will redeem the Malfoy name. I will get my family out of this mess.
No one is going to stop me.
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there you are, your first taste of Draco's POV.
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