How to Hopelessly Confuse Detachment with Indifference

ᴅʀᴀᴍɪᴏɴᴇ ᴏɴᴇsʜᴏᴛ • When Draco looked up, he realized that the only reason her arse had greeted him first was because she was bent over Ronald Weasley's desk, feeding the undeserving git biscuits. He felt as if someone had ripped his heart from his chest, dipped it in black ink, left it to freeze on the snowy shore of the Black Lake, and then smashed it into a million pieces with a Beater's bat. Poetic, yes, but painful as fuck.

'Fall in love, they said. It'll be fun, they said,' he thought bitterly. 'Been there, done that, and it's nothing but a giant pile of shit.'