"𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬"
-'traitor' by Olivia Rodrigo

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HEMERA

"Can you all stop acting like some sort of government diplomats?" The words that so eagerly push themselves out of my mouth are followed by what I know sounds like a pathetic excuse of a scoff. The sharp exhalation hardly ever works in my favor and clarifies my derision without making me look like a scornful child, but I trouble my mind no further by second-guessing my expression. Unlike Pansy and Draco, I don't quite sneer at anyone in my field of vision first thing in the morning. To them, scoffing comes easier than saying hello. "If I wanted to talk to him, I would."

"A lie leads a man from a grove into a jungle, Hemera," Theo mumbles around the puff of burnt substance he drags into his unfortunate lungs. The gray tendrils spurting out of the ashen tip of his joint dissolve in the air, but the smell of tobacco lingers no matter how much I swat my hand around to clear it. I swear this man is good at only two things: smoking like his life depends on it and engaging in carnal activities like his bollocks will fall off if he keeps that desperate body part of his to himself for more than a week. "Plus us? Ambassadors? That's a bit far-fetched, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes at how convincingly offended he sounds even if he, deep down, knows it's true. I resist the urge to tell him to put out the cigarette for the sixth time in the span of just three minutes and empty the remaining water from the watering can over a pot of Alihosties. "All I know is that in the past eighteen hours, both Pansy and Blaise have talked my eardrums thin about you know, the incident. And I'd be exceedingly appreciative if you didn't make it your goal to finish them off."

"You mean the fight." He casually says, one of his bushy eyebrows climbing up. I can't believe that out of everything I said, his selective hearing decided to focus on my wording- even if I, unlike him, don't think it displays a hint of falseness.

"No, I mean the incident. Draco and I don't fight, only express contradictory opinions that lead to minor inconveniences." I mentally give myself a congratulatory pat on the shoulder for sticking to the plan. Whatever happened in the common room, don't treat it like a fight before the reality of it hits you like a backhanded slap and shakes your brains scattered. "And when I say that I'm tired of you guys behaving like we can't talk things out on our own, I mean it."

Within four strides, Theo manages to get up from the chair he's been occupying since he came to the Greenhouse and approaches me.

"God, you're terrible at expressing your gratitude for our advice. But it's okay, we can fix that by practicing your daily affirmations, starting today." A cocky smile moves his lips. "Repeat after me, 'I am Hemera and I love my friends. My friends are amazing. My friends only want what's best for me. I will start listening to my friends more, especially to Theodore because he's the smartest of them all."

"Now, you stepped over the line with the last one."

He expels a breathy chuckle at that and his chestnut curls sway over his forehead with the double shake of his head, the ends long enough to reach his eyebrows.

He sobers up- at least as much as that indescribably jejune personality of his allows him to. "You haven't talked to each other in almost a week and I know this might not sound like a lot, but you two have been tight like a pair of balls basically since forever. Whether you like it or not, it impacts us all."

"Wow Nott, that's a way to put it. And mind you, I'm well aware." I busy myself by aimlessly moving the pots around, just so that I offer myself the graceful feeling of having a purpose. Even if it's temporary and practically anyone who walks in can tell that it has nothing to do with the wonky jardinieres bugging my hypothetical sense of perfectionism, but exclusively concerns insuppressible psychosomatic reactions I wish I didn't have.

Somehow, I've figured that if I successfully channel my thoughts toward demanding things such as homework- to which I've dedicated an unwonted amount of time over the past days- and impossible tasks like understanding arithmancy, Draco, the bitter look on his face, and the words spoken provisionally ease into the back of my mind altogether.

Theo's eyes briefly close at my display of defiance. "We just want to help. Do you even know how awkward it is to see you sitting across from each other and barely acknowledging the other's presence?"

"If you want to help you can start by telling Blaise that quoting every lyric of 'Back to December' just to describe Draco's guilt doesn't pave the way to success."

With the still-lit blunt held between the pointer and middle finger of one hand, he absentmindedly starts tugging at the leaf of one of the plants on the table with the other. I smack the snoopy limb away. The last thing I need is for Professor Sprout to accuse me of any damage that he caused.

Especially when he's not supposed to be here. The fact that I'm tolerant of his need to have a quick smoke and still haven't dragged him out of here by the earlobe is enough to get me in trouble as it is.

"You can be such a stubborn little shit, you know that?" Disheveled strands stick out in every direction as he exaggeratedly rakes a hand through them. The moment the need to defend myself tears through my lips in the form of words, he holds up a schooling finger. "You and Malfoy both. Like seriously, can't you just communicate?"

My head whips around so forcefully that I wonder how my neck doesn't suffer through a brutal dislocation. "Oh, you're the last person to talk about communication, Theodore. When was the last time a girl that isn't me or Pansy heard anything come out of your mouth other than bloody grunts?" I take his short-lived silence as proof instead of deeming him momentarily stunned into speechlessness. "Exactly."

Before I can even piece together what's happening, Theo has already managed to smack the back of my head and step back to avoid my spontaneous slap. "My lack of communication, since you think of it worth mentioning, concerns strangers alone and not my best mate."

"Still on you to blame." Not the least discouraged by missing his cheek by mere centimeters, I carry out another attack and land a clout on his shoulder. He staggers back, but it's just for a tiny step before recovering and coming at me in full force, thwacking my arm.

"Dunce." I hiss, genially rubbing a hand over the spot that bore the barbarous impact of his knuckles. I doubt he cuffed me hard enough for the marginally numbing sensation to linger for more than two minutes, but that does nothing to stop me from performing a theatrical demo of ache.

"Moron."

I hit him once. He hits me twice, all in the span of four seconds.

"Blockhead."

"Dork."

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the door makes us jump apart like we'd been electrocuted; the idea of someone witnessing our boisterous roughhousing might as well be the only reason why Theo's front tufts still haven't abandoned his scalp to find permanent shelter in my fists.

I take a few painfully nerve-wrenching seconds to run my hands over the front of my robes and through my hair, hoping to appear somewhat presentable to whoever I'm about to face. I keep my gaze down as if I have something particular to stare at other than my shoes- the ruffling of Theo's clothes is the only thing letting me know that he's doing the exact same thing.

Yet, those seconds aren't anything remotely close to enough when it comes to being in Lucas' presence. The instant my gaze clashes with his honey one in the confined space of the Greenhouse, I find myself almost choking on my too-shallow intake of oxygen. "Lucas, hey."

I strictly forbid my mind to think about what he just walked in must've looked like, yet embarrassment zips through the entirety of me and makes my cheeks flare up, reveling in its unpunished disobedience. Theo remains silent beside me and presses his lower back against the table, half leaning on it. I catch sight of him crossing his arms over his chest but other than that, Lucas has managed to capture every last bit of my attention, holding it captive in the way his skeptical frown melts into a beaming grin. His eyes crinkle at the corners and I have to discreetly place my hand on the table not to drop to my knees by the mere sight.

He's just so gorgeous when he smiles. And talks. And walks and breathes and simply just exists. That's the thing about Lucas; he is ethereal to say the least, absolutely thriving in the perfect simplicity of his dark hair, the thick lashes lining his eyes, that straight nose and full lips. He strolls through the corridors like he's aware. Aware of the pulchritude lying in the likes of him.

"Greetings, Hemera." His eyes make quick work of traveling up and down my figure, observing but tactful nonetheless. I unconsciously shift my weight from one leg to the other as a smile tears my sealed lips in half. Lucas then seems to openly acknowledge Theo for the first time, although it's absolutely impossible for him not to have already noticed him. Especially when he caught us bickering like children. His voice grows strained and his nod is sharp, verging on the edge of resentment. "You too, Nott."

Theo's reply is a grunt. The idiot just freaking grunts like some sort of undeveloped caveman and it takes everything in me and more to keep my hands to myself and not let my temper tantrum make us end up in the same position we were minutes ago.

Just because thoroughly putting out that blazing temptation is far beyond my faculties, I settle for just jabbing him in the ribs with my elbow. He muffles a gasp and physically fights against doubling over. I see how his jaw works but the fact that he doesn't return the gift, ask for questions, or complain shows that he most likely knows what brought him to the receiving end of my friendly reminder. "Nice to see you, Koch. What brings you here?"

"Nothing but the idea of getting a word with Hemera." Lucas abandons his spot near the door and steps around one of the tables littering the greenhouse, absentmindedly running his forefinger along the edge of it. When he notices the thin layer of dust covering the tip of his digit, his brows knit and he brushes it on his robes to clean it. Then, his eyes meet mine. "Thought I'd find you here."

"Took a wild guess?"

His chin dips low as he laughs. "Took a wild guess." For a few seconds, his focus ping pongs between me and Theo, only for it to land on the suddenly too tense brunet beside me. "So Theod-"

"It's Nott." He interrupts and his demanding tone and empty eyes send a current of uneasiness taking over my stomach. Although that's how I'd always thought- and often cursed myself for it- an interaction between Lucas and Draco would go, Theodore never gave me a reason to believe that he wouldn't handle the situation differently.

He might've agreed with Draco once or twice when he called Lucas names at breakfast throughout the years of me liking him, but his demeanor obviously didn't stick to simple commentary. Of course he had to make his displeasure evident.

Bloody git.

"Right, Nott." Lucas resumes, all signs of warmth evacuating his face at once. "Would you mind giving us some privacy?"

I expect Theo to take it even further and talk back, so him mumbling 'Not at all' as ironically politely as possible and exiting the Greenhouse pours relief right into my bloodstream. The door falls shut behind him and by the last look he gave me over his shoulder, I know he's on his way to deliver every single detail to Draco with terrifyingly precise accuracy.

I can't really bring myself to care about that. Not when neither of them is in the right position to do anything about it.

My bottom lip snags between my teeth for a short while. "Sorry about that."

Lucas' shoulders relax as he can finally stop trying to keep his posture all pin-straight and composed. He glances back to see if Theo has actually left before turning back to me. His lips bend upward and I know for a fact that this tiny movement occurring in the corners of his mouth is all I need for my stomach to feel tickly and warm, as though something burning and molten sloshed on the inside.

"Don't worry about it." He reassures and I still feel giddy when he gets close. Close enough to reach out and touch me. The idea of him doing so isn't at all impossible like it used to be yet it makes me wonder when I'll get to savor the inexpressibly wanted weight of his palm on my cheek again, the pressure of his mouth landing firmly on mine.

My body has chosen to treasure the memory of the kiss, of every single pump of my heart during it. The instability of my weak knees, the feel of his linen clothes underneath my palms as I cautiously yet somewhat eagerly spread my fingers over the unyielding planes of his chest, soaking in the solid sense of his body against my own.

The fireworks bursting behind my closed eyes.

The breathlessness burning in my lungs.

The way his mouth moved tenderly, softly, silently guiding me through it until I was confident enough that I could keep up.

As if my screaming thoughts can be heard even outside of my skull, Lucas minimizes the gap between us, his shoes almost landing on mine as he takes those few steps forward. My backside presses against the table, and as if that isn't enough for my mushed brain to have something to freak out over for three days straight, he places his hands on either side of my body, directly next to my hips. The movement makes his frame bend down a little and that only results in his face leveling with mine.

The sudden evolution of things causes a blanket of static to settle over my skin, making me hyper-aware of both the position we're in, and the intensity of his scrutiny as it practically glides over my features. I take no shame in doing the same, helping myself to glances that end up covering every inch of his perfect face. From this close and with his lids lowering heavily, his gaze turns dark. Shadowed.

"Although I must admit, I was hoping to have just one of your friends disliking me."

"Disliking you?" My voice trails off before I can stop it, yet the low tone I speak in categorizes it into some sort of whispering. "Come on, my friends don't dislike you," Not all of them at least.

"I know Malfoy isn't quite fond of me and there's no need to deny it." The calmness lingering in the vocalization of his assumption contrasts with the meaning of his words. "I mean, if looks could pierce, I'm pretty sure my brains would have leaked out through that hole in my forehead. Entirely."

"Don't take that at heart, he literally glares at everyone. It's nothing personal." I know what they say about lying. A half-truth is a whole lie. It's a fact that Draco's not the kind to flash smiles left and right at breakfast and he, most of the time, can't get that sneering expression off his face as though it's a part of him. But what is nothing but a deceptive statement is that he doesn't take immense pleasure in sharpening the knives behind his eyes and pointing them at the Ravenclaw. Poking him any chance he gets.

"Only when they're looking at you."

"What?"

"He doesn't like it when people look at you. When guys look at you." A challenging grin, "and I happen to be wholly incapable of controlling it."

I suck in a breath around something I can feel blocking the flow of oxygen in my throat. Wisely choosing to ignore what he just said, I cling to the last part of his sentence just so that I can pretend that Draco isn't yet again the center of our conversation. Having all three of my friends talking to me about him at any given chance is enough of a reminder that the situation we're in isn't all rainbows and butterflies.

Lucas is quick to detect the stiffness straightening my spine at the progression of the discussion and I'm thankful that he acts accordingly. He clears his throat softly. "Don't worry, that's not what I came here for."

I place my hands on top of his on the table, slowly trailing my fingertips up and down his forearms. He takes it as a sign to continue. "I, ugh- was wondering if you'd like to, you know," he says hastily, nervously. " I mean I thought that we could-" a fluttering breath, "Gosh I'm terrible at this." Stepping back, he brings his hand to his face and rubs his chin self-consciously. Heat begins to march across his face. "What I'm trying to say is, will you go to Hogsmeade with me?"

I think that his flushed face is my new favorite thing. The deep shade of pink tinting his cheeks gets darker and darker the longer I don't reply and it makes me feel like I have some sort of effect on him. Exactly like he does on me. I blink, blindsided, my jaw seconds away from falling off its hinges as his sentence replays in my head.

Will you go to Hogsmeade with me?

Is it possible for my ears to trick me so convincingly, so thoroughly? Possible for my hopefulness to gain a voice of its own and speak directly to me, making me plummet into the satisfying fulfillment of my desires?

"Of course." I manage to muster out, and that makes him smile.

With an arm twining around my waist faster than I can process, he places a kiss on my cheek and every damn bone in my body nearly misses me altogether. "Perfect. Meet me at the Entrance Hall, seven PM."

[-]

My feet are slippery and wet, leaving a trail of my footfalls on the hardwood floor as I hastily run out of the steamy bathroom in just a towel. Clutching the cotton to my chest and shivering when the difference in the temperature hits me, I trip over the carpet in an attempt to reach the dresser and throw something that resembles winter clothing on before I freeze to death.

My eyes zero in on the clock ticking above Pansy's bed at a quick glance. 6:07 PM. That leaves approximately half an hour before I have to leave my dorm to meet Lucas at the entrance hall. And I don't plan on arriving in a panting state.

"Shit." I shouldn't have underestimated how hard it'd be to crawl out of the tub after soaking in nearly scorching water for longer than I was supposed to.
Thankfully, I'm quick to get dressed and don't permit my judgmental thoughts to reproduce a swirling inferno of doubt as I slam the dresser door shut, locking the mirror attached to it out of sight. It's a fact that all kinds of insecurities resurface if I have the time to start picking apart every single little detail about my appearance.

It might not be too often that I wish to change things about myself- mostly because I know that Draco will tie a piece of rope around my ankles and make a brilliant sideshow out of letting me dangle off the edge of the Astronomy Tower until I took it back if he ever found out. However, when I do, my reactions vary from changing my clothes, to ripping them to shreds while crying hysterically.

I'm in the process of debating whether I should straighten my hair or not, remembering that Lucas said he prefers girls like this after our night at the library, when four knocks from the door distract me enough to make any thought slip out of my mind. Especially when I know that Pansy can't have returned from the detention McGonagall gave her for turning Theo's transfiguration textbook into a slug this early.

For a split second, my brain goes fuzzy. I don't know if it is hope that plants the idea of Draco being the one standing on the other side in my head, but it has me running my hands over the front of my sweatshirt self-consciously without a sense of reason.

"Come in"

The person in question opens the door swiftly, hurriedly even, as if he's worried I might change my mind, take it back, and push him out again if he takes too long with it. The only movement my body is committed to doing is the one of my chest rising and falling with every breath- had it not been vital, I'd consider avoiding it as much as I try to restrain the urge to inch closer in the hopes of Draco meeting my eyes.

I inspect him closely as he enters the room and closes the door behind him, his hand staying on the doorknob until he steps away and it has no other choice but to slip off. The way he moves is cautious like he's aware of the stirring tension in the air brought by his mere presence- aware of the way my eyes are unintentionally sharp on his movements.

I think it's fair to admit that even the way he stands radiates the exhaustion that's piled up like bricks on his back. The simple cotton white t-shirt he's wearing, one that I can easily see him sleeping in, clutches around his torso in a way that doesn't leave much to one's imagination. Not only is the outline of his flat stomach visible through it, but also the way his shoulders seem to have caved in, as if rolling them back and keeping them there is something out of his reach, is more prominent than I'd like. The sight of his posture pinches something in my stomach and I wonder how he's managed to hide his restlessness that well in classes.

He looks more sleep-deprived than I feel, but somehow that serves no ounce of relief.

"You look tired" That's probably one of the worst conversation starters one can come up with, but the need to waste time on second thoughts has abandoned me. At least the sound of me speaking makes his gaze shift from the floor and finally cross with mine.

"Yeah, I'm acutely aware of that," his eyes say it all. I can almost count the hours of sleeplessness in the dark circles shadowing the skin beneath them, the redness in his waterline. "I barely got any sleep last night. And the night before that" he shrugs, casually, as if a few days with little sleep aren't something he can't handle- something he wouldn't go through all over again to end up here. "You?"

"Almost none" I admit, knowing this might be the only thing I will shamelessly say. There's no way I'll admit it was because my mind wouldn't stop roaming with unrestrained imagination and doubt until I felt his arms around my shoulders again. Until I heard him say that we can leave it behind. If we were to return to the usual state of our friendship, where the smiles are countless and the jokes worthy of laughter, it'd take little to no convincing for me to just forget about the words we spoke all these days ago and not keep digging deep in possibilities to find where the roots of this mutual outburst lay.

My answer seems to shake something in him. Enough to have him licking his lips and briefly looking away. A shadow of guilt crosses his face like a part of him feels responsible for this- and that only proves how uselessly worried I was that things would change between us. Perhaps, not talking to me was as hard as me trying to swallow back everything I felt like saying.

"Listen, I" he releases all the air in his lungs through his nose in a long sigh "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you feel like you did something wrong for, you know, indulging in that particular experience with Koch." Kissing him. The words are hard for him to say; I can hear it in the way he puts too much effort into sounding convincing, as if fearing I'd ever accuse him of lying during an apology. I wouldn't dare, not when I know I'm the only one he'll ever ignore his Titanic-sized pride for and apologize to. "I shouldn't have let my opinions ruin it for you."

My brows draw closer in a questioning frown at his choice of words "Your opinions?"

"I still don't believe he deserved it." His admission is quick to reverberate, not allowing me to even think his beliefs experienced a renovative reset. A slow breath. "But I acknowledge that I was in the wrong for reacting like this."

I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling too bare. Too exposed. His apology is foreign to me and I'm not entirely sure how I ought to react. I know I'd give anything to be able to put my guard down and erase everything from my mind, but my right to know why the evolution of my personal life keeps digging deeper and deeper under his skin moves my mouth. "Can you at least explain why you felt the need to make such a huge deal out of it?"

Draco stills, hesitation drawing lines on the pale skin of his face. "Because your firsts are tricky things. Your first kiss, your first-" he swallows and it's like it takes his best efforts. His Adam's apple moves conspicuously, straining against the column of his throat, "time. Trust me when I say they're not something you want to regret."

"I won't."

"I was reckless with mine." He continues as though I never cut in, his expression hosting a certain blankness. His eyes lose their focus and it's like a veil unrolls behind them to blur out his thoughts. "You know how that went." He releases a humorless chuckle and warily shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Draco brings his hands together at chest level to twist the silver ring around his finger and his sights transfer to the action as platinum hair spills over his forehead. "Alcohol, stupid party games, and the social pressure to get laid before turning seventeen."

I feel attacked by the unusualness of his confession. Even if there's no shame in us talking about all kinds of things, Draco and I rarely touch the subject of that particular part of his life. He never mentions it and I wouldn't wish to be the one to bring it up and make a worthwhile discussion out of it, especially when what he does with anyone he might choose to spend a night with happens to be none of my business. When it comes to it, his privacy is indefatigably persistent. Unlike others, I've never heard him boast about such accomplishments and I'm quite literally thankful that he's so mature about such things.

I'm not sure what sense of curiosity gives me the courage to materialize my question, but my voice helps it gain an audible form even though the hesitation clogging my throat makes it echo in nothing but a shameful whisper. "Do you regret it?

"Sometimes." His statement is dipped in truthfulness and I'm surprised at how open he is with divulging it. As a person who appears confident in his every decision, it's hard for me to imagine him fighting regrets. His honesty gives him a sense of vulnerability I'm not used to seeing written all over his features. "I mean, I don't even remember her name yet let her be the first who I gave myself to. I don't want it to be like this for you."

For once, I swallow down my defensiveness. For once, I tie my tongue in knots and hold myself back from saying that our situations differ enough for the outcomes to be miles away from sharing a single similarity. He had no idea who the girl he was dared to take to his dorm was, but I know Lucas. He was drunk enough to not be able to walk in a straight line throughout that night while I'm sober as a dehydrated plant- literally. He had a motive while I'm flying blind with the only thing to be sure about being that I don't want to meet the ground ever again.

With my thoughts not meeting his perception, I allow myself to dedicate a second to actually noticing him; seeing beyond all the exhaustion and the moonlight skin and the things anyone would understand by merely just glancing at him. I don't scratch the ravishing surface but dig deeper until the pretty wrapper of his appearance is torn and ripped, and the rawness of his feelings can peek through the gaps, shining some light on my oblivion. On the dim tunnel I've been blindly pacing along the length of, guided not necessarily by reason, but by the accusation that had disguised itself as it.

He's worried about me finding myself in the same position as him.

In the process of doing credit to Lucas, I inevitably blamed Draco for his thoughts that I simply didn't understand. And I never bothered to put myself in his shoes and unravel his perspective.

"Thank you." I hear myself say, honest and genuine as one may be. My words plummet into a silent rabbit hole, but I don't want to take them back. Not when I mean them. And certainly not when I want to let him know.

Something hard and burning clutches my lungs, tight like an iron fist around the repetitive expanding and contracting movement accompanying my breathing despite how shallow it appears to the importation of oxygen. He's silent for an uncomfortably long while, standing across from me taut and still like he's processing my gratitude. Wondering if it's misleading, deceptive.

But then, his expression melts into softness, as if he chooses to trust the honesty of my reassurance and rid his mind of the painful splinter of incredulity, poking around in search of a weak spot in our mutual certitude. His shoulders slump, snapping free from the strings of anxiety forcing them stiff. He tears the silence up like a yellowed piece of parchment when he speaks, voice tender and low. "It was so hard. Not talking to you."

I feel like I'm finally standing on the other side of a portal I never thought I'd get through. Like the road is finally clear of barriers and stretches into an endless line of wide, solid cobblestones that I know won't cave in beneath me and let me helplessly fall through.

"I contemplated on punching you square in the face just to get a word from you, even if that was 'what the fuck, Hemera' or 'What on earth was that for?'" I try to mimic his voice by dropping mine a few octaves until it rises up my throat hoarsely. "Multiple times to be honest"

"How considerate of you" he chuckles and the roguish grin on his face is the cause of his dimple's appearance. A wave of relief I'd felt only a few times in my life washes over me refreshingly at the mere sight of it. Draco quits standing like a marble-carved statue across from me and plops himself on my bed as though it were his. His back straightens against the wooden headboard and his long legs cross at the ankles, as do his arms loosely across his chest.

The t-shirt stretches around his biceps at the movement, fitting over the muscles like a slim glove. His eyes don't leave me, not even for a split second, and once I notice that his gaze free-falls from my face all the way down to my feet, I understand the silent question that draws itself on his face in the form of an amused expression- what I'm wearing probably being the cause of it.

"You're drooling on my bed" I point out and see him swallow thickly, as though he forgot to do so.

He blinks the shock away like I never caught him off guard. "At the sight of you? Always."

I break into laughter in a way I hadn't in five days. The realization of an apology having occurred for us to feel this normalcy again brings a foreign taste erupting in my mouth, coating my tongue in something sour I find myself unable to label. Recognize even. But I reluctantly push against it.

"You're a shameless flirt when you feel like it," I say and rush into the bathroom to finalize my outfit with a pair of gold hoop earrings and two spritzes of my cinnamon perfume. Draco's gaze lingers on my movements with undivided attention. "And I think you should be careful with the words you use around girls. You have enough falling for you already"

"Well, beyond the obvious good looks," I scoff at his remark and lean over the sink closer to the mirror, brushing the mascara wand over my lashes and blinking rapidly when it accidentally gets in my eye. "I also happen to have a charming personality. Although I'm sure you knew about that"

"It's kind of hard to ignore" I state, in a manner that seems to plaster a permanent grin on his face.

"Got any exciting plans for today?"

"Yes" the answer emits my lips before I can stop it, the truth in this single word urging it out instinct-like. But I get ahold of my tongue, willing it into a knot, and reveal no more about the fact that I'll be out with Lucas. For whatever reason Draco seems to have developed a personal dislike toward him, I know that his apology to me hasn't made it abandon his mind, as much as he tried to convince me exactly that by showing up here in the first place.

"Really? With whom?" His questions echo in the tone of unmistakable amusement.

A list of names unrolls in my mind and I choose to voice the most convenient of them all. I find myself unable to disappoint him right now, especially since I feel the need to keep things right after he was the one making the effort to turn them back to right. "Pansy." I steady my voice, "I'll be out with Pansy. She wants to hang out after detention."

He looks comforted by my words and that's the only thing that makes me feel just a tiny bit better despite knowing that I just lied to him. It eases some of the weight my own words slump on my shoulders when he pushes himself off my bed and says, in such a light-hearted manner.

"I can't believe she hexed Nott's book just because he asked if he could borrow a quill. McGonagall was incandescent." He chuckles as he recalls the cold strictness of the professor's expression and the way her voice cracked through the room like a whip as she ordered Pansy to receive her detention in the afternoon. "But do make sure to have fun."

"I promise to try." Being majorly aware of the minutes ticking away at a harrowingly fast pace, I huff out a defeated sigh once I notice that I don't have nearly enough time to do something decent with my hair and momentarily freak out. Due to the high levels of humidity, the air carries this time of the year, I'd consider myself lucky if my hair didn't turn into Spout's cloud of untamed locks within the first five minutes I've exited my dorm.

Deciding against pushing my questionable luck to a resentful point, I begin to part my hair into three sections and settle for a braid. It's not long after I convince myself that it'll be easy, that I get the urge to yank every single tuft out of my scalp as a form of punishment for the lack of cooperation they show. Trying to bring to perfection something my fingers blindly knit is wholly capable of making me break a sweat. Or my skull.

Before I can bring my vexation-driven thoughts to life, warm hands come to cover my own and sleek fingers get tangled in my hair, continuing the pattern of the braid with such delicacy it causes shivers to erupt on my nape and spread through my whole body.

Draco's body is standing flush behind me, a small smile playing on his lips as he doesn't seem to notice that I'm looking at him through the mirror. His brows crumple up in a light frown of devotion and concentration, and the tip of his tongue peeks out when he grabs a piece of white ribbon from the drawer and wraps it around the end of the braid, making a little bow.

Before I can turn around to hug him or even thank him, Draco's arms bracket my waist, pressing me up against his front as his chin falls to my shoulder. His heartbeat accelerates, almost thumping against my back like there's nothing but thin skin separating us.

Blue eyes take me in, and admiration oozes from his scrutiny. His words fall between my jaw and neck in a warm, tickling breath. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you? Like, we're no longer on rocky ground anymore, right?"

Guilt wreaks havoc on my peace, continuously abusing it until it lies in pieces somewhere in the back of my mind. If I retained anything that merely resembled a moral compass, I would've realized that I'd plodded too far away from the right path. If I took a second to ponder over the ramifications of my actions, I'd be exposed to the confrontation that doing anything other than telling the truth past the stiffness of my lips and the numbness of my tongue would be a mortifying mistake.

But if there's one thing I know, then it's that I was never good at finding my way back to the right track. And that once I chose a direction, I'd go down sticking to it- even if I was given the chance to spare myself from utter disruption.

With my heart heavier than a concrete block and my chest suffocatingly tight around it, I turn around and hold out my pinky finger, kissing my thumb once it locks with his. My promise burns its way up my throat and out of my mouth like a sinful confession and when he smiles trustingly, regret slinks into my stomach.

"No. We aren't."

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