"𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞
𝐈'𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐠𝐞𝐭'𝐬, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲"
-'Jealousy, jealousy' by Olivia Rodrigo

──────────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰──────────
DRACO

I know what I saw. And I know that it stung.

Surely, I’ll consider myself lucky if my feet haven’t already blazed a trail on the carpet from all the back-and-forth pacing I’ve done since I returned from Hogsmeade. With the sensation of bubbling acid roiling woefully in my stomach and begging for constant recognition, I settle for anything that can distract me from committing my focus to its source.

And therefore evoking a certain image I’d do wonders in high hopes of erasing any trace of from my remembrance. I acknowledge the foreignness of my prayers, the odd comfort I seek in forgetting as a person who treasures the colorful collage of memories the past has engraved in my mind. Some I avoid going back to and others I revisit consistently, like a summer house at the beach, deserted for most of the year but never forgotten. Not once have I wished to rid my mind of the existence of a recollection— that was until I met the materialization of a lie I never saw coming.

It came in the form of flashing consternation at first, the kind that instinctively made my eyebrows skyrocket well past their expectancy and look back twice to make sure that my eyes weren’t playing games on me. Second, came the realization, right before the overwhelming disappointment that still has my heart lying at the receiving end of glass-shattering blows.

Hemera was never the kind to lie. Merlin, I still remember the times when her inability to string together a dishonest sentence convincingly got me in trouble, with the most traumatizing one being her admitting that it was I who poured too much yeast into our potential biscuit mixture when we were six and ruined the whole thing when the dough puffed up too much. I still haven’t recovered from Keir’s betrayed stare when he realized that it was the misreading and therefore the blasphemy of his late grandma’s precious biscuit recipe that created the atrocity in the sink.

Of course, Hemera couldn’t keep it in, and her finger was already pointed at me before Keir even asked who was responsible for the mess in the bowl. I remember being proud of myself for managing to stay mad for forty-eight minutes after she so easily and unapologetically snitched on me. Quite embarrassingly all it took was her wrapping her arms around my middle and giving me a contagious smile to slither her way back into my good graces.

I must admit, even back then, she could melt off the edges of my grudge with laughable effortlessness. That has yet to change, even if I often fake my success in reshaping my outlook for the mere purpose of not providing her a facile victory.

It’s exceptionally hard when the entirety of me is wrapped around her finger like a knotted ribbon with no sense of purpose other than complimenting any parts of her she wants me to. Even though my helplessness to turn my back to her has become a living part of myself I’m nothing but accustomed to, it’s in moments when I feel like a faded ink stain on the cuff of her sleeve that I wish I could loosen the fist of emotions confining my beating heart.

My fingers rake themselves through my hair in an instinctive act of discomfort and I drag my feet across the floor from the door to the window for what seems like the hundredth time. The sigh that breaks through my lips is so enormously rueful that I’m convinced it wouldn’t hesitate to tear my rib cage into two had I refused to let it out.

With my thoughts spiraling out of control and my self-composure plummeting into an abyss of inhibition, I lean on the windowsill, my knuckles embracing the solidity of the marble as my gaze burrows through the transparent glass. Although I show interest of minor importance to the shoals of fish occasionally swimming by or the tiny whirlpools in the muddy green water that dissolve no long after their appearance, I coach myself to be appreciative of the inconsequential distractions.

I devote myself to a rather pitiful attempt at cleaning an irritating fingerprint smudge on the glass, most likely left by Zabini, when the door flies open with enough impetus to tear the entire bloody door frame off the wall and create fissures in the already chopped paint.

My muscles tense as I subconsciously enter a state of alarm but my self-restraint prevents my flinch from emerging in its full potential. The air trapped in my throat slowly yet unevenly finds its way out of my body when a patch of dark brown curls bounces into my peripheral vision. Even though it's impossible for him not to notice me, I soon realize that Nott shamelessly pretends to have missed my presence altogether as he kicks the door closed in the same way that he opened it; like the fucking wood spat in his sulky face.

The acrid, eye-twitching smell of smoke floods the room mere seconds after his epically conspicuous arrival and the tips of my nails wound the skin of my palms at his obvious carelessness and complete incomprehension of my request to avoid indoor smoking. The only thing that could make me want to slit someone else's throat more than my own is being accused of following through with his negligent activities just because I happen to share a dorm with him.

A wave of gray fog falls on the window, clouding over the glass. Theodore pushes out a smoke-bearing exhale when he reaches my spot and comes to stand directly next to me. With his rigid stance and a jaw that juts forward before rolling back into place multiple times a minute, I’m not surprised he doesn’t spare me more than half a heavy-lidded glance of acknowledgment.

For the sake of my inner peace, I make no move to show that I’m bugged by the way he brings the foul-smelling joint in between his lips and draws the substance in like it’s his last shot at breathing before being permanently deprived of it.

Instead, I look at him out of the corner of my eye, knowing that he hates it when his detestation is the center of my attention, and play it safe with my question. “Tough day?”

If there's one thing to know about Nott then the fact that he prefers to keep his distraught out of sight must be it. The chances of him opening up when his mind is sidetracked by anger-eliciting thoughts are somewhere between minus ten and minus eight if there's an axis to go by.

Knowing what to ask and when to press matters is a skill I gained from all the years of building a decent friendship with him.

He runs a hand down the side of his face, the tips of his fingers hooking on his bottom lip and dragging it down in agitation. “Why’d you say that?”

Although I don’t miss the sarcasm woven into his tone, I pay it no mind. He might think that giving me his asshole attitude will make me leave him alone, but I’m in no mood to be immature and play with words the way he sees fit.

I release a sigh that empties my lungs like a deflating Quaffle, “what happened?”

His shoulders are taut but I can see that he’s fighting the urge to hutch over and let his frame cave in. My question seems to have barely scraped past his hearing, the faint glaze in his eyes only accentuating the blankness of his stare. I don’t know if the weed is to blame for it but if he knew how lachrymose he looks, I’m sure he’d punch a hole in the glass and let the lake water drown him before his self-loathing had the chance to.

“Can you imagine how it’d be if people were to be ranked based on their ludicrousness?”

My eyes narrow at his oddly specific request but before the pressing silence can make me give an answer I wasn’t planning to, he reveals the second half of his two-part inquiry. “How close would I be to getting the first-place award?”

“Most of the time, I look at you and think you’d be the one handing the prize to the next contemptible persona grata destined to continue the legacy of your bunk.” I’m glad my unserious tells make the corners of his lips twitch with the effort of quelling a rebellious grin. “Everyone is meant to be great at something and you happen to have been born the blessed emperor of stupidity. No ranking can take your crown from you.”

The dark curls covering his forehead meet his eyelids with every mocking nod he delivers. “Woah man, you know how to make a friend feel special. Thank you for having my back.”

“Always glad to be at your service.” Although I cherish the crumbs of playfulness shimmering beneath the surface of our encounter, I refrain from teasingly nudging his shoulder with mine. He might’ve reciprocated my disposition but I’d be at fault to assume that he’s in the mood to take it a step further and keep this up.

I pull myself together and clear my throat to shake any remnants of withheld laughter from my voice. “Did something happen with Ceilia?”

“I guess we’ll just stop seeing each other.”

Hiding my surprise at how unexpectedly willing he seems to talk about it, I turn on the spot so that my body is facing him. The fading orange spark at the tip of his blunt flares up when he draws in another lungful. “What? Why?”

“Because she no longer wants us to.” He makes it sound like I should’ve seen it coming, even though it might be one of the last things I would’ve ever expected him to say. I doubt Theodore has ever been rejected or dumped by any of the girls he’s been in questionable situations with, so I don’t know how I should treat the information he just revealed. I don’t think he knows either.

But I’ve heard of Ceilia; the blonde Hufflepuff with the tendency to give away parts of herself just to make sure no one around her felt like they lacked anything. I’ve only seen her around a couple of times, enough to at least know what she looks like, but drunk Theo has talked about her enough for me to wonder how he doesn’t see how compatible they are.

And how smitten she is.

“She told you that herself?” I don’t realize that my brows have scrambled high on my forehead until Nott brings his filthy fucking fingers to my face and forces them back down with a strained chuckle. I’m too late at batting his hand away because he snatches it back before I get the satisfaction of slapping the dorsal of his limb raw.

He hums, “She was crystal clear about it too. That shocking?”

“I just thought you two would last in whatever it was that you had.” The tendons in his neck stand out as his molars press together in what I think of as a thoughtless reaction he’d hate himself for having. “I mean, the girl looked head over heels for you.”

A careful shake of his head. His eyelids slide low, shading his hooded eyes even further until the sorrowful glint in them is hardly distinguishable. “Maybe that’s the problem. She said we can’t keep this going if we want entirely different things from each other.”

His bitter laugh prickles my skin, the lack of joyfulness in it making my stomach clench around the idea of him masking the emotions that don’t fit the mold of the always happy and flirtatious personality he wants to convince everyone is the entirety of him. Bottling up all sorts of negative feelings has grown to be second nature to him, the kind of psychosynthesis that would have therapists headbanging their fancy clipboards.

“I’m in no place to offer her anything stable or exclusive so it’d be shitty of me to hold the prospect of a relationship over her head just to keep her close. It’s not like I care.”

I stand there, watching him as he burns his cigarette out with my hip leaning against the windowsill. The edge of the marble digs into my flesh over my clothes and I cross my arms over my chest. “Then why are you affected by it?”

He sniffs, lowering his head; I know it’s for the sole purpose of keeping his face out of sight. “I saw her on my way back from dinner.” He makes a pause, long enough for me to be reminded that I didn’t attend but not why. “With another man at her heel.”

“And?”

The muscles of his back vibrate with a breathy scoff. “And it made me want to fucking hex him. Consequences be damned.”

My ability to continue the conversation abandons me at the sound of his admission so Theodore grasps the first chance he gets to channel the attention away from him and the baring of his thoughts. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He purses his lips with an interrogative raise of his brows. “Don’t think that just because you got me to talk about myself I forgot about the depressed man state I found you in.”

“And here I was, thinking that I’d distracted you enough.”

“Never.” Mirroring my stance, he turns to the side so that there’s no avoiding his curious stare. “Now spill.”

Easier said than done.

With his unbending will to break through my frontline and dig until he’s gathered enough information to never run out of threats, I catch myself cowering away. Even if it means just turning my back to him and walking to my bed. The creaking of the wooden boards temporarily fills the silence as I take a seat, though, to my nonexistent luck the sound dies out pretty damn quickly, leaving me in a helpless state where I have no choice but to fend for myself.

I know that I’m taking an unnecessarily dramatic amount of time to do things such as running my fingers through my hair or bringing the heels of my hands to rub my eyes, but it feels like the countdown of my demise has already started.

There’s no judgment in the way he dusts off every inch of my face, just patience and understanding. I blame his signs of compassion for the words that emit from my lips despite my best efforts to keep my mouth shut. The echo of my thoughts feels like ice cubes sliding over the skin of my abdominals. “Do you think I should tell her?”

His hands disappear into the front pockets of his black dress pants. He knows who I’m talking about. “Tell her what?”

Balancing my elbows on my knees and my chin in my palms, I look at him through my lashes, “you know what.”

His snort has a frown line cutting across my forehead. “That you love her? Merlin Malfoy, I’d leave it to Blaise to crack a better joke at any given time.” I just stare at him. During a short demonstration of silence on my part, his head swivels to the left so that his eyes can seek honesty in mine. His brows skyrocket, morphing his face into an expression I’d consider laughable weren’t it for the constant ache in my chest. “Shit, you’re serious.”

“Does my irrepressible joy look like flourishing today?”

“No, but—”

“Then I’m not joking.”

“Your luck would be way better if you were.”

I quirk a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His fingers ruffle his hair with a single run-through. “You know how things are right now. The timing for something like that is just wrong.”

I’m not amazed by him saying what’s been on my mind for the past weeks; although a distant echo, the worrisome thought never ceased to remind me of its presence. It’s just that the continuous pattern of my heart skydiving from my thoracic cage to the pit of my stomach only to be uplifted by the crumbs of Hemera’s attention had been doing an exceptionally good job at keeping my thoughts at bay. Until today happened at least.

“I just don’t know how much longer I can keep it in. It’s like what I feel for her is drowning me and I can’t help but panic every time I think about it surging out of me in all the wrong ways.” I don’t know if I should laugh at my situation or pity myself for being in it; the long, tight-lipped look Theodore gives me has me verging on the edge of the second option. My stomach lurches as acid fills my mouth. “I am angry every single day and jealous— so fucking jealous that I can hardly think whenever I hear her do so much as say his name.”

“You, envying a half-blood Ravenclaw is slightly concerning. First-year Draco would be disappointed.”

The sharp edge of my stare makes it come across as an armed glare ready to cause deliberate gushes to any unfortunate individual to withstand it. My stomach churns with the urge to vomit.

“You don’t think I know? I despise myself for thinking like this, for being unable to mask my disapproval the way I’ve been masking everything else. I might want to be more than a friend but I certainly feel like a shitty one for not supporting her through what she deems important.” My fists are clenched so tightly that the excruciating pressure in my joints brings attention to my reeling fury. “I want to capture every smile of hers and keep it to myself just as much as I yearn to be the cause of it— and I can’t help but resent him for getting what I desperately want to be mine.”

Nott’s breathing stalls for a moment, and that’s what it takes for me to take in the gravity of my admission.

That was never meant to slip out. And now there’s no taking it back.

Not when Theodore’s distant stare indicates that he’s thinking back on my words like they’re an object of revision. The beat of my heart accelerates and the pounding sensation intensifies as our silence drags on, surrounding us like a voiceless entity that takes turns tempting us to break it.

“Listen, I’m not going to tell you what to do; the choice is yours to make but if my opinion is of any value, I’d advise you to give her some time. She already has her eye on someone and the chances of her reciprocating your feelings as of right now are low. Not nonexistent, but hardly considerable.” When my mouth parts and my protests topple from my mind to the tip of my tongue, he smoothly cuts back in. “You know how she feels about him, even if it’s just a fragment of what you do about her. Let her sort her thoughts out. I doubt she isn’t just as overwhelmed.”

Reassurance slinks into my stomach and warmth mixes with my blood like liquid fire. I might still not be any closer to finding the end of my knotted emotions and untangling them, but that doesn’t have to cancel out the appreciation I feel for my friend. I had no intention of opening up about anything tonight, but Theodore’s understanding disposition and his willingness to offer conscientious advice have now brought me to a place where I no longer feel a pair of steel hands crushing my lungs.

And for what feels like the first time tonight, I’m finally allowed to breathe. Even relieved enough to let out a chuckle. “Look at you being wise for once.”

His shrug is as comical as his slow, guileless grin, “What can I say, smoking opens my portal to philosophy.”

──────────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰──────────
thank you for reading<3