Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

29 twenty one, twenty one and on

Draco Lucius Malfoy (Head of Ministry of Magic Internal Liaisons, Governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy, CEO of Malfoy Corporation and Magical Monopoly, etc.) would like to express his most heartfelt condolences for your loss. If you should feel in need of his services, do not hesitate to call his assistant on the address written on the back this card.

Have the greatest of days.

"Excuse me, sir! But I think that this has more shit than the back of a Dungstick Beetle!"

Rose Weasley strode into the faculty room and threw the note across Professor Longbottom's desk. But it was not Professor Longbottom that she was trying to pick a fight with, it was the man sitting behind the desk. Said man watched her with cold, passive, liquid silver eyes.

"Should I add more pink and glitter to the stationary, my sweet?"

"You were supposed to be with her! Why weren't you with her? If you were with her then she shouldn't have-- she could still have been--"

It was an authoritative voice that stopped her. "Miss Weasley, I don't tolerate this kind of behavior. I personally think that you owe Governor Malfoy an apology." The years had been kind to Neville Longbottom, he managed to elude a receding hairline. He also grew a beard, well oiled and trimmed that gave him an air of wisdom and expertise. Or made him look like a gardener or a lumberjack, it all depends on how you look at it.

"I'd rather be with my dead mother!"

The enraged fourteen year old girl strode out of the office in tears leaving the two men with no power or authority over her. She was a flurry of fire against everything. Silence followed. Both of them were too affected to say anything.

"So do I."

Draco Malfoy rested his head on his open palm before wiping last night's sweat and grime from his face. Everything is going blurry again, the headaches are getting too intense. It goes for a moment but comes back with more intensity, like a vein somewhere will pop. It could be the hangover or the withdrawal from the alcohol. He's not sure, he's unsure about a lot of things these past few hours. He might be dying or it might just be his desire to die. Either. Living isn't how it used to be anymore.

Not since her.

They were so close. So fucking close.

He's finally going to get her to love him. Finally. After all this time.

Finally together.

Or it might just be wishful thinking.

It was all too cliche, a muggle driver and her just standing by a busy pedestrian and some muggle child chasing a dog or cat-- some random animal-- he had not been able to focus on reading the full article, he simply can't focus. Why does she have to be the hero?

Why can't she just use magic or something?

The Ministry will take care of everything. A mass obliviation should do the trick-- fuck all the consequences. Those muggles had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If only he was there...

Fuck the company, fuck Hogwarts, fuck everything and everyone.

Until there is nothing left because it might just be.

She was his all.

Neville Longbottom stared down at the man sitting in his chair, behind his desk. Draco Malfoy of all people. The last time they were here in this institution, he would have ran for his life the moment Draco's name was mentioned, the Slytherin Seeker was a notorious bully. Despite their similar blood status they can't be any more different.