Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

35 yours in disintegration|| pt.2

Draco tasted the aftermath of the words on his mouth. It tasted rotten, his whole system rejects it and if he had anything today he would have thrown up. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand, scrubbing i as if there's dirt on them. Disgusting. Unworthy. Filthy. You'd never kiss her again.

Snape's words rung in his head like a blare.

"I know more than you think. I know for one that the likes of them are not for the likes of us. Don't be a selfish coward, everyone already says you are. Must you follow them like a spineless clown?"

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

If not tomorrow then maybe the next or maybe the next...

He sat on a desk in the middle of the dark room, lips raw from friction. He stared ahead at the blackboard. Something, something, blah blah Wizarding History.

"You treacherous, conniving, gruesome mons--" she choked, "Monster." The sob escaped her. Her wand was pointing his way and even as the tears flowed down her eyes the wand was steady. She was shaking. Gods, he'd let her have him. Maybe that will be infinitely better for everything to just end.

Draco sat wearily in the desk and inwardly sigh. He has to play the villain even to her. Even to her.

Even as he wanted to hold her and just tell her all about it. Even as he was practically choking on sobs and biting his tongue from just talking to her like how he wanted. Even as his heart broke with every step. He pressed on.

He'll be the bad guy again when he steps out of the shadows.

"Well, well, well. Lookie here. Isn't this an unusual sight," he drawled silkily at her. It was the usual scenario, of her crying and him internally breaking but not letting it up. "Is someone too weak to let go? She knows she's dead to me. Did she become a ghost?"

"This has nothing to do with that," she said steadily even though her cheeks is already wet with shiny tears. "We ended that. What are you planning?"

"She thinks that she can simply just ask me about my plans. Who does she think she is?" He walked towards her. Trying his hardest to keep his eye contact, for his eyes not to skim and linger over places that he shouldn't look. But the dress that she was wearing, a pink sleeveless number, cut a bit too low in the front (around two inches below the collarbone), showing the fullness on her chest that might have grown this year adding to her already alluring frame, and falling just above her knees is making things more complicated. And her perfume.

That dainty sweet smell in the air.

It was a contrast to his own. His was overpowering-- you'd smell it if so much as stand in the same enclosed space, across the room. Hers-- you'd have to be close, you'd have to breathe her air. Suddenly he was too close to her again, like his feet were moving on their own accord, all that was separating them is the length of her arm and her wand. He felt her magic fizzle at the end of the wood. "Will she blast me to death? She did hear my plans. Or will I get her first?"

"What are you up to?"

She was refusing to believe that he will have a hand in someone else's annihilation, much more the very man that could save them all. And she's right. She's absolutely fucking right. But right now he'd do anything and everything to make anyone and everyone believe that he's a blood thirsty killer that will do anything to get on Voldemort's good favors.

Snape will kill Dumbledore but not before Draco kills Snape first.

But it takes conviction, he needs to have them believe that everything is just as they planned. And by them-- he means everyone-- and by everyone that includes her. First and foremost her.