Yours in Mayhem |Dramione

36 dear granger|| pt.1

Dear Granger,

Here's every single sodding thing that I waited until the last second to say. Every single fucking, pain inflicting, shard on the tip of my tongue. Speak now or forever hold your peace-- as your people say. The truth is I

Draco whipped his head to look at the door.

It opened. The black steel door with the rose knob to his new room doesn't open. It never does. That's the whole point. It's one of the many perks of being asked (forced) to room in the tower of their manor. It has the best views of the garden, he especially adores (makes him want to choke someone) when he sees the hedges of exotic flowers that his mother loved, turn slowly to blackness and decay due to neglect. Practically watch in glee (disgust) as muddy, murky water flow through the proud, pristine (once was) marble statues in the fountain. Draco had to see who it was that came to visit him-- the newly crowned king of the prisoner's tower.

The visitor was a Death Eater. He wore the dark hood and the mask with dignified elegance.

But one look at the ox blood Italian leather shoes that repelled the mud and rain, sparkling with an other worldly shine in the dimly lit room and he knows who it is.

With a raised brow, Draco stood up. "Came for the view?"

The Death Eater removed the grotesque bone mask. He flipped it elegantly on his dark palm. "Yes, you do look charming nowadays that you don't use that god awful hair cream. Made me want to dunk your head in Moaning Myrtle's toilet that one did."

"Fuckhole."

Blaise Zabini smirked, perfectly chiseled jaw moving in a lazy upward motion, "So I'm told. You're looking better and better, Draco. Is it the food? The air? The to die for atmosphere?"

Draco scoffed at his friend, "Must be one of those things. But mostly it's this room, never had I been more at home, mate. These four walls-- perfect. Just fucking perfect. I'm starting to have a thing for 90 degree angles. The quest for the ways to shag it goes on."

They both laughed. Forced and calculated as Zabini produced a small string tied bag no bigger than a coin purse from his vest and put it down on the table before casting a muffliato around the room. The sound of their forced laughter going in endless cycles to anyone who's eavesdropping from the outside.

As soon as the spell was cast, the easy smirk fell from Zabini's face followed by a stern look of concern. "You look like you're dying."

"Who made you the aesthetic expert?" Draco sat down on the simple wooden table overlooking the once beautiful garden with albino peacocks, which have all mostly died, fed to Nagini or stolen.

Zabini sighed, "They sent me to talk some sense into you, mate--"

"Who did you fuck to get in here more like," Draco drawled with an eye roll.

"Would you believe if I say Bellatrix?"

Draco's gray eyes widened, "Motherfu--"

"Don't go there, mate. Narcissa is a lovely respectable woman but she looks too much like you-- it's too kinky."

Draco grimaced as if he just tasted something rotten, "Stop. Forget I even asked. What are you really doing here? For real, no bullshit."

A dark shadow passed the castle and both boys looked out the window in haste. But it turned out to just be a dark stormy cloud passing. The manor had been gray and black ever since Voldemort made it his headquarters with dementors at every passing turn. Draco hugged the cardigan that he wore around his body as an uncontrollable shiver ran down his spine. Zabini's brows furrowed and Draco knows that Zabini being this near to him is a danger to Zabini and his family. The main reason why his friend became a Death Eater is to protect his business minded mother and his weak stepfather. Which is funny because this one has last the longest. Must be love.