𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 - 𝐝.𝐦.

𝟎𝟕𝟑 - 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝

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here's a fun drinking game: taking a shot (of water bc we are good children) every time someone in CORE interrupts someone else or is interrupted by anything in general.

this chapter is 12,658 words long. please. please. please vote, and please leave me a bunch of comments cause this bitch took time asf

PLS COMMENT LMAOO

shut out to petitfruitmarocains baby for french translations

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"Oh, we're so gonna win."

"That's only if Carlier can get off his incompetent arse and find that bloody Snitch," I mutter under my breath in response to Pansy.

We sit in the stands, blending in the sea of green. Pansy almost painted half my face the color, but I threatened to break her wrist if she came within a foot of me with that paint. Surprisingly, she actually listened to the threat this time. I'm to her left, and to her right sits her girlfriend Verona. In front of us is Pandora, who turns around frequently to lean in a whisper excitedly to Verona, her cheeks bright pink from the cold.

"Oh, he'll do it," Pansy says dismissively, her legs bouncing up in down in both excitement and desire to warm herself up. Her right arm is immobile, being hugged tightly to Verona's chest, who shivers lightly and has her scarf practically wrapped around her face. "He'll catch it in no time, you'll see."

I glower lightly, choosing not to respond for the sake of not wanting to bite my best friend's head clean off her neck. Instead, I glance away just in time to see Celeste navigating the crowded stands, a slight frown on her face as she attempts not to stumble over any clumsily placed feet.

I turn my head back to Pansy. "Move down."

"Can't," she says, grabbing my left wrist to squint at my watch. "Shouldn't they have started already?"

"Move down."

"There's no space, idiot."

"Make some."

"I can't just make sp—DRACO!" she gasps, scandalized, when I get tired of listening her speak and use all my body weight to push her, and therefore Verona as well, as far down the bench as I can, opening up a spot right to my left just big enough for—

"Hey," Celeste says, and we both turn our heads to see her right behind me.

"Oh," Pansy echoes my ear, giving my arm a tight squeeze as the teasing edge in her voice gets swept away by the November breeze. "Hey, Cel."

"Am I too late?"

"Mm, no, but the match should be starting any minute now, so sit down."

Celeste hesitates softly, her hand pushing theres curls out of her face while she scans the stands. There are only two free spots in the vicinity. One is directly to my left, which she notes with a slight curl of her lips, and the other is in front of me next to Pandora. She glances between the spots for a moment, her eyes darkening when she sees Pandora, but before she can make a decision, the seventh year Elvina takes the spot on the bench in front of me, holding a large bucket of popcorn she holds out for Pandora to grab from.

Celeste doesn't react, sitting down beside me promptly. It's a bit of a tight squeeze, Pansy's knees digging into my thigh from my right, Celeste's hip flush with mine.

"What's taking them so long to start," Celeste asks, and it takes me a moment to realize her murmured words are for me.

"Couldn't tell you," I shrug, shifting my arm back so it fits behind hers more comfortably, though she makes an irritated noise and pushes her own arm behind mine again. I shoot her an annoyed look, but she's busy squinting out to the field.

"Honestly," Celeste huffs irritably, leaning forward a little while the long lashes on her upper lid threaten to tangle with those on her lower, "I don't see how they expect us to see anything from all the way up here."

"The action happens in the sky, you know, not down on the pitch," I say with a small smirk, my eyes darting to scan her face, the way her tongue pokes below her lips in concentration.

"Yes, I'm aware," she snaps lightly, squinting harder still. "I'm not an absolute idiot, you know. It's hard to see the sky too, I mean even the bloody clouds are blurry."

I glance out at the sky. It's good weather for Quidditch— no rain or storm clouds within the visible radius, just enough clouds so that the sun doesn't get in the players eyes, which is especially difficult while looking for a tiny Snitch, and though it's cold, the adrenaline will likely distract from that.

"Ever thought that maybe your eyesight is just rubbish?"

"That's ridiculous. I have perfect eyes," her teeth chatter lightly as she rubs her hands together between her thighs.

I open my mouth, and then I pause when I realize I'm about to concur. Shaking my head lightly, I say, "Sky looks perfectly fine to me. You may need to invest in some glasses, darling."

Celeste's face pinches slightly. "Glasses? No thank you. I can't have anything ruining this face."

My lips twitch lightly at this, and I glance away back out at the empty pitch. Upon doing so, my eyes catch on the stands directly across us, where the staff reside. Somehow, my eyes latch onto a pair of silvery-blue that are already looking at me, glittering ominously as if they can see straight through to my mind. They're paired with a small, subtle smile, almost as if it's permanently etched onto his face. He doesn't break the eye contact, so I do it first, a horrible pit building itself in my gut. The mark on my inner left forearm itches, so I tug the sleeves of my coat down past my wrists.

"You could pull glasses off. Perhaps those oval frames?"

"Please, and risk looking like Trelawney? You want me to be ugly, don't you..." she mutters under her breath, wrapping her coat tighter around herself. "Merlin... I should've worn a thicker coat."

"It's not that cold."

"Do you have to disagree with everything I say today?"

My lips twitch again, ears feeling slightly warm. "My apologies."

She mutters something in a bitter tone of voice, but the breeze picks it up and sweeps it away before I can catch it. She then sighs softly, shivering lightly while leaning forward to catch sight of the two teams, one in red and one in green, starting their way across the pitch to meet in the middle. A hush comes over the stands followed by a fresh thrum of excited chatter, and we all almost simultaneously lean forward to catch a better look.

Soon, the game begins with a shake from the Gryffindor captain, Potter himself, and Slytherin's very own Warrington, as well as a sharp blow from Hooch's whistle, and we watch as the Bludgers whizz up into the air with the players.

It starts out slow—Beaters beat the Bludgers away from their team, Chasers hit the Quaffles towards the hoops, and the Keepers keep them from going through. Weasley, astonishingly enough, is fairing just as well as Blaise is in his Keeper abilities. A stroke of luck, I presume, as that red-haired ingrate typically hasn't shown the capacity for much more than backfiring spells and repulsing every girl in a ten mile radius.

"I'd rather be doing that History of Magic essay right now," Celeste grumbles when, thirty minutes later, the score is stil 0-0.

"Hey," Pansy says, attracting my attention though she's leaning down to talk to Pandora, "I'm gonna grab some hot chocolate, you mind sitting up here and saving my seat? Nott's been eyeing it for, like, the past fifteen minutes."

Pandora laughs and nods, and Pansy promptly gets up to scamper away, her brown eyes narrowed threateningly on Theodore Nott who stands near the corner of the stands, not a single spot open for him to sit. Pandora gets up as well, moving to sit in Pansy's spot between me and Verona and swing her feet up to keep her own seat closed in the meantime. She brushes her arm against me in the process, shooting me an apologetic look I return with a tight nod.

I nearly miss it when Urquhart finally gets a damn Quaffle through the Gryffindor hoops, jolting when the entire Slytherin box jumps to its feet with a loud roar. Pandora laughs softly, still seated just like me, and leans down to grab a packet of sugar quills from Elvina's lap.

"Want?" she leans in to shout in my ear so I can hear over the thundering of the third year boys' feet on the floor of the stands—a horrible practice that makes me want to hex them into tomorrow—while holding out the packet for me to take from.

"Thanks," I shrug slightly, plucking a green quill out of the packet and promptly placing it between my lips. Sadly, it's lime, not green apple.

"What just happened?!" Celeste leans in to shout over the crowd in my other ear, and I turn my head to see her still squinting—stubborn girl, she'll go blind before she admits her eyesight is awful—and leaning in towards me as if to gain a better look. "They look like fucking bugs, I swear to Morgana..."

Smirking softly, I respond, "Urquhart scored a goal, so you're allowed to get that look off your face."

Celeste snaps her head to look at me with a fierce, burning glare in her eyes. "What look?"

"Like your tongue tastes like Hippogriff shit."

"Rude," she mutters, and then her eyes drop to where I suck on the tip of my sugar quill. They narrow, stuck on my lips, and her own part slightly before she glances away and crosses her arms tightly around herself. "It's still cold. Why haven't they found a way to use magic to change the stupid temperature?"

"Gamp's Law," I deadpan, my eyes distracted on her lips now while I suck on this terrible lime quill. "You can use magic to excite the particles in a substance, but you can't exactly do the same for the air." I hesitate softly, wondering why she hasn't clawed my eyes out yet. "Do you want my scarf?"

"Yes, I'm well aware of Gamp's Law, Malfoy, that's second year Transfiguration material. Your scarf?" she sounds dumbfounded, looking back at me again. My eyes dart back up to hers quickly, but hers are once more on my quill.

"Yes, my scarf."

"Why?" she sounds suspicious, a frown painting her lips and crinkling her brows.

"To strangle you," I deadpan, seeing her eyes squint at me this time in irritation rather than inability to see. "So that you warm up, idiot." I shake my head and let go of my quill, holding it firmly between my lips so that my hands can go up to loosen my scarf. "Honestly, it eludes me how you do so well in your classes," my voice is slightly muffled.

"I—Stop!" she sounds frustrated, her hand flying up to grip my wrist while her frown deepens. "You can't do that!"

"Do what? Take my scarf off? I can, and I will."

"No, you can't be—be considerate—" a sour look befalls her face, "—and insult me in the same sentence, it confuses me!"

My face warming slightly, I'm grateful for the cold to serve as an excuse for the pink that undoubtedly tinged my cheeks. "I apologize for confusing you," my voice drips heavily with sarcasm while my cheeks continue to burn, a semi-welcome reprieve from the cold that otherwise nips at them. "In the future, I'll be sure to choose one or the other. Do you want my scarf or not, princess?"

Celeste's mouth falls open, eyes widening slightly. She clears her throat, looking straight ahead while her gloved hands wring closely together.

"I don't want anything from you," she blurts, chin high while her eyes scam the sky—as if she can even comprehend anything she's seeing.

I sigh softly, briefly closing my eyes before turning to look back out at the match. In all honesty, her response is nothing more than the expected. "Alright."

There's a brief quietude between us.

"But thank you," she says as Crabbe whacks the Bludger towards one of the Gryffindor Chasers, effectively knocking her off her path and sending the Quaffle spiraling downwards. Pucey catches it and begins racing it across the pitch.

I glance at her from the corner of my eye, and while the sugar quill dissolves in my mouth, I move my hands back up to my scarf to finish pulling it off. Celeste glances at me with a small frown, opening her mouth to say something. Before she can, though, I'm wrapping the cloth clumsily around her neck just above her own scarf, making close her eyes to avoid getting the fabric in there and shut her mouth for the same reason. She's stiff when I pull my hands away, smirking softly at how ridiculous she looks with two Slytherin scarves around her neck.

I turn away, my eyes flitting up to the high, outer edge of the pitch where the Seekers will be, waiting to catch that flint of gold. Potter and Carlier are on opposite sides of the pitch, both circling it slowly.

"I said I didn't w—"

"Don't mention it," I interrupt her, covertly buttoning my coat as high at it goes as my neck suddenly feels chilled.

She doesn't respond, and again we both fall silent while watching the match progress. I'm not sure what's taking Pansy so long with the hot chocolate, but Gryffindor's got a Quaffle in, tying the two teams, and she's still not back. I grimace slightly as the Gryffindor Chaser does a miniature victory lap, acting as though they've already won, before quickly returning her attention back to the match.

"You wish you were up there?"

I glance briefly at Pandora. She's not looking at me, though her face is tilted towards me while her green eyes follow the players.

Looking back up high into the sky where I can see the small green speck that's Carlier flying about rather aimlessly. "Yeah, I guess. I miss Seeking."

"It's a shame you're too busy for Quidditch," she says softly, and when I glance at her again, there's a red tinge on her cheeks. Her green eyes still don't look at me as she continues, "You probably would have caught the Snitch by now."

"Oh, please."

Both our heads snap to the left to see Celeste rolling her eyes and readjusting my scarf around her neck. She pauses briefly when she notices us staring, giving me a blank look. She then looks at Pandora beside me, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to the pitch.

I smirk lightly and turn back to face Pandora, my hand slipping inside my left sleeve to scratch lightly at my mark. The skin there has been fragile lately, right now especially since I took such a hot shower before coming out the castle for the match. I can imagine how red and raw my wrist must be from all the rubbing and scratching, but the itch never leaves. It's like it's all the way down to my bone, and the only way to stop it is to scratch until I reach it.

"You're right, I would have. Warrington is brilliant, but I don't know what he was thinking making Carlier the Seeker of all people," I say with a slight scoff, tilting my head back up to see him tailing Potter, though neither seem to have found the Snitch.

"You don't think he can do it?"

"Well, anyone's a better Seeker than Potter. Sure, he's caught it loads of times, but it's always been moments of sheer luck."

Pandora laughs softly, and Celeste sighs loudly in aggravation.

"He nearly swallowed it once, didn't he?"

"Yeah, shame he never choked on it. But, Carlier, Carlier just doesn't make any sense. Maybe as a Chaser. Yes, I could see him as a Chaser, but he doesn't have what it takes to be a Seeker," I say, squinting lightly as I lean back a little and run my gloved hand through my hair. "Doesn't have the build for it, you see. Seeker's are meant to be lean, not stocky. I find it hard to believe Warrington didn't have a better option."

"You know, you seem very awfully concerned about Maxon's body for a self-proclaimed straight guy," Celeste snaps abruptly, and once more Pandora and I turn to look at her.

My neck nearly snaps from how fast I do so.

"Excuse me?" I seethe with exceptional control, feeling my entire face flame up with a color worthy of the Gryffindor stands, my hands curling into slight fists. I feel Pandora's hand come up on my arm, giving it a slight squeeze.

"Yeah, I mean, you practically gave a whole speech on how strong, burly, and muscly Maxon is," her voice is scathing, sharp, lacking an amusement factor and instead dripping with malice. "Something you need to tell us? I mean, you even called yourself a skinny little twig in comparison. There's no need to be so self-deprecating, Malfoy, some girls—" Celeste's dark eyes briefly dart away, and I think they may be aiming those daggers at Pandora right behind me, "—are into that. I'm sure you'll find one some d—"

Celeste gasps softly when I grab the front of both the scarves she wears, tugging them in close so her face is inches from mine. Her breath, coming out of her mouth in clouds of condensation, is chilled by the air by the time it dusts my cheeks, and her dark eyes shine with something unreadable as they glance between mine. The tip of my nose brushes against hers, and I see her eyes threaten to flutter shut while my pulse thumps angrily and loudly.

"I think you know very well what my body is like," I whisper darkly, feeling her hand come up to wrap around my wrist, but she doesn't try to tug my hand away. "And I think you know very well how into it you are. Don't lie, Celeste," my voice comes out smooth, rich, making her breathing grow heavier, "not to save the reputation of your little Papillon."

Celeste's face stiffens. "Let me go."

"Gladly," I mutter, letting go of the scarves with a slight jostle so she jolts back. Turning back to face forward, I can sense Pandora looking at me, but she's quiet and doesn't say anything.

Pansy soon comes back holding a drink carrier, several cups of piping hot chocolate sitting in it. She thanks Pandora before taking her seat back, and Pandora seems like she couldn't be more grateful for an escape from the way she darts as quick as a Snitch back down next to Elvina.

"I brought us all hot chocolate! You can pay me back with endless, unconditional love, hugs, or you can do my Astronomy essay, up to you," Pansy chirps, leaning down to hand Elvina and Pandora a cup each.

I watch as she hands one to Verona and sits down, two cups left in her drink carrier.

"You didn't get one for yourself?" I ask, plucking one out of the carrier and passing it out Celeste without looking at her. I think she claws her nails against my hand on purpose while grabbing it.

"Oh, I did," she grins cheekily, grabbing the last cup before I can and taking a long, exaggerated sip from it, complete with lewd moans and sounds of approval. "Ah," she exhales, wiping a brown mustache on the oo of her lip with the back of her hand, "that hits good. Sadly, they didn't have enough left, so you two are gonna have to share. Have fun!"

"Wait—"

Pansy turns around promptly, leaning into Verona's side as the seventh year slings her arm around her shoulders, leaving me somewhat dumbfounded with a lack of hot chocolate in my hands.

Slowly, I turn to see Celeste already looking at me apprehensively. Her hot chocolate sits in her hand, looking relatively untouched as she glances between my eyes. She then clears her throat, other hand reach up to adjust the scarves as if she's suddenly too warm, and then she holds the hot chocolate out between us tentatively.

"I'm not sharing with you, so just take it," she says, the hot liquid nearly sloshing out of its container.

Rolling my eyes I turn back forward. "Absolutely not. Im not taking it."

"What? I'm offering it to you."

"If I hear you complain about being cold one more time, I might just throttle you," I say bitterly, hearing her gasp ask though scandalized, "so do us both a favor and drink it. I insist. Practically begging..."

"You're doing it again..." she mutters lowly, slouching slightly in her seat while raising her cup to her lips to take a tentative sip.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

I flash her a quick glance. Her lips are slightly pouty, twitching like they can decide whether to turn up or down. She takes a sip from her hot chocolate while I turn back to the pitch just in time to see both Seekers making a sudden dive, an excited murmur washing over the stands as we watch Carlier hot on Potter's tail.

"What's happening?" Celeste asks, a slight edge in her voice.

"Potter sees the Snitch," I say, leaning forward with a frown, "and Carlier's right behind him."

Potter turns his broom up right when he's about to touch ground, and for a moment I think Carlier is about to plummet straight into the earth—I can't decide whether that visual would make up for the Slytherin loss—but his reflexes kick in and he's zooming up after Potter, catching up rather quickly.

"And now?" her voice is mildly anxious as people shout out in excitement and in dismay.

"Nearly crashed into the ground. You need glasses."

"Shut up."

"I'm not your personal commentator, Celeste, there's an actual commentator."

"Yes, well, Zacharias Smith doesn't speak nearly loud enough, for all I know he's reading us the ingredients on the back of his shampoo bottle," she huffs, looking like an indignant child from the way her eyes are so angry above the rim of her cup of hot chocolate. She pulls the cup down, and I decide not to tell her she's got a mustache just out of spite.

"Fine, then—"

Someone shouts loudly out of excitement, making me jolt and quickly look back out at the pitch. Carlier and Potter seem to be neck to neck now, darting this way and that in pursuit of the Snitch, but I realize quickly that this isn't what's spurred more excitement. No, instead it's one of the Gryffindor Beaters—Jimmy Peakes, a fourth year with a crooked jaw and overly gelled hair—flying at full speed with clear intent to collide. When he does collide, there's uproar.

My pulse jumps as Pansy shrieks softly, her hand clutching my arm. I can hear Celeste asking what's happening, her voice soft and confused amidst the more panicked shouts that cover up Smith's commentary. I reach out to find her wrist, giving it a quick squeeze, and then I pull her up to stand with Pansy and I so we can make our way down to the pitch where Blaise lays, his arm bent painfully.

—

"A FOUL!"

"I know, Warrington," I deadpan.

"A CLEAR, BLOODY FOUL!"

"I saw."

"I mean, what was the point?! Bloody idiot, that Peakes, going for the Keeper when there wasn't even a Chaser in Blaise's vicinity. Maxon was about to get the Snitch, but he pulls a foul on OUR KEEPER?!"

"Mr. Warrington!" Madam Pomfrey's sharp voice cuts through the air, and we turn our heads to see her bustling out of her office, a tray in her hands. "You're in the Hospital Wing! Keep your voice down!"

"My apologies, Madam Pomfrey, but I cannot! It's an outrage! Peakes ought to be the one in here, perhaps with a bloody eye and a fractured nose to pair with the broken arm that should be his!"

"Mr. Peakes is receiving a full month of detention, Mr. Warrington, surely that's punishment enough. Now, if you could end your incessant screaming and perhaps give me some space, I'll get to healing your Keeper."

Warrington's face, already pink and splotchy from all the yelling and playing Quidditch, turns bright red at those words. "Right, my Keeper, my Keeper..." he murmurs under his breath, neck turning just as flushed as he runs a ragged hand through his black hair, eyes darting around the room. He then steps away from Blaise's cot, throwing a terse nod to the rest of the team seated in the cot beside it.

"You'd rather your Seeker on that cot than your Keeper, Warrington?" Carlier asks lightheartedly, leaning back against the pillows on the cot leisurely. I lean sideways against the wall beside it, glaring at the side of his head before dragging my gaze up to Cassius Warrington.

"Right, my bad, Max, just feeling a bit..."

"Impassioned?" Adrian Pucey supplies with a wicked grin.

"Emotional?" Urquhart guffaws like a second year boy.

"Like a bereaved widow?" Carlier exhales lithely, and the slight smile that had been forming on my face drops.

"Quiet, all of you," Warrington snaps, cheeks fully red now as he ducks his head over his shoulder to glance back at Blaise, "or I'll put you all in your own cots, and it'll be for worse than some broken limbs."

Snorting lightly, I walk around the cot the Quidditch team is sat on to the one Blaise lays on, coming around to the opposite side where Pansy and Celeste both are. Pansy is kneeling, her arms on the cot and head resting tiredly on her arms, whereas Celeste looks like she doesn't want to be anywhere near it. She's backed away to sit on the cot to Blaise's left, knuckles white from how tightly she grips the edge of it. I flash her a frown, but her eyes are dazed.

"Hey," Pansy says, picking her head up when I pull up a chair, gesturing for her to sit in it. She grabs my offered hand and allows me to pull her to her feet, giving my fingers a tight squeeze before dropping down into the chair.

"His first game, and he's already got a concussion and a broken arm," I murmur, leaning against his side table. A dry smirk lights my face. "I'd say he's a real player now."

"Merlin, don't joke," Pansy groans, but there's a laugh in her voice as she rubs her eyes. "You go to hell for shit like that."

"Yeah? I'll see you there."

Pansy gives me a light slap on my arm. I just roll my eyes at her before briefly glancing over at Celeste behind us. Before I can even ask, Pansy's whispering softly.

"I think she's just a little freaked out," she whispers, gesturing for me to look away.

"Right..." I murmur, looking back down at Blaise.

He's not unconscious, but he might as well be, eyes heavy and falling shut before snapping open like he's fighting this continuous battle against sleep. Honestly, most of it is because of that syrupy stuff Madam Pomfrey gave him. He was talking before—granted, he thought he was in Diagonal Alley shopping for ink, and he didn't have any recollection of being a Quidditch Keeper—but after she fed him that stuff to keep him from getting up and out of the cot every other minute, he's been dormant. His arm is already bandaged up, and based in the look on his face, that orange stuff Madam Pomfrey is feeding him doesn't taste too great.

"Does he have any allergies?" Pomfrey asks, briefly glancing up at the three of us before specifically narrowing her eyes on Celeste. "I'll pull his file out in a moment, but it's a pain. Filch created a new organizational system, and it is not alphabetical."

"Allergies?" Celeste echoes, and my head turns to look at her. She looks small, shoulders slumped and face slightly pale. "I don't... know, actually."

"No allergies," Pansy says quickly.

"Alright. And no health issues I should know about?"

"Um..." Celeste's voice wavers, and her fingernails dig into the edge of the cot. "I—Sorry, I don't really... I don't really know.... Oh, he takes a potion for anemia," she flashes her eyes over to Madam Pomfrey, bright and slight with anticipation. "Does that help?"

Pomfrey smiles almost sympathetically. "Thank you, dear."

Celeste recedes into herself. She's still wearing both scarves, most of her hair trapped inside mine, but some of it has fallen out to cover the sides of her face. She then clears her throat and stands up abruptly, fingers trembling lightly, and mutters a low excuse before striding across the Hospital Wing and out the doors in a rush.

Pansy and I exchange quick glances, and with a silent conversation held strictly through our eyes, Pansy gets up to sit at the edge of Blaise's cot and I get up to follow after Celeste.

Some of the team pick their heads up to look at me, but I ignore them as I step out into the hallway, glancing left to find it empty, and then glancing right to see Celeste sitting on the floor, her knees bent to her chest, her face buried in her gloved palms, and her frame shaking with what look like sobs. Something like horror crossing my face, I quickly drop down beside her, hands gripping her shoulders.

"Celeste—"

She interrupts me with a muffled sound, and it takes me a moment to realize she isn't crying, she's laughing.

"Celeste?"

She picks her face out of her hands, looking at the opposite wall in the hallway with a slightly blank gaze. Her eyes are covered in a thin, watery sheen, a little red from the few tears that managed to slip and got smeared right under her eyes by her hands. She sniffs softly, roughly pushing her hair out of her face, and Im surprised when I see the tips of her ears almost red.

"Careful," I murmur, untangling her fingers from her curls when they get stuck and she starts pulling at it, making frustrated noises. "You don't want to... break them..."

Celeste snorts slightly, crossing her arms over her knees and shaking her head. She glances at my briefly, looking at my mouth, nose, and forehead, anywhere but my eyes, and the. she drops her forehead onto her arms.

"I'm being stupid," her voice is watery. "You can go."

"You're not stupid."

"I didn't say I was stupid," she sounds like she's trying to snap, but it's not effective when she hiccups right after. "I said I'm being stupid. There's a diff—" She interrupts herself with another hiccup. "Difference."

"Fine. You're not being stupid either."

"Didn't you hear me? You can go. I'm sure you have better things to do than babysit."

"I'm fine right here."

"Shut up."

"It's true, I am. The stones in this wall are rather cushiony, don't you think? Perhaps they've done some refurbishing," I say dryly, bending my knees and letting my forearms hang on them while scanning the way her hair falls like a curtain to cover the side of her face. "I can't imagine sitting anywhere else."

"You're so annoying."

"Mhm."

"They're an endangered species!"

I pause, unsure if I've heard her right. "What, the Golden Snidget? You're not wrong, but I don't see how that's relevant."

"Zabini men."

I freeze again, squinting slightly at the girl that's now trembling. She pulls herself tighter together, thighs practically flush to her chest, arms slipping down to tightly hug her knees, and face pushed against the fabric of her pants. Her knuckles turn white with how tightly they clutch her pants.

"Zabini men are... an endangered species," I say slowly with a slight nod, eyes drifting off. I've heard her correctly, haven't I?

"Well, they drop like flies, don't they?"

"I—"

"I'm not wrong, okay?"

"I mean—I'm not saying you are wrong, but I'm not sure if that comparison is very... tasteful."

"Oh, fuck tasteful," her muffled voice becomes suddenly clear as she picks her head back up to look at me with a deep scowl, trembling lips, and silent tears that drip from her eyes with every blink. "Fuck—Fuck you and your tastefulness. It's true."

Her voice is slightly affected the way it becomes whenever she's worked up for one reason or another. It's a blend of all the languages she knows, a myriad of all the people she's been and met across the world. Her short "I"s start becoming "ee"s, a hint to the French she practices so fluently with Carlier and once with me. The "U" in her "tastefulness" sounds more like an "oo," an endearing quality that makes my lips twitch with the desire to turn up in the most inappropriate situation possible. There's something else too, perhaps something from another language she knows, and it makes me wonder how hard exactly she works to suppress these little quirks in her voice.

"I mean, first Blaise's father dies in that accident," she sniffs softly, rubbing aggressively at her nose with the back of her palm while tears get caught in her lashes. "And then—And then—" She makes an odd noise at the back of her throat, something close to a whimper.

I hesitate softly, unsure what I'm supposed to say, unsure what i'm supposed to do, unsure why I'm the one out here and not Pansy. I lift a hand and bring it to her shoulders, choosing to ignore the light flinch she gives before relaxing slightly while my hand slides to the center of her back. She's still in her coat, gloves, my scarf and hers.

"Well, the Zabini family is highly lacking in father figures right now," she sniffs harshly, hands once again aggressively tucking her hair behind her ears, making me wince as I watch her split a tightly coiled curl. "Very much lacking. Even the new ones Aunt Col brings in are gone in less than a year. You know her most recent one? The guy from Japan? His funeral is next week."

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, apprehensively digging my thumb into the muscle under her shoulder. That should feel good, shouldn't it? If I work her knots?

She hums softly, but it turns quickly into a frustrated noise while her forehead comes to rest on the heels of her palm. Her body is trembling again, and when it comes a great shake, this time, it's most definitely from a sob and not a laugh.

"I know—I know I'm being stupid, because Blaise's pathetic little ass is sitting in there with a minor concussion and—and, like, two fractures in his arm, and he's not dead or even remotely close to it, but—"

She makes a choked noise, and despite how tightly her eyes squeeze shut, little drops slip past the bounds and collect in her lower lashes.

"Should I shut up? Sorry, I—I don't mean to, like, unload on you—"

"Don't be ridiculous," I mutter softly, my left hand reaching up to gently pry her wrists away from her face.

She picks her head up to glance at me with mild confusion, and then her dark, glistening eyes drop to watch as I gently pull her gloves off her hands. I tuck them away into the pocket of my own unbuttoned coat before cupping her hands between mine, squeezing them tightly. Her hands curl into fists, but they don't pull from my grasp.

"We're not exactly on great terms right now," she says lowly, voice slightly hoarse.

"Then our terrible terms can wait. Cry all you want, Celeste. I'll still make fun of you later, just not for this."

"I'm not about to cry to you."

"You've already done some of it," I point out, and then stony eyes glare at me harshly. "Fine," I sigh softly, shoulders dropping, "I'll get you Pans—"

"Don't," she blurts, hands tightening inside mine.

I quirk a brow. "Don't?"

She shakes her head, curls springing against her cheeks.

"Why not?"

"She deals enough with my bullshit. Besides, if I cry to her now, she's gonna expect that to become a regular thing. Y'know, me coming to her for help, and that can't happen."

"Oh..." I clear my throat, squeezing my palms together around here. "Then..." Merlin, it hurts me to say this. "I'll fetch you Carlier. If you want."

Celeste inhales slowly, a tear dropping straight down to her jaw, and then shakes her head again. "No, he..."

My pulse picks up. "No?"

"He... no."

She doesn't want him? "Is there anyone else?"

Celeste shakes her head. "Nobody else." And then she snorts—a great, undignified, rather admirable snort, breaking out into a fit of tear-filled laughter, her cheeks glistening now with tears and her eyelashes clumped together. "Oh, for Salazar's sake, I have—Nobody!"

My heart stops beating for a second. The hallway briefly becomes a swirling blur, like we're Apparating or taking a Port-Key. The only thing I can see clearly is Celeste herself, her head tilted down in shame, embarrassment, misery rather than tilted up with that haughtiness she always seems to possess. And then I blink, and it's back to normal.

"That's not true," I say in a hollow voice, because if Celeste has nobody, then who do I have?

"You said it yourself, Malfoy, don't you remember?" she responds bitterly, her voice starting to waver. When she speaks again, it's in a higher pitched warble, her dam threatening to crack and release an onslaught of tears. "You said—You said—"

"Please—"

"No, you said—you said nobody's saving me, and you said nobody's gonna take any care of me, and you—"

Celeste's voice breaks with a heart wrenching whimper, tears gliding over her cheekbones, dripping off her jaw or even slipping past her plump lips. One of my hands moves to hers to brush them away, my own fingers trembling just as hard as hers do. She flinches and tightly closes her eyes when I touch her, but when my hand pulls away an inch, she leans in with it.

"You said," she whispers, voice shaking violently and with it my world, "nobody wants me for anything more than my body. You don't, Malfoy. You don't want anything else from me but a focused mind so you can complete the task and just a body to fuck. So go, please."

"I won't."

"Leave."

"I don't want to," my voice shakes slightly.

Her hands pull away to wipe her tears, the skin around her eyes turning red from how harshly she rubs at them. My pulse thuds harshly, heart thumping loudly in my chest, and I stroke her hair behind her ears in a repeated fashion, letting my thumbs pick up the occasional stray tear.

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry."

"Stop it," she whispers, face screwing up tightly.

"No, I need to say—"

"But I don't want to h—" Her voice breaks into a whimper, brows furrowing with the effort to swallow back a series of sobs. "I don't want to hear it right now, please."

"I didn't mean any of—"

"But you said it, okay?" she snaps abruptly, reddened eyes widening to pin me where I sit right beside her. My hands pause, cupping her hair against her neck. "You said it. And I know—I know I'm not supposed to care, I know I'm supposed to be some—" She stops and then drops her voice. "I know I'm supposed to be an Occlumens, I know I'm not supposed to care what anyone thinks of me at all, I know it's not supposed to bother me, but it does! And it did. Okay? I know—I know that's weak or pathetic or whatever else you want to call it, but..." She makes another muffled whimper, stony eyes lowering. "But what you said did h-hurt me, and the fact that it was you that said it hurt even worse."

There's a silence. It's deafening, mind-numbing. It's like a ringing in the back of my head, and there's nothing but the way Celeste's lowered eyes occasionally blink. The release a single tear with each open and shut. Her lips tremble too, sometimes pressing together to control it.

"One of these days," I start quietly, my body shaking slightly, "I'm going to apologize and you are going to listen. And if you don't want to, I'll make you. But fine. Not today."

"If I let myself cry to you, it doesn't change anything."

"Of course not."

"I don't—I won't hate you any less."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"And I won't be any closer to forgiving you."

"Why would you be?"

She looks at me dubiously, eyes dry for a moment and no longer spilling over. They glance between my eyes, and the longer they do, the quicker the tears begin pooling up until they shake with every turn of her eyes, and then her lips press together to unsuccessfully muffle the sob that crawls up her neck.

We move at the same time. I'm not sure what's happening in her mind, and I could probably use my Legilimency to see and help her, but my mind is hardly functioning. It's hardly thinking. It lets my body take the reigns, let's it move on its own to grab her arms and pull her closer. She moves with me, shifting so her legs are curled up under her, and then her arms are wrapping around the back of my neck. I let my legs flatten out, pulling her closer until her cheek is pressed to my shoulder, bent knees leaning against my thighs.

"It's... It's okay," I murmur hesitantly, hoping she can't feel how fast my heart is thundering. It races as if I'm still on the team, as if I'm a Seeker currently out on the pitch. It races as if it is a Seeker, and it's Snitch is the pace of her own heart, and all it wants is to pump to the same rhythm.

"I don't—" Her voice cracks, and she turns her head so her face can bury in my neck.

I inhale sharply at the feeling of her tears pressing to my skin, warm and slightly sticky. Her lips briefly brush against my pulse while I tentatively wrap my arms tightly around her middle, gripping the back of her coat tightly.

A year ago, I wouldn't imagine I'd ever be here. I wouldn't have thought I'd be sitting in the middle of holding a crying Celeste that absolutely hated me and had every reason to feel that way. I wouldn't imagine that my father would be in Azkaban, that my skin would be tattooed with the Dark Mark, that a piece of the Dark Lord's soul is forever intertwined with mine. It's a whispering voice at the back of my head sometimes. Not a real voice, but an urge, an itch, a need to destroy everything in my wake, even the girl in my arms.

"He's okay, Cel," I let my eyes close, my head falling back to lean against the wall.

One of her hands slips down from the back of my neck to slide inside my open coat, fisting the material of my coat.

"You won't lose Blaise. I promise you won't."

"But I—What if I will?" her voice shakes. "I always end up losing them, anyone that's ever mattered. I lost—I lost him, and he was..." Celeste sobs softly, and more tears stream down her face. I make a mental note to get her water as soon as I can, because at this rate, she'll dehydrate herself. "He was everything, Draco, he was everything to me," she whispers, and I almost don't notice my name.

I squeeze her back, pulling her closer if that's even possible. I can feel her each and every shaky breath on my neck, cold as they wash against her smeared tears there.

"I could tell," I say softly, my eyes closed so tight that little shapes start swimming in the dark.

"He was my best friend," she sniffs. "I know that's pretty lame, but when you move so often... He was... He understood me," her voice wobbles slightly, and her hand in my coat roams, soaking the warm from my side. "I want—I want him back, I—" Celeste cuts herself off, silent while her body trembles like it's about to implode. It doesn't matter how tight I hold her, it doesn't stop. "I want him b-back, I want him—" She gasps for breath, "—back, I just—" She sobs, pressing her face deep into my neck, "him b—" She whimpers, "back..."

My eyes squeeze tighter still as they begin pricking with pain. Her voice is haunting, the way it's so broken, the way she sounds like she's been waiting months for the chance to break like this. And she's wearing my scarf. She's still wearing my scarf.

"I wish there was a way I could see him again," she sniffles. "He'd know, he would kn—know, he'd know what to d-do and how to fix every—everything," Celeste's voice wavers with a soft weep. "He'd fix it, I know he could... He would know what to—what to do about the r-runes and my locket and Mum and the t-task," she mumbles, her voice garbled like she's choking on her own tears, making not much sense.

"What do you mean?" I murmur.

"Never mind..." her voice shakes, and then she falls back into the bottomless pit of stifled cried, wracking sobs, and streaming tears.

I hold her a little while longer, arms tightening with every shake of her frame. Eventually, my eyes open and head lifts from the wall. She burrows her face deeper into my neck, inhaling deeply as if to take in my scent, while my face turns into the side of her head. I bury my nose in her curls, inhaling the bitter blackberry that's become to me her smell and strictly her smell only.

"I got scared," she whispers after a little while. "He fell, Peakes collided with him, and he fell. And I was scared I would lose another..."

"Celeste," I whisper softly.

"Mm?"

I hesitate softly, and then I say reluctantly, "We should move."

She's quiet, and when she speaks, her voice makes me want to scoop her up and hide her away from the rest of the world. "Why?"

"I don't think you want people to see you when they walk out of the Hospital Wing... Unless you don't mind."

"Oh... Do you mind?"

I pause. "I don't."

Her fingers trail down my side, and then they pull out of my coat. "I don't want anyone to see me like this," she sniffs softly, and then laughs shakily, "as if they didn't hear me sobbing like an idiot already, oh, my Merlin." She then sniffs and pulls away from me, hair falling all over her tear stained face.

I get up with a slight groan, my back aching tremendously. She glances up when I reach down with my hand out, and after a moment of hesitation, she slips her palm against mine. It's cooler, smaller, and softer, yet her grip on me is strong as I pull her up to her feet.

"Thank you," she mumbles under her breath, still hiccuping softly though she holds them back so that they just shake her frame. Celeste leans back against the wall, free hand splaying across her thigh.

"It's fine..." I trail off, letting go of her head to drag mine repeatedly through my hair. I glance away from her trembling arms, clearing my throat before asking, "Should I walk you? To the dorms?"

"I'm not the one that fell off a broom, Malfoy, I can walk."

"Right, no, of course."

"Nor do I think I'll have a breakdown on my way there."

"I didn't mean to imply that."

She hesitates, glancing away. "Some company would be... appreciated, however."

Our eyes lock for three tense seconds, and then we both glance away while a light flame licks at my face. I wait for the warmth to pass before looking back at her, pretending not to notice how she uses one of the scarves on her neck to dry her face before pushing off the wall. Celeste stumbled slightly, so instantly I step in to grab onto her arm. 

"Celeste?"

Our heads turn to see Carlier stepping out of the Hospital Wing and into the hallway. His hair is still wet from changing and showering after losing the game to Potter.

Carlier's eyes scan us. They first settle on me, darkening slightly while raking up and down her face. They then roam over to Celeste, softening at her reddened eyes and the light glisten under her eyes, and then they finally flash down to where my hand clutched her arm and harden.

"Let go of her," he says, stepping forward instantly.

"Excuse me?" I scoff out instantly.

"Let go of her. I don't know what you have said to her, but you should get out of here now."

"Who do you think you are?" I ask lowly, letting go of Celeste's arm to step in front of her, though her hand reaches out to clutch the back of my coat and tug lightly as if to pull me back.

"Malfoy..." There's a warning edge in her voice.

"What did you do to her?" Carlier steps forward still, his hand in his pocket turning into a tight fist.

My neck burns with the intensity of the rage surging through my veins, swarming my body. My hands twitch at my side with the urge to tighten around his neck, but they stay still at my side. "Go back into the Hospital Wing, Carlier."

He opens his mouth as if he wants to cut back with a sharp retort, but then his eyes slide over to Celeste behind me. She's still tugging on my coat, but I don't budge as I watch Carlier's features soften slightly.

"Vient avec moi, Céleste [Come with me, Celeste]," he says, taking yet another step forward, concern etched all over his features while his long, wet brown strands fall in his face. "Qu'est ce qu'il t'as dit [What did he say to you]?"

I hear Celeste sniff harshly behind me, as if to get rid of the last hints of the meltdown she had moments ago, and then she steps forward to just in front of me.

"Calme toi, Maxon [Calm down, Maxon]," her voice is slightly hoarse and groggy, so she clears her throat while rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes, "Il n'a rien fait [He didn't do anything]."

I glance at her, drinking in her messed up curls, her bright eyes and damp lashes, and her face that looks worn from all the rubbing. She glances at me from the corner of her eyes and looks away instantly, giving her throat another thick clear before straightening up, chin tilting up.

"Tu n'as pas besoin de le défendre juste parce qu'il est aussi ami avec les tiens [You don't have to defend him just because he's friends with your friends]," Carlier's voice is sharp and threatening, and though the words are for her, the malice in them and in his eyes are directed right at me. I respond with nothing but a dry smirk, hands curling up into fists. "Il n'en vaut pas la peine, et il ne se mesure certainement pas à toi [He's not worth it, and he's definitely not worth you]."

"Maxon..." Celeste sighs softly, her hands starting to tremble again as the raggedly brush her hair back, fingers tangling with curls and haplessly breaking them apart. "Je suis correcte, d'accord [I'm fine, alright]?Go back in there. You too, Malfoy, I'd like to go back to the dorms alone now."

I flash her a look, but she doesn't look at me. "You said that—"

"I'm saying I want to be alone now. You can respect that much, can't you?"

"Vient, Celeste [Come, Celeste]," Carlier says, closing the space between the two of them to take her hand in his. She lets him, her eyes closing and a heavy exhale escaping her nostrils, "Ne le laisse pas ruiner ta bonne humeur [Don't let him ruin your mood]."

"I don't know if you heard her, but I think she said she wants to be left alone," I scoff lowly, hands shoving into my pockets while I lean back against the wall, watching with sharp eyes how Carlier's thumb brushes over her knuckles.

Carlier laughs dryly, eyes flashing to Celeste's. "Est-ce que tu l'entend? Putain pour qui il se prend? J'aurais du venir ici plus tôt. Aller vient, on va aller te chercher du café ou quelque chose. J'ai envie de te remonter le moral [Are you hearing this guy? Who the fuck does he think he is? I should've come out here sooner. Come on, let's go get you some coffee or something. I want to cheer you up]."

"Vraiment, Maxie, je suis correcte, mais merci [Really, Maxie, I'm fine, but thank you]," Celeste says, shooting me a wary glance over her shoulder, something like a warning in her eyes.

"That doesn't look like you leaving her alone," I point out bitterly, glancing between their intertwined hands and Carlier's brown eyes. "Can't follow simple instructions, can you? It's no wonder Potter got the Snitch before you."

"Merlin, il est audacieux, oser me parler sur se ton [Merlin, he's audacious talking to me like that]," Carlier mutters bitterly, scathing eyes scanning me while I smirk lightly.

"Laisse faire [Leave it]," she responds sharply, slightly widened eyes stuck on me. Maybe I imagine it, or maybe she gives me the most imperceptible shake of her head.

"Il est stupide, Céleste. Il est Aussi pire que son père qui pourri à Askaban. Mes parents savent des choses, tu sais, et parfois il m'en parle. On dit simplement qu'ils prévoient une place dans la cellule de son père pour lui. [He's an idiot, Celeste. He's just as bad as that father of his rotting in Azkaban. My parents know things, you know, and sometimes they tell me. Let's just say they ought to clear a space in his daddy's cell for him]."

I push off the wall with their words, the silent thrum of rage that pounded in a more controlled manner now overwhelming it. It bombards my each senses until my vision starts blurring with a tint of red, and with how hot my neck burns, I wouldn't be surprised if my skin was turning a similar shade.

"Maxon," Celeste's voice is curt. "J'ai dit de laisser tomber. Et laisse moi tranquilles. Je n'est pas besoin de toi pour me garder comme un enfant [I said to leave it. And leave me. I don't need you babysitting me]."

"Je ne te laisse pas seule avec un putain de criminel. Je me fous si je te tape sur les nerfs. Se furet est aussi pire que son père, he fait simplement te le dire, Cel [I'm not leaving you alone with a fucking criminal. I don't care if you get annoyed at me for it. This ferret is just as bad as his father, I'm telling you, Cel]—"

Honestly, I have no recollection of having a thought before the action. My body knows what to do without having my brain directing its choreography, and so my dominant arm rises up all on its own, and my tightly clenched fist swings forward with the power of half my body weight to collide with this stupid, stupid French boy's nose with a crack that makes Celeste gasp.

There's a brief lull where he groans out in surprise and in pain, stumbling backwards while cupping his nose in his palm and looking up at me with fiery eyes. I don't move backwards, but I curse silently and shake out my slightly aching fist, panting softly while Celeste stands with her jaw dropped a little ways to my right.

"T'es mort [You're dead]," he snarls, and then he's lunging towards me, grunting softly as his fist comes swinging at me. I dodge it narrowly, though his hand brushes against my ear.

"Ah, oui? On a voir [Yeah? We'll see about that]," I snap back, and Maxon's eyes go wide in shock at the words. I take advantage of this, and this time, when my fist collides with his jaw, it takes him down to the floor.

"Draco!" Celeste snaps, tugging on the sleeve of my coat to pull me back. "Stop that, now!"

I wrench my arm out of her grip. Her voice is hardly a muffled noise in my ear while I step forward, kicking deep into Carlier's gut as he moves to get back up, sending him back down to the floor with a heavy grunt. I kick him again—once, twice. Celeste's hand clamps down on my shoulder, nails digging in even through the material of my coat, prompting me to turn around.

"What?" I spit, my hands trembling, one knuckle bleeding just slightly—or perhaps that's his blood on my hand.

Her eyes are wide, and then they narrow so suddenly at me. She opens her mouth as if to scold me, berate me, but then another hand grabs my other shoulder and forced me to turn around. I whip around quickly, just in time to see his brown fist coming straight for me.

It collides with my cheek, and instantly I can tell it's broken skin. I curse sharply, stumbling away and nearly falling into Celeste, blood filling my mouth from where my teeth have pierced the inside of my cheek. My cheekbone stinging, my tastebuds overwhelmed with iron, and my eyesight fuzzy with red rage, I pant and look back up to see Carlier watching me warily, shaking his wrist out.

"Don't either of you dare hit the other again, or I swear to Circe I'll—!"

Celeste's threat dies out as Carlier and I lunge towards each other at the same time. Carlier's hands grip my shoulders and force me up against the wall, and I grunt as his knee collides with my stomach.

Another pair of hands comes up from behind him to wrench him away, and I'm vaguely aware of Warrington pulling him back with Pucey and Goyle close behind him. Carlier stumbles backwards as Warrington shoves him away, and I make quick work swinging at him again, no particular aim in mind. I get his ribs, he knocks the side of my head with my elbow, and there are hands grabbing at both of us in an attempt to pull us apart.

The hands don't work. What does work, however, is the sudden surge of energy that quite literally blasts us apart.

My vision turns white for a second as I fly backwards and hit the wall behind me, slumping down to the floor. It clears in a few seconds, and I realize I'm in a jumbled mess of limbs. Pucey and Goyle, who were trying to hold me back, are on top of me. Apparently I've cushioned their blow.

Across from me, Warrington and Carlier are in a similar state, a small trickle of blood escaping the latter's hairline. That's likely from my fists, though, and I manage a lopsided smirk at the thought.

In the hallway between us is a small, steaming crater in the stone floor. I hear the click of shoes on the floor, and then Celeste is standing between us, one hand at her hip and the other tightly gripping her wand at her side.

My head hurts.

"On your feet. Now."

My eyes flutter shut, and I think I might just fall asleep right here, but Goyle and Pucey grab hold of my arms and force me up. How they aren't so disoriented, I don't know. They bring me up to my feet and let me go while I stumble back to lean against the wall, head spinning.

"Sorry 'bout that, you three."

"All good, Zabini," I vaguely register Warrington wince. "I'll know not to get on your bad side for the future..."

She exhaled humorously, but she doesn't sound even slightly amused. "Open your eyes, Malfoy. You too, Maxon. Stand up straight and look at me, or I swear to Morgana I'll have you throwing up slugs for the next week," she snaps, voice wavering slightly on certain words.

Slowly, I manage to open my eyes, my cheekbone stinging and the inside of my cheek aching as blood continues inundating my mouth. Celeste stands with her feet on either side of the small crater, back straight and chin turned up.

Her body faces neither me nor Carlier, but her head is turned to look at him. When it snaps to look at me, the dizziness plaguing me instantly clears. Her eyes are stony, fierce, and they look absolutely fed up even though they're still tinged red.

"Hi," I say, all the air leaving my lungs with a great gust.

She squints at me and shakes her head. Slowly, I push away from the wall, stumbling towards her while Carlier does the same across from me. It's when we're both within a foot of her that she grabs us—grabs me by the front of my coat, grabs him by his tie—and tugs us to force us close and down to her.

Carlier grunts, choking softly as she twists his tie, while I just groan softly at the way the quick motion makes my head spin. It's okay, though, because being this close to her, I can smell the blackberry products she uses in her hair, the walnut vanilla body wash she once told me she shower with.

"You two," she says in a low, agitated voice, "are the biggest imbeciles I have ever met!"

"Mes oreilles bourdonne [My ears are ringing]," Carlier mumbles, his hand reaching up to grind his palm against his ear.

"Good!"

I snort softly, and then she snaps her head towards me to give me a sharp, scathing glare that makes me clear my throat and glance away briefly. When I look back at her, her dark eyes are scanning my face, and my eyes settle on her soft lips. She has both of our heads inches from hers, and it would be so easy to just lean down and...

"I do not want to see either of you fighting again, especially not with each other. Are we clear?"

Her lips look so tempting moving like that. Her lipstick is smudged from all the aggressive wiping of her tears away, so there's dark plum stains at the corner of her mouth and even dragging down to her chin, but I think I actually like how it looks.

"Malfoy!"

My head shakes. I blink blankly. "Huh?"

"Did you hear what I said?" her voice is low, so pretty and low. Pretty, pretty, pretty.

"What?" I blink slowly.

"Merlin, Zabini, I already have one concussed player. Did you really have to make that number three?" Warrington groans from off to the side.

"Quiet, Cassius, or that number will go up one."

"Right, sorry."

"I said," she then directs to me, "you better not get in a fight with Maxon again, or I'll blast your fucking balls off, got it?" she seethes, leaning in towards me until the tip of her nose is inches from mine, a fiery blaze in her eyes.

"Why?" I exhale softly, a lopsided smile finding my lips. "Is it because I'm better than that?"

"No, dumbass," she scoffs incredulously, twisting her hand around Carlier's tie and abruptly tugging on it tighter when he starts humming absentmindedly, eyes a little dazed. "Merlin, in fact, I say you're below it rather than above it. But you are smarter than that."

"Qu'est ce qu'il y as à propos de moi [What about me]?" Carlier laughs softly, his hand lazily twirling one of her curls. "Est ce que je suis au dessus de ça [Am I above it]?"

"Honestly? Yes, so it surprised me that you'd engage in something as foolish as a fistfight, Maxon! I ought to write home to your mother, or better yet your sister!"

Carlier's face drops. "S'il te plaît ne fait pas ca [Please don't do that]."

Celeste scoffs. "Don't worry, I'm sure it's my mother who will be charged for the property damage here, no thanks to you two utter buffoons. Apologize!"

"Désolé, Céleste [Sorry, Celeste]."

"I'm sorry, Celeste," I whisper at the same time as Carlier's mumbled apology, and I see Celeste's features soften for just a fraction of a moment. She scans my face, eyes lingering on my no doubt bleeding and bruised cheekbone. Her hand slides up from my coat, briefly gliding over my throat, and then it holds my jaw. Her touch is gentle at first, but then she harshly squeezes her fingers and forced me closer still while I groan in pain.

"To each other, you halfwitted ignoramuses!"

"Je ne veut pas [I don't want to]," Carlier scowls.

"I'm not apologizing to him," I agree, my neck and backing hurting form how much I have to bend to reach her height level. "He's an asshole, and bloody id—idiot," I stumble over my words, finding them hard to lace together when usually I have a bit of a silver tongue, "y'know, 'specially cause it took him this long to realize I know how to speak France!"

"French," Gould's distant voice pipes up.

"French, right."

"If you don't apologize to him right now, Malfoy, I promise you'll regret it," Celeste's voice turns raspy and low, and I wonder what it would sound like whispered in my ear. "Merlin, I can't even get a good cry in without you two blockheads ruining it for me. Apologize, now."

"D'accord [Fine]," Carlier huffs, letting go of her curls to cross his arms while hunched over. "Je m'excuse. Est ce assez? Je pense que je vais vomir [I'm sorry. Is that enough? I think I'm gonna throw up]," he then laughs lazily. "Ark [Ew]."

"Good boy, Maxon," Celeste's voice drips with sarcasm.

My stomach turns at this, and a great scowl finds my face. I don't think she should call anyone else that, it feels a little unfair. A bit unbalanced, I lean forward closer, making her gasp and jolt when she turns her head back to see me so close to her. Her hand on my jaw tightens, and then her expression turns stern.

"Apologize, Malfoy."

I don't know what to do.

On one hand, I don't see why I should apologize. Carlier was being an idiot, not leaving her alone and saying all those things. On the other hand, she might call me a good boy.

"I..."

I huff softly, my eyes darting up to where Carlier is busy plucking bits of the floor out of his robes. And then My eyes wander to Celeste face. It's so stern, so angry and upset. Her eyes are all red, and there are smeared, dried tears on her cheeks, and her lips look like they would taste good. Pretty, she's pretty. What did she ask me to do?

"I forget what I was gonna say," I say blankly, hearing a snort from behind me.

"Quiet, Adrian. You were going to apologize."

"I was?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"Apologize, Malfoy," Celeste all but growls, tugging my face down until the tip of my nose presses against hers. She then swallows thickly and turns her head straight forward, tapping her foot impatiently.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank y—"

"I'm sorry your face is so ugly, your mother cried when she saw what she gave birth t—"

A stinging sensation spreads across my left cheek, the same side that the bruise on my cheekbone is. I gasp softly, head turned to the side and lips turning down as it slowly registers that Celeste has slapped me. Why'd she slap me? I apologized.

"Ow," I frown, picking my head back up to see her glaring furiously. "That was mean."

Behind her, Carlier chuckles hoarsely. "Oh sa c'était drôle. Fait le encore, Cel [That was funny. Do it again, Cel]—"

She whips around, letting go of my jaw in process, and promptly gives Carlier a nice whack across his face as well. It makes him cut his words off with a slight groan. Her slaps aren't very hard, holding just enough power to turn our heads and maybe tingle for a moment. I wonder if it's because she doesn't know how to slap, or because she doesn't want to do it too hard.

"You two will be the death of me," she snarls, letting go of both of us now to push her hair back in an aggravated manner.

Carlier frowns. "Ne meurs pas, s'il te plaît [Don't die, please]."

"You know, I already have one of my boys in there all battered up and injured," Celeste's voice wavers softly, and she abruptly reaches out to grab the sleeve of my coat as if to steady herself. "I do not need to worry about two more sending themselves in there with black eyes and bleeding noses!"

"You're the one that gave us, um... percussions," I close my eyes and scrunch my face up in concentration.

"Concussions," Goyle pipes up once more.

"Quoi [What]?" Carlier sounds dazed.

"Oh, my goodness," she all but sobs, burying her face in her hands. "I can't... Warrington, will you get them into the Hospital Wing? Oh, never mind, we have an audience. Hello, Madam Pomfrey."

I look up at the entrance to the Hospital Wing to see Madam Pomfrey standing there with her jaw dropped in disbelief, the rest of the team behind her. Pansy is there too, glancing between Celeste, Carlier, and me with a dumbfounded expression. She then covers her mouth with her hand to suppress a laugh, turning around while her shoulders shake with silent giggles.

"Who... did that?" Madam Pomfrey points to the floor.

"That would be—"

"My bad," I shoot her a grin.

I sense Celeste turn to frown at me, and she opens her mouth again as if to interrupt me, but I'm quick to cut in once more.

"It was an accident. I'm free for detention tomorrow."

"Oh," Pomfrey's voice is a mere echo. Looking like she's about to faint, she opens her mouth, seems to think better of adding any more, and then turns around to silently walk back into the Hospital Wing.

"Right, so..." Celeste exhales heavily, her hands loosening the two scarves still around her neck. "I... I am going to retire to my dorm—"

"Laisse moi te parler, Cel [Let me walk you, Cel]—"

"That sounds good, I'll come t—"

"—alone," she says sharply, glaring rather viciously at us both. "You two will be joining Blaise in the Hospital Wing. Hands off each other, boys."

She crosses her arms while Carlier, ushered by Warrington, trudges back into the Hospital Wing, flanked by Goyle and Pucey. I move to follow after them, thinking a cot might be nice for the killer headache absolutely scrambling the insides of my skull, but then I catch sight of the look on her face.

Tired, worn, and absolutely exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally, in every capacity possible. She glances up at me, surprised to find me still standing there.

"I'm sorry," I say again.

Celeste's face softens slightly, like she doesn't have the energy to keep that stone mask up any longer. "I know you are, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry."

"You said that," she stifles a yawn by pressing the scarves to her mouth, tired eyes briefly shutting.

"No, I—I'm sorry."

Dark eyes flash open and pin me to the spot. They're momentarily unreadable, and then they fracture into a thousand tiny little pieces. A thousand tiny little diamonds that accumulate in pools, precious gems that threaten to spill out of her eyes. She blinks quickly, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling, and they disappear.

"Thank you, Malfoy," she murmurs softly.

I frown. "For punching Carlier? I can do it again, if you want."

Her lips twitch up just slightly. And then they turn into a small, hardly noticeable smile. And then they're grinning, and she's tilting her head down as if to hide it. A soft laugh escapes her lips, and it's just as pretty as her voice and her eyes and her. I smile too. I'm not sure what is so funny, but I smile anyway.

"No, for—" Celeste clears her throat. "For, y'know, the scarf, and the hot chocolate, and—" Her eyes darting away to the wall behind me. "Letting me... And the floor, of course, you didn't have to cover up for the floor."

"The floor? What happened to the floor?"

Another terse laugh escapes her pretty mouth, her pretty mouth covered in smudged lipstick that swirl from the pattern of smeared tears. Her eyes start turning into diamonds again, but she doesn't close them or blink as she steps up a little closer to me.

"It's absurd, seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"Like an idiot."

"Am I not usually an idiot?"

"You tend to act like one, but no. Go lie down, Malfoy," she says softly, tilting her head up to lock eye contact. She then tilts her head to the side, a soft, bitter smile on her lips.

I want to touch her hair, touch her cheeks, touch her skin, but instead I say, "Alright."

She nods slightly, tucking her broken, messy curls behind her ears. She then sniffs slightly, turning her head to look blankly down the hall, opens her mouth, and closes it without saying anything at all. Celeste gently pats my chest before turning on her heel to walk slowly down the hall, shoving her trembling hands into the pockets of her coat.

I watch her walk for no more than a few seconds before she pauses. That's all she does. She pauses, freezes, stops right where she is.

And then she turns around to storm up to me. Quickly, I wrack my mind to recall if there's anything else I've done more recently to anger her, because that's what's in her eyes: anger. It's pure, pure rage, raw emotion, and the more I think about it, the more I think she's about to get a punch in herself.

She comes up inches within me, leans up on her toes, and presses a hasty kiss against my bruises cheekbone.

Without sparing me a real glance, without saying anything to me at all, without waiting a single extra moment, Celeste whips back around and bounds down the hall with a little more energy in her steps, leaving me standing in the hallway. She leaves me bleeding, bruised, and confused.

—

thoughts? discussion? vote if you haven't, please

on this episode of KUWC...

this chapter was WILD to write. i wrote the breakdown at 1am last night and was crying on facetime with citruspotter sooo yeah. also! they just published a draco fic called verity! so u should go read that now

btw i made up the gamp's law thing. the books only tell us about not being able to conjure food, but despite all the fics that use warming charms they don't exist canonically!

QOTD: what do you like most about yourself? don't say nothing or i'll punch you to the elysian fields and back