The Malfoy Project

𝟒𝟒 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐏𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝

༻⚜༺

     "Your mother said I might find you here."

     My head jerked up. I was in the reading room, lying on the couch, lost in a daydream of wolves and hares and swans.

     Ainsley stood by the doorway, hands tucked under her arms. Against the lights from the library, her beauty shone like a glowing hearth, drawing my eye against my will. "Do you want to do an interview today?" she asked hopefully.

     "No," I answered.

     "Alright. Can I come in?"

     I didn't respond, but she came in anyway, forcing me to sit up to make space for her on the couch. It was then the full extent of my bruises reared its ugly head — a wide smattering of purple across the left side of my face, blackened and deep in some parts.

     "Didn't Pomfrey heal this?" She reached out to touch me, and I jerked away quickly. "No." I didn't tell her it was because I had told Pomfrey not to.

     "Why not?"

     So you won't be the only one with a bruise. So you won't be alone.

     "I just wanted to get out of there."

     Her lips pursed, and I knew she was thinking if she should bring up what happened. She seemed to decide otherwise, and I was glad for it. We sat in silence for a moment, looking this way and that and fidgeting with our fingers.

     "I'm sorry I don't know the spell for bruises like that," she said to the floor.

     "It's fine," I responded tightly.

     That's when I saw the ring.

     Circling the fourth finger on her left hand, it was small and unassuming, but Montague might as well have painted his name across her forehead. It branded her like a stamped contract, sealed both her fate and mine with delicate gold and a dainty emerald.

     A multitude of emotions crashed against the shore of my chest. Anger, hurt, devastation; they thundered like a raging storm, made quiet only by the flesh and bone that shielded my heart. But the loudest of them all was a deep, sickening panic.

     Panic because my first thought was that Ainsley is going to marry Montague and one day, when she forgets to do a chore or drops a plate or smiles the wrong way, he is going to kill her.

     First, there will be a 'click' that goes off in his brain as all rational thinking shuts down. His face will drop, and he will advance upon her, hand raised like that of an angry god, ready to smite all that did not please him.

     She will begin to apologise, say she didn't mean to do it, for whatever 'it' is, it must have certainly been her fault. Or perhaps she will wonder out loud what she has done wrong.

     And then he will silence her, because gods do not like being questioned. He will press his hand over her mouth, or his arm around her neck, or the pillow over her nose, harder and harder as she struggles. And then her movements will slow, tears running down her cheeks as her life ebbs away.

     Or maybe it will be much simpler than that. He will draw his wand on her. She will be swallowed in green light, just for a moment, before it dissipates, taking her last breath with it. It will be quick and painless, that much I have learnt.

     But whatever it is, however it is done, Gabriella Rose Ainsley will die.

     She saw me staring and balled her fingers, clamping them between her thighs and hiding the ring from sight. Another bout of silence, then she blurted, "It wasn't a proposal."