You’d think after all these years that there’d be some part of me that still hates you, that’s disgusted by having to be in the same room as you as you and your kind. But there isn’t, Granger, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about that.


estranged [once, they had been partners. they had been tied together by fate’s warm hand, in love with the veins that spindled a banner of understanding between them. then came the night that swallowed them whole, as the stars winked and the heavens burned.]

the magic is acidic, biting. it is pushed from the hand of a death eater, with a snarl like a wolf and a grin that is sharp and cold. draco’s memories weaved an empire, spanning across an atlas of love and war. and her. but all that is left is tissue unstitched. he now smells of a man whose sadness bleeds through his skin, heightened as she whispers his name over and over, to recall the ghosts that sit in his heart. 

his eyes are emptied of the oceans and the atlantic when he looks at her. and she cries for days.