He stood frozen before her. Isla didn't quite dare to look him in the eyes just yet. She was terrified he'd pin her down with his rage of her doing the exact opposite of what she was meant to do.

She wasn't supposed to be there. She knew that. There was a clear, obvious reason why he didn't invite her — as to why he didn't ask her to come. He didn't want her there. He didn't wish for her presence, but as the girl Isla so very clearly lived to be — she showed up anyway.

She didn't know why. Not owning a clue how she even reached the thought, nevertheless stood on his doorstep at four in the morning.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid, she cursed to herself.

''What the hell are you doing here?'' Draco spat furiously. His shoulder struck the doorpost, his arms crossed, ''What in the actual fuck do you think you're doing here?''

Isla blinked, surprisingly and quickly. She was scared now.

Malfoy scanned her. His sight traveled slowly. Nearly painfully slow across her. Watching her nightdress as it showed underneath her robe, her bare legs, and her shivering skin, ''You didn't even put clothes on, Clarke?'' He cocked his head, swallowing hard, ''It's four in the fucking morning.''

''I know it is,'' Her eyes floored. She was ashamed now. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. He was mad at her, so angry that it fumed around him. So mad that it was heard in his speaking. So furious that it reached her from feet apart, ''I know what the bloody clock is.''

Draco himself stood in a white t-shirt. His chest flexing underneath the thin material. His pants were checkered, colored in green and black. She tried so hard not to look at him. She wouldn't be able to stop if she did.

Malfoy hooked her in ways she'd never admit. He had a spell on her and the sanity her mind still carried slipped between her fingers the second he came close — the second she placed her eyes upon him.

''And if you know what the damn time is, Clarke — and you're still showing up at my house this early, something is wrong with you.'' Draco shook his head, drawing a deep breath. It burnt within him. He didn't expect her to come. He didn't ask her to be here, ''You're acting like a maniac again.''

''Didn't you do the same thing?'' She met his eyes. Heavily colliding with the coolness of them. Cold. Icing. He looked at her. His knees weakened. His fingers balled into fists at the way it took all of him not to sweep her off her feet and kiss her, ''Christmas morning? Didn't you show up at my house in the middle of the night? When I had company, I might add?''

''That's different, Clarke, and you know it,'' He spat annoyingly. Draco couldn't deny that he'd done so. He did. He didn't want to spend time away from her that winter break, ''I showed up to tell you about...what happened to me, to make you understand me, not to spite you.''

She raised her brows, looking startlingly at him. Her fingers twitched against the palms of her hands. Her insides burning, ''You think I showed up here to spite you?''

''Does he know you're here? Where you are, right now?''

It caused her sight to flicker. Her shoulders sunk.

He knew. Of course, he knew. She could never be dishonest with Theodore, even if she wanted to. They were always truthful with each other, no matter what the cause was. Except he wasn't. She knew he had a secret. The reason he went home all the time. The reason he kept her in the dark of what he did when he wasn't with her, but she relied on him. Isla knew he would tell her once he was ready to do so.

''He does,'' She said lowly. Her sight stayed attached to the ground she so weakly stood on, ''He was the one telling me to come here.''

''He went home?'' Draco gritted his jaws, still staring at her. He couldn't believe she indeed had traveled to his house in the middle of the night. With nothing but her wand. It warmed him, yet it made him inflamed, ''He went home, and you came here? You only came because he went? Not because—''

Isla swallowed hard. Getting rid of that bitter taste in her mouth. The bitterness of him never trusting a word that slipped her lips, ''It's not like that, and you know it. It won't be that just because you keep thinking it is. You left me.''

Malfoy snarled, rudely. Scoffing at her underneath his breath. The wind was cold around them, but he'd never been this heated, ''You're fucking unbelievable.''

She lifted her pained stare, and she finally saw him properly. All of him, ''So you keep telling me,'' Holding her tone as polite as she could, she regretted going there now.

She'd go back to school the second he asked her to. She didn't want to be there anymore. He wasn't happy to see her. Happy. Theodore made her happy. Draco made her happy too, but in a different way and definitely not now.

Now he made her upset. Angry, furious. She came here to check up on him, to ease that sickening feeling she'd been tormented with for the past three weeks, only for him to keep assuming things. She wasn't fond at all by that.

''And still, you're here.'' Draco eyed her down, viciously, almost. Not because he wasn't thrilled to see her. He was. She made him warm. She made him feel. Feelings. He didn't have much of that anymore. He was cold. Numb. Isla wasn't. She was lively, spiritual, crazy. Crazy. She was crazy. She was mental, and it made him feel. He needed to feel.

Yet, he was so terrified of doing so. To feel. To let himself feel with her and to let her feel him. He'd been too mean to her. Cruel. Unforgivably cruel. He'd used her past relationship against her. He'd humiliated her. Over and over. Again and again. Still, she stood there. In the early morning because she cared for him.

He hated himself for pushing her away. He hated himself more for wanting to keep her close. He hated himself because he didn't know what to do.

''I am.'' Isla said, folding her arms across her chest, hugging herself firmly, ''I was worried about you.''

Worried. She shouldn't be worried about him. She wasn't supposed to care. Her caring for him made everything so much worse. He made it worse. He was scared. Terrified that he'd drag her down with him. Tow her down into that hole of misery he couldn't get out of.

Perhaps she could help him. Help. He needed help. He knew she could help him if he let her. It was easier with her around. That was the sole reason for him staying at Hogwarts all that time he wasn't supposed to. Her. She was the reason.

''Like hell you were,'' Draco rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck in the process, ''You're here for your own sake, Clarke. Don't pretend otherwise. You're lonely without him, so you came here to make yourself feel better—''

''He wanted me to come here weeks ago,'' Isla burst. She broke and crackled. This was so sensitive to her. Draco always used Theodore against her. It wasn't like that. He should know that by now.

''Theo wanted me to check up on you weeks ago. When you left already, he even offered to come here with me, but you left me, Draco. You didn't let me do a thing about it, and you left. That was your choice and not mine. You could've let me—''

He was stepping out on the yard now, raging. Stinging and shredding in anger for how she kept caring about him, ''Could've let you do what? Let you take the blame for what Nott and I did? Let you go home and leave the two of us behind?'' His tone intimidated her as he came closer, marching towards her, ''What good would that do? Yeah? What fucking good would that have done to anyone? You're with him, in school, and I'm doing what I was supposed to do all along.''

''You stayed for me once,'' Her tones were thin, airy. Filled with hesitation, ''You stayed for me once, and you could've—''

''I left you as well,'' Oh, how he regretted saying that. He couldn't control himself, ''The best fucking thing I have ever done, leaving you.''

Isla looked away. Her skin sipped of color. Pale and ashen, ''You don't mean that.''

''I do.''

He didn't. He didn't mean any of it.

Stay. That was all he wanted her to do. Stay with him. Don't give up. Stay. Stay and allow him to figure his shit out. Stay and see all that beautiful pain hiding underneath his cold surface. There was a lot of that, a lot of beauty beneath all his hurt. If he just could show her.

Glaring at him, she shook her head, stepping back and distancing herself. Distance. Space, that was all the things she didn't want. She didn't want to be distant from him. She didn't want the miles of denial that they kept so steadily upheld between them. Isla didn't know what she wanted anymore.

Malfoy's face reddened in wrath. He was so upset with her now, how her head was working. How she didn't understand, ''Leave, Clarke.'' He said, halting just a foot away. The scent of her lingered. She lingered. They lingered. He felt sick. He missed her. He missed them, ''Go back to school and leave me to it. We didn't stand a fucking chance anyway.''

Isla's face fell. Her insides cooled. It hurt. That hurt her.

She was so close to him now. So close. So near. It drove him mad, insane, crazy. Just as crazy as she was, ''Go. Go and don't make this harder than it has to be.''

''Fine,'' She whispered harshly. Her words spilling from her mouth were out of her control. She didn't want to leave anymore. She wanted to prove him wrong, yet she couldn't. She felt ashamed. His words hit her, ''I'll go. I'll go, and you can live your life lonely and in fear of everyone. Close yourself off from the world, Draco. Do that and see how it goes.''

Turning around, she didn't get more than a meter away from him until he snatched her wrist and he pulled her right back, ''What the hell did you just say to me—''

''You're a coward,'' Isla breathed. His body pressed to hers. He kept her there. He needed her there, ''You're as much of a coward as I am. But sit there — sit there on your white bloody horse. On that damn pedestal, you so highly place yourself on and believe that you're better off alone. Do that, Draco.''

Her words struck his soul. The little of it that was left.

''But don't you dare come running back to me when you realize how it makes you feel, being alone. It's painful, and it hurts, being by yourself. I tried when Cedric died. I tried being by myself, and I couldn't do it. You're the same as me. You're hurt, and you were left behind, but that doesn't excuse you closing everyone that wants to care about you — off. Space I can give you. You've been through hell, you deserve space, and I have given it to you. I take your behavior. I take your temper, but I won't pardon you throwing me out of your life whenever it suits you.''

He blinked. Draco blinked so quickly.

''You always tell me how you're done with me. Well, now I'm done. I'm so done. I wanted to come here to be nice. I wanted to make sure you're okay, and still, you treat me like I'm nothing — no one to you.'' Isla was heaving, her throat burning and tightening. She didn't get the air she needed, ''I'm not nothing. I'm here. I want to be here, but you don't want me to, and that's okay. I accept that. I always will, but you can't blame me for being tired.''

She tried to yank away, distance herself, and leave. She wanted to leave again.

''Clarke—''

''No,'' She fought him. She wanted to yell and shout and scream at him. To tell him what a bastard she thought he was and what an idiot he lived to be for always doing this, ''I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of this.''

Draco panicked. He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't know what to think or what to feel. He was so overwhelmed with her way of speaking. It always got to him. Her words. Seemingly as she forced them into his chest. It made him feel. As if she put them there on purpose. As if she wanted him to feel as much as he wished he could.

He wasn't as numb anymore. She made it better. She made him better. She was better. Better. He wanted to be better for her.

''And you don't think I'm sick of this? Sick of you? Sick of feeling like I can't give you the damn love you deserve?'' He growled, shaking his head at her. Admitting to more than he planned to, but he had a habit of doing that with her, ''I'm so fucking sick. I'm so fucking sick of myself, Clarke. I—''

Her mouth parted. He saw it. He looked at her. His sight darted between her lips and her eyes. Taking every inch of her in. Beautiful. She was beautiful, ''I'm so...'' He couldn't shape a word. He couldn't speak at her closeness. She made him feel again, ''I don't—''

Draco didn't say more. He didn't know how to. Isla caused a storm to pour across him. She trapped him in the mightiest of them. Draco didn't stand a chance against her.

So instead of being mean. Instead of throwing one of his many tantrums, spitting every reason, he despised her out in the sphere where he knew they'd stick and she'd feel less for him because of it. Malfoy kissed her.

His lips fused with hers. Anger, fury, and every emotion that kept spiraling through his body caused him to kiss her. Hard. It filled with force. Teeth clasping. His fingers scratching at her jaw, the untied hand he possessed sheeted her spine. He kept her close. So close. And just she gave in — as her arms snaked over his chest, slithering around his neck, he grabbed her.

Malfoy wrapped his hands around her, and he pushed her back carefully. He couldn't do this. He wasn't supposed to. She was left on that spot, hearing him curse to himself underneath his breath before he slammed the door in her face.

He left her again.

It wrenched and writhed inside her. She loathed when he did that. Absolutely hating the way he didn't think he was worthy of feeling.

Isla thought thoroughly to herself. Debating what she was meant to do now. She knew she'd regret it no matter how she played it. So she did what he'd done.

She yelled out.

Isla screamed from the tops of her lungs. Letting all that frustration he brought and poured across her — out. She shouted so loudly that it didn't take him more than a minute to force the door open, and the irritating steps he marched all the way back to her again nearly frightened her.

''Are you out of your bloody mind?'' He seethed, ''What the hell— fucking hell.''

Malfoy tried to stand against it. He tried to battle the girl as she eyed him down. Her lashes fluttered. Her skin shivered. It was cold outside. Yet nothing was colder than the chilly look he granted her, and with a sigh — he knew he was defeated. He couldn't do that to her. Make her leave and go back to school at this hour.

''I hate you,'' He groaned, throwing his head back before he raised an annoyed arm out for her, ''One night. When you wake up — you go back to Hogwarts. Am I clear?''

Isla frowned, ''I can go back right now,'' She countered, ''I don't need your pity. I came here because I care, but if you don't want me here. I don't want to be here.''

''Then what the hell was that whole act for, yeah?'' Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed, ''Why would you fucking scream—''

''Because you did,'' She fired, her body tensing, ''So now that I've done that. I can go.''

''Do you want to go?''

''Do you want me to go?''

He pushed his lips together. Solidly. Not letting one single emotion play upon him as he once again gestured for his home, ''Don't. Don't ask me questions you don't want the answer to.'' Draco looked away. He didn't want her to see the truth as it hid in his pupils. Of course, he wanted her to stay. ''One night. You can stay here for one night.''

Draco led Isla to the door of his house. Hesitant and dubious. He didn't know if he wished to do this. Scared. This scared him. It scared her more. Because even if it was dark, gloomy in his Manor — she saw it. She saw all of it.

Isla saw what Draco had done.

Her eyes flickered. She heard him say something, but she didn't listen. She couldn't listen.

Red. The color red. Everywhere.

Every lamp. Every curtain. Every rug. Every chair. Every wall. All the floors. All the roofs. The entirety of Draco Malfoy's home was painted in red. Not the light bearable shade, but the darker one. Blood. It looked like the color of fresh blood to her.

She shivered. The tiny hairs coating the span of her arms curled. Standing straight as she watched it. There wasn't one single thing in his house that shaded in another color. Even the portraits, the stairs, the porcelain, the handles of the doors. Everything. Everything was red.

''Draco...'' She whispered, hearing how he shut the door behind her, but she couldn't quite move. She didn't know what to do or what to say, ''What is this?''

Leaning his back against the door, he held a dry look. Staring her down from inches away. His chest strained. This was one of his biggest secrets. The reason no one was allowed entrance to his house. This was his doing, what he'd spent an entire summer dedicating his time to.

Fiddling with his wand, flipping it between his fingers, Draco rolled his eyes, ''What?'' He tried not to acknowledge the fact that she'd been given access to his way of dealing with his parents passing, ''I don't know what you're talking about.''

''Your house...'' She choked on her own words, still not processing the fact that his whole Manor was painted red, ''It's all....''

''Let me show you where you can sleep,'' He muttered, arching off the door and taking strides past her, ''I don't want you out here.''

Isla silently followed. Keeping her eyes floored. Scared that she'd be more frightened by looking up. He led her to a door on the upper floor, twisting the handle, and showed her the inside of it.

It wasn't painted in red.

''I know it's a lot... the color. It took me a while to get used to it as well.'' He said, peering into the room. Nodding towards the bed, ''So you can take my room, and I'll sleep in the guest room.''

His room. This was his room. The only room he hadn't painted red.

''Why?'' Isla walked inside, her eyes trapping every single thing on display. It was darkly painted. Black almost, but it was so beautiful. It had silver details carved into the ceiling. Majestic windows, ''Why didn't you paint this room?''

''Because it was mine,'' Draco sighed, visibly bothered with her questions. He wasn't ready to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it, ''This room was never theirs. They were never in here — so in here, nothing changed.''

She turned to face him. Watching the sea and storms of demons gathered in his eyes. He looked sad. Draco was never portrayed as broken. He always swallowed it, and bitterly so, but he didn't now. It felt safe being sad with her.

''I see,'' Her sight fell to his clothing again. He looked cold, frozen. If she only knew how cold he was. How it been years since he felt some type of warmth inside, even before he ended up alone, ''It's beautiful.'' She tried to comfort him, but he looked right through her.

''Yeah?'' Scoffing again, he turned away from her, looking out in the doorway, ''Go to sleep, Clarke. Go to sleep so you can leave in the morning.''

''Where are you—''

''Do you need something?'' Malfoy cut her off, shortly, ''A shirt? More blankets?''

Shaking her head, she watched how he stepped further into the hallway, ''I'm fine.''

And then, without speaking more to her, Draco closed the door, and she was left alone.

_____

Isla did everything but sleep. It was so early in the morning now. Probably two hours since he'd left her in there. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed. His bed. Gazing through the room. His room. Sweeping every detail.

It looked so normal to her. His room. It had a bed in between the two massive windows. Two bedside tables. A lamp decorated each one. A built-in wardrobe coated of the walls — it was huge. The door to his bathroom stood open, and if she walked in there, she'd see the inky marble covering the whole of it.

A bookshelf stood along the wall next to the door. Books filled it to the brim, but that was it. No portraits. No small personal details. Nothing. It could be a room placed in a window for sale. It smelled like him. That was the one thing that caused her to lay down on that bed.

The sheets scented as he did. Mysterious, fresh, clean. She missed that. She'd missed him.

Her feet were light as feathers upon the floor. She didn't want him to hear that she was walking around. She didn't even know where he went to bed himself. Draco didn't show her much of his house. Barely anything, so she had no idea where he could be.

Stepping up to the bookshelf, she traced the tips of her fingers across the novels. There wasn't a trail of dust. He read. He read a lot. She read too sometimes. Perhaps they could read together. She could read for him. He could read for her.

Standing there for minutes before the door seemed way too tempting again. Isla didn't know where he was — no, but she was still so tempted to look around. So intrigued to simply do something more than to sit on his bed and wait for him to kick her out.

So she did. She didn't even think twice before she slipped out. Now halting in the darkened hallway instead. A few candles lit up the way she had ahead of herself, but not much. She needed to squint in order to see anything at all.

She walked through his home quietly. Studying the things he'd done, the rooms he'd painted. The things he'd torn apart in rage. She had no idea how much he'd been hurting after his parents died.

That was his way of dealing with it all.

Trying not to think too much about it, she continued throughout the house. Her feet scored cold upon the marble she was walking on. Hearing the wind as it trickled through the Manor. She didn't stop until she saw a door. It looked like the door leading into his room. Unshaded. It wasn't red.

Dubiously, her fingers wrapped around the handle, but she quickly discovered it to be locked. Yanking at it silently, she huffed out.

She shouldn't. She shouldn't. She shouldn't.

Isla shouldn't invade the privacy behind that door. She knew that — yet she couldn't restrain herself. She wanted to know what he was hiding. If he even was hiding something, she couldn't know until she saw it for herself.

Brining her wand up, she whispered the magic to unseal it, and with a click, the door leveled wide.

Isla gasped. Her eyes snapped across the room, not quite daring to step inside it. Her hands grasped at the doorpost, her nails digging into the wood.

She shot a quick spell to light the darkness, and the minute she did — she stumbled inside.

A library. It was a library but not like she'd seen before. This was different. The walls were covered in pages that looked to be from books. Every shelf was covered with pictures and pages that had been ripped from the newspapers and novels it belonged to.

Red threads led from wall to wall. He was studying something. Draco was researching, locating. It looked so measured, so calculated all of it. So planned and thought through. Books splayed out over the couches in the middle of the room, all the way to the floor. There were books everywhere, messy yet so clean in paths.

It wavered within her. She shouldn't do this. She shouldn't be doing this. It wasn't hers to see. Still, she walked further. Scanning every inch of the room, she now stood in the middle off, and the very second, she bent down to pick one of the papers up. Her heart stopped. Her pule towered, beating in her ears.

Panic. She panicked.

Weasley.

The newspaper had a headline of her legacy. All of them did.

Then everything turned dark. Someone stole her magic from the lamps, and it didn't clock her until his hands trapped her, wrapping around her from behind as he pushed his body to hers. She didn't hear him come in.

She could feel the rage fuming around them. It steamed and hovered. He wasn't mad. He was infuriated. She gulped.

''Now you better have a hell of an explanation to be in here, Clarke.''

_____