LOST IT TO TRYING

CHAPTER EIGHT

The first time Amora had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy, he was scowling back at her in complete disgust. She had been scrambling for a seat on the train, her heart racing out of her chest. If she could not find a friend to sit next to now, the eleven-year-old girl was sure she would not have one for the following seven years. Everybody would make their best friends and she would be forced to watch from the outside— all because she could not find one damn seat next to people her age.

Fate would of course have her crash into her complete opposite. A platinum-haired, icey-eyed boy with a scrunched nose and fire on his cheeks. He had a harsh tongue and no patience.

Watch where you're going, dimwit!

If Amora thought about it, she swore she could still hear his little voice ringing in her ears and feel the same panic in her chest that screamed, "Well done, Amora—you've not managed to make a single friend yet, but you have just made your first enemy."

For four years, Draco Malfoy seemed to continuously appear at the most convenient times to mock her and her friends or tease her and push her buttons until she snapped. He was the most awful person Amora had met, she was sure of it– until her friends let her down one day and he was the only one who was there for her at the hospital wing. Even if Madam Pomfrey did have to force him to hold her hand whilst she mended Amora's bones.

He wasn't so mysterious after that. His brooding expressions and sarcastic comments seemed to fade back into his tough exterior— she saw that gentleness he had when he handled his books during revision periods or the way his nose crinkled when he smiled at something one of his friends said.

When they had been trapped in the library together one night in their fourth year, Amora swore that the universe had something against her. He was the very last person in the entire school she wanted to spend hours upon hours locked in a room with— even if she had been forced to acknowledge Draco Malfoy had human qualities and was not a robot.

He gave her the jumper of his back— not without claiming it was to shut her complaining up, of course— and he let her fall asleep beside him so they would both stay warm. Something about penguins, Amora remembered. They huddled together to keep warm.

Their paths seemed intertwined from that moment on. He was everywhere she went and this time he wasn't mocking everything she did. Malfoy came up with every excuse under the sun to be around Amora, despite his insistence that he wanted nothing to do with her.

He kissed her on the Astronomy Tower. Asked her to be his girlfriend after a near-death experience on the ice lake. Gave her a family in the Slytherins when the Hufflepuffs turned on her. Broke her heart a few times here and there. Put it back together again each time. Made love to her on her sixteenth birthday in the fanciest hotel in Muggle London. Took the Dark Mark. Lied about it. Killed their headmaster so Death Eaters could take over the school. Spent the next five years giving her no explanation.

Amora shivered as soon as she pushed open the door to her room. The window was cracked open, the cold breeze blowing in and leaving goosebumps over her skin. She drifted over, swallowing as she shut it, the whistling wind immediately being blocked out. Her hands hugged her arms as she turned to face the rest of the room.

It was a room grander than Amora had ever had in her entire life, yet she had a feeling this may be one of the most basic ones at Malfoy Manor. The dark wooden floorboards and detailed oak panelling on the walls matched the rest of the house. Dark green drapes hung over the tall windows, though it was too dark to see anything outside aside from the rain lashing against the glass. It coordinated the covers of the huge oak wood canopy bed which was brimming with pillows and sat enticingly against the middle of the wall.

There was a fireplace with all sorts of trinkets on top, such as candles and lanterns, and a huge portrait of a snowy beach hanging above it. In one corner of the room was a thin oak desk, a lantern and an inkpot on top, and a chest of drawers in the corner on the opposite side of the fireplace. A trunk sat at the end of the bed beneath a cream Persian rug.

When Amora opened it, she found blankets and even more pillows. She turned around as she let the lid to the trunk fall shut, nearly gasping at the bookshelf against the other wall. It was filled to the brim with books of all sizes and colours. Her heart lept from her chest as she darted forward, examining the titles.

Fiction. Real, fictional books that would satisfy a craving she'd had for months now. Entertainment. An escape from this dreary existence she was currently living in. The chance to find characters that may remind her of...

Of...

Amora swallowed and thought hard, brows furrowed. Characters that might feel like a best friend or a sibling. They were all Wizarding novels— classics like The Enchanter's Gambit and Wandwood Tales, and more modern novels such as The Forbidden Charm. Amora sucked in a breath when she saw her favourite of all time— Through the Looking Glass.

She yanked it from its shelf, gripping it tightly with both hands as if she were scared somebody would come and snatch it back off of her. She had not read this since her sixth year. She'd read it four times since Hermione Granger had recommended it to her in their third year.

The cover was not as bright as she remembered it. Flipping open the first couple of pages, Amora was surprised at how much she already remembered. She perched herself on the edge of the armchair beside the bookshelf, her nose practically embedded in the pages. She didn't want to lean back— did not want to get too comfortable here. Just because she knew the man whose house it was, did not make him a friend. Amora knew she should not relax.

D.M + A.B

Amora swore quietly when she woke up curled in a ball on the armchair, a blanket thrown over her that she did not remember grabbing. The book was half open on the arm, her back clicking as she straightened out. The curtains were closed, but she could see flickers of sun poking through the gaps of the heavy drapes. Birds were tweeting outside and water was trickling from a fountain that she had not heard the night before.

Her neck was sore, creaking with the floor as she stepped onto it. Amora nearly audibly gasped as ice struck up her feet. She felt it in her bones as she drifted over to the bed. For a moment, she contemplated climbing under the duvet, still clad in yesterday's clothes, and trying to find sleep again, but she could hear movement downstairs.

Malfoy.

Amora swallowed at the thought of her childhood sweetheart roaming freely between the rooms beneath her doing Merlin knows what. Plotting, scheming, commanding... Amora furrowed her brows and sat at the edge of the bed, trying desperately to remember a time when the Order had mentioned a High Commander.

No success. Either that had been wiped from her memories too, or Moody and Lupin had failed to tell her that Malfoy was not just a high-ranking Death Eater, but the one calling the shots at the front line. The one planning the attacks, overseeing the Dark Lord's military success.

The amount of hatred she felt for him was unfathomable. Once upon a time, her teenage self had been so stupid as to sacrifice everything for him— including the respect of her mother and her peers. The only thing that stopped her from regretting their three-year romance happened to be the friends that she had left behind at the Order. Without him, there never would have been them— and they were everything to Amora.

She wanted to hurt him as much as she wanted to beg him to tell her why he had done this. Or better yet, how he could do it to her. How he could hold her and kiss her and tell her he was in love with her with a Dark Mark hidden beneath his school robes and murderous intentions.

Over the last five years, Amora had continuously debated the idea that Draco Malfoy may have never actually loved her. Perhaps she was merely a coverup— Merlin knows as a Malfoy he needed one. People thought he had changed— Amora especially— and that he did not believe a word his father spewed, and that worked in his favour of going unnoticed as he plotted Professor Dumbledore's murder and built a Vanishing Cabinet that would allow the infiltration of Death Eaters.

Surely that would be the only logical explanation of his radio silence over the last five years.

Amora shook her head in an attempt to snap out of her thoughts. They did her no good. Pansy would scold her for thinking them. She would most likely dig her nails into Amora's shoulders and shake her roughly until Amora was laughing and pleading with her to stop. Then, she would remind Amora of her self-worth, and they would talk about something else. Amora wondered if Pansy had ever failed to make her feel better.

Amora stood up from the bed and stood at her door. She chewed on her bottom lip, her hand resting in the air a few inches away from the handle. She glared at it and then, after the count of three, yanked it down and revealed the corridor. There was a lump in her throat as she wandered out, standing still for a moment and listening out for the noises she could hear earlier.

Her hands rested on the bannister of the staircase, but now Malfoy had grown silent. She wondered if he was still in the house. She certainly hoped not— then she would be able to explore the house a little more without fear of bumping into him. She glanced down the corridor and debated which door looked as though it was most likely to have a bathroom behind it. They were all the same, of course.

Amora opened the one on the other side of the corridor. Another room like hers— identical aside from the lack of books on the shelves. This one had trophies and medals and crests. She shut it and tried the next one.

Bingo.

Emerald tiles gleamed back at her, a large round bath in the centre of the room. A table beside it had white towels neatly folded in top. When Amora touched them, they were warm. She hummed, clutching it in her palm, bringing it to her chest to warm her whole body up. There was a glass shower to the side and huge sinks with golden taps and glimmering round mirrors above them. It was perhaps the fanciest bathroom Amora had ever been in— high arched ceilings and expensive branded bottles sat on a tray by the sinks.

Immediately, Amora decided to draw herself a bath. She grabbed some of the oils and tipped them into the water, sighing when bubbles began to foam, twisting and forming soapy mountains that welcomed her happily. She reminded herself that this was not an act of relaxing or getting too comfortable here— it was an act of defiance. Yes, she was merely using up the Death Eater's supplies and making a mockery of him by acting as if this was her own home now.

Besides, Amora could not remember the last time she'd had a bath. Even a majority of the showers she'd had over the last few years had been cold. She deserved this.

Once Amora had finished with her long bubble bath, she wrapped the warm towels around her body and secured one in her hair to stop water from dripping across the floor. She paused when she realised that she had forgotten to take a spare change of clothes or a robe with her, but she was nearly sure Malfoy wasn't home. If he was, the manor was huge. It would be incredibly unlucky for her to bump into him on the landing.

Her hand hesitated on the lock of the door yet again. Another mental countdown and she was pushing it open. Amora froze at the figure about to disappear through a door further down the corridor. Malfoy paused in the doorframe, his eyes raking down her towel-clad body before his lips pursed into a thin line and he slammed the door roughly. It rattled a picture frame hanging beside it.

Amora put a hand on her chest to calm down and hurried into her room to get changed for the day. Inside the wardrobe were dozens of dresses hanging up— all in dark colours such as blacks, greys, greens, navies, crimsons. She dried herself off and changed into one of the black ones, putting her shoes back on. The floors were freezing. She'd noticed Malfoy seemed to always wear his too— she could hear the click-clack of them as he headed back down the staircase.

Her hair was wet against the back of her dress and her neck. She cringed at the sensation and brushed it through with a hairbrush she'd found in a drawer of the desk. However, she did not have her wand with her to dry it. Unfortunately, that meant within the next few hours, it would still be damp underneath, and the rest would be frizzy.

Amora huffed and glanced herself over in the mirror. She looked pale these days. The charm that those girls from the refinement ward had made on her face was still in action. Despite how exhausted she felt, her face looked alive, at least.

She pushed open her bedroom door and grimaced. It was time to face the music.

Each step downstairs was painful. The creaks and groans had her heart-stopping. She felt like a child sneaking down in the middle of the night for a snack. She wasn't sure why she was scared of him hearing her coming down the stairs— he would see her down there in the next couple of minutes. That was inevitable. They would have to bump into one another and talk again at some point.

Amora wandered into a room where she could hear the clinking of ceramic. She hesitated in the doorway upon finding a large dining hall. However, the seats were empty aside from one. Malfoy sat at the very end in a chair far more dramatic than the others, the Daily Prophet in one hand whilst his other jutted out, finger extended and creating circular motions to magically stir his tea.

"Good morning."

She nearly flinched at his voice. Amora swallowed, forced herself to repeat the words, and moved over towards him. The table took up the length of the entire room, so she decided to sit two seats away from him. Enough to keep some distance without having to raise her voice so he would hear her clearly.

Amora glanced at the paper he was reading, but as quick as her eyes flickered over, catching the moving image of Lucius Malfoy standing in front of a crumbled building on the cover, he'd folded it and thrown it across the table, far away from them.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?"

Amora's lips parted. She wanted to say no to him, but her stomach was nearly growling. The last meal she had must have been breakfast the day before.

"That would be nice," Amora replied.

Malfoy's lip quirked up into a slight smirk. "The kitchen's two doors down."

Her hands clenched into fists above the table. When his gaze found them, she quickly lay her fingers flat and forced a smile.

"Perfect." She stood from her seat, the chair scraping back in a way that made Malfoy wince. "Thank you, Malfoy."

Amora drifted back into the corridor and found the door he had been referencing. Pushing it open, she found a grand kitchen with windows so high that it was flooded with natural light, and so many plants around that it almost felt like the Hufflepuff common room. It was huge, an island in the centre with a fruit bowl on top.

She took a banana from it and split it open, taking a bite as she moved to the stove where the kettle sat. She flicked it on. Peculiarly, in her search through the cupboards for a mug for her tea, Amora discovered some dishes in the sink. A couple of small plates and a few forks. Only then did she realise how quiet it was.

The kettle whistling snapped her out of her thoughts. Finally, she found a mug, and grabbed a teabag from the jar left on the side, pouring herself a cup of steaming green tea. As she sipped, she glanced out the window, her sights nearly covered by the rose bush overgrowing over the window pane, begging to come inside and wrap its vines over the sink.

"I see you've managed it alright. Not burnt the house down yet."

Amora glanced over her shoulder at Malfoy. She rolled her eyes and wondered if he would appear from thin air to make her jump continuously. She also couldn't tell if the comment he'd made was a completely insensitive one about the bombing yesterday or due to the childish clumsiness she used to be known for as a preteen. Either way, she bit her tongue. If Malfoy had not completely changed, she knew her silence would irritate him more than anything else.

"Where are the house elves?" She changed the subject.

Malfoy raised a brow. "House elves."

"Yes," Amora tried not to snap, aggressively squeezing the teabag against the ceramic. "You know, those little elves that act as cleaners, cooks, errand-runners etcetera, so highly privileged, rich wizards do not have to lift a finger."

Malfoy scoffed. "I know what a house elf is. I do not have any."

"You used to."

There was the thickest silence yet. It felt as though this was the first time Amora was properly acknowledging that she had known Malfoy once upon a time, or that she still remembered bits about him. He straightened his back and glanced at her down his nose, his eyes sharp.

"Not anymore," he replied hastily, "Will that be a problem? Did you not have to lift a finger at the Order?"

Had there been house elves at the headquarters? None came to mind. Who had made their dinners for them? Had they been making them for themselves?

"Oh, right," Malfoy scoffed, "Confidential information, is it? If you're going to play the part of Death Eater sympathiser, you might need to stop protecting the Order, Buckley."

Amora's face screwed up in anger. If Malfoy kept pushing her and questioning her motives, she thought she might begin to grow paranoid. Was she not doing enough? Was giving up her entire life and most memories from the last five years not good enough?

"As I said last night, Malfoy," she spat, "I am not playing a part. I have no interest in helping the Order or protecting them. I do not care in the slightest about Moody or Lupin or– or anybody else that is a part of it. Is it so hard for you to believe that some people do not want to die protecting Mudbloods and Muggles?"

Something flickered across his face. Amora did not know him well enough anymore to tell what it was.

"Of course," Malfoy spoke, with a small shrug. "If that's the case, I don't blame you for joining the cause, Buckley. It's useless, anyway— trying to protect them. The Order must realise it. Those Mudbloods will be eradicated in no time, so it will all be for nothing. They'll just be rounded up and murdered for their war crimes. Idiots."

Amora pursed her lips. "Something we can agree on, then."

She turned back to her tea and used the spoon to scoop out the teabag. "Where's your bin?"

"Just magic it away."

Amora turned to him and glared furiously. "You know I do not have magic of my own."

"Wandless magic?"

She could have slapped him merely for his ignorant suggestions. Malfoy still lived in a bubble. He may have a high-ranking role among the Death Eaters, but Amora was under the impression so far that Malfoy only knew what he wanted to know. Only understood what he wanted to understand. Just like his teenage self. Ignorant and self-absorbed.

"They suppress your magic," Amora said, "At the factories and the BMA. You don't just get that back straight away."

Malfoy looked at her passively. "In that case, whilst courting, ladies are allowed a wand of sorts."

"Oo, are we?" She said sarcastically, "What does that mean? I want my wand back."

"You are allowed a training wand," Malfoy replied, "When we marry, you will be given your wand back. The BMA holds them."

Amora felt her heart sink in her chest. She hoped her face was not giving away the absolute horror she felt. She blinked and tried to Occlude. She was terrified for not only herself by the hundreds, if not thousands, of other witches currently without their birth-given magic. Men were taking away everything from them. They wanted them as weak and powerless as possible.

"'When?'" Amora murmured, and this time she met his eye, the sunken expression on her face taking over. "Don't you mean 'if?'"

Malfoy's jaw clenched slightly, she knew he was grinding his teeth. Something was on his mind.

"You have turned up in this world, Buckley, and for what reason I cannot quite seem to get out of you. You did not tell the BMA about our relationship— in fact, you hid it from them. I cannot work out why— they most likely would have sent you straight here, which is a lot better than with any other man wanting a young Pureblood girl—"

"Maybe it's not all about you," Amora scoffed, "Ever considered that, Malfoy? Perhaps it's reasonable that I wanted to start fresh."

"You should be thanking me, really," Malfoy snapped, inching closer to her, brows furrowed. "If I weren't the High Commander, you'd be in some other Death Eater's home right now— probably raped already, looking after his other children, being a good, respectable Pureblood wife."

Amora felt sick. "Oh, wow! Thank you so much for saving me from the world that you helped create, Malfoy!"

Malfoy's lip curled. Her heart skipped a beat— he looked seventeen again. Angry at the world. Angry at her again.

"I will not lay a hand on you," he seethed, "I will not rape you or suppress your magic or force you to do anything you do not want to do. But you will have to marry me eventually, Buckley. You'll get your wand back and you are somewhat safe in this house. Sounds nearly a hundred times better than other women have it."

"And what's in it for you?" Amora chuckled with a scathing look. "There has to be a reason that you're doing all of this. Do you not have other Pureblood women lining up at your door, begging to wed the High Commander?"

"I have my reasons," he said, and there was a finality to his tone as he straightened his jacket, composing himself finally. "I will get you your training wand in the meantime, Buckley."

Amora blinked at him. She wanted to keep fighting— why was he just walking away? Her heart was pounding, her hands itching for a fight, words on the tip of her tongue that she would love to insult him with. Her eyes darted around, landing on the mug beside her filled with green tea. She angrily grabbed it and threw it at the wall by the door he was leaving from.

Malfoy paused but did not flinch nor glance over his shoulder at her. "Clean that up, Buckley. A tantrum will not get you anywhere."

Amora dug her nails into her hands so hard her fingernails caked with blood. 

NOT PROOF READ 

not my favourite chapter I have ever written, but it's so fun writing draco/amora again. i am so excited for you to see draco's character and his actions become more explained, and for their relationship to start improving again!!

updates may take a bit longer from now on, which I really do apologise for, but I am working on an original novel! it's my absolute dream to become a published author-- even if that's self-published-- so I'm trying to work on books that aren't fanfictions (even if writing fanfiction is my favourite thing ever)! the book I'm writing is a sapphic fantasy, and the love interest is literally my interpretation of pansy's character from training wheels/lost it to trying, so I am really excited about that!

thank you guys for reading, I hope that you enjoyed <3 

dyiansobrien 

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