Page 31 of Penance

The footsteps are louder now, their echo bouncing off the stone walls of the alley like mocking laughter. I brace myself, fingers digging into the brick behind me. A figure turns the corner, and I bite back a scream.

“Draco?!”

His tall frame is cloaked in a black coat, the hood drawn up, casting his face in shadow. But I know it’s him. I can see the ink on the back of his hands, even in the low light. I can feel the weight of those eyes.

“Why are you following me?” I spit, a little angrier than I had meant to.

Why am I angry?

I shouldn’t be.

I should be relieved.

It’s just Draco.

He pauses, his body tensing. He stares down at me, his dark eyes staring right through me, into my soul.

How does he do that?

He always has.

He doesn’t speak, not at first. Instead, he takes a step closer, his boots crunching on the gravel as he devours the space between us.

“Sorry,” he says finally, his voice a low rumble. It’s a sound that once brought comfort. Now, it sends a shiver down my spine. “You shouldn’t be walking home alone in the dark.”

The sound of my heartbeat thrashes against my eardrums, but I stand my ground, my breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Draco’s eyes widen slightly. His brows furrow, and for a moment, I swear I see a glint of concern, but it’s swallowed almost instantly by annoyance, his jaw tightening as if I’ve interrupted some careful calculation.

How dare I protect myself?

He’s angry that I noticed him?

“I was hoping you wouldn’t notice me,” he says, looking away. His voice is a blend of gravel and silk, a tone that used to make me feel safe, now sends alarm bells ringing in my head. He tilts his head, the hood shifting to reveal more of his face.

I had been expecting someone else. I had been expecting the one who was hurting me.

Could Draco be behind it all? The thought sends a wave of nausea crashing through me. No, not Draco.

He had turned away from the church, but that didn’t make him evil.

He was good, deep down.

He would never hurt me.

I search his eyes, looking for the boy I once knew, the one who held my hand during thunderstorms and promised to keep the monsters away. But all I see is a stranger. It’s like I don’t know him anymore.

Is that my fault, or his?

I want to scream, to demand answers, to beg him to tell me it’s all a mistake. But the words catch in my throat, trapped behind a barrier of fear and doubt. My fingers press harder against the wall, the rough surface grounding me in reality. I feel pain biting into my fingertips, the burn of fresh wounds.

I need the pain to keep me grounded.

“You’re scared,” Draco states, his voice void of emotion. “I just wanna help you. That’s all.”

Am I scared? Yes, but not of him.

But am I wrong not to be?

“I don’t need a bodyguard, Draco,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s a challenge, a plea, a desperate cry for him to prove me wrong.

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