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Summary
The ice-cold mist assaulted him first, contrasting with the comparatively warm air and highlighting exactly how terrible his next two minutes were about it be. Was it worth it? To step under the spray and snuff out a little bit of his happiness forever?
He thought of the look she would send him as he walked into the Great Hall, the way her gaze always found his and held for a tiny, infinitesimal moment before she was either drawn back into conversation, or completed whatever eating-or-drinking action she’d been midway through, or—beautifully, disastrously—sent a tiny smile over at him.
The shiver that wracked through him had nothing to do with the goosebumps pricking along his entire body. The ache in his groin was unending.
Fuck.
He stepped under the spray.
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Or, Draco resorts to a cold shower or two.
Series
- Part 4 of Try Not To Come