(taylor's version)

His shoulders hunch in a clear display of stress and his grip on the edges of the cupboard becomes tight, as if he's afraid of it slipping from his grasp. You can't tell how long he's been this way, but it's clear that something is causing him a great deal of worry.

With trembling hands, he gestures with his wand, the glow of its energy creating a fleeting light in the dim space. His expression is tense, and you can't make sense of what he's trying to accomplish.

He pulls his robe off with a sudden, abrupt motion, tossing it aside as if it means nothing. Then, with a new sense of purpose, he grips his wand tighter and speaks the words of a charm that you're not quite familiar with. Still, the result is the same – the door creaks open slowly, revealing nothing but barren darkness beyond.

In a moment of frustration, Draco lets out a yell of anguish. He bumps his head against the cabinet, and the pain etched on his features is noticeable even in the dark. His fingers wrap tightly around the edges, almost as if he's afraid the cabinet will disappear if he lets go. But the only thing that vanishes is the light in his eyes, replaced with the look of a lost and confused boy.

With a slow approach, you reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Draco,” you say his name softly, hoping to help him find ease in this moment. But he only tenses at the sound of your voice.

His breath hitches in his throat as if your touch is a surprise to him. You've always been there for each other, offering solace in times of great sorrow, but it feels different now. It's as if you're nothing more than a mere object to him, just like the robe he had cast aside to collect dust in the corners of this room. Draco has been hiding his true intentions from you, and you're not sure if it's because he's afraid of your reaction or if he simply feels ashamed.

And then, your eyes catch the mark on his wrist; a strange skull with a serpent crawling from its mouth. You've seen it before, in your studies of the First Wizarding War. The Dark Mark. You stop him before he can slip his wand away and turn his wrist over.

Neither of you speak for a moment, but your silence is broken by a heavy exhalation from Draco. He must have realized that the secret he's been holding onto is now out in the open. You can't help but feel a sense of shock and disappointment, but you also see the underlying fear and regret in his eyes. As you stare at the mark, you begin to connect the dots, and the reason for Draco’s secrecy is now explicable.

You don’t need to ask for him to explain himself. He tells you anyway, aware of the questions that cloud your mind. “A simple charm,” he says, his eyes low and droopy with fatigue.

The gentle warmth of your fingers glides across his skin, a contrast to the cold, ink-stain symbol of the Dark Mark. He averts his gaze when you speak. “Why did you do it?” You don’t have to look at him to know that regret etches on his face.

"I had to," he answers curtly, and you wish it had more to it. You fixate on his lips and the way he licks them nervously; the silent tear gliding down his cheek shatters your heart into a thousand pieces.

He watches as you touch the golden ring slung on your necklace. It was once a simple gift, a symbol of his endearment for you. You had often fiddled with it when you were nervous or upset, but you never thought you would be in this position because of him―he’d never thought you would’ve been.

The tears gather in your eyes and the look of pain in your face makes his gut clench. He wants to tell you that everything will be alright, that the mark means nothing, but that would be a lie. And he couldn't lie to you like that.

Instead, as you bite your lip to hold back a sob, he pulls his forehead to yours, and closes his eyes. He presses a comforting kiss to your skin, and you feel a cool touch on your temple. "You mean everything to me," he whispers. “I love you.” And then with a shakiness to it, the words echo the air.

“Obliviate.”

You leave the Room of Requirement with a sense of confusion and emptiness, and Draco only tells you that you were lost before leading you out. For weeks on after, the feeling of void stays, engulfing you to the point of physical exhaustion.

There’s a blank space in your memory that feels like an important piece of you―but you don’t know what it is. You begin to hang out with your friends, trying to discover the void left behind from that moment in the Room of Requirement, but to your displeasure, you discern nothing.

You begin to tuck yourself into bed with a sense of difference; with an ache to go somewhere, to sneak out and have someone to see. But your mind remains blank, it seems you are forgetting so much these days.

“Draco, isn’t that your ring?”

You’re studying with your friends, head deep in textbooks and various pieces of parchment when someone speaks, their voice whipping against the silent air of the library. Draco watches as you flip through the pages of the book you read.

Blaise speaks again, “isn’t it?”

Draco shifts in his seat. “I’m sure it just looks similar.” His grey eyes watch you attentively, and his voice comes monotone when he speaks. There’s a sense of desolation to it.

“We both know that’s the Malfoy family crest.” Blaise tells him, his eyes slightly wary of his friend’s lie. “I wondered why you stopped wearing it.”

After a few moments of silence, Draco stands, the inside of his cheeks between his teeth. He takes slow, prideful steps towards you. Your eyes are still on your paper, indulged in your reading when his voice chimes out. “That’s my ring,” he says. You look up.

Draco hovers over your slouched figure, his eyes attempting a hard gaze. There’s a glimpse of regret in his hues of grey and it doesn’t come unnoticed. But he doesn’t glare at you – and he couldn’t, even if he really attempted to. His eyes just couldn’t seem to lose their shine around you.

You flicker your gaze from him to the golden ring hanging from your neck. It feels warm under your fingertips and slippery from your sweat. It had probably been caressed from your stress as you studied. A heat travels through your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve picked it up by accident.” Your drop your quill to untangle the lock of your necklace, but your friends stop you before you can.

“Wait, how do we know if it’s yours, Malfoy?”

He knows that your friends hate him, but he still feels that familiar pain strike his chest. He acts the part that they know so well. “My vaults could buy this castle, why would I be stealing gold from a mere student?”

He’s usually more harsh, but he can’t bring himself to insult you either. Instead, he watches as you struggle to unclasp it until you have six girls pulling at the expensive chain around your neck.

He inhales deeply, reaching to undo it himself. “Move you lot, you’re going to damage it.” His fingers brush against your cold skin, and his warmth gives you a sense of comfort you don’t understand. He unclasps the chain easily, and when it leaves your skin, Draco slips the ring off before giving you back the golden line.

“Thank you.” You tell him, but there’s an ache to say something more.

He leaves the table without another word, and you watch as his retreating figure leaves the library. Your fingers crawl to your neck, your other hand holding the golden chain. It feels weird to lose the charm. It wasn’t yours in the first place, but it felt like it should’ve been―it’s a selfish thought. You don’t even remember how it came to your possession.