Days passed by uneventfully in that most unsettling of Octobers - a month which had come out of nowhere like a big angry storm cloud to rain confusion down on everything residing within the castle walls at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
October in the wizarding world is traditionally a time for celebration: when magical energy peaks deliciously high, and the veils between dimensions all but thin to a satisfying fringe.
For October is best characterized by it's supernatural irks and quirks, it's bone-chillingly moist temperatures, rotting aromatics, and foggy overwhelm, all contributing to a generally thrilling sense of unease...
However that October was especially uncanny; prickling the hairs on even the most sinister of beasts. And not many folks were too thrilled by the delusional arguments they were left to partake in - debating amongst themselves precisely what was real, and what was not...
Guy Cosmos' voice was probably the loudest on the stupefaction scene.
He continued to flit about blubbering and cursing in his bright pastel outfits, complaining that the world had been turned upside down and inside and out, to the point where he'd now spent the entire week in detention with Severus Snape for crossing the line multiple times.
Harry Potter - a wealthy, pureblood wizard of Gryffindor House - was the latest to report a personal attack from Guy.
According to chit chat, the boy was a b s o l u t e l y outraged that he'd been placed in a position to defend whether or not his parents were currently alive.
It was a rather bold thing to argue with someone over indeed, and Guy had made it all the more worse by nearly taking out Harry's eyeball. Pansy had later coined the assault as being rabid when describing the manner in which Guy had lunged at the boy's bangs, apparently in search of a concealed scar shaped just like a lightning bolt.
Naturally, the day that Lily and James Potter had shown up to observe one of Harry's quidditch games, undeniably alive, the whole argument was quickly put to bed.
Not for Cosmos however, who suspiciously questioned whether Harry's parents were actually a pair of ghouls occupying the stands.
As one does in such a lunatic scenario, he resorted to pulling Lily's long red hair in the hopes of proving her immateriality, and that unwise move had resulted in Severus Snape stepping in to intervene.
And so in swift punishment for this unfortunate mistake, Guy was put to work scrubbing out the innards of rusty cauldrons - a job reserved solely by Slytherin's cruel House Head for the purposes of discipline, even though magic stood to thoroughly expedite such a grisly task.
Audette had overseen Snape positively seething down at poor disordered Guy, dragging him by his birdy elbow towards the ominous potion labs located in the rankest depths of the educational fortress, "There is no boy who lived, Cosmos, there is only the boy who died - Neville Longbottom. Forgotten in disrespectful ardor, have we, all about the Longbottom memorial shrine in the Herbology Wing?"
Guy's teary eyes had reeled between the entire rainbow spectrum that afternoon, frantic and fully convinced of his many demented claims, "But Neville Longbottom is perfectly alive, and he's the most mucosal mess I've ever met! Potter is the boy who lived! Why would I forge any of this? Oh please, please, I've just painted my nails! Anythingggg but the bloody cauldrons!"
On the opposite end of the spectrum to Guy's conscientious curse, Theodore Nott had remained merrily oblivious...to everything.
There, where the stairs terminated at the base of the female tower in the Slytherin common room, he waited for Audette each morning as he had for years, with a sweet smile on his comely face and an arm outstretched for her to hold onto.
It seemed that his private dissertations were absolutely cracking on at an impressive velocity, and he was constantly in a grand mood of the likes Audette found to be unsettling - almost as if he was intoxicated on life itself.
He'd never been so loquacious during their evening strolls in the shadowy corridors.
He'd never seemed so attentive to her every whimsical desire, doting upon her with endless trinkets and poems.
He'd never kissed her so longingly, and in such fanciful frequency. In fact he'd never been one for physical affection or public displays of intimacy, however Audette was finding herself caught up in rather outrageous snogging sessions with her darling Italian beaux that left her lips positively stinging.
By god, he'd never really cared to darn any colour aside from green, silver or navy, yet he'd begun showing up in all sorts of sugary shades that startled the stockings off of her.
Theodore Nott had never seemed so...human...and Audette could not figure out why this perfectly cheerful update was registering to her as...creepy...
Given that he was perchance the brightest wizard in the building, he aught to have questioned by then a clear distortion of reality, yet not even a curious glint had occurred behind those wise rectangular spectacles. And while this disregard for the obvious was terrifically puzzling, she chose not to disrupt his strangely ignorant bliss.
For he had yet to discover the transgressions within that clamorous clock tower, and that was a small morsel of relief to be found in an otherwise dystopian environment. So she began to breathe normally and sleep undisturbed, with the understanding that Malfoy had miraculously let it all slide...
Afterall, the platinum-haired menace had had his moment of good fun tormenting Audette, not to mention the racy glimpse he'd gotten away with of the highly coveted diamond's undergarments.
One week later it was as if the encounter had never been, as he seemed rather preoccupied and popular to be bothered with preying on an injured gazelle.
Still, Audette did take occasional guilty heed of the angelic antihero going about his business.
He tended to lurk about the premises showcasing two persisting forms of style: either a pitch black suit form-fitted to his slender physique, or a drawling red and black ensemble complete with billowing robes representative of Durmstrang.
This flashy exhibition was routinely accompanied by the bioluminescent quadrivial medal squared over his chest - of which separated him from any 'commonplace' champion, as if such a thing were even possible. She quickly came to the understanding that Draco Malfoy was an arrogant bastard of the most wild proportions, and that he wore it every single day solely to garner clout and brag.
Often he was in a large group with his fellow Russian colleagues, who enjoyed playing rogue games of Quidditch or exercising in militant formations just about anywhere over the property.
Or...on random evenings he might be spotted lounging in the Slytherin common room to Audette's absolute nerve-wrack, socializing on the couches with a few of the Hogwarts students he'd been homeschooled alongside of in their adolescent years.
These few, she'd concluded, were Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Parkinson, Greengrass, Bulstrode...and Theodore Nott. Who - by Audette's sheer dumb luck - never expressed interest in participating.
Of course there was no shortage of occasions in which Malfoy was swamped up to his ears with entertaining ingratiating females, and it was quite obvious that he thoroughly enjoyed the attention. He was a chauvinistic playboy stereotype which roiled Audette's stomach and turned her lip up, even though his private flirtations were technically none of her concern.
The pool of dishy nincompoops was vast and ringed with sludge, including such overtly-confident souls as Pansy Parkinson, who loudly quizzed Draco every second day or so on who he planned to escort to the Yule Ball in December.
To which - to no one's surprise - she was charmingly rebuffed with taciturn nonsense such as Peeves, or, perhaps one of the shorn goddess hedges out in the gardens.
If Audette could send Pansy anymore of a side eye at the burningly conspicuous plea for an invitation, than she'd be entirely blind out of that angle.
In all fairness, it was bloody well difficult for her not to concern herself with all this riff-raff hub bub, given the bizarrely personal exchanges they had shared in total secrecy.
Whenever she passed by, Malfoy would make it abundantly clear that he took just as guilty heed of her presence, brazenly acknowledging Audette with glacial *snaps* of those demanding orbs. And each time that it happened, it felt like an electric shock to her nerves which buzzed for a solid minute afterwards.
Other times he would linger on her in a silent, spine-tingling sort of peruse from a distant perch, biting his lip curiously, which caused her cheeks to completely light aflame. She could not help assuming this to be him recreating that supposedly striking visual against whatever current outfit she had buried herself beneath.
Oh but indeed, it was all particularly validating for her tattered self esteem - the mere concept that a boy like that might be interested - but it was also tremendously audacious to so much as consider it.
Thankfully it was all limited to glances and glares, and at no point did he deliver on his threat to expose the launder hole incident, and so she never felt inclined to return to the library.
Until one evening when he shouldered her very roughly in the Great Hall as they traversed in opposing directions. She had spun in dripping shock, knocking a knee into a nearby bench, when a plume of his cologne confirmed without visual that it had been him.
She peered in cringe with her fingers tangled up in her collar; he was walking backwards now, covertly splitting his hands apart in mimic of opening a book. When he winked at her and suavely rotated back around, a big pit bloomed in Audette's tummy.
A big pit, and a pile of unhelpful butterflies - fighting with one another over dictating whether she was in dread...or euphoria.
Knowing that he might very well go gallivanting off to Theodore should she refuse, she returned to the library later that evening with a large wax candle in hand. Anxiously prying open The Book of One Thousand Bleeding Eyes she found he'd written a long response this time.
Her blood pressure spiked in strange glee as words began to ebb across the empty parchment;
D.M. I cannot recall the nickname either, however you can be sure that I will.
Others have assigned you titles since then, haven't they?
Emerald Princess.
Diamond of the Kingdom.
Lady Theodore Nott.
How malignant that must be for you, sentenced to an eternal dress-up puppet for all the world to make parlour games out of.
I'm not interested in dress-up; rather what lies beneath...and that's not to reference those primeval bloomers of yours. Although, those were interesting in their own right.
Tell me what your deepest desire is, Audette Fiadh Bellarose.
She bit her tongue on the spot, sliding against the musty bookstack until her backside met the cool tile flooring.
How...surprising...
Coquettish, insightful...well-versed, even...
She had read his response in her head as if spoken in his own luxurious voice, and now her heart was pitter-pattering at the tiniest of details; he'd labelled her by her entire name. No titles, simply her name: suggesting a clear separation between who she was, and those other masquerades which left her feeling numb and adrift.
The basic human right to dream of anything else other than some pathetic "duchess debut" had always been prohibited, and even daring to imagine such liberations left her humming and gasping heavily in that dark corner of the castle where books were flying about on their own, organizing themselves efficiently after hours.
She might've confused that wild helix in her tummy for a foodborne virus if she did not know any better; it was passion of the foolish, romantic variety, spreading in Cancer crab victory throughout her entire system and latching onto various crucial organs along the way.
A terminal illness, if anything.
Audette left a simple answer in the book, as dialogue between them had suddenly matured into a rather breathless brevity for her;
A.B. To fly freely.
I suppose I owe you the same question in return; Quadrivial Champion, Seeker Extraordinaire...
What is your deepest desire, Draco Lucius Malfoy?
Two days dissipated until finally she managed to return undetected by Theodore's snoopy inquisitions into her every whereabouts.
And there it was again: Malfoy's elegant cursive appearing in real time, each branching arch scratching into reality with care and caress;
D.M. Precisely the same.
You will come to find that our origins are not so different.
Don't be shy now, doll face, do tell me more about yourself.
Oh boy, she was royally fucked.
Against all rationale she responded in eager tang, pacing in that moldy library stack with a quill jammed between her teeth, making sure to dot each 'i' that she wrote in the form of adorable little hearts as a means to express cutesy femininity.
She would be sassy with him, because that is the very juiciest bit about being a pretty girl chased by a pretty boy.
A.B. I assume that you are professionally taunting me with such disengaged prompts.
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I'm not that easily bamboozled into divulging my darkest intimacies by the likes of an estranged Russian boy.
Rather, why don't you dare tell me more about yourself, and from that I shall determine how similar our origins truly are.
In fact, tell me precisely what it is you see of me. Precisely. Do not spare me any morsel of kindness.
That would be dreadfully inconsistent of you, and I've developed expectations.
The following afternoon she greedily scampered back into the bookstacks, after falsely informing her controlling fiancée that she was suffering from 'explosive feminine qualms' and would be ridden in the lavatory for the next conceivable hour.
Theodore had given her a very strange look before departing for the Slytherin common room, but it had worked; he hadn't asked any questions about the disgusting insinuation of an emergency.
Back in the library now, she cracked open the book, swallowing down nerves.
It really was quite a shame that each word whisked away from permanence once read, forcing Audette to take a moment in careful preparation prior to beginning review.
Ah yes, it was another intellectually stimulating reply, one that would be unfortunately impossible to memorize;
D.M. Audette, you thoroughly amuse me.
If my accent were not sufficient enough implication, I shall remind you of my prominent English heritage. One would think my last name a commensurable barometer. Do you really have no idea who I am?
She paused; oh yes that was right, she had labelled him an estranged Russian boy. Should she know who he was? Had he come from some notable background in her family's inner circle? Was he unaware that Ireland and England were two completely different countries?
In any case very well.
What I can diagnose from your limited earnesty is that you're a severe case of lost potential thus far.
You do revolt against your oppressors, but with the tenacity of a turtle.
It's embarrassing just how oblivious you pretend to be with regards to your physical attractiveness: no one is buying that you've never looked in a mirror, Briar Rose. You're either blind, insecure, or totally manipulative. I'd wager the latter.
And you're a piss poor liar, trained to speak from a script - a script once deviated from, renders you in wretched shambles. Remember, originality does not emanate from a plaything. Afterall, appointed playthings such as yourself are meant to obediently embody another's inspiration.
I struggle to swallow that by now you haven't acquiesced which particular characters view you as a pawn in their personal fantasy. Look closely, if not. They hope to keep their toys locked up securely in a trunk, retrieved only as a novelty for heavily scripted purposes.
As for me, I narrowly escaped a parallel fate.
Therefore when you are ready to leave behind your toymakers, I will teach you how to fly.
Bare in mind it shall cost you the greatest of sacrifices: your strings.
Audette dropped the book in her lap, her jaw suspended dramatically open. A drastic chill travelled down the length of her spine, as if one of the janitorial elves had popped open an ancient aperture to allow in the autumnal fetor beyond.
She aught to have been feeling resentful, guarded, or at the very least blanched in that second...but as her eyes rose to the stars above, visible through a skylight in the atheneum, all she could think to write was,
A.B. Than so be it.
Snap them all to smithereens.
Every. Last. String.
She was prepared to dredge out the garden shears then and there for this handsome devil who was quite possibly the very first person to understand what she was enduring, to spot where she had gotten lost in a crowd of silk-stockers like Waldo within a populated timepiece collage.
An obsession formed instantaneously, to the point where each of them checked the book at least once a day, and by the hour she grew increasingly vibrant and energetic, perhaps arguably high on the naughtiness and sheer ignorance.
Whether Draco Malfoy was providing her with genuine vulnerability was unclear, as the more likely scenario was that the vicious bastard was instead pulling her leg for a good laugh.
It didn't matter; she was now totally dumbfounded by his cerebral and savvy airiness.
Draco was everything that Theodore was, except he possessed all of the juicy qualities of a radical thinker on top. Each sophisticated word he penned to her felt like the first bit of refreshing and honest perspective she'd received in her life, and it took very little in the way of persuasion for him to gain her trust.
Absolutely everything was glittery with promise then.
Why, even Argus Filch's greasy locks had taken on a shiny sparkle.
* L I M E R E N C E *
Limerence turned out to be a strong and jazzy drug that unlike any of it's competition only intensified with each dose...and she was a raging addict. The higher she got, the more Audette grew naively convinced that there were zero side effects and no possibility for overdosing.
For example, it was not the sort of destructive drug where one plucks out all of their hair until they more closely resemble a dreadful cave hag.
On the contrary she styled her golden locks for a solid hour each morning, experimented with Guy's dramatic makeup, and picked out her finest duchess dresses, all the while lying to herself that this overkill in presentation had absolutely nothing to do with a crush on the untouchable Durmstrang boy.
Neither, did she find, that it was the sort of destructive drug which causes one to gain or loose unhealthy volumes of weight. Food no longer bore a flavor in comparison to daydreaming about Draco's next insightful letter, however Audette did begin to consume quite a few verdant apples just to inspire a little taste of his world.
And it certainly was not the sort of destructive drug where one breaks out in a field of pimples, or self imposed scars due to rummaging about after imaginary insects.
The only itch beneath her skin was the blast of pumping blood as pheromones toyed with her sanity and sent her heartrate careening. The only rashes were those which spread from disastrous blushing when she strolled past the best seeker in all of Europe, dolled up just for those thirty seconds of validation when his eyebrows popped in flirty confirmation.
She became increasingly social and bubbly, her expanding mind felt capable of absorbing any schoolwork laid before her, and she even made efforts to write home to her mother who had always desired such back and forth with Audette.
Ah yes...L I M E R E N C E.
It was like taking the longest and most satisfying sigh in the world.
Over the coming jubilating weeks he asked Audette all about the girl buried alive underneath those 'imposturous gowns', and as he discovered who she was, so did she discover him in turn.
He was rather visionary - sensitive to colours, presentation, and the pedigree of materials. Draco derived an incredible rush of dopamine simply by staring at something he deemed to be of exquisite pulchritude.
As such he hobbied in painting, astrography, and architectural drawing, in collecting fashion and artefacts, and he spent a tremendous degree of personal energy analyzing others for their inescapable genetics and overall exposition.
That last one was terrifying to say in the least. One wouldn't dream of darning a sloppy t-shirt within a mile of his penetrating gaze if they knew of how his snobby brain articulated, and heaven forbid a birth defect located in plain sight.
D.M. If something is genuinely, truly beautiful, wholesome without need of polish or perfection, I will move mountains to obtain it.
When she asked why he'd chosen to attend Durmstrang, he summarized;
I took the very opportunity that you did in selecting Hogwarts over Erenholl.
You understand. There is nowhere farther on this Earth from my home and the cantankerous contents within it. Of course, the weather in eastern Europe is pleasantly logical and blighting, and so are the people - that as well, is a compelling factor.
Well if it was an arctic atmosphere that he desired, than t'was the season indeed.
As November took over the calendar, ice accumulated on the steeples of the castle and within the crevice of each pointed glass pane, sparing not even the tallest interior spaces from presuming the joyful climate of a subterranean cave.
The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall began to release flurries, the ornamental chomping pumpkins evolved into snowmen who poked playfully at residents with their twiggy fingers, and the second trial came and went with Draco maintaining a bizarrely fierce lead.
Guy continued to cry about the world being upside down or some sort of blither-blather along that line, but sadly, no one cared to listen anymore.
By then the emotional affair had grown even more meaningful. It was like a vacuum left to run endlessly, swallowing up all of Audette's brain space no matter where she went or what she was doing.
Yet the pen-palling had now become so frequent that the compositions grew shorter, and more eager, nearly impatient, and Audette inherently decided that the silly devil's text that they were using to communicate through was nothing but an obstacle slowing them down.
D.M. What qualities drove you to select Slytherin House? I do carry my own scrutiny of course, however I'd like to hear from you why it is our darling diamond dares brandish green and silver in these halls.
A.B. Perhaps you'll discover that in time. Of course, if you would agree to meet with me in person, those qualities might shine brighter than they do through stark raven ink.
One thing to note about Draco, was that he was a man of extremes. While he was perfectly charismatic at the best of times, even a single raindrop of hindrance might very well drive him into an onery fit.
D.M. Must I reiterate this for the hundredth round?
Each time I pass by you, I register in your eyes a tameless lust that is best kept at bay. I suspect self control will be forgotten by the both of us in a physical setting. In fact I am certain of it.
Escalating this beyond verbal parameters would only derail me from first discovering what sacrifices you are truly willing to make, and might very well result in irreversible consequences.
Perhaps one of those Slytherin qualities of yours is gluttony, in which case you must learn to replace it with a more advantageous quality: forbearance.
You speak of time as if it is limitless, however I don't have much time, do I?
When is your wedding to that dense puppet scheduled?
Audette could give two liquefied shits about forbearance.
A.B. Not until my nineteenth birthday, but that is irrelevant.
I'm beginning to find that The Book of One Thousand Bleeding Eyes is nothing but a bleeding inconvenience, and you cannot convince me otherwise.
I would rather exercise self control as your friend in a tangible setting, than know you only as the invisible force behind lines of impermanent symbols appearing and disappearing on this page.
I admit to gluttony. Another quality you may want to brush up on of mine is severe jealousy. I am unbelievably resentful towards the village of females you trifle with in public coquette, yet I am strictly forbidden from receiving so much as a word from you outside of this book.
To all others, I am nothing to you.
So you see, I too must know of sacrifices you are willing to make before I denounce my engagement, so I suppose we have arrived at a harrowing catch twenty-two.
Audette was lucky he returned to the book after this entry - not because she had spoken too boldly, but because she had given into frustration that day and decided to lurk about in the bookstack in order to corner him in person.
Her crabby pincers desired to hug him after months of unbearably romantic dialogue, even just once...However just like a silly crab she couldn't see clearly how terrifying those desperate blades on her fingers looked from an outside perspective.
Unsurprisingly, Draco did not take well to the ambush, and stormed off without returning for three whole days as punishment, locking himself away somewhere within that pirate ship bobbing on the Black Lake.
Then when she was in a total state of despair, his voice finally reappeared on the scroll of revolution, furious.
When she spotted him snarling at her in the library before vanishing into the bookstack, her heart nearly fell on the floor.
D.M. Your childish actions might very well have jeopardized everything. If the atheneum had been host to the wrong party witnessing you tossing yourself at me like some wild trollop...
The book is not an inconvenience - it is an essential portal for the time being, of which you must respect.
We cannot be friends under any circumstance. Never suggest that to me again, it is a blinding insult.
I care not to concern myself with your unchecked jealousy. You have received from me, more attention in these past months than all of those witches combined. More perhaps than my own mother in eighteen years.
We cannot risk exposing what exists between us to the public until you are ready to make the appropriate sacrifices as payment. I outlined to you long ago that it would cost you the strings which tie you to your toymakers.
Cut them now, or swallow your squirming tongue.
How long we continue to operate through this book is entirely your decision to make, PRINCESS.
They were both passionately enraged now, and Audette practically carved her next submission into the scroll.
That afternoon neither of them even bothered to leave the library, glaring at one another stubbornly while traipsing back and forth from separate reading nooks to argue at subpar lightning speed through the extremely tattered, and totally abused, Book of One Thousand Bleeding Eyes.
A.B. I don't understand what incentives you are convinced that I could possibly possess to make such a gigantic sacrifice without concrete evidence that you will not abandon me.
You have conceded to harboring no actual feelings for me, only teased me with this ridiculously clerical dalliance.
You are well aware that I have been given until my nineteenth birthday to wed, and I must have a suitor or my father will most certainly disown me.
IF NOT WORSE.
I have grown absolutely exhausted of this tedious sleuthing, and I am now thoroughly disappointed in myself for entertaining it with such foolish avidity.
She slammed the book back into it's cubby hole, and the decaying dust jacket split horrendously down the side.
Seamus Finnigan raised his eyebrows at Audette as she stormed back to her chair nearby, remarking at a rude volume to Dean Thomas, "What do yah reckon's got Bellarose's hair all in a tangle? Think she accidentally pinned beetles in there instead of butterflies today?"
She sat there anxiously ripping said metal trinkets out of her hair, not beetles, however that would soon be irrelevant. She kept bending them into unidentifiable blobs as Draco took forever in the bookstack, presumably writing a fat novel.
When she stormed back over there, that is precisely what she found.
D.M. Oh I am sure that you have grown exhausted, given you're nothing if not impulsive and rash. So what are you prepared to do about it? Throw yourself down the launders hole, or make adult decisions?
I know what they are, those three greedy words that you lose sleep over at night, praying that I will deliver them on a golden platter for her esteemed royal highness.
How shocking it took this long for us to uncover yet another one of your fine Slytherin qualities - it is truly unbelievable that the hypocrisy radiating out of your skin hasn't melted that garish gown clean off of your fucking skeleton.
You dare attack me over trivial flirtations, yet I observe you waltz around holding hands with that fucking Italian bell-end each and every day.
I am not in a relationship. You are. You are cheating on your fiancé, Audette, bargaining to trade him for an upgrade while worrying only about yourself. Come to terms with the fact that you are a wicked little monster, and before fully involving myself with you I require at least a security deposit.
Why don't we start you off with a lesser sacrifice then, one that you should be perfectly capable of handling without risking anything.
In exchange for those three words you pine for from me, I wish for you to subtract yours from another. Would you say that you are genuinely in love with your fiancée?
Tell me the truth, because without it, than we are in fact at an impasse.
Are you in love with Theodore Nott?
When Audette read this final query she shut The Book of One Thousand Bleeding Eyes without providing a response for the first time, and threw it to the floor with brute hatred where it's ancient pages splattered apart to reveal ugly demons and gory rituals.
More like The Book of One Thousand Bleeding Hearts.
Actually it was no longer a book at all, it was nothing but a puddle of dismembered parchments, and in similar regard as her newly decimated ability to respond utilizing the book, neither could her mind report an answer.
Draco had perhaps not realized it, but he had just demanded the biggest sacrifice of all.
She blasted out of the library trembling in shock, incapable of looking at the boy as she whizzed past his table.
How could he...
How could he possibly ask her to...
Well of course, he had every right ask it. She was regrettably acting like a hypocrite, selfishly stringing him along, but...
That state of shock stuck to her like static all day and all night, for she was not entirely sure how to answer Malfoy's final query; had she fallen out of love with Theodore Nott afterall?
Or had she never loved him at all, instead having been a victim of her parent's impossible stipulations dictating what sort of man they expected her to bring home?
Was that her insane plan then, to drag home Draco Lucius Malfoy by his ankles as a happy-go-lucky bait and switch?
Did the infamous playboy even desire marriage at all, let alone to her?
She could just see it now; this new and strange boy would not be received with a traditional warm welcome, instead with the scalding hot monocle on Montgomery's left cheek. Teddy B. Nott however - the honorable, seafaring, Italian gentleman extraordinaire - did fit the Bellarose's bill in every regard.
Theodore was handsome, responsible, intelligent, and loyal. He was a pureblood aristocrat of impeccable regality, and brought plenty of generational wealth to match hers in a matrimony.
And he loved Audette profoundly, proudly.
There was not a single thing wrong with the man, and Audette in all of her developing clarity set aside the limerence in sudden understanding. There were consequences afterall; it was the sort of drug that causes one to forget grounding reason.
Whether or not she was deeply in love with Theodore, she couldn't simply surrender her current relationship in expectation that the grass would magically be greener on the other side of the fence.
She'd only just met Draco three months prior: was there even grass on that side of the fence, or just an endless ocean of snow and ice?
Now that she peered at it more closely, the fence was smattered in red flags warning that climbing over might be disastrous, all of which Audette had been previously acting colorblind to until that very moment.
And the more she thought on it, the more red flags sprouted up like smelly mushrooms in a garden bed: brazen cruelty, violence towards others, flirting with every girl in his sight...
This boy...he'd coerced Audette into speaking with him behind her fiancé's back, via breaking down her confidence and manipulating her with charming colloquey.
Right...
If that particular flag were any redder it would light aflame.
The illusion shattered just like that, and she was flooded with the dreaded ick.
While withdrawal symptoms associated with the dying limerence mimicked dreadful heartbreak, Audette grit her teeth through the urge to weep at night, fearing that she had been following down a path which would have ultimately ruined her life.
Draco Malfoy would eventually go back to Russia, and Audette Bellarose would never see him again, and that was going to be that.