The Girl in the Tower 2: Seasons of Discontent Ch. 1: The Art of Reacquaintance
bPART 1: SEVEN YEARS
Chapter 1: The Art of Reacquaintance /B
The china. The crystal. The napkin rings and the painted vases. Something inside him wanted to smash every last bit of it. The artwork and the sculptures. The lovely rose and violet sprays that dotted the table. The centerpieces. The silverware, the butter dishes, and the chandeliers. He wanted to toss every gleaming suit of armor into a giant, clattering heap of brass and broken plumage in the center of the floor. He wanted to topple the cabinets, the hutches, and sidebars. Shatter the mirrors. Rip the drapes from the windows. Then, only upending the tables and tearing the elegant tapestries from the walls might calm this helpless frustration. It festered where it lived in darkness, nestled, restless, in a little room somewhere deep inside where he kept all the anger and the rage.
Harry walked with a languid pace, barely moving, his hands clasped behind his back as though he were strolling through the park on a warm summer day. The amber glow of the fires that surrounded him lay soft on his glasses, giving a spark of light to his pained and troubled eyes. The scarlet silk of a fine, immaculate tablecloth was cool beneath his touch and Harry sighed, profound and exhausted. This wasn't what his life was supposed to be.
He knew she was there without hearing her enter. Without the sound of her voice or the whispered rustle of fabric as she stood in the doorway. He simply ifelt/I her presence. A presence that had once been the very air that he breathed. It had been the remedy for the storm that raged inside. Now, it had become the source of it.
Her words were gentle, uncertain, and laced with trepidation. "Are you coming to bed?"
Harry's eyes found the far wall, unable to look at her. His back to the place in which she stood. "I don't know."
Sara's voice was small and wounded when she spoke again, and it pained him to hear it. "It's our ianniversary." /I
Harry said nothing.
"You were distant at dinner. Our guests were worried.i I/I was worried."
"I wasn't feeling well."
"That's what you said ilast/I year."
Something enormous, and heavy with sadness, curled in his chest. He knew she was trying not to cry and his voice was little more than a whisper. "Goodnight, Sara."
It was a long moment before she responded. There were so many things that she wanted to say, this he knew, but in the end, she didn't say them. He felt her eyes on his back and knew that they had run with tears. She left in silence, taking a piece of his misery with her.
Harry sighed his relief. He knew Sara thought he no longer loved her. She was wrong about that, but he didn't know how to tell her when this pain was all he knew. Without thought, he touched the ring on his finger, the one she'd placed there seven years before. Back before they'd learned the itruth/I that time could reveal. When they were naive enough to think that love ruled all, when they were blinded by ignorance and foolish enough to believe the heart was wiser than the mind. When fulfilling the need of each other was iall/I that mattered.
Harry closed his eyes with the bittersweet ache of memory. Sara had been a vision on that day. She was radiant, resplendent and Ibeautiful, /I aglow in her white dress as he smiled through his happiness. She'd returned his smile as she vowed to love him forever and he'd thought that there was nothing else in the world except her hand in his. To look upon her face and know that she meant every word of it was the very Imeaning/I of solace. The honesty in her eyes held the means to pacify his soul through all eternity. At least that's what he'd thought Ithen. /I They'd been barely more than children, after all. Children who refused to believe that things had changed.
He'd chosen to ignore the darkness that hid behind her eyes, that shadow of decimation that could never truly leave her. In her time away, Sara had discovered a rift in her own mind that would never heal. It lay dormant in her still, secret, waiting until the day it could consume her once again. Harry feared that day like no other. He almost expected it, dreading each evening, as the streak in her hair grew wider, he'd awake to find her gone. Or worse, still there beside him.
Harry sighed again, pulled a chair out from the table, and fell into it. That wasn't fair. Sara didn't deserve to be thought of that way, especially by him. She'd kept all of her promises. She was good to him as she'd always been. She still loved him, this he knew, but something had distanced them in the past seven years, something had died, dried up, withered, or gone out. Something important. IIntegral. /I Something they Ineeded/I the way a flame needs fuel, lest it fade to ashes, as even the strongest of bonds needs something to hold it fast. That something, Harry thought, was passion. Not the physical sort, but the kind that drives the soul to desire beyond its boundaries, to want more, to pursue life with a zest for excitement and new experience. The sort of passion that embraces a rampant imagination, adventure, mystique, and the pursuit of knowledge with the deepest of human curiosity. Their lives held none of those things anymore, not on any level. Their lives had become nothing more than the non-exuberant dust of domesticity and boredom.
Time ticked off on his father's watch, the only sound in the room besides that of his own breathing, and Harry fell back in his chair. His hands twisted in his lap as guilt seeped through him at the thought of Sara. He had hurt her earlier. He'd known it even as he'd done it, but was helpless to stop it. He didn't know why he was cold to her, why she was hesitant to touch him anymore, or why they took their meals in silence. He didn't understand where the wall between them had come from, or how to tear it down. Sometimes he wasn't sure he wanted to, but right now, his heart ached for her forgiveness. He'd never intended to be cruel to Sara. He'd never wanted to do anything except love her Icompletely. /I
He could feel her sorrow, her desperation, and it stirred his compassion. He knew she suffered because of him and he rose from his chair. She was his wife after all, and this was the anniversary of what was once the happiest day of his life. It was the anniversary of the day the black streak went away. The day Malfoy had finally given up. A hint of a smile touched his lips at this thought and Harry crossed the dark rooms in search of his heart's desire.
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Lightning illuminated the city in a blinding flash and Draco remained expressionless as he watched the rain through the window of a second storey room. Never had there been a room that held such safety, such refuge, as his childhood bedroom. The only room that had ever come close was Sara's tower at Hogwarts. That had been a place of denial and restraint, but also of total acceptance and comfort. Now it stood empty and he was left with only this. Here, in the place he had once found the greatest asylum, he could hide from the world once more. No one knew where he was.
Christina thought he was away on business in Europe. The fact was, there Iwas/I no business. He had no high-ranking and important job, no private enterprise, as he had told her, not even a purpose of the most insignificant kind. He had been here the entire duration, and every time he'd left her before this. Not in another country. Simply on the other side of London.
Draco sighed and clasped his hands easy in front as the rain painted the windows, wondering what was wrong with him. Christina was wonderful. She was understanding in a manner only one other person he'd known had been, and caring in the most gentle of ways. She made it easy for him to escape, and guilt invaded him on occasion, though it did not send him back to his house on the hill. At last, he understood why Sara had stayed away for so long all those years ago. Finally, he knew what it meant to fear home.
As they always did, his eyes wandered to the old, outdated picture beside the bed. Reframed and taped together, looking at it still produced a quiet ache in his soul. No words could describe how he missed her. He missed the warmth of her smile, the comfort of her voice in his ear, and the light her genuine sincerity brought to the darkest corners of his being. Looking at her, even just her image, still awoke all of his senses and flooded him with emotions he couldn't ignore or even subdue. He could still feel her arms around him, could still smell her perfume, and Draco sighed as he heard her words echo through his mind. ICome dance with me… /I Sara had been his on that copasetic night and the memory of it was a cherished place in his mind where he often lingered, blissful torture though it was. Sara was a flame inside him that chased the darkness from his heart. A flame that would never go out, he feared, until the day he died.
The candles flickered as he made his way across the room. The sconces came to life, casting a cold glow in the cold halls and throwing familiar shadows on the floor. Many doors he passed, all shut and concealing room after room of furniture covered with white sheets and nearly a decade of dust. Malfoy Manor was no longer a vision of dark glory.
What he sought was near the front of the house, a place he rarely ventured, and the idea of it filled him with anxious fear. Draco pushed his hair back with a hand that trembled, and then lingered over the Amidon he still wore around his neck. He felt its warmth, steadfast against his chest, and savored the serenity that glowed within him. Memories swept across his mind's eye, the silk of her hair beneath his hand, the low-voltage of her gentle touch, the heated caress of her breath against his neck. Draco crossed the expanse of the lobby, his nervous hands again clasped in front, firm and with less than his usual diplomatic air.
Years before he'd had the portrait moved from the corridor it once menaced, to the place where his father had spent his final breath in the presence of beauty. He'd never really thought about it before, but it was a good way for Lucius to die, better than any fate that had awaited him, Draco was sure. He could only hope that, when he left this world, he could do it so peacefully, with such a vision of natural grace, a sensation of perfect solace, to take to his grave.
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Harry entered the room in silence, leaving the shadows for the dim flicker of a single candle. She stood alone at the windows, open to the warm August breeze that drifted in, tainted by the scent of the ocean. Moonlight clung to her, a satin shimmer aglow on her skin and in the gossamer silk of her nightgown. Sara was a beautiful creature, he thought, a porcelain vision in the darkness. She was the essence of the enchantment of night.
Sara sighed and turned away when he wandered in. Her shoulders slumped and she lowered her eyes. Harry's gentle hand caressed her face, turning her back to face him. His expression was heavy with guilt and apology and Sara hid her anger. It was only sadness that he saw, like a shadow behind her eyes, and Harry wondered why she stayed with him. Why she didn't yell at him or voice her discontent. He wondered as her hand touched his cheek, as her arm went around his back and he held her in a close embrace. He wondered why she returned his kiss, why she slipped her fingers through his hair, smoothing the tangles until it flowed over his shoulder. He wondered why she didn't push him away as he lifted the little nightslip over her head, or when he lowered her to the coverlet. Instead, she pulled him closer and as he climbed onto the bed, Sara met him with a passionate kiss.
The answer to all his questions came in a breathless whisper.
i"I love you," /I she said.
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The dungeons were so Idark/I this time of night. He tended to keep torches burning between his quarters and his classroom, but unfortunately, they didn't extend to the first floor. Shuffling along the pitch-black corridor with only his wand for light, Severus wondered why he'd left his rooms. He wasn't hungry really, far from it after the evening's Ifestivities, /I but food would work as a fine substitute for this seldom-felt need for companionship. Well, at least it Iused to be/I seldom. Not so much anymore.
He Imissed/I her, and it killed him to know it. He didn't Iwan/I t to miss her, of that he was certain, but Severus hadn't known a woman's touch for too many years. He had Ino choice/I but to miss her.
Sylvia wasn't the prettiest witch he'd ever seen, nor could she hold a candle to Diana Lemke, but she looked at him the way no other woman did and that made him set her apart. She was different, yet so akin to his nature that it was almost frightening. Sylvia could match him insult for insult, scowl for scowl, and still delight him with her laughter. She was the substance that filled his idle time, the thought that kept a low smile hiding behind his eyes through every long and monotonous day. At least, he sighed, she Iused to be. /I Now she was nothing more than a memory that left him in need of constant sustenance.
The kitchens were sure to be quite this time of night, but he was hopeful that he could scare something up for himself. A little ambrosia maybe, though he thought he may have finished that the previous night. Dinner had not been served, as everyone had gone to the party, but perhaps there would be a few leftovers from whatever Argus'd had for his evening meal. Hopefully, whatever he managed to find, there would be a lot of it. He had a void to fill, after all.
Snape scowled at IThe Daily Prophet, /I left open on the table and abandoned. "I see there's no longer a need toI clean up after ourselves/I anymore, is there?" Snape asked the empty kitchen. When an echo of his own voice was the only reply, Snape took the paper and sat down in his usual place, the need for food forgotten.
BVacancy in Diagon Alley/b
IDue to the sudden death of the late Ely Toadbucket, the three businesses he owned in Diagon Alley have been closed by Gringott's Bank and the locations will be sold, individually, to the highest offer. For more details, or to place a bid, contact Gringott's Bank. Mr. Toadbucket's widow, Irma…./I
Snape turned the page, bored, his eye landing on nothing of interest.
BFall Hits the Runway/b
IMadam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions is pleased to present, again this year, the Autumn Fashion show. New lines featuring designs by Ralph Snoren, Tommy Hillmonger, and Valentini. Glimpse the hot new styles before they hit stores! Madam Malkin forecasts a more renaissance look in this year's robes, with an emphasis on richer fabrics and small-stitched detail…/I
BOvercrowding at Azkaban/b
IWith the recent incarceration of the Salazar 7, Azkaban Prison has officially exceeded its recommended maximum capacity. Cells are now multi-wizard accommodations, meant for, generally, one prisoner. Dementor count has not increased, however, and some Ministry officials are concerned. We spoke with Ashen Pyre, an overseer from the Ministry of Magic's Dept of Detainment, who still shudders at the memory of the Sirius Black escape…/I
Severus scanned the pages, disgusted with the lack of news since the demise of Voldemort. He was about ready to proclaim himself a dark lord and run amuk just so there was something to read after dinner. With headlines like IThe Western European Owl Show/I and IWitch Weekly's Beauty Pageant Changes Venue/I, any sane person could lose their mind from boredom.With a sigh, the paper folded itself.
Severus had entered the kitchens looking for a late "snack," but left without it. There were things that lay heavy on his mind lately, Sylvia's anger of course, and the constant absence of Draco Malfoy. He'd gone to the house on the hill many times over the past few months, (and years,) looking to visit his old pupil, only to find him not at home. Christina always looked to him with sadness in her eyes and a string of what he was certain were untruths and these she seemed to believe completely. It worried him that Draco would lie to Christina, vanish for months at a time, and tell no one where he'd gone or with what he was involved.
Then there was the other thing that bothered him, which had been driven to the forefront tonight.
It was the same old story. Another anniversary dinner at the Potter residence, which he attended every year and not because he wanted to, had been uncomfortable and awkward. This was the third year in a row that the Potters had been distant and their smiles false. Tonight had been the worst so far, however, and everyone went home early. The two hardly spoke. Potter stared off into space and hadn't touched his dinner. Snape had wanted to venture to the head of the table and slap him around a bit, but somehow managed to restrain himself. Sara, on the other hand, acted her part, but there was such sadness in her eyes, such listlessness in her conversation, that she would not leave his mind, even at this late hour.
It would help, he though as he walked the cold corridors, if she got out of the house for more than shopping. She was bored, as was Potter, but Potter was not his concern at the moment. (or Iever, /I for that matter) Sara needed something with substance, something to look forward to and to occupy her mind.
Snape thought on it as he traversed the dungeons. She was an auror, but that line of work didn't really suit her. He imagined that was why she didn't seek employment as one. It was only to gain skill. She could change the weather, but there wasn't much she could do with that. She was also a master diviner. A very, very rare talent often feigned by imposters.
Snape smiled and entered his quarters. His sleek black owl greeted him from its perch and he scowled at it. "Spooky." he warned,I "Be quiet!" /I
The ebony bird gave an annoyed hoot and turned its head. Snape took off his boots, placed them neatly together by the door, and poured himself a nightcap consisting of brandy and a light sleeping potion. He sipped it, not wanting to lose focus just yet. His eyes fell on the tiny, careworn desk against the wall and he went to it, something he rarely found cause to do.
"Spooky!" he sneered over his shoulder, "Come here. I have a letter for you to deliver."
The bird glanced at him, and then turned its head in completely the other direction, making no move to leave its perch.
Snape raised his commanding voice. "I hear they're serving IBLACK OWL SOUP/I tomorrow for dinner."
Spooky flew into the other room.
Snape opened the door to the hall, held the letter by one corner, and gave the owl one last meaningful glare. With reluctance, Spooky took flight. The letter she grasped with her beak, but before flying off, she snagged two tufts of Snape's stringy black hair in her talons and gave them a good, quick tug.
"GET IOFF!" /I
The bird was gone and Snape swatted empty air, cursing his owl and slamming the door. With a few grumbled threats that no one heard, he returned to the small, threadbare couch and took up with his drink, propping his sock feet on the low table. The fire roared to life with a wave of his wand and Severus smiled, already anticipating the answer he hoped would come sooner than later.
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She was warm, comforting. His arms were around her and her back pressed close against his chest, closer than they had been in months. She slept on his shoulder and getting out of this position without waking her up would be a challenge, but one Harry was determined to accomplish.
The bird had already dropped the letter, so there was no immediacy to his getting out of bed. Lucky for him, because Sara turned and wrapped her arms around him with a mumbled whisper and a sleep-laden smile. Harry stiffened and Sara awoke just long enough to realize he was trying to get away from her. She rolled to the far side of the bed and put her back to him.
Harry sighed. Not the outcome he'd wanted, but he was now free to pretend he was asleep for a few minutes, wait for Sara's breathing to slow, and then creep from the bed.
Harry had the most comfortable slippers in all of England, but found he did his best sneaking around while barefoot. The floor was warm beneath his feet, even though the late August sun had set hours before, and Harry padded across it in silence. The letter waited on the desk and he broke the seal with as little noise as possible.
IHarry,
I'm sorry to bother you at this late hour, but something told me you were up. I'm a bit of a night owl myself, and I could use a friend right now. I need to talk to you. Would you mind coming by? If it's too late, or this letter finds you already in bed, then your earliest convenience will do. I don't mean to impose. I'm terribly sorry for this, but I can think of no one else who will give me an honest opinion in this matter.
PS: Please give Sara my thanks and my apologies. Dinner was wonderful. Sorry I had to leave so early. It was very nice of you both to invite me.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Christina/I
To say he was surprised would be an understatement. Until dinner tonight, he hadn't seen Chris in months, maybe once or twice since last year's wretched anniversary dinner. She had come alone yet again, claiming Draco was away on business, and Harry wondered what manner of 'business' Malfoy was involved in. She had arrived in Draco's limo, full of false cheer, and had been the first to leave. He recalled her reason was that she was "incredibly tired," yet here she was, still up at nearly midnight and claiming to be a night owl. His curiosity led him to the garage and the old Jaguar he still loved to drive. (It now sat beside Sara's new purple Viper, the SUV long gone.)
Still fearful of waking Sara, he touched the worn port key he'd purchased in Hogsmead ages ago, waiting to start the engine until he was beside the field that would forever remind him of Draco. It saddened him to know the old workhorse was long dead. He missed its familiarity, leaning its tired neck over the wire fence to get at the long grass on the other side. It was disheartening to realize how much had changed, and how little of it was for the better. It was with this thought that Harry gunned the motor and sped off toward London.
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Sara lay awake on her side of the bed, wondering if Harry thought he fooled her. Did he think she didn't notice when he crept away? When he used the port key? The absence he left was still acute. Her intuition had never dulled. Yes, she knew he had left the house and imagined that if she bothered to venture to the garage, she would find his beat up old car gone. It occurred to her that she didn't care where he'd run off to, or even if he would bother to return. Sometimes it seemed a lonely life would be easier than the one they lived. It was easier than knowing he would leave their bed if she touched him, or that he would pretend to sleep if she wanted to talk. It was easier than knowing that the man she had pledged her life to no longer loved her.
Anger seeped through her and she did her best to push it away. Rolling onto her back, Sara stared with open eyes at the ceiling in the dark, charmed, like the great hall at Hogwarts, to look like the night sky. Her mind drifted back to the days before the darkness had broken her, before everything had changed, to the times when the relationships she'd had were simple and clear-cut. The lines unblurred.
There was another sky, from a long ago starlit winter night, that remained a cherished memory. A stolen moment kept safe in a secret little room inside her heart. It was a place she returned to more and more often over the years, and it became her only solace when her marriage held none. Sara wondered what her life would have been like if she'd taken the uncertain path and married Draco. It was a horrible thing to ponder, this she knew, but back then, in the days of the Yule Ball, classes, and school houses, she had felt such desires for Draco that to be near him was often dangerous. She had wanted to surrender to them so many times, to calm the upheaval inside her and end the suffering she saw reflected in his eyes. She'd loved Draco more than she could ever comprehend, but she'd always loved Harry a little bit more. What she'd felt for Harry was certain, undeniable, and enough to keep her faithful. Harry's spiraling indifference, however, was softening her resolve.
Sara couldn't help but wonder Iwhat/I he was thinking sometimes. During their anniversary dinner tonight, Harry had been despondent yet again. After the guests had left he'd become cold and withdrawn. His disinterest in spending time with her was harsh and cruel and Sara was growing tired of living such a lie. She was tired of tiptoeing around his constant mood swings, none of which were happy. Tired of being tossed from one emotion to the other. Did he know how it affected her to be ignored, and then crushed to pieces by a few well-chosen words, only to encounter a gentle and apologetic version of her husband minutes later? Did it even occur to him that she might be deeply upset by being pushed away as she slept? The intimacy they'd shared tonight was wonderful, meaningful, heartfelt, and beyond welcome. It had been months since they'd been close and Sara was confused by the love she'd felt in his touch. If he still had such intense feeling for her, then why slip away in the darkness? Why did the warmth of her embrace not keep him beside her? Harry had loved her more than anything once, of this she was certain, but it seemed that sort of love filled his heart seldom these past few years. It was difficult to see how he was drifting away, and the fact that he allowed it to happen left her hurt and angry. Sara sighed and climbed from the bed, wondering if maybe letting it all fall to pieces was the better choice.
Sara ignored her slippers, but let her eyes linger on the mirror's reflection as she passed through to the hall. She was too thin, she thought, and her expression was troubled as she studied her appearance. It was the black streak that depressed her the most. It had left her once, on the happiest day of her life, only to return four years later, a dark reminder that things can change. It had grown since Harry had come to their bed and Sara turned away from the mirror, consumed by her misery.
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"Well? Are you just going to sit there and stare at me all night? I realize that I'm quite striking, but I have things to do, you understand."
"How can a Ipainting/I have things to do? That's ridiculous."
"For your information, I happen to be hanging in the bedchamber of a rather attractive young lady I once met while on buisiness in Liverpool. I can honestly say I prefer that portrait overI this/I one."
Draco sighed. "Even yourI portrait/I is a lousy father."
"Now now, Draco. You're twice as loathsome and pathetic as usual. Must you always be so discontent?"
"I don't exactly have a perfect life, you know. No thanks to you. "
"What is it Ithis/I time?" Lucius rolled his eyes and checked an oil paint pocket watch. I"Whatever/I it is, I would appreciate the short version."
Draco clasped his hands in his lap and dropped his eyes to them as he sat on the sofa in his father's study. "I don't really know."
Lucius gave him an amused smile. "Yes, rather difficult to forget, isn't she?"
Draco sighed at the mention of Sara. "Why did you go after her the way you did? Was it genuine? Or was it because you couldn't stand the fact that I had something so beautiful and you didn't?"
"Well, if you must know, it had nothing to do with you. You've always been excessively vain, Draco. Your mother tried to warn me, but then again, she said the same of me." Lucius sighed, resigned to answer his son's idiotic questions. "Why do you ask?"
"You know, I can trace everything that has gone wrong in my life back to you. My darkness, my loneliness, my inability to relate to my peers."
"A Malfoy has no peers."
"My poisoned mind, my poisoned name, my repellent personality. Let's not forget my unending misery."
"Such Itrivial/I sacrifices often have to be made when one is the product of a long line of greatness."
"I am the product of madness and evil."
"Perhaps," Lucius smiled, "but also of greatness."
"How can you call it Igreatness/I when it's so easily decimated by something as simple as love for girl? I think it's time we Malfoys ceased to be so disillusioned. We aren't Igreat, /I Father. We're Imalignant." /I
"You weren't Ialways/I such a sniveling wretch. There was a time, in your younger years, when I was proud of the son I had. Unfortunately, those days are long past."
"I was once proud of the Ifather/I I had as well. Until the day my eyes were opened to what you really were. I don't think I can ever forgive you for what you've done to me. For the way you've made me suffer."
Lucius seethed. "I handed you the keys to the kingdom and you didn't have the integrity to use what you had to your advantage," he hissed, I"You were a mistake." /I
Draco stared at the portrait, the words like daggers in his chest, and Lucius left him without waiting for a reply.
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"It's not your father, Draco. Not really."
"Sara!" Draco spun around, surprised to find himself no longer alone. "How did you get here? How did you get in?"
Sara held up the little box containing a tiny silver serpent. "Port key, of course. Lucius gave it to me, nearly ten years ago now. I don't know why I kept it," she admitted, "I probably should have returned it to you long ago."
Draco rose from his seat, at a loss for words. He simply stared at her in disbelief.
Sara smiled at his expression. "It's good to see you."
I"Yes." /I Draco said the only thing he could manage, overcome by too many emotions. It had been a long time since he'd seen her last, at least five or six months, and nothing could ease his sadness with such Imomentous/I perfection.
Still smiling, Sara stepped toward him and held out the box containing the port key.
Draco took her hand and closed her fingers over it. "Keep it," he smiled, "Let it be a reminder to visit me more often."
Sara returned his smile and hid the serpent in the folds of her robe. She longed to throw her arms around him, to feel his arms around her as well, but she was a married woman now. It wouldn't be proper. Instead, the embrace was light and friendly, though it lingered.
Draco grinned when he looked at her. "Were you finally planning to spend the night with me? I'm sure the highly improbable Imister /I Potter might have something to say about that."
Sara glanced down at her short little nightgown and turned red with embarrassment. "It, um… never occurred to me to change."
"I'm sure Freud would take an interest in that."
Sara blushed and decided to change the subject. "Draco? What are you doing here? Christina thinks you're in China. "
"Don't tell her otherwise."
"The price for my silence is high."
"Then I shall have to kill you."
Sara grinned. "If you must. But the least you could do is fix me a good strong drink first."
"How strong?"
"Let's just say that dying requires little concentration." There was no humor in her smile, no light behind her eyes.
Draco realized Sara was troubled and the knowledge softened his manner. "How did you know where to find me? Did you know I was here?"
"I didn't. I came to speak to Lucius, actually, only I found him preoccupied."
Draco turned on her with surprise in his eyes and an open bottle in his hand. "You did?"
Sara sighed and her misery filled the room. "To talk to Ianyone/I really." She gave a half-hearted laugh and it was a terrible sound. "He was the only one who I was sure would still be up."
"But you found Ime, /I instead," Draco tried to smile, "Lucky for you."
The sadness that creased her brow vanished as if it had never really been there at all. "I see you're still charmingly arrogant, even after all these months."
"I never change that quickly."
Sara took the proffered drink and turned to him as he took a seat next to her on the couch. Again, she sighed and sipped it before leaning back against the soft leather. "It feels like Iat least/I two years."
"Is Ithat/I all?" Draco defended, pretending to be supremely insulted in the hopes of making her smile. "I should rate at least Iten/I years, but no, she says it only feels like TWO!"
"Well," Sara laughed, "maybe two and a half."
"Five."
"Ok, five."
Draco drank from his glass and then showed her his sly, II'm about to be funny/I grin. "And I want you to know, I didn't miss you one bit."
"You already said that you did."
"I did not."
Sara sighed again. It was profound and heavy with resignation. "I wouldn't blame you for not missing me."
The smile fell from Draco's face. "What do you mean? IOf course/I I've missed you!"
"All those years I thought I was being so kind to you, Draco, but I was never kind at all, was I? I knew how you felt while we were at school, I knew that what you felt was deep and sincere, and that I had no intensions of breaking it off with Harry. It took me ten years to understand, but we never should have been friends. I should have kept my distance."
"Why? I mean, I can't imagine those last two years without you, but Iwhy/I were you my friend? As much as I coveted your company, I never understood the depth of our friendship. You were so determined to be with Potter, but I always felt like you loved me, even then. I had never felt so emotionally close to another person, there was such affection and understanding between us, and yet you denied me at every turn. It was confusing. It was agony."
"That is exactly my point. I became your friend because I saw your inner struggle and it filled me with basic human compassion. I Iremained/I your friend for the most selfish of reasons. I should have walked away and let you forget me, but I allowed my predisposition to overthrow reason. I saw the anguish in your eyes everyday, but I was too stupid to realize that all I wanted was to see how close I could get to the flame without getting burned. Denying you was a challenge, Draco. A stupid game I didn't know I was playing, always trying to convince myself that my feelings ran no deeper than friendship when I knew that it was more than that. I also knew that I would never leave Harry. I played with your heart to see what would happen and I'm sorry for every hurt I've ever caused you. I never deserved to be your friend."
"Oh shut-up. Enough of this nonsense already. School was a million years ago. Who cares about adolescent indugences anymore? You're here Inow, /I aren't you?"
Sara gave him a pained smile and let her hand caress his face, her voice but a whisper. "I've Imissed /I you, Draco."
Draco returned the gesture and kissed her cheek.
With that, Sara burst into tears.
*****************************************************
She was miserable when the door opened and had been crying, it appeared, for at least an hour. Harry's smile slipped from his face and he stepped inside without waiting for verbal invitation. "What did he do Ithis/I time?"
"Nothing," she said as her face creased with misery, "Nothing Iat all." /I
"I don't think I understand."
Christina took his wrist in her hand. "Would you stay a while, Harry? I can explain, but I think you need to hear all of it. Even though I can count the number of times I've seen Draco in the past few years on my fingers, there's a lot more to the story than that."
"There always is with him."
"Sit down then? I'll make us some tea."
"I'll get the tea," Harry offered and held up his wand, "It doesn't take as long."
Christina acquiesced with a grateful smile and moved to the sofa as they passed into the sitting room. She hadn't really wanted to prolong their talk with something as tedious as waiting for water to boil. Also, it was interesting, the way Harry was so nonchalant with the way he failed to hide his magical ability. After seven years with Draco, it seemed they had all become accustomed to her silent, trustable nature. Christina's smile broadened.
Harry set the tea tray on the table and spoke as he served her. "You were quiet at the party tonight. I wondered what was on your mind."
"You were Ibeyond/I quiet, Harry. I feel terrible bothering you with my problems when it's clear that you have your own."
"You're Inot/I bothering me. I'm glad you sent the raven."
"Then perhaps I should tell you why I did."
Harry relaxed back into the cushions and sipped his Earl Grey. "Whenever you're ready. There's no hurry."
Christina held her cup too tightly, she bit her lip and it was clear that she struggled with what to say next.
Harry, sensing her anxiety, set his cup down and looked at her. "How's the tea? Did I do ok?"
"It's very good," she tried to smile, though her hands shook as she held cup to saucer, producing a minute clatter that was close to deafening in such a tense room, full of discomfort. "You did just fine."
Harry rose from his seat and wandered the room, glancing once at some old, forgotten Malfoy, asleep in his frame, before moving on to something else. "You know, Draco always hated muggles, non-magic that is, so when he developed a fascination for them, it took all of us by surprise. Of course, he always kept quiet about it, but I caught him at it too many times to count." Harry stopped before a large Muggle Music Player that must have cost a fortune, as even the smaller version that Harry owned was expensive. He ran a finger over the smooth, lustrous surface before lifting the lid with the hopes of finding something among the considerable inventory that would suit the present. "Malfoy started frequenting a club in the city our last year of school. It was a muggle place, but many of the other Hogwarts students would go there during holiday. His family was so anti-muggle that we were all shocked when he turned up."
Harry found something he liked and drew his wand. "And he began to collect things. He bought a daiquiri machine and you'd think it was made of gold, the way he marveled over it. He started receiving catalogues from muggle stores, eating in muggle restaurants, drinking soda Iconstantly, /I buying strange odds and ends, like a typewriter and salad tongs. Many others of our kind share the same curiosity, but in him, it was unexpected to say the least. Then I could never claim to understand the inner workings of Draco Malfoy."
Christina's cup still issued a quiet clamor in her hands and she set it down beside Harry's, allowing the room to fall into deafening silence. To his surprise, she spoke.
"I often wonder if maybe I was just another part of that fascination. I don't hold it against him, I want you to know that, but I can't help feeling that way sometimes. Especially when I know that he lies to me. When I don't see him for months at a time. When you sleep night after night in an empty bed, it's easy to believe you are no longer wanted, just a part of a collection, or some sort of pet that he looks in on when the spirit moves him. I don't mean to sound ungrateful or bitter. Draco has saved me in so many ways, but there comes a point when a person recognizes neglect for what it is. I feel neglected. Forgotten. But I am the least of my worries."
Soft, rich music issued from across the room, somber, and just loud enough to hear. The instruments were mellow gold and the sounds of them set her at ease. Christina sighed and her voice lost its edge. "I'm afraid for him, Harry."
Harry crossed the room and sat down beside her. He took her hand in a comforting gesture. "We've basically gotten used to that feeling."
*****************************************************
"Snape is worried about you, did you know?" Sara paced before the empty fireplace, "he thinks you're up to no good."
"Well? What do Iyou/I think?"
Sara ignored the question with a decisive sigh and sipped her drink. "Why did you lie to Christina about where you've been going? I hardly see the point in coming up with something so far-fetched when you're sitting alone in your family home." Sara's eyes widened with realization. "You Iare/I alone, aren't you?"
"No," Draco smirked, enjoying the horrified expression that crossed her face. "I'm not alone."
"You aren't?"
"Nope. IYou're/I here."
Sara laughed her relief, shattering the silence, out of place in the vast and empty old mansion. "You're such a jerk."
At this, Draco's grin widened. "Just figuring that out? It only took you about nine years."
"I'd say that I simply overlooked it."
"Well," Draco sighed, "I Iam/I a jerk. Just ask Chris. I'm sure she's of the same opinion by now."
"When are you going to talk to her?" Sara's eyes once again grew serious, the light of mirth fading from her eyes. "You've left her, you know."
"I have?" Draco thought for a moment, considering it as though it was a concept that had never crossed his mind. Realization creased his brow and he sipped his drink absently. "I have, haven't I?"
What's going on with you? There was a time when we told each other everything."
"We never told each other Ieverything!" /I
"True, we've always had our secrets, but I have to say, I've told you more than I've ever told anyone. You've always confided in me, too. You are still my closest friend. If you're in trouble then you need to tell me."
"I'm not in trouble," Draco sighed, "not really. Not in the way that you think. I just… I don't know. I can't go back there. She's done nothing wrong. I haven't told her because she has nowhere else to go."
"That's an excuse. Tell me what's Ireally/I going on."
"I can't even begin to explain how I feel. I don't want to hurt her. She's done nothing wrong, like I said, but I get so I can't stand her presence." Draco stood and clasped his hands hard in front, turning to stare at an old painting with an air of ease and disinterest. "I care for her, Sara, but she's not the one for me."
Sara said nothing.
"I would give her the house and everything in it if I thought she'd accept it. She won't. That's why she's there and I'm here."
"You removed yourself from your life?"
"It was easiest that way. No one gets hurt except me."
Sara touched his arm and his hands fell aside as he turned. He saw a reflection of his own apathy mirrored in her expression and he understood that she would always be the person who knew exactly how he felt, and how deep his emotions could run. Sara was the only one that knew exactly who he was, what he was made of, and how to make it all seem unimportant with a simple embrace.
Having his arms around her was a feeling he could never forget, it visited him in dreams, and haunted his waking hours, and Draco thought he had never felt such relief. Her warmth melted something that had frozen inside him as the Amidon sent sensations of love and security through him in waves of comfort. Her chin rested with familiar perfection in the place where his neck and shoulder met, and her soft breath sent electric shivers trickling down his spine. It was exactly as he remembered it, not a single detail had changed over the years, and he clung to her the way he had once before. In the little room beneath her house where the vampire slept, when he though he might never see her again. Seven years later, he found he still had the same fear.
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