So another complete rewrite here…I was overwhelmed with hatred at rereading just the first page of this chapter so instead of humiliating myself by reading it all the way through I skimmed it and rewrote. I like this one much better. It is by no means perfect but a vast improvement. Enjoy, dandylion05 x
Chapter Two
The sun beamed down onto Malfoy Manor the following day, bouncing off of windows and making the lake sparkle. The sky was a solid, deep blue- almost navy- and the only clouds in the sky were faint tufts and wisps of white. Two pure white peacocks strutted around the jade lawn, heads held high. The place was unrecognisable to Breseis as the dark and mysterious manor she had been hurried into the previous evening.
It was early afternoon and she was standing by the lake, gazing out across the vast expanse of shimmering water. Her hair shone in the strong sunshine, a few faint glimmers of gold subtly lying amongst her dark curls. Her expression didn't quite seem to match the beautiful day. Her eyes had that far away look, as if they were seeing something miles from where she stood, another place, another time. And not the sparkling lake or pretty sky or roaming landscape of hills and forests stretching miles around her. The corners of her mouth were tipped downwards into a small but noticeable frown. She was dark and pale and unhappy and the world around her seemed to be a false-pathetic fallacy; a manifestation of everything she was not feeling.
Draco sat with his arms wrapped around his knees fifty yards away, gazing at her intently. In twenty minutes she had not so much as twitched. She just stood there, staring. She seemed very polite, strangely polite. She had been the epitome of good manners and breeding to his parents all of the previous night and the day so far. She gave details of her mother, an old friend of Narcissa's, her stepfather, the beautiful vineyard mansion she normally lived in, without sounding the least bit bored. She even ignored his Aunt Bellatrix's frequent disdainful and rude comments- she seemed to harbour some sort of personal vendetta towards Breseis's mother. And still Draco had picked up on the fact that something wasn't quite right, something was misplaced in her. And her current impression of a statue was only adding to his growing pile of evidence.
Draco studied her every proportion. The way her hair hung right down her back in contrite curls, the way her thin black dress emphasised the jagged bones and sharp angles of her too-skinny body, the way her mouth was set into a fierce and unattractive pout, and they way he was still entranced by her, despite all these things. There was a perverse beauty about her, he found. She was forbidden fruit, something he knew was wrong but he found utterly alluring.
It was with a gawking, unattractive expression that he studied her. And it was with this expression on his face that Breseis turned to see when her head suddenly snapped around to stare in his direction. Draco just registered the manic look in her eyes before sharply turning his head in the other direction, a deep blush sneaking across his pale face.
He was surprised to hear her bare feet begin padding across the lawn for two reasons. Firstly, in the heat of his bone-burning embarrassment he could hear his heart thudding loudly in his ears, and didn't think he should be able to hear anything else through the noise. And secondly, she was so small and gaunt that he had almost convinced himself, in those moments of studying her every inch, that she was made out of smoke, and thus would make no sound when her feet fell. His surprise was coupled with alarm. The crazed expression she had worn on seeing him staring at her had thrown him. After all, she was a Lestrange- they didn't exactly have a great track record for under reacting.
The footfalls stopped about a foot from where Draco was sitting, and then there was silence. Draco sat uncomfortably, his face drenched in more colour than it had most likely ever seen. Digging the tips of his fingers into his arms, after several tense moments, he turned his head as nonchalantly as possible- which turned out to be not nonchalantly at all- and peered up at Breseis.
"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked, tilting her head. He was struck by the contrast between her polite words and the calculating way her eyes watched him.
He shrugged in an honest reply. He wasn't sure if he did or didn't. She sounded nice enough, but then again she could have some savage split personality disorder, when half the time she was sweet as a butterfly, and the other half she was a rampaging axe murderer, too violent and blood thirsty to even bother using magic. It wouldn't have been the craziest thing he had ever seen.
Breseis sat herself down a little closer to him and turned to gaze back out across the lake. Draco fidgeted at her side, wrapping his knuckle against his knee and chewing on the thumb of his other hand.
"Do you remember when we used to play together here?" she asked, abruptly turning back around and catching him off-guard once again, "When we were children."
"I…um," Draco began, flummoxed, "Not really. Sorry."
"You and your little friends used to push me into the lake."
"We did?" Draco's eyes widened. He sorely regretted that now. She was going to kill him. Drown him, probably, a sick act of revenge-
"Yes," her lips turned up slightly at one side, "It's how I learned to swim."
Draco's shoulders loosened off a little as the tension in her eyes receded slightly. She told him the story of how he had thought it hilarious to constantly shove her into the water- at all times of the year- because she wept like a little baby every single time. And as she told the story, vague memories flickered in Draco's mind of summers long past and tears long since cried.
"So how come you're not at Hogwarts?" Draco asked, once she was finished with her ice-breaking tale.
"Rabastan really didn't mention that I was coming, did he?" she asked, pursing her lips as if she didn't know what to make of that fact. Should she be upset? Indifferent?
"No. Last night, we all just assumed he was going outside to smoke his pipe," Draco told her, "Mother doesn't approve of smoking in the house, you see. And then he came back with you, and not one of us seemed to expect it. I don't even remember anyone ever mentioning you."
"They wouldn't," she told him, rolling her eyes and tucking a lock of curls behind her ear, "Bellatrix detests my mother and I, although God alone knows why. We are the red flag to her bull-like wrath."
"What isn't?" Draco laughed. And she smiled again, half of her mouth turning upright in a way that injected the slightest touch of warmth into her face. "So, you're not at Hogwarts because…"
"When my mother remarried we moved to Russia, and then later to France for my mother's health. I was in Russia when I was to start school, so I was sent to Durmstrang because it was the most local." she shrugged.
"Do you think you'll go back there? You know, after summer, if you're still here?" he asked.
She moved her lips as if to say something but then thought better of it. Instead, for the first time, she properly looked into his eyes. She wasn't looking aesthetically, it was like she was trying to see behind them, see inside of him. Draco could recognise in her intent gaze the same concentration that he had felt earlier, upon observing her by the lake. And he stared back, just as intently, trying to catch a glimpse of her soul.
And then, he felt it. A wave of heat moved through the air in between them, catching each in the chest and causing a strange but wonderful twinge.
Breseis cast her eyes quickly down.
"Will you return to Hogwarts?" she asked, her eyes once more reserved, blank, denying the past few moments.
"That…that all depends," Draco shook his head, trying to shake off the strange feeling.
"On what?"
"On whether or not we get control of the Ministry before school starts again. Mother is adamant that I should continue my education, but I can't really go back otherwise."
"Why not?" she pressed.
"Because they know I'm a Death Eater."
There it was, the first time he had ever actually said the words aloud. Sure, last year, in fits of arrogance and naivety, he had bragged about the fact- but only ever implicitly. He had never explicitly said the words out loud. "I am a Death Eater." They rang in the air in steely truth and echoed in his mind. And on hearing them, Breseis's eyes changed once more.
There was a need there this time, a craving. She lent towards him, a crazed smile on her face, looking scarily like Rabastan. She was greedy, politeness and jokes a thing of the past, greedy for more. Much like his words, the desperation in her face rang true. This was the first, pure, external manifestation of the real Breseis.
"You're a proper Deatheater?" she asked hungrily.
He nodded.
She reached towards his left arm, stopping her hand about an inch from it and looking up at him with a strange respect.
"Can I…can I see?" she nodded towards the robed arm.
Alarmed, he shook his head. Nobody got to see it. He didn't even look at it. He hated the thing, it was an unwelcome, ugly, despised intrusion to his skin.
"It must be amazing," she said, moving her hand completely unfazed, "Devoting yourself to the Dark Lord. I was honoured to be in his presence, but to be in the inner circle."
She let out a long sigh, a tribute of her disbelief and respect, her longing.
"Yeah," Draco replied, raising his eyebrows, "I'm having the time of my life."
She studied his face carefully and seemed to take the hint to drop the subject. And then, looking into his eyes once more, she noticed something else: the intricate ice blue colour of his irises was wonderfully similar to the colour of the centre of her own eyes, but managed to pass off as masculine on his face. She found herself drawn into staring at them once more, but seeing the surface this time, the beauty. And then she looked at his entire face, without realising the way his eyes followed the movement of hers. It was as if they were the only two people on earth, lost in looking at each other. Something about the consistency of the air had changed. It wasn't just a wave this time, it was a tangible difference. Everything felt smooth and right. Neither party knew how long they had been sitting like that, looking at the other, and neither really knew who had broken the intricate circle and let the real world seep back in to their consciousness, but one or other or both had.
"So," Draco spoke in barely more than a breath, "Will you be going back to Durmstrang?"
And in the same scarce whisper Breseis replied, "That all depends."