Trying to make sense of all of this is proving to be difficult. So, I am trying to concentrate on what I know, rather than what I don't. If I can make sense of what I am certain of, then perhaps I can progress from there. I have made a list.
One: I am a Malfoy.
Two: I have betrayed my family.
Three: I am in serious danger.
Four: I am trapped.
I am all too aware that it is a short list, but it is a starting point. Understanding what I know, how I know it, and how it came to be is a harder thing altogether. I am a Malfoy, there is no denying that: I am heir to the Malfoy lands, businesses and wealth. I have inherited all of the infamous Malfoy characteristics: sharp cheekbones, pale skin, light hair, tall frame. And yet I avoid all mirrors because I am here, in a shabby old Weasley tent, with Potter and Granger, the two people who will most certainly fight tooth and nail against the cause my family is aligned with. If Voldemort's circle find me, I am dead. And, if Potter and Granger abandon me, find me they shall. So I will not leave.
But, at the same time, I cannot leave. They have my wand, and there is no indication that they are going to give it back.
You can tell that I have a lot of thinking time, can't you? Potter and Granger keep themselves to themselves - and by that, I do not mean they stick together and exclude me. They are not talking to each other, either, and I suspect it has something to do with a certain Weasley. Not that I know much about where the feral red head is, of course. Potter and Granger do not trust me, and I do not trust them, either. But I am trying.
I wanted to hurt Granger when she yelled at me. I was reminded all too suddenly of the time she had punched me, the time I had run away from her. This time, I wanted to punch her back, and show her why it was people do not mess with me. I may be unable to kill a man, and I may have shown my cowardice when I ran away, but would I hit Granger? Yes. Yet I stood calm, unflinching, ignoring her words and willing for it to be over. If I had retaliated, Potter and Granger would have their first excuse to pack up and leave me behind. I could not take that risk.
It would seem that it worked, though. They told me of their plan, the mission a dying Dumbledore had given them. A mission that I could help with.
It may sound a little cliché, but I felt hopeful, then. I thanked them, and it was perhaps the most genuine thing I had ever said to them. I had run because I was afraid to face my future at Hogwarts, because I did not have the guts to kill because I had been told to kill. I had run because I am a coward, because I do not want the cards the Fates have dealt me. My hatred for my Father - the man who orchestrated everything that forced me to run - and for Voldemort - the man who had enslaved my Father to begin with - grows every day. It is a justified hatred, and, therefore, I can act on it. My conscience will not protest.
Now, it seems that a chance encounter with two thirds of the Golden Trio has given me a path to follow. The Fates must be smiling upon me, for with it comes a chance to fight for something I believe in.
It is leading up to Christmas, and, naturally, we are in the centre of winter. There is little snow, though. The weather brings us fog, rain, wind, hail, sleet, and a chill that reaches your bones and makes you so cold you are no longer sure what warmth is. In short, it is entirely miserable.
Potter has disappeared off somewhere - for food, I think - and I am stuck in the shabby parlour area of the tent with Granger. She is reading, and her brow is furrowed in concentration. Granger is a fast reader, of course, as am I. But I did not have the foresight to bring books with me, and I am bored out of my skull. There is nothing to do, and I find myself itching to start a conversation. I am used to the ever-entertaining Slytherin common room, filled with gossip and games. There is nothing to gossip about here, and the atmosphere is so foreboding that playing a game would seem obscene. So, conversation it is.
"Do you know you only blink when you turn the page?" I ask, smirking a little.
Granger jumps a little, popping out of whatever realm the book had taken her to.
"Excuse me?" She says, and I repeat myself. She blinks in confusion, and I laugh a little at the irony of it.
"No, I didn't know that," she says, giving me the same furrowed brow look she had the book. I feel almost self conscious for a second, for it seems as though she is studying me, trying to extract some sort of answer to an unknown question. There is no hint of a smile about her lips, though - she is frowning, as though it is a question she doesn't like.
"What do you want to know, Granger? You look like you're about to write an inquisitive essay on me."
Her answer is immediate. "Why are you still here?" I sigh. I should have predicted that one.
"I'm not evil, you know, no matter what you might think," I say, reminding myself to remain polite and friendly. I cannot fuck this up. Her brow furrows even more, and her eyebrows look as though they're about to have a reunion.
"It doesn't make sense, though... Why, after all these years, have you suddenly turned your back on all of your family's values?" I raise an eyebrow. It is the same question I have been mulling over for a while now. I realise that as much as I have no desire to trust Granger, I need to be honest if I am going to gain her trust, and my wand back. I want to fight for the same cause as them, and they need to trust that my intention to do so is sound. So I tell the truth.
"I'm not entirely sure - for several reasons, perhaps. But I think it started with the Weasley's," I admit. Her eyes widen.
"The Weasley's?"
"Yes - remember that time my Father and I bumped into you all in Flourish and Blotts? Just before second year?"
She nods. "You were a prat to us, and your Father slipped Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's cauldron."
"Yeah, well... I was convinced that I was better. I was told that the Malfoy's were superior in their name, blood, status, wealth and mind to you and the Weasley's. I'd taken on the belief as my own. I thought I had the right to look down on you all, because I was better than you. But there was something about the Weasley's that struck me... You could tell how much the Weasley parents loved each other - they communicated that in a single look between them. And the whole clan just seemed to fucking radiate happiness, you know?"
Granger smiles and nods again, understanding. "They're one of the happiest families I've ever come across."
I nod, too, and swallow. "And I remember thinking that I had never seen my parents express that kind of love, ever. And the only being that ever expressed some kind of paternal affection for me was a house elf... and there were the Weasley's doing it all in public as though it were the most normal thing in the world. And I thought, if we are so much better than them, why are they happy and we're not?"
I clasp my hands together and look away from her. I have never told anyone that, ever, and it feels strange. She does not trust me, I remind myself. She is the difference between survival and death, and she has the power to swing things either way for me.
"And so the seed of doubt was planted," she says, looking me straight in the eye. There is no longer a frown on her face, and I think that maybe, maybe, she might trust me a little more.
Voices wake me from the light slumber I have fallen into on the sofa. I cannot quite make out what they are saying, but what truly troubles me is that there are three voices. I can hear Potter and Granger's, but there is another voice... another voice that rings a very distant bell. I scowl, anger suddenly coursing through me. I may be some sort of prisoner here, but if they have brought somebody else into the protection of the wards, I surely have a right to know. It is my safety they are risking, too.
I take long, silent strides towards the door, so I can just about make out their words.
"Yes, yes, the Weasley girl has been banned from Hogsmeade..." the almost familiar voice says.
"Ginny? They banned her from Hogsmeade?" Potter raises his voice, sounding concerned, perhaps, but it is all too easy to eavesdrop on him. There is no reply from the strange man.
"Phineas, why would they ban her from Hogsmeade?" Potter repeats again. Phineas. The voice and the name click into place, and I suddenly realise who they are talking to: Phineas Nigellus Black. The man is dead, though, so it can only be a portrait... whose sister lies in the Headmaster's office. I scowl, realising that, if they were unaware of this, they could be making a vital mistake. If Black were to discover our whereabouts, he would not hesitate in feeding Snape the information. I was tempted to burst in, to tell them what a mistake they were making, when my name was mentioned.
"Well, ever since Draco disappeared from Hogsmeade... They've been looking for a reason to ban your sympathisers in case they follow suit," Phineas says, and I take a step closer to the door, listening intently.
"Yes, Malfoy..." Potter says, and I mentally curse him. He was supposed to act surprised, damn it, he was supposed to pretend he knew nothing of me.
"You know he vanished?" Comes the reply of the portrait.
"He- uh-" Potter realises his mistake, and my urge to punch him when I next see his scrawny little face multiplies.
"We were in Hogsmeade," Granger says, and my visions of maiming Potter come to an abrupt halt. "Malfoy was alone, and he saw us, and tried to capture us. He was outnumbered, and it did not work in his favour."
"You have the Malfoy boy?" Black asks, his voice incredulous.
"I think that is quite enough questions for today, don't you think, Harry?"
I hear rummaging and the protests of Black, and I assume that he is being stowed away to wherever he had previously been kept. I run the conversation over again in my head, and I see red. How dare she lie to him about me?! She had absolutely no right, and when she walks through the door, I have no time to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.
"Why did you tell him that?" I shout, raising my voice and taking a step towards her. Perhaps it should be Granger I maim, not Potter.
She is surprised, and backs away from me, and I can hear Potter coming from wherever he was.
"Why would you say anything about me? You have no right to feed them lies, no right to tell them I am still on their side..."
She looks me in the eye, and takes a step towards me again. "I did it for your own protection, Malfoy, you idiot."
"Oh yeah? How is that going to protect me? I ran away from them for a reason, damn it, do you expect me to walk straight back into their arms and pretend I was captured?"
"No, Malfoy," she says, her voice a little softer now. "We're not sending you back to them. But if we were to get caught, you'll be a lot safer if they don't know you fled."
I raise my eyebrows at her, realising her logic. "You weren't endangering me... you were protecting me?" I ask, the question out before I can stop it.
"Yes," she replies, and she walks away, past a very confused Potter. I take a look at The Boy Who Lived, and conclude that he is as bewildered as I am, before I, too, walk away.
