Author's Notes: I have AMAZING reviewers. I honestly expected very little feedback after three months of not updating and a slew of doubtful OCs…but you've all been magnificent and so kind- thank you so much for sticking with me and this story.
I hope everybody had excellent, excellent holidays…and Happy New Year to all!
To the reviewers from the chapter last:
FSL: Yes, long. Actually, that was probably my longest chapter ever. Sorry if it was too long. Thanks for reviewing!
Serena Goodkey: I can't believe I updated myself. I am trying, desperately, desperately hard to keep it going. I'm glad you thought the ending cute- 'twas my favorite part out of that chapter. And what is up with Pansy? That girl has all types of issues. But I love her, I do. Thank you so much for reviewing.
FinalFantasy: Oh my goodness, I'm beyond relieved that you thought my OCs were excellent. I was so so afraid that they would be terrible and cardboard and…well, your very kind words alleviated much of that feeling. Yes, Pansy is an 'interesting' character, she's figured so much more prominently in this story than I ever expected her to, but oh well. Here's the next update- hope it pleases you.
Kisa Yamashita: J'ai vu votre "profile"…vous êtes français? Ou quebecois? Vous parlez français, c'est certain et alors, je suis très heureuse parce que je prends Français A.P. à mon école, et peut-etre je peux pratiquer mon français par lire votre histoires! Merci mille fois pour votre critique ( ou review- je ne sais pas comment on le dirait en français) et oui, je suis en train de écrire et j'écrirai plus! Oh- désolé si vous ne comprenez pas mon français, je ne suis pas très bonne.
Cho345Chi: I will not abandon this story, I promise you that. And I love Draco's and Cho's conversations too…they are my favorite, favorite part to write, hands down. Thanks so much for the review, and the add to Favorites. :D Cookies for you!
Cimbelmyne: First off, very cool name, second off…thank you for the review. I am…so pleased that you think I give Cho depth- I've always tried to do it. And realistic is one of the best adjectives I could ever receive. I mean, I've always felt that the stories I've always gravitated towards shows the characters as people first, wizards second…and so I'm very happy that you think my story realistic. : )
AutumnKate: I'm glad you thought it was well worth the wait- here is the next chapter, hope this one was well-worth it too…thanks for reviewing.
Travisty: Haha, I bet you loathe my story completely and just say that because you're my 'husband'. :D Thanks for reviewing, finally. I am glad you think it adorable- I took out Draco's one sweet line, omitted some "unnecessary" lines and kept others- gave a bit of a sex change to that "terrible Jennifer Aniston-esque line"- didn't capitalize "god" when saying "oh my god" because they're not referring to God exactly, because I'm not sure that they believe in God- sorry, the boring conversation must stay- you'd flirt back too if Draco Malfoy told you he would do unspeakable things to you…actually, you'd probably rape him, how unnecessary- and I don't know what you're talking about, I am not Cho Chang at all. : )
blue7::does a little dance:: Yay, you like the OCs! Especially Addison. ;) Yummy things to eat for you. ::hands:: They should show up sporadically throughout the next chapters, I'm not too sure as of yet…and you are so…kind about this story. And you've hit spot on exactly my thoughts on the DC relationship, which I've attempted to show in this piece. I just love reading your reviews…not just because they're always really nice, but because your thoughts are so insightful and interesting and articulate. I can never think of what to say in reviews, and you seem to know just what to say. :D Here is your update, I hope you like it…
modern minerva: Wow, best DMCC you've read so far? I'm honored, really really honored. : D
parlezvous: It's funny…I usually don't read DHr…but one of my favorite fics in all the world is a DHr fic- read Trieste's Mourning if you haven't already…but yes, I feel very very special that you a) don't leave reviews, b) hate Draco/everybody else but Hermione ships, and c) hate angst…and yet you are still reading this story. It's great to know I've transcended ship and genre boundaries…you've inflated my head immensely, I must go deflate it now. : ) Yes, I will continue updating, and I really don't mind the fangirling. ; )
The chapter in which: Harry cuts Draco up (some HBP dialogue in first scene), Cho loses THE Quidditch match, Pansy and Draco kiss and make up (not literally), Cho and Draco do some kissing and making up of their own (now do I mean that literally? ; ) ) and Draco, that silly boy, finally, finally gets it. In more ways than one. Here's goes…
After yet another letter, after yet another week of fruitless work, Draco Malfoy breaks down. Again.
He first came to the sixth floor's boys' bathroom when hiding from Filch one night when he stayed out particularly late. Exhausted, frustrated, and filled with an impending sense of doom, he broke down. Much to his embarrassment and chagrin, he discovered he wasn't alone. It was that strange ghost that Pansy had once told him about- they called her Moaning Myrtle. He expected her to be annoying, cloying, but in actuality, she is pretty kind, and she actually listens to him, and she promises never to say a word. So Draco has taken to coming to this bathroom, when days are particularly hard, and when he is lonelier than ever.
He looks around before pushing the door open, and hurrying in. He puts his elbows on a sink, cradling his head in his hands.
Immediately, she is there, hovering, her voice soothing and quiet. "Bad day?"
He nods, breathing slowly. He doesn't trust himself to speak.
"What happened?"
"I just…it just…I don't know…how…how I'm going to do it…I have to…fix it…and if I don't, he'll…kill me." He hates- hates- how weak he sounds.
"Who?" she asks, though she's asked it before.
"It doesn't matter, does it? He will kill me and that'll be the end of me. I'll be dead, gone, not alive, deceased, rotting, gone. Dead." The last word is caught in his throat, and he chokes on it. He presses firmly on the porcelain basin, almost as if it will hold him up. It does. The thought of death terrifies him and he closes his eyes, feeling like he wants to vomit out everything inside of him.
"It'll be okay," says Myrtle gently, wondering who he is and what he is running from. "Don't. Don't…tell me what's wrong…I can help you…"
"No one can help me. I can't do it…I can't…It won't work…and unless I do it soon…he says he'll kill me…" and Draco realizes he's crying, tears dripping down his face, falling, falling, falling. He angrily wipes them away, and tries to stop. But he can't, and that's when he looks up and sees Harry Potter, staring at him.
Something fills every inch of his body- is it shame? Anger? Resentment? Frustration, hate? He can't tell. All he knows is that of the whole Hogwarts student body, Harry fucking Potter is watching him cry. He draws his wand, his arm shaking, but his eyes hard. His hex misses, shattering a lamp…he blocks Potter's Levicorpus and Myrtle is squealing like a pig, and Potter slips and Draco spits out "Cruci-"
Harry reacts instantly. "SECTUMSEMPRA!" He roars, and Draco is thrown to the ground, watching as his blood splashes out onto the tiled floor. He lies there, in the gathering pool of red, quiet, breathing slowly and harshly.
He has no idea what has just happened, but moving his hands to his chest, he realizes that he is bleeding everywhere, cut open like a pig.
And Potter looks horrified. Myrtle, good old Myrtle, screams like a siren, and rushes out of the bathroom, screaming murder. Draco watches her go, then closes his eyes. The lighting is too harsh and he cannot bear it. He wonders lazily how serious it is, wonders if maybe he will die and that will be the end of that.
And now Potter, gasping like a fish out of water, his face contorted. "No-I didn't-" he stammers.
Shut up, Potter, Draco thinks, too weak to say anything, just shut up. And then there is complete and utter blackness and he can see no more.
She is sorting medical charts in Madam Pomfrey's office, when Madam Pomfrey sticks her head in.
"Cho, hand me that green bottle in the second cabinet from the left. Yes, that one. And get me a blood-replenishing potion, quickly." And she's out again, hurrying to the main area of the Hospital Wing.
Cho grabs one of the potion vials lined up on the counter, and rushes after her.
What she sees is Draco Malfoy lying on a bed, eyes closed, white as the sheets, with long pale scars all over him. She checks her gasp just in time.
Snape is standing at the foot of the bed, looking inscrutable and Madam Pomfrey is standing over Draco, speaking softly. "Here, you go, take some of this, it's dittany to prevent scarring…don't move, you'll open up the wounds…there you go…almost…a little more…there." She sets the empty glass bottle on the night table.
Cho noiselessly hands her the blood-replenishing potion. Madam Pomfrey nods her thanks. Draco opens his eyes, and stares at Cho with dull gray eyes, then averts his gaze.
"And here's a Blood-Replenishing potion…drink all of that while I speak to Professor Snape, all right? Good. Cho, make sure Mr. Malfoy drinks all of that." Madam Pomfrey pats the bed briskly, then turns to Snape. "Severus, a word? In my office, if you will." He nods, and they both head to the office.
It is quiet, only broken by Draco's drinking. He won't look at her.
The adults' voices drift out of the office, rendering everything into scattered sentence fragments and enabling them to hear bits and pieces of the conversation. Cho isn't sure if Draco is listening, but she knows she is.
"…everything be all right?" Snape's voice- harsh and blunt.
"Yes, yes…haven't seen one of those in years…"
"…surprised myself…a little tiff in the bathroom…"
"But who…" asks Madam Pomfrey wonderingly.
Something uttered lowly; a gasp.
"No," says Madam Pomfrey disbelievingly. Then, "…you going to inform Dumbledore?"
Silence.
Madam Pomfrey says, reprovingly. "…really should, Serverus…about his parents?"
Cho hears hesitation, then Snape, murmurs slowly, "...his mother should know…"
"…write her later…" declares Madam Pomfrey.
"Good…check on him later, have to deal with…now."
They come out. Snape looks grim. Madam Pomfrey attempts a smile. "Draco dear, have you finished that potion?"
Draco shakes his head no, then clears his throat. "Madam Pomfrey?"
"Yes?" She smiles kindly.
He looks down. "Would it be all right…if you didn't write to my mother about this?"
Cho stares at Draco, surprised, then watches Madam Pomfrey exchange a look with Snape.
"Well dear," Madam Pomfrey says carefully, "she asked me to write to her if anything happened…"
He looks up now, and says evenly, more to Snape than anyone else. "I just don't want her to worry."
Madam Pomfrey is about to say something, but Snape cuts her off. "Don't worry about it, Poppy. She needn't know. He'll be fine."
After a slight pause, she nods. "All right then. Cho, you can go back to sorting, I'll call you if I need you."
Cho obeys, glances at Draco, then heads off.
"Severus, see you in a bit."
He nods once, and stalks out the door, black robes billowing.
Madam Pomfrey turns to Draco, kind but stern. "Finish that potion."
He nods, but says, inclining his head in the direction of Cho's retreating back, "What's she doing here?"
Madam Pomfrey fusses over his pillows, plumping and smoothing imaginary creases and dents. "Well, Cho is doing Auror training once she leaves Hogwarts, and it's mandatory to intern a month in the Hospital Wing for her to qualify."
"She works here all day?"
"No, it's just a class period. She's been very helpful…just a lovely girl, really."
"Yeah…yeah, she is." And he tilts his head back to drain the last drops of potion.
After her shift is over, she stops by his bed, but he pretends to be asleep. She stays for a few moments for a reason she can't articulate, then quietly walks away.
When she has gone, he opens his eyes and wishes she hadn't.
It is a clear blue day, and Pansy is pretending to work on her Charms essay with Blaise under the big oak tree, but she keeps getting distracted. She gets distracted so easily nowadays.
She is leaning against the tree trunk, her hair tied perfectly with a green ribbon. Blaise is stretched out on the grass, his robe sleeves rolled up, his long limbs elegantly sprawled out. They make a pretty picture, and Pansy knows it, arranging her books and bag around her with an artful but calculated carelessness.
"You'll never get done if you don't start," he says, arching one eyebrow as he flips pages languidly in a textbook.
"I will," she says, but instead she plays with the little gold and emerald ring on her middle finger, twisting it, and admiring the play of the sunlight across its faceted face. She's always loved jewels.
"Christmas present?" asks Blaise, without looking up.
She nods.
"My mother has one just like it."
"Which husband?" asks Pansy, interestedly.
He furrows his brow in thought. "Second, I think."
"A lot of people have rings similar to this- my mother, Mrs. Malfoy, Millie's mother."
"Yes, we Slytherins, we're not very creative," he remarks dryly.
She shrugs. "No, I suppose we aren't. Do you know, Millie's mother is absolutely beautiful."
He raises his eyebrows incredulously. "You're kidding. Bulstrode's mother?"
Pansy nods vigorously. "Yes. She's gorgeous, tall, thin with long brown hair and big green eyes. I really don't know what happened to Millie, it's such a pity." And Pansy smoothes over her hair self-consciously.
"Wait, wasn't she a Carlyle before she got married?"
"I think so."
"That's it. Beauty skips generations in the Carlyle family."
"Do you know Georgiana Carlyle? She's at Ashworth."
"Yeah, I know Georgiana. We had a thing in fourth year. Ashworth is an excellent school- I still can't believe I'm stuck here." He scowls, and scribbles something out on his parchment with a particular viciousness.
"Hogwarts is a good school. It's a legacy sort of thing, you know."
"Whatever. My mother went to Ashworth- they're much more exclusive, you know, no Mudbloods or families that have intermarried- much better about that sort of thing. Hogwarts is being overrun by Mudblood vermin, and it brings the quality of the student body down terribly." His face has gotten rather ugly- something has developed in it that Pansy flinches from.
"I know. But you know, the Dark Lord went here, so it's not that bad."
"But that was what, fifty years ago? Now look at the place. Granger first in the class, and Muggle-raised-and-loving Potter the king of the school," sneers Blaise.
"Oh, I know. It's so unfair, you know. He thinks he's so much better because he's got a scar on his forehead. And don't even get me started on Granger, that ugly, beaver-toothed, hairy bitch."
"Calling the kettle black, are you?"
"Oh fuck off, Blaise. She slapped Draco once, did you know that? Slapped him."
"You're kidding. Oh, speaking of Malfoy, did you know he's in the Hospital Wing?"
Her heart skips a beat. "What?"
"Yeah. Potter tore him up. I was outside Snape's office, and he was talking to Slughorn about it."
"Oh my god. I've got to go see him. I'll see you later, Blaise, okay?"
"Bye." He watches her run back, a black-robed girl with a green ribbon moving fluidly in the breeze, a serpent slithering mid-air to the castle. Something in him wants to take that ribbon, twine it around his fingers and pull her towards him. He doesn't, of course. But that's mostly because she's too far away right now, a blur, flying up to the castle. He can't even recognize her now. He doesn't know that he ever could in the first place.
She has to put her hand over her mouth when she sees him.
"What the hell did he do to you?" she demands, small fists clenched.
"Hey Pansy," Draco says tiredly.
"I mean it. What did he do to you?" She is fierce and out for blood. He manages to smile, grimly, like a wounded soldier.
"Some spell I've never heard of. Cut me up a bit. But I'm all right. It doesn't hurt, really," he lies, sitting up.
"Do you need anything? Bandages, ointment, water, fluffier pillows-"
"I'm all right, really."
"Okay. If you're sure..." she trails off, looking at him expectantly.
He nods. "Yeah, I'm fine."
Quiet. She stares down at the stone floor. He waits for her to speak, because he knows she will.
And she does. She sort of blurts out, without looking at him, "I'm sorry. About the assignment thing. You're right, it's none of my business, and I just overreacted."
He stares down at the bed. "I can't tell anyone," he says flatly.
"I know. I was being silly. It's just…I don't know. It feels like I'm losing you."
"You never had me." He looks up, and she smiles sadly, brown eyes soft.
"No, I suppose I never did. But you can pretend, no, for my sake? It's just-"
"What?"
She sighs, and runs her hand along the metal foot rail. "Well, you were the closest thing I ever came to having." She glances up and says frankly, "I don't have anything, or anyone, nothing, I never have. But for a while, I could pretend that I had you. And now, I can't." And she looks down again.
He is silent for a moment, then abruptly, "Maybe it's better this way."
She finally looks at him. "Why?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. It just seems to me that pretending is a dumb way to live."
One nod. "It is." A ghost smile, then a little desperately, a little quietly, "But I can't do it any other way."
"Are you still making yourself throw up? Is that a way of pretending?" he asks harshly.
She won't look at him.
He is exasperated. "Pansy, answer me."
She does, with a forced smile. "No, Draco, it's very real."
"Why?"
"Because…because I'm ugly as it is, I can't be fat and ugly, can I?" She levels him with a direct gaze.
"You're not ugly. Or fat."
She rolls her eyes. "Come on, Draco."
"You're not," he insists, "you're not."
"This is just us, remember, you can be honest."
"You won't believe me, so what's the point?" He settles back into his pillows, tired
"I'm not doing this for attention, you know," she says suddenly.
He shrugs, slightly put-out. "It doesn't really matter what you're doing it for, does it? You're still doing it."
She glances down, and says in a small voice, "I know I should stop."
"Yeah."
She twists her ring on her finger and looks up, hesitantly. "I should, shouldn't I? I know it's bad. But I can't help it."
He gives her a somewhat smile. "Try. For me, at least."
She gives him a somewhat smile back. "For you. Yes, yes. I'll try for you.
An almost real smile. "Good girl."
A pause, then, "I'd better go, it's getting late. I'll visit tomorrow, okay?" She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Sure. Bye." He waves as she walks out.
"Bye."
"Oh, Pansy," he calls.
She turns. "What?"
"You do have me. Always have," he says, smoothly, with a hint of the old Draco.
She laughs. It's the first time in a long time. "You're full of shit."
He grins- actually grins -"I know. But pretend I'm not."
And she smiles at him, tired and lovely, "No, Draco, I'm done pretending. I think I finished a long time ago."
The next day, she pops in, even though it's a Saturday, and she has no shift. "Well don't you look terrible. I brought flowers." She waves a bouquet of white daisies, tied prettily with a white ribbon and smiles.
He stares at her. "…why?"
"Because. Aren't flowers just the sort of thing to cheer up a dull, dreary hospital room?"
He wrinkles his nose. "Flowers are for girls."
"Exactly."
"I'm offended."
"Well I'm sorry you're offended, but you'll just have to deal with them. These flowers aren't going anywhere." She places them on the side table, arranging them carefully. "There." Then she turns to him, more serious. "Can I ask what happened?"
"Potter." He says it wearily, and her eyes grow wide.
"Harry did this to you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing." She gives him a look, and he is affronted. "I'm serious. Why is it always assumed that I started it?"
She shrugs. "Seems like something you'd do, that's all."
A moment of silence, then, quietly "I tried to do Crucio."
She stares at him, dumbfounded. "On him?"
He rolls his eyes. "No, on you. Of course on him."
"That's an Unforgivable," she says, shocked.
"Well spotted, Ravenclaw, well spotted," he remarks acidly.
"No wonder he cut you up," she returns bitchily.
"It didn't work," he says quietly.
"The cutting up?" she asks incredulously, gesturing to his bandaged body.
"The Crucio."
"I'm glad it didn't work," she declares, sitting on a chair.
"You would be," he sneers. "Still holding a torch for Potter, after all this time?"
She smiles. "Jealous?"
He doesn't. "No. Answer the question."
She rolls her eyes. "Of course not. I stopped liking him at the end of last year, but that doesn't mean I want him to be Crucio-ed."
He settles back into his pillows, and closes his eyes. "Too bad. I was going to ask you to join my hate club."
"I'm honored that you would ask."
"And you should be."
A pause. She stares down at her hands; he waits for her to speak. She does, more to kill the silence than anything else.
"So tell me about this hate club. Who else is in it?"
"Ah, a lot of people," he says vaguely, yawning.
"Really. It's funny; people always hate what they can't measure up to."
He raises his eyebrows and grabs his chest in mock pain. "Ouch. That hurt."
"Oh, did it? It wasn't supposed to. It was the truth, and the truth never hurts."
"I don't know what kind of world you live in, Chang, but the truth always hurts."
"If you told me that- oh, I don't know- that I was a nice person and that was the truth, it wouldn't hurt."
"But it isn't the truth, so it doesn't count."
"It was just an example. I think I'm pretty nice."
"Here's a truth. You're still hung up on Potter."
"Here's another. You're obsessed with him. I think you're the one hung up on Harry."
"That's not a truth," he protests, disgusted.
"Neither was yours," she counters, raising her eyebrows.
He stares at her, almost bewildered. "I don't understand you."
She sighs, smiling. "Neither do I."
He glances down at his lap, fingering the sheets. "Why do you defend him?"
"Who?" she asks, absentmindedly.
"Potter." For some reason, he says it without any malice.
"I don't defend him."
"You just did. You basically said I deserved to be cut up."
"It was an Unforgivable, Malfoy! I'd cut you up too."
"It didn't even work."
"Whatever. It's self –defense. Why did you do it anyway?"
He shrugs. "Because he was there, and I was angry."
"Well someone needs anger management, don't they? God, I'd hate to see what you'd do to me if I ever caught you in a bad mood."
"Oh, I'd do a lot of things to you if I ever got the chance," he says, raising an eyebrow.
She laughs, and it peals across the empty Hospital Wing. "Would you now? Unspeakable things?"
"Exactly." He nods.
She shakes her head. "You bastard."
"Sorry, Chang. Just can't resist you."
She shrugs. "Who can?"
He furrows his forehead in thought. "Besides Potter? Let's see…you know, I think he's the only one."
"He's obviously lacking a little something in the head," she whispers.
He nods. "It's the scar."
"Oh yes, of course. Out of curiosity, Malfoy, what would you do to me if you got the chance?" She quirks up an eyebrow, and he smirks.
"That's for me to know, and you to find out, isn't it?"
She stands. "I'm a bit frightened now."
"You shouldn't be. I'm very good at what I do."
She smiles. "So am I."
It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. "Are you now? Can we have a little demonstration?"
She shakes her head wryly. "Not today. I have to go. I'll see you, okay? Feel better."
He nods. "Bye Chang."
And she's gone and he's alone, staring at the daisies on his side table. Something possesses him.
And he's running, straight out of the Hospital Wing, pajamas and bandages and all.
"Chang!"
She turns, and he is silenced, just for a moment.
"Um. I…just wanted to…" What had he wanted to do? Shit. A throat clear. "I just wanted to…thank you. For the flowers."
"You're welcome," she says, slightly bewildered. "You ran all the way down here to thank me for flowers?"
"I…well…no, uh, good luck tomorrow. With the match and all. Kick Gryffindor's collective ass for me."
She smiles. "I'll try."
"Okay. Good. Uh. Thanks. Again. I mean…I'm just going to go back now…" He cocks his head in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
"All right," she says, laughing a little, "I've never seen you flustered before, Malfoy."
"Flustered? What kind of Floo powder are you smoking? Who ever said anything about being flustered, Chang? All I came to do was to give a simple thank you and good luck at the match tomorrow and you accuse me of being flustered? God. I know you think the world revolves around you, but not everybody worships you, you know. " He glares at her, arms folded.
She rolls her eyes. "I'm going to pretend that you didn't just utter the most hypocritical sentence I've ever heard."
"It wasn't hypocritical. Everybody worships me."
"Don't you wish they did."
"They do. I don't have to wish for anything."
"I don't worship you," she points out.
"You don't count, Chang," he says nastily.
"Ah, so I'm in a category all by myself now, am I? How nice of you to set me apart from everybody else." He can't understand why she's smiling.
He shrugs, turning and walking back. "What else was I supposed to do? You're not like them, you don't belong with them."
"…Thank you?" she calls after him.
Another shrug. "It wasn't a compliment; just a statement."
"Thanks anyway," she says firmly.
He turns back to face her. "Why?" he asks, frustrated, "why?"
Something catches in her throat, but she swallows it, and smiles. "For setting me apart."
He waves it away dismissively. "It's nothing. It means nothing… well, not nothing. Nothing important."
She shakes her head slowly. "Everything you say means something important. If you wanted to say nothing, you would've said nothing. That's how you are."
"Got me figured out, have you?" he asks, brusquely.
"I've always had you figured out," she says simply and honestly, and he believes her.
"Okay, guys. This is it. Gryffindor has had the Cup since Harry joined the team, basically. This is my last year...but no pressure, you know? I just want you guys to go out there and play the way we've always played. We've never been the worst team, or the most underhanded, or the most entertaining- but we're good, dammit, and I think we have a real chance this year." With that, she pushes a stray hair out of her face and smiles nervously at everyone.
"No breakdowns, Cho?" asks Anthony Goldstein.
She winks. "No breakdowns. Promise. Okay, let's do this."
They put their heads together, silent. Then, noiselessly, they exit.
She walks out on the pitch, and the roar of the crowd overwhelms her. She closes her eyes for a moment, just to feel the wind in her hair. And then she shakes Katie's hand with a warm smile, nods to Ginny Weasley, and mounts her broom.
The whistle, and she's gone, riding the air.
God, I'm going to miss this.
She circles, like a hawk, searching, searching for gold among the blue. A storm of noise comes from the crowd, but she doesn't look down, remembering what Roger had told her sixth year. "Listen, whatever you do, don't pay attention to the score, okay? Just work on finding the Snitch."
She can't believe this is her last game. She doesn't know how she is going to live without flying. There is something exquisite about being up in the air, falling away from the earth, from all her worries and all her fears, from all the people who meant well, from all the people who didn't mean well. It is the only place she feels free.
There- a quick glint, right by Anthony's head. She dives down, swooping, swooping, but as she reaches for it, it shoots straight up in the air, and disappears in the glare of the sun.
She lets out a sigh of frustration, and climbs the air again.
A Bludger comes out of nowhere, grazing her arm. She grabs her arm, gritting her teeth at the pain. It's not broken, but she's sure there'll be a huge bruise tomorrow.
Suddenly, Ginny Weasley dives, and Cho, cursing, follows. She sees it, fluttering madly by one of the goal posts. But then the Quaffle hits it, and it is gone again.
A good half an hour passes, in which several goals are scored, one penalty is given to Ravenclaw, and there is still no sign of the Snitch. Cho has given up listening to the commentary, but she knows that the two teams are almost tied.
And then, there, there it is, hovering serenely above the middle of the field. Ginny spots it at the same time, and both girls speed towards it from opposite ends of the pitch, arms outstretched. About an inch or two away from the winged ball, someone smacks a Bludger at Cho, and it knocks her off her broom.
She falls slowly, aware of nothing. When she hits the ground, she watches as Ginny grabs the Snitch, holding it high up in the air, the gold shining and shimmering in the sunlight.
She closes her eyes, having finally, finally succumbed to gravity. It is a hollow feeling, losing. Like she's left something, some part of her in the sky, hovering among the clouds, flying for the sun.
He is so engrossed in his work that he doesn't realize when the door opens. When he hears footsteps, he freezes, and quietly closes the cabinet, searching his pocket frantically for the Peruvian Instant Darkness. Where the fuck was it?
And to his surprise, the footsteps round the corner and there is Cho Chang, looking as bewildered as he is.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, not coldly.
"What are you?" she counters, not missing a beat.
"I asked first," he points out.
"Looking for something. Forgot where I put it. I thought it was in this aisle…" she frowns, scanning the mounds of rubbish.
He nods slightly, then clears his throat. "Sorry you guys lost."
"Oh, like you give a fuck." She is suddenly waspish, suddenly bitter.
He shrugs, watching her search. "I always like to see Gryffindor beaten."
"Yeah, well..." she says dryly, leaning against the cabinet.
He looks her over once, noticing how the flood of light in the cathedral-like room sort of blurs her around the edges. She looks otherworldly, and he feels decidedly ordinary. "Are you pissed?"
"Kind of. I mean, god that was my last game, you know? And I lost it. It was my fucking last game ever and I fucking lost it." She kicks a pile of old books childishly, and they tumble to the floor, dust flying in all directions.
"What happened?"
She looks up, questioning. "You weren't there?"
He avoids answering. "I heard you fell."
And she looks down again. "Yeah. Broke my leg only, surprisingly. Madam Pomfrey fixed it on the field though."
He nods. "Did Weaselette cheat?"
"No. She's not that type."
"You're sure? I mean…don't let this inflate your head, Chang, but you just might be the best Seeker I've played at Hogwarts."
"Besides Harry," she adds, almost automatically.
His lip curls. "We don't speak of him."
"No, she's better. Of course she's better," she says, more to herself than to him.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means what it means. She's better."
"What's with the 'of course'?"
"Well…she's nice, pretty smart, excellent at Quidditch, and now dating Harry. Of course she's better," she says flatly.
He arches an eyebrow, half-triumphantly, half-hollowly. "So you are still in love with Potter."
She throws up her hands in irritation. "No, god no. It's just a little strange, seeing someone you once were with, with someone else, you know."
"I think there's a little more to it than that."
"Well she doesn't make him stark raving mad, does she? They look happy together, and I'm glad for them, I really am. But it's hard when you want what someone else has. No, not Harry. I mean…I just…get so lonely sometimes. I miss the feeling of being…"
"In love?" he asks dryly. For some reason, he can say the word without gagging.
"No," she looks away, and swallows, "happy. I miss being happy."
Silence. He's actually afraid to look at her. Because if he does, he doesn't know what will come out.
She glances around. "Wow, there's a lot of shit here. Look, here's that cabinet that Montague got stuck in last year." She pats it.
"Yeah. You know about it?" His curiosity is suddenly piqued.
"God, who didn't know about it? I always thought it was funny that it took them so long to get him out." She kneels down, opening one of the doors, looking inside.
He watches her. "Why do you say that?"
She opens the other. "Well, I mean it was obvious, wasn't it? It's a Vanishing Cabinet- they were immensely popular in the 19th century…all they had to do was find the counterpart."
"What if one is broken? I mean…the one Montague was in was broken. That's why he couldn't get out."
"Well, it's a bit complicated, but you can't fix a Vanishing Cabinet from the outside. You have to go inside and fix it. So if someone had done that, Montague would've been out of there in no time."
"But how does that work?"
"Just as it sounds. You have to go inside and fix it. There's a book in the Library about it…it's like Tricks of the Magicians or something; I read it a long time ago. It has all that information in there." She stands, closing the doors.
"If you knew so much about Vanishing Cabinets, why didn't you help out last year?"
She smiles. "Honestly? Montague once set two Beaters at the same time onto me in a match in my third year. I ended up breaking an arm and a leg, and I would've probably broken all the rest of the bones in my body if Roger hadn't caught me."
"Ah, I remember that match. You fell, didn't you?"
"Well, two Bludgers will knock a girl off her broom. So understandably, I didn't really feel like helping Montague out."
He smirks. "Come now, Chang. Couldn't put aside old grudges?"
"Would you have helped him?"
"No," he says frankly and decidedly, "but we're talking about you here, Chang, not me."
"I'm not as nice as you seem to think I am. I'm not a Hufflepuff, you know."
"Hufflepuffs aren't nice. Just simple."
"Morality wise, they're the cleanest of all the Houses."
"You think? Is that why you were into Diggory?"
"There were other reasons." She doesn't look at him.
He curses himself and changes the topic quickly. "What did you hide?"
She smiles. "Now, that's none of your business, is it?"
"Maybe it is."
She shakes her head, but she won't look at him. "It's nothing, really, just a scarf."
He knits his eyebrows together. "You hid your scarf in here?"
"Not mine. Cedric's." She lets the last word out on a breath, and it sort of hangs there, in the air, between them.
"That's a little strange."
"Is it strange?" she asks wonderingly. "It reminds me of him."
"So why hide it?"
"Because if I don't, then people will say 'Oh look, she's still grieving for him, oh look, she's not over him yet, oh look-" Her mask is cracking and she can't help it.
"Do you really care what people think?"
She looks at him. "Don't you?"
He looks down. "You're allowed to be…weak, you know." And I am not.
"What, just because I'm a girl, I'm allowed to be weak?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Then what did you mean? Why can't you just say what you mean?"
"I mean…" he lets out a breath, and the words come slowly and haltingly, "…it's okay to grieve for someone you cared about."
"Do you think I ever want to go back to that mess I was last year?"
"So you hide his scarf."
"Yes. It's partially for my sake too, because every time I see it…"
"What?"
She won't look at him, and her words come tumbling out, one after another, crashing into each other. "I remember when I saw him. Lying down, his eyes glassy- dead. Dead. I used to have nightmares about it. That we would go to sleep in each other's arms- and I'd wake up in the arms of a rotting corpse that would never let me go. Because that's what he is right now, just a dead, rotting corpse. Oh god."
She breaks, breaks into a million pieces on that dusty floor, and he freezes. He couldn't even gather up the pieces if he tried. So he stands there, and lets her go.
After a while, her sobs subside and she rubs her eyes furiously, turning her head away. He stares down at the floor, and lets her speak, because he somehow knows she needs to.
"It's just…sometimes I wonder if this will define me. If somehow, everything in my life is tied to him, tied to his death. Is this what will mark me, has this branded me, changed me, has this really truly changed me?"
"You tell me."
She takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I think it has. And I don't want it to, I never wanted it to, but I think it has."
"I can't do this," he says, somewhat under his breath, "I can't do this."
She looks at him, concerned. "What's wrong?"
He gestures wildly, taking a couple of steps back. "This is wrong. This is just…it's wrong. I can't listen to you, I just can't."
She gets it. "I don't blame you, you know."
"I-" He opens his mouth to protest, but can't.
"You weren't there, you didn't know."
He rolls up his sleeve, and shoves his wrist in her face. She doesn't flinch, but sets her teeth and stares past it, into his eyes.
"This is all the blame you'll ever need," he says wildly, "this- this is just as good as me being there, this is just as good as me being at every murder, this is just as good as me saying the words myself. I'm a murderer, you see, by association."
"You're not," she says, firmly and quietly.
He turns from her, pulling his robe sleeve back down angrily. "I am. Don't you fucking get it, Chang? I'm a fucking murderer, a killer, someone who fucking kills other human beings. I am a Death Eater and I know and you know that is what you'll see every time you look at me. A murderer. I am a murderer." He whispers to the word to himself as if he's trying out the taste on his mouth.
"You're not a murderer," she tells him, steely, "not yet."
"Thanks for the encouragement," he mutters sarcastically.
She exhales, loudly. "Don't you think it's dumb, Malfoy? I mean…why expend so much time and energy hating a group of people who are the exact same as you?"
"They're not the same," he says, childishly scuffing his shoe against the floor.
"No? You're telling me they don't feel, that they don't dream, that they don't think, that they don't-"
He puts up his hands as if in self-defense. "Okay, okay. Maybe in some respects they're similar to us. But it doesn't change the fact that they were never meant to learn magic, does it?"
She stares at him. "Who are you to say that? What are you, God, Malfoy? Who says you get to decide?"
"Nobody, I…you just don't get it," he says, finished.
She glares at him. "No, you don't get it. If they were never meant to learn magic, then how can they learn it?"
"Well-"
"Can I tell you a story?"
"By all means, fire away," he says dryly.
"The Muggles hate one another for the color of their skin. Not all of them, but a pretty vocal minority of them do. And they've killed each other over it, enslaved each other over it and done many more unspeakable things in the name of color. What do you think of that?"
He absorbs this, and furrows his forehead. "For the color of their skin? They hate each other for the color of their skin?"
"Yes. Not just the color- they take in the idea of ethnicity as well."
"Well that's really fucked up. Give it to the Muggles to hate each other off of that."
"It's pretty similar to what you hate, isn't it? Isn't hating someone based off of race fucked up?"
"It's not the same. It's not about outward appearances here. It's about blood and history."
"Oh, okay, because hating a person because they come from the Middle East is so much more different than hating a person because they don't have magical ancestors?"
"It's completely different," he insists.
"Stop, just stop. You're making excuses for…for something that can't have excuses. Oh, okay, well, it's not fair that they can learn magic, we don't think it's right, so let's just kill them all and kill all who disagree with us. Because that makes so much sense." She is looking at him with what he interprets as pure and utter loathing. So he gives up.
"Fine. I'm evil, straight down to the core. I delight in bloodshed, in gore, and in unhappiness. I'm a Death Eater, a racist, a bigot, a murderer, an executioner for a creed that is…" he searches wildly for a word, and when he finds one, spits it out with a kind of harsh laugh, "that is…absurd. I fight for a cause that will destroy everything and leave nothing good. I am the antagonist, the villain, the one who always gets fucking killed by the hero because he's fucking terrible, he's not human. That's who I am. That's who this tattoo makes me. You've made that much clear." He glares at her, with a curious empty feeling in him.
She shakes her head slowly, and begs him with her eyes. "Don't you get it? Don't you get it? When I look at you, I don't see the Mark. I don't see Death Eater. I don't see evil. I don't see any of those things…I just see…" she can't finish, so she shuts her mouth and stares determinedly at the floor.
So he finishes for her, with a ragged voice. "Me. You just see me."
She looks at him, and whispers "Yes, you. Just you."
A pause. He stares straight ahead, she stares at the floor.
He snorts. "God. This is so fucked up."
She looks up, half-smiling. "It is, isn't it?"
"Everything is fucked up. God, how the hell did everything get so fucked up?"
"I wish I knew."
"I mean, look at us. You, Diggory's widow, Potter's ex, practically the poster girl for Wizarding-Muggle relations, and me, Death Eater, son of a Death Eater, the scion of centuries of Dark Wizarding blood- here. Talking. Being somewhat civil to one another. It's fucked up, Chang, really fucked up."
"Doesn't it scare you?" she says, suddenly.
"What?"
"That we're…we're chained to ourselves. We can never be anybody but ourselves and we…can never change," she says hopelessly.
He looks at her. "Whatever happened to the girl who believed anybody could change?"
She shakes her head. "I don't know. She's starting to fade."
"That's a pity," he says, without thinking.
She glances at him. "You liked her?"
"I sort of need her," he half-confesses, a dry smile finding its way onto his marble face.
"Are you mocking me, Malfoy?" she asks, raising both eyebrows, a half-smile on her lips.
He shakes his head slowly. "No. Admiring you."
The corner of her lips twitch, and she looks down, quickly, hurrying on. "I mean, what's the point anymore? Nothing can be altered, there are no more choices, there is no escape. We must be who we have to be. There's nothing more to it. It's the end."
"It is, isn't it?"
She looks up again, her gaze direct. "It is. I would never lie to you."
"Why not?" he asks, "why not?"
She won't look at him. She can't. "Because you deserve the truth. I mean, if you deserve anything at all, you deserve the truth."
He glances down, his voice low, barely audible. "You deserve a lot more than the truth and I can barely give that to you."
"Do you?" she inquires, "do you give me the truth?"
He shakes his head in self disbelief. "Yes. Yes. For some reason, yes. I have always given you the truth and when I haven't, you've figured out the truth anyway. Damn Ravenclaw," he says half bitterly, leaning on the cabinet.
There is a long silence in which they stare at each other, so many things spoken without being actually spoken.
Somehow, she ends up in front of him, and somehow, he ends up kissing her.
The world stops. Just for a moment.
When it is over, she hides her head in his shoulder, and he closes his eyes. It takes him a moment to put his arms around her, but once he does, he never wants to let go. He just wants to be, like this, holding her, here, forever. It is the one thing he is sure he can do.
Something compels him to speak. It comes out softly, a little broken, torn at the edges, but he allows it to come out. "What scares me most is knowing what they want from me."
She doesn't lift her head. "What do they want from you?"
"Everything."
She tightens her hold on him, as if it means something. "You knew this would happen, you always knew."
"Yes," he responds quietly, "yes, I always knew."