Chapter Seven
(Ask Me No Questions, I'll Tell You No Lies)
You are gone again. It's getting harder to wait for you.
Our daughter is expected in the world in two weeks, and yet you've grown detached, and distant. Perhaps the nerves of fatherhood have finally set in, but when I look in your eyes – when I see your eyes, that is – I see something darker than just nerves. Your temper has been intolerable lately, and I must say that I, for one, can put up with it no longer.
My darling Tom… what happened to you?
It was the shortest letter yet, and Ayr frowned as she put it back in the pile. She had grown to understand what her mother had seen in her father. He was charming, sophisticated, and cared deeply for her mother, despite the privacy he insisted on - Ayr wondered if she had finally accepted her father, or if Malfoy was affecting her worse than she thought. In the recent letters, however, she could tell that their love was strained, being put under the pressure of her father's constant secrets and frequent disappearing acts.
She had searched the library over the winter holiday for any reference to a Tom, and had come up with some useless – albeit interesting – pieces of history. Her favorite had been the story of a muggle named Thomas Buckley, who had kicked his ride-on lawn mower in order to get it to work. He succeeded only in chopping off two of his toes. While the story was rather grotesque, Ayr was amused by the sheer stupidity of some people.
"Andrew Martin is looking for you."
Ayr jerked her head up and blinked at Courtney and Isis, scowling at the reference of a seventh year Hufflepuff. The Harts' party had been a complete success; it was the first year the girls were allowed champagne, and they realized they may have gone a bit too far when reserved Ayr became entirely too promiscuous with the quiet boy. Looking around for Lily, Ayr was desperate to forget the moment by reminding her friends that when drunk, Lily had a bit of a sweet spot for Potter.
"Bugger off," Was her only reply.
Snickering, Courtney and Isis sat on the couch next her, flanking her. Ayr smiled at them – in reality, the party had been the best yet. The friends clapped when Remus and Courtney shared their first kiss under the mistletoe, and Jessiey had blushed furiously on New Year's Eve when Sirius chose her for his first kiss of the year. The only downside had been that during those two joyous moments, Ayr found herself wishing that a certain Slytherin had been there to duplicate them with her.
"So what have we found out about Daddy Dearest?" Isis asked, glancing down at the letters in Ayr's lap.
"Nothing terribly new," She answered, waving the bundle around as she talked. "He was big on his privacy, I'll give him that."
"I take it Mama Trikk didn't like that," Isis mused with a slight smile.
"No," Ayr scowled. "She didn't."
"Relax, Ayr," Courtney soothed, patting her friend's knee. "Isis was only joking. What's with you lately?"
Ayr frowned – she had been too emotional lately. The only reason she had come with was that trying to repress the memory of Malfoy's harassment had been tiring. On top of that, trying to loathe him, remembering that night, was getting more difficult with each day. She had a meeting with him that night – an hour early, as they had planned, and Ayr found she wasn't looking forward to it as much as she thought she should. The entire holiday season had been spent wondering after him, and looking forward to her return to Hogwarts. The Sunday of their return and Monday full of classes had been stretched too long for her liking. Granted, she had classes in which she saw Malfoy, but she was anxious to get the truth out of him. Realizing that she had only a few minutes before her meeting, her stomach clenched.
She had woken this morning to a soft tapping on the window, closed tightly against the frosty January air. She had opened the window long enough to let the owl drop its delivery and take off again; it wasn't one she was familiar with, but the purity of its feathers marked it as expensive. She looked down at her hand, which was holding a single red rose, a black ribbon tied around it to hold a piece of parchment.
Tonight, little lion – L.M.
She had the distinct impression that Malfoy was trying to woo her, and the thought did strange things to her insides. Her other thought was that Malfoy knew what she was going to ask him that night, and was trying to bribe his way into her good graces. Even as she scowled, she hadn't had the heart to throw the rose away. Instead, she had conjured a vase and water, placing the rose on her nightstand after removing the note and ribbon. She had placed the note in her trunk, pressed between two books. The ribbon was being used to tie her hair back.
Ayr dragged her eyes away from the fire, where they had drifted when she had zoned out, and smiled abashedly at her friends. They were both staring expectantly, as if waiting for some sort of response to a question she hadn't heard.
"Sorry," She muttered, flushing. "What did you say?"
"I asked," Isis said with an exasperated sigh, "how you were holding up on the Malfoy front of events."
"Oh," Ayr giggled. "Once he knows you're not afraid to throw his act back at him, he mellows out a bit. It's much easier to deal with him now than it was at the beginning of the year."
Or last year.
The thought slipped through Ayr's mind before she could grip it. She squirmed under her friends' incredulous stares. Isis regained her composure first, shaking her head quickly and nodding.
"Well, I'm glad to see you've begun to act your age."
Ayr snorted and lifted herself off of the couch. She placed the letters into her shoulder bag and headed towards the portrait. Just before pushing it open, she looked over her shoulder and winked at her two friends.
"I wouldn't change your expectations of me yet, Turbini," she giggled, sticking out her tongue to emphasize her words.
Silent with thought, Ayr left the Gryffindor tower and waited at the entrance to the Grand Staircase for a set of stairs to move over to her landing. She took the steps slowly, staring own at her feet and nibbling on her lip. Had Malfoy really become more bearable, she asked herself, or was it a new coping mechanism that her mind had come up with?
Yes, because I'm coping very well, she scowled. The bloody git assaulted me, and suddenly I can't get near him without my knees turning into mush and my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Yes, that sounds like coping to me.
She pushed the door to the Great Hall open, her stomach settling as she saw that she was the first one there. She sighed with relief and put her bag on the table at the front of the room. They had decided to meet at that table, since it was neutral territory. She ran her fingers along the gleaming wood, walking the length of it before lifting herself onto it, standing to spin slowly on its surface.
She looked down at her reflection and stepped on her own face. She felt like a traitor – to her house, to her friends, to the Marauders who made it their goal to keep Malfoy as far from Ayr as possible. More than all of this, though, Ayr felt like a traitor to herself. She was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and he was a Slytherin – they were programmed to hate each other. If the houses' rivalry wasn't enough, the way he had treated her for the past seven years ought to have been enough to keep the disdain for him strong. Even if those reasons failed, she had that night burned into the back of her mind – she should hate him, damn it, and she hated herself because she was finding that she didn't.
She took the ball of her foot and twisted it on the wood, wishing she could crush the battling doubts inside of her as easily as she could step on her own reflection. She noticed that some of her hair had escaped the ribbon, and she sighed, slipping it out of her hair to retie it. As the black satin passed by her face, she felt her stomach tighten – the smell was mostly musky, a bit sweet, and entirely Malfoy.
She had to stop thinking about him so much. She realized that he had dominated her thoughts most of this year – whether it was about how much she hated him, or how much she should hate him, she was still thinking of him. She closed her eyes, a lullaby from her childhood floating into her mind as she lifted her arms over her head. Swaying in time with the beat, she began moving slowly along the length of the table, her body taking over and her mind shutting off.
After a few moments, Ayr felt something slide up her arms; one was guided to rest on someone's shoulder, and the other was held by her hand in another warm one. The soft pressure on her waist was comforting, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be alarmed. For the time being, she was content to let the stranger lead her in a dance across the professors' table. Finally, the nagging in the back of her head became too much, and her mind took control back of her body. Her eyes flew open, and she jerked away from Malfoy with a surprised yelped.
"What are you playing at, Malfoy?"
Her eyes were narrowed, but the sudden scare had her heart threatening to jump out of her chest. The two of them stood there, staring at each other in silence. Malfoy's face was the picture of apathy, and Ayr knew that hers was overcompensating for the thrill pulling on her heartstrings.
"You're babbling again, Trikk."
Ayr jumped and landed lightly on her feet, turning to stare up at Malfoy. The fact that he was almost twice as tall as her now did nothing to stop her confused feelings from mingling, creating a storm that poured out of her mouth, echoing in the Hall around them.
"Stop changing! You can either be the Malfoy who forces himself on me in a dark classroom, or you can be the Malfoy that kisses my hand, and sends me a rose, and dances with me on the table! You cannot be both!"
Malfoy's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he leapt gracefully from the table top. He closed the gap between them in two long strides, and he pressed his face close to hers. Their noses almost touched, and there was anger flashing in both sets of eyes. Ayr decided in that moment that she didn't loathe Lucius Malfoy because she feared him – she loathed him because he confused her endlessly.
"The next time you mention this dark room, I will have your tongue cut out for telling lies."
There was no fear in his eyes, only unbridled anger. She stepped back, and slapped him across the cheek for the second time in as many months. His nostrils flared and he grabbed her hand, pulling her back towards him until their chests were touching. She tried jerking her hand away, but to no avail. Instead, she met his eyes and hissed at him.
"It isn't a lie, you bloody git," She seethed, her voice dangerously quiet. "Shall I remind you? Last year, during O.W.L. reviews? Abandoned classroom on the third floor? Nothing? You did this - " she jerked her wrist in his hand, showing the way he restrained her. "On a couch you conjured! Lucius Malfoy, you insufferable prat, get off of me!"
His brow knitted together, and he loosened the grip on her wrist, but didn't let it go. His eyes didn't leave hers, and she could see a range of emotions pass through them – pain, fear, understanding, and then finally anger again. He dropped her wrist violently – he threw it away from his body and turned without a word, brushing past Ayr as if she weren't there.
"Where the bloody hell are you going?" She shouted, following him. "I want some answers, you bastard!"
He either didn't hear her – which was unlikely, since she was shouting – or wasn't paying attention, which was a very Malfoy-like explanation. She ran after him, having to jog to keep up with his long strides as they carried him out of the castle and down the path towards the Quidditch pitch. She tried calling him names, hitting on his shoulder, and running to stop in front of him. The most response she received was a flick of his eyes accompanied by his usual sneer.
He stalked onto the ground of the pitch, looking around and then locking his eyes on a flying figure. He put his fingers into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. The figure slowed for a moment, and then circled twice more before landing. Ayr scowled as Daniel Parkinson hovered in front of them, the tips of his toes brushing the ground as he jerked his head in greeting to Malfoy.
"I'm glad to see you've finally come to your senses," He scoffed, sneering at Ayr as if she were a piece of stubborn furniture. "I knew she'd break."
Ayr yelped in surprise as Malfoy launched himself at Parkinson, knocking the boy off of his broom and onto the ground. The air filled with the sickening sounds of bones cracking – apparently hexes and curses were not violent enough for Malfoy. Ayr's body finally unlocked itself, and she rushed over to him, trying to pull him off of Parkinson. The latter boy's face was a mess of blood and snot,
"Malfoy, stop! You're going to kill him! Malfoy!" She pulled on his arm, sobbing softly. "Lucius, stop! Please!"
He glanced her way, his eyes softening just a bit. The hard glint returned when he pressed his forearm down on Parkinson's throat, threatening to cut off the boy's air supply. Parkinson swung wildly, and Ayr winced as his fist collided with Malfoy's jaw. His shock allowed Parkinson to flip him, snarling. Ayr cried out as Parkinson's fist made contact with Malfoy's nose. She could smell the blood from where she stood.
"Stop it! Both of you!"
Neither of them were capable of hearing her by this point. There was a constant stream of curses and insults as the boys rolled on the ground. Malfoy's robe was ripped at the shoulder, and Parkinson's white uniform shirt was turning red from the blood from his face. Ayr choked back another sob, covering her mouth with a shaking hand before she screamed. She was tempted to curse Parkinson into oblivion, but she had no clear shot to guarantee she wouldn't hit Malfoy accidentally. She heard a horrible sound when Parkinson's fist sunk into Malfoy's stomach, and she shrieked her alarm when Malfoy spat blood.
"You bloody git!"
She wasn't sure which one had said it – it had been the first thing she was able to make out. More curses surrounded them, and Ayr almost jumped for joy when Malfoy flipped Parkinson again, slugging him across the jaw. Ayr heard a pop, and then another as Malfoy's fist collided with the other side. Parkinson's nose was a mass of blood and gore, and Ayr almost felt sorry for him.
"Malfoy! Lucius, please, stop!"
Malfoy flicked his eyes at Ayr, her pleading finally reaching his ears. He whipped his wand out of his pocket and held it against Parkinson's throat. The latter Slytherin was smirking arrogantly as his eyes flicked over to Ayr. Malfoy's wand pressed harder against the flesh of Parkinson's seethed neck. He spit blood onto the ground by Parkinson's head and then leaned close to him.
"If you touch her again," He threatened dangerously. "I won't stop – I'll keep going until you bleed out under me."
Malfoy threw himself off of Parkinson, standing and kicking the boy in the ribs before Parkinson rolled over and got up, racing towards the castle. He cast a look back at the two of them, and Ayr noticed the fear hidden behind the arrogance. Malfoy swayed for a moment, and then landed on his butt, the ground coming up to meet him harshly. Ayr rushed over to him, ripping off the rest of his sleeve and using it to sop up the blood on his face.
"What the bloody hell was that for, you git?" She hissed, ignoring him as he winced in pain.
"He never told me." Malfoy took the cloth from Ayr and hissed as he pressed it against his nose. "He went to go find you, to spite me – I didn't… I didn't think he'd do… I didn't know, Ayr. He told me he found you. He didn't tell me… I didn't know…"
Ayr stared in a shocked stupor, the pain and betrayal in Malfoy's voice transforming him into a completely different person. This broken man in front of her was not the Malfoy she knew. She topped the thought short – who was Malfoy, if not the arrogant, proud git who had assaulted her? The only thing she knew at this moment was that it hadn't been Malfoy, and that she needed to get him to the infirmary.
"Come on," She instructed, pulling him gingerly off of the ground. "We need to take you to Madam Pomfrey – your face is a bloody mess."
Malfoy chuckled vacantly at the play on words, but Ayr could sense the tension under the façade. She held onto his arm, helping his keep his balance as they moved up the path towards the school. The walk to the Hospital Wing was awkward and took too long for Ayr's comfort. The glances and whispers didn't bother her as much as the blood pouring from Malfoy's nose at an alarming rate. She left him by the Grand Staircase for a moment, running into the Great Hall and grabbing her bag, telling the students that the meeting would be held tomorrow instead.
Once they had made it to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey rushed about the room fussing over Malfoy's busted nose and ruined clothes. She mumbled something about men and their tempers, thrusting something in a wooden cup at him and demanding he drink it, claiming it would help with his nose and the tear in his stomach from the broken rib Parkinson had given him. Malfoy swirled it around in the cup and then downed it, gagging uncharacteristically. Ayr rolled her eyes, but smiled at his cooperation.
After a few moments, the potion took effect and Malfoy fell asleep. Watching quietly, Ayr reached a hand out to brush the hair from his eyes. She frowned at the matted blood in the blonde silk, and found a rag from Madam Pomfrey, filling a basin with warm water and taking both items to the stand by the bed. Working slowly and gently, Ayr cleaned the blood off of his face and out of his hair. He had twitched in his sleep a few times, but Malfoy was too deep asleep to be bothered.
Satisfied with her work, Ayr sat in the chair next to Malfoy's bed, fishing around in her bag for the letters. She pulled the next one off of the pile, and began to read.
"What is it that you're always reading?"
Ayr was holding another letter, but hadn't been paying much attention to it. Her mind had begun to wander, piecing together the events of that night. Ayr had flushed when it fell into place – the missing Polyjuice Potion that the potions master had been complaining about, the alleged Quidditch game gone bad that Parkinson had feigned to explain his broken ribs and bruises. When Malfoy had shown up uninjured, Ayr had just chalked it up to Madam Pomfrey's expertise.
Ayr shook her head at herself and then handed Malfoy the letter.
"They're letters that my parents wrote to each other before I was born. They stop when I was about one."
Malfoy's eyes scanned the letter before handing it back.
"Sounds like there was trouble in paradise," He mused.
"You don't know the half of it," Ayr mumbled, tucking the letter into the back of the pile. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," He repeated for the tenth time since he had woken up thirty minutes ago. "I would rather have been healing in my own bed in my own dorm."
Ayr rolled her eyes at Malfoy, but didn't say anything – he had stayed there, and that was all that mattered. He grimaced as he stretched slowly, situating himself into a more comfortable position. He watched Ayr as she rummaged around in her bag, and when she leaned back up, she blushed softly, not able to meet his gaze.
"What?" She asked softly, crossing her legs.
"You never asked me those three questions."
Ayr almost choked; one of the questions was going to be why he had done what he had that night. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your perception – the question had been answered before she had asked it. Ayr started, a question suddenly popping into her mind. She squirmed in her seat, looking Malfoy square in the eye.
"Why did you hit him?" At his incredulous look, she waved her hand and scoffed. "I know what he did, git. Why did you hit him because of it."
Malfoy's soft chuckle sounded nice to Ayr, even if he did wince slightly once he stopped. His eyes locked with hers, and for once, Ayr could see nothing in them but the blue of the irises. There was nothing sinister, or angry, or cynical – they were just blue, and Ayr found herself smiling softly.
"Because he had sought you out to spite me," He replied easily, as if that fact were known to everyone. "He had called me soft because I wouldn't talk to you, wouldn't demand that you belong to me."
"I wasn't under the impression that you wanted me to belong to you."
Malfoy smiled, and it was tired and worn thin. He slowly slid down into the bed, looking over to her as he moved. He smiled again, holding out his hand. When she placed hers in his, he brought it to his lips.
"I still hate you, you know, Malfoy," She told him.
Ayr tried to keep the blush off of her face, and thought she had succeeded until Malfoy's brows rose in amusement. She coughed to hide the nervous laugh, and realized with butterflies in her stomach that he hadn't let go of her hand.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Trikk."
