Chapter 11: Torrential Emotion
The date kept playing over and over in her head, if a date was what you could call it. As soon as his hand took hers she felt the sizzle of their magic dancing again, much like it had on Midsummer, but stronger this time. And his lips on her knuckles. She'd never felt a power like it.
That was when it came, the vision. This one was even vaguer than previous ones, only voices in the darkness. Emotions without a home.
Confusion. That was the first one. Confusion about… a decision? A hard one, but not one she could identify specifically.
Pride was next. Pride that he had been given a job to do. A chance. A choice. He alone.
Fear. Fear that something was going to happen, but unsure of what. Fear that he would make the wrong choice and lose everything.
"...will you fulfill the deed...?" a malevolent voice had hissed.
"He's just a boy," said another, more maternal than the first.
Her breath caught in her own throat. She barely managed to breath out his name, feeling him stop breathing himself. As soon as he'd met her eyes she knew she had to tell him what she knew, no matter how little it would help.
"There's something you should know." He'd looked at her confused, straightened, stiffening, but still not letting go of her hand. "A time will come when a choice will need to be made. Just remember that you have that choice." His eyes had widened slightly, his hand dropping away from hers.
"What?" he'd asked. She hadn't known how to answer that, but she also knew the question was rhetorical. He had looked at her with such mixed emotions, similar to the ones she'd felt in the vision itself.
"That's… that's all I know," she said apologetically, slowly taking a couple steps back. She'd watched his jaw tighten, his silver-grey eyes darkened to jet.
"How do you…" he began, taking a step toward her, but stopped. She wasn't afraid of him, but for him. She then closed the gap, gripping his upper arms with her hands, staring into his eyes, willing him to understand that she only wanted him to be alright.
"Do not be afraid. I'm not sure how yet, but things will unfold exactly as they should. But you have to think very carefully about this deed -"
"How do you know about that?!"
"I-I've seen it." He had wrenched his arms away from her and backed up. "Not all of it! Not even most of it. But I do know that it's weighing on you, and it will continue to until it's complete." He had stared at her in astonishment mixed with fear, and probably anger considering she'd not only admitted she could see part of his future, but also what it held in his path. And then, before she could say anything else, he'd apparated away.
Now, three days after their night at the Jubilee Oak, she sat on her bed staring at an unopened letter that she knew was from him, worried about what it might contain. She took several deep breaths before opening it carefully, as if worried it would explode in her hand.
Dear Kate,
We told each other 'no lies', and I meant it, but the details of this mission must remain a secret. Maybe one day you'll understand, but for now, I'm asking the biggest favor I can of someone who barely knows me, and it's just that you trust me. Like you said, things will unfold exactly how they should. I just want you to be safe when it does.
The trembling paper in her hands made her realize how shaken up she was by this. What was this mission? Why was it such a big deal that he'd insist the details remain a secret? Her mind thought back to the attack in London, her father's mention that there were rumors of who might be involved, but nothing yet confirmed. Could she really believe he'd be capable of something like participating in a genocide? Maybe, she still didn't know him very well. But everything about the way they talked at the pub, the way his silver eyes sparkled when he took her hand and wouldn't let go, the way his voice seemed to calm and excite her all at once and make her feel safe, kept her from wanting to believe that he could be anything akin to a monster.
"Trust me," his letter said. Could she? Shouldn't she be able to unquestioningly trust her soul mate? He was certainly testing his trust in her by telling her this, as vague as it was. Trust is a fragile gift, and she wasn't sure she could give it to him completely, but she wanted to try, wanted to believe he actually was a good person and that this mission business wasn't connected to those horrid Death Eaters.
She knew she wanted to be able to trust him, and she also wanted him to be able to trust her, so she withdrew her wand and cast an Incendio on the letter he sent her, reducing it to ash just in case. She then took out an index card from her desk, wrote a short response, and charmed it so only he would be able to read it before sending it off with a large, white messenger owl. She hoped it would be enough to help him through whatever it was he would face.
Draco was pacing back and forth in his room, knowing he'd create a groove in the floor if he didn't stop, but he couldn't get the sinking feeling that she'd reject him out of his head. He wanted to tell her, he'd wanted to tell her that night at the pub, but he knew if he did he'd just put her in unnecessary danger.
"A choice will need to be made." What choice? The choice to go through with it? That was hardly a choice. The Dark Lord had given him this task with an ultimatum: do it, or he can watch his mother die before Voldemort kills Draco himself. Did she mean the choice to take the mark? That wasn't much of a choice either. He'd have to take his father's place while Lucius was in Azkaban, continue the work the Dark Lord has given them in order to save himself and his family. And Kate.
He'd asked her to trust him, but he wasn't sure he wanted her to. It would be safer if she didn't. She'd stay away and I wouldn't have to worry about having another damned life on my hands. But he also didn't want to lose her to this shitty situation he had found himself in.
When he had been young, more impressionable, he'd supported his family's ideals about the blood supremacy without hesitation. He'd watched his father so closely, wanting to be exactly like him, and part of that was supporting the return and success of Voldemort. But at the beginning it had all just seemed like what ifs. Now it was real, and he found himself making choices he didn't think he'd ever really have to just to survive. Self-preservation was a particularly Slytherin trait. So was wealth and status. And when the Dark Lord offered so many families the latter, completely uninhibited, the former kicked in. But as Draco got older, he started to realize that maybe self-preservation wasn't always a solid driving force. Suddenly Voldemort looked more like a crazy extremist than a saviour, and Draco's harsh opinions of mudbloods and blood traitors waned a bit. He would never admit that to anyone, though, not even under a Cruciatus, but he had started to wonder if he'd chosen the winning side. Sure, the Dark Lord promised a grand future for people just like him, but every threat made on his life and his family made him start to think that maybe either way he chose he'd lose what was most important to him.
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, driving his fist into a wall. The dent he'd left could be fixed, as could his scraped and bleeding knuckles, but this situation couldn't be. Not yet, he hoped, but eventually.
A tapping sound at his window drew his attention from his bruised hand, and he nearly sprinted to the window to let Kate's owl in. The card was small, folded into fourths instead of being in an envelope. A knock on his bedroom door sounded before he had a chance to unfold it.
"Draco?" his mother's voice inquired as quietly as possible so as not to draw the wrong person's attention. "Everything all right in there?"
He started to answer but his voice caught in his throat making him cough. He cleared it and tried again. "Yes, mother. Everything's fine. Just dropped my…" he looked around for an excuse. "Book. Nothing to worry about."
"Okay. Remember that we have tea in an hour. He'll expect you to be there," she said from the other side of the still-closed door.
"I remember. I'll be down in time," he called back, and waited until he heard her heels retreating away from his door before he opened the note.
On the small card, in her curved, neat writing sat the words he both dreaded and longed to hear:
I trust you.
His heart stopped and restarted, beating at twice the speed. The realization of the situation hit him like a bludger, and he had the overwhelming urge to see her so he could yell at her for being stupid but also thank her for not giving up on him like he was sure she'd do. And he would have gone to her if not for this bloody dinner situation. There's not way the Dark Lord wouldn't notice his absence, and he couldn't just leave his mother to fend for herself. He's the man of the manor now, it's his responsibility to be there.
"Bollocks," he huffed under his breath, re-reading the three small words over and over until he could close his eyes and see them swimming in the darkness. He drew out his wand and Incendio-ed the note, just in case. Then he sat back on his bed, breathing deeply, trying to get his racing heart under control and focus enough on preparing his mind in case of a spontaneous use of Legilimency by the Dark Lord. He then straightened his tie and headed out the door.
The night Kate and Draco had met at pub, she hadn't told her parents exactly where she was going, only that she was going to a local pub and wouldn't be alone. In truth she'd told them she was going with Blaise, knowing her parents would have probably never let her go had they known she was meeting with Draco, especially after his father had just been arrested. When the Protean-charmed coin began to burn in her pocket, she knew she'd have to leave before they went looking for her.
When she got down to breakfast the morning after, fearing they'd somehow found out anyway, she was pleasantly surprised that they seemed to be none the wiser, or at least kept quiet if they were aware. Only Benny had given her a side-eye, silently questioning her actual whereabouts, but she had simply shrugged and continued sipping her coffee like nothing had happened.
Tonight he'd cornered her, out in the field just outside of the neighborhood they had moved to after one of his wild animal runs, and she told him the truth.
"You went to see him, despite the fact he's a Death Eater?" he asked her, incredulity clear in this voice.
"He's not a Death Eater, Ben." The nights in England were cold, even in August, and she envied Benny for his warm-blooded wolfie nature as she wrapped her sweater tighter around her shoulders.
"Did he ever tell you flat out that he's not?"
"We didn't discuss it," she said, shrugging slightly while pulling a blade of grass out of the ground and breaking it into little bits.
"Why not? Don't you think that's kind of important?"
"I don't know, Ben. Probably."
"Probably? Probably?!" They were sitting on the ground and he bent over at an odd angle to try to see her face better. She huffed out a frustrated breath and looked him straight on.
"Yeah, probably. But we didn't. To be honest, I'm not sure I even want to know. It's probably best that I don't if it's really that dangerous."
"Can't you… see anything?" he asked, seemingly afraid to know the answer himself. She just shook her head and kept playing with the grass.
"No. Well… I can see…something. But none of it's clear, and I refuse to read too much into it without knowing more details from him." Benny nodded absently and looked out over the field toward the town beyond.
After a long silence he asked, "Are you going to see him again?"
She sniggered lightly. "I'm not sure I have much of a choice, bud."
"What about Blaise?"
Shit. She hadn't really talked to Blaise in days, only short letters here and there making vague promises they'd get together for coffee or something soon but never actually scheduling anything. "I guess it's the same thing since we'll all be at school together soon, but we haven't exactly set another date either."
"Ooooh," he cooed. "So it was a date?" She rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side playfully.
"Yeah, yeah, I know you like him better than Draco."
"Don't you?" She shrugged, shaking her head, unsure.
"I don't know. I should say 'no.' Draco is my person, I suppose. But I don't really know either of them very well."
"Maybe you should talk to him and see?" Benny offered. She let out a long breath and nodded shortly. Which one? she wondered. Both, probably. She resigned herself and they headed back to the house together.
Once back in her room she wrote a quick letter to Blaise, asking if he'd like to meet soon. She figured she should probably send one to Draco as well, but her pride stopped her. I wrote him to meet last time and I've admitted to trusting him, despite better judgement, she thought. If he's serious, then he can arrange the next meeting. She sent Blaise's letter off before climbing into bed, unsure if she'd be able to sleep at all until her head hit the pillow and she was out like a light.
A flickering, restless light, but a light nonetheless. She dreamt sporadically, never about the same subject for long enough to understand any meaning behind it. Only one in particular imprinted itself in the front of her mind.
The rain was pouring down all around, but she didn't appear to care as she stared into the ashen gray eyes boring into hers. Her heart was beating faster than she thought safe, and her subconscious mind hoped she wouldn't have a heart attack in her sleep. Dream Draco was standing much closer than Real Draco had, his chest close enough to hers that if she breathed in too deeply they'd be touching. Her lips parted slightly, trying to think of something to say, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking between his eyes and his lips and back. He clearly saw it, and before she could draw her next breath his hands were on either side of her face, his lips flush against her own. She felt her eyes close in instinct. This isn't real, insisted one part of her mind. Just enjoy it, said another part. She could feel the same magical buzzing in her lips that she'd felt in her fingers, tingling like fresh spearmint. Her arms moved to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer against her, their kisses deepening with each movement.
He pushed her back against a hard surface and only then did she realize her mind had placed them in front of the white gazebo at her old home in Massachusetts, one of the stiff wooden beams digging into her spine, his arms around her the only thing keeping her upright. His right hand moved to the back of her neck, sliding up into the hair at the base of her neck while his left hand slid slowly down her neck, shoulder, arm, resting on her hip as he pulled her lips and body closer to his own. Their kiss, closed-mouthed and chaste in comparison to what her mind and body seemed to beg for burned in a way that left her breathless even in her sleep.
Then all at once the rain stopped, and the buzzing changed from a tingle to a dull hum. They pulled back for air and she opened her eyes to find not gray eyes staring back, but a dark brown, russet skin a stark difference against paling olive of her own arms.
Katerina sat bolt upright in bed, her heart pounding in real life much like it had in her dream, nearly matching the beat of the pouring rain on her window pane. The nerve endings on the back of her neck and hip still registered the pressure of hands on her, and she raised her fingers to her lips, trying to dispel the tingling she could still feel.
"What the hell was that?" she muttered to herself, staring blankly toward the window. She vaguely registered the fat raindrops sliding down the glass blurring the night, and wondered what kind of sick trick her subconscious was playing on her that it would show her both men in such a fashion as kissing in the rain.
No. Not completely in the rain. Only Draco's dream had rain. Her mind had registered the cold, but that passed when Dream Draco took her in his arms, his magic heating her throughout, a protective blanket she hoped would never lift.
But Blaise. His magic wasn't overwhelming in the way Draco's was. The rain had stopped, a safe space without the torrent of wild emotion, yet no less passionate.
Katerina let out a frustrated groan, falling back on her pillows and staring at the ceiling. This is going to be a problem, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut to focus on just the sound of the rain. She laid there, trying to sort through the whirlwind of emotions, trying to figure out what it all meant and growing more and more irritated by the second. Especially when she realized sleep would not come to her again tonight.