Disclaimer: I claim no ownership. If I did own it, though, the first thing I'd do, was to lead the Epilogue to the guillotine and behead it. 'nuff said.
Please read the AN at the bottom, there's an offer to all of you. Happy reading everyone!
INTERLUDE: Beauxbatons (Part Two)
November 1977.
Coming face to face with Albus Dumbledore had very nearly given him a heart attack. He hadn't known what to expect once an irrational teacher, with obvious hair problems, had apprehended him, and then promptly thrown him into the care of Madame Maxime. He was literally shoved into her office, stumbling forward by the forceful push, and had landed pathetically on his knees. What an entrance. He had never been more humiliated in his entire life, well, besides the slap delivered to his face in his third year by one hysterical Mudblood.
However, seeing the old codger alive and kicking, sitting right in front of him, calm and collected as always, was terrifying to put it mildly. He didn't know whether to cry or laugh or scream bloody murder at the impossible, or rather improbable, situation he found himself smack in the middle of.
He had yelped, tried to bolt, frantically tripping over his own feet while running towards the dirty fireplace he had just come from, only to be yanked right back by the offending Headmistress. She didn't so much as glance at him, holding him firmly in his place, completely unbothered by his pathetic attempts at escaping. That repulsive half-breed had been less than friendly, ever since that bloody first year had made his eardrums bleed by screaming like the world was about to end. Never mind the fact that he was trespassing, he didn't really care either way. He was cold, hungry and fucking furious. That's what he got for playing the bloody hero.
Stupid Granger and her stupid, stupid screams. She was nothing more than filthy little Mudblood, so why hadn't he just left the Golden Trio to his lunatic Aunt and the beastly wolf lusting after Granger? Oh, that's right. That was the exact moment he decided to listen to his conscience, disregarding everything else telling him to stay put. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing. He still had nightmares about the screaming Granger, writhing and sobbing on the floor in his ancestral home. The look on her face would most likely haunt him forever, edged so deep into his mind it would never disappear fully, as would the disgusting look Greyback had sent in her direction.
He was surprised she hadn't soiled herself.
Deep down he was glad he had decided to step in; he wouldn't have been able to live with himself if he hadn't. It was enough he fucked up in their sixth year. Maybe, in some sick and warped way, his somewhat heroic actions would make up for the disaster he had ultimately caused the year prior. He hoped it would, but doubted that was the way things worked.
The beastly woman tightened her strong grip on him as she addressed Dumbledore. Half-giant? He begged to differ; she looked more like a troll than anything else, and seemed just as inept. He vaguely remembered something about her and that other half-breed, Hagrid or whatever he was called, crushing on each other. A match made in heaven for sure, he thought to himself.
"Madame Maxime, always a pleasure," the elderly Headmaster greeted politely. He didn't even have the courtesy to look surprised. It only made Draco hate him more.
Was he for real? Could it actually be his old Headmaster? He sure as hell seemed just as all knowing and barmy as before. The resemblance was uncanny and he blanched at the horrid memories resurfacing. Thoughts of his death haunting him, torturing him by playing the same scene over and over and over again. It never stopped.
Was he dead? Was that it, truly? Was this his punishment for all his wrongdoings? The sight alone of his old Headmaster, sitting merrily in the familiar room, made his world spin, and he was hit by another bout of nausea. He hadn't the stomach for this shite. He just wanted to go home, to how things were before, safe and happy with his mother in the manor.
"I 'ave no patience for your games, Monsieur Dumbly-dorr," she hissed, surprisingly foregoing the usual politeness one might think such a meeting entailed. Or maybe it wasn't so shocking after all; she was obviously not a very sensible or civilized creature. He sneered at the both of them, his fear slowly dissipating.
"But of course, Madame, I apologize," he offered kindly, a slight apologetic tinge to his voice. Yeah right, Draco would eat his old, pointy school hat if that old fool was actually remorseful. Draco had always known Albus Dumbledore had more layers than Granger's wild mob of hair. He fidgeted where he stood, desperately trying to make the abominable female loosen her solid grip on his arm. As the seconds ticked by, he began to sweat, little beads of perspiration forming at his temples. He was trying, but failing spectacularly, to appear indignant and non-caring, but only came out shamefaced and terrified.
"I 'ave no idea what this thieving little boy was doing, sneaking around my school, scaring my girls! But he iz clearly from Hogwarts," she hissed angrily. "I do not know what you are playing at, but I will not stand for it."
"Ah, yes, again I must apologize, Madame, but I'm afraid I currently have no explanation as to how he came to be at Beauxbatons. I admit he is of Hogwarts, but he has been missing for quite some time now." Dumbledore was eerily calm as he looked at the Headmistress. His head started to spin at the confusion muddling his mind.
What the bloody hell was going on?
.
.
"Draco Malfoy I presume?" the Professor was met by silence, shock as well, and Draco's eyes went wide as saucers. None of it made sense, having just been claimed as someone he already knew. Claimed as a missing student. An intense discussion had ensued, her practically fuming and him composed as ever. Dumbledore had handled her exceptionally, rationalizing and reasoning with the gigantic brute. How she had come to the conclusion he was from Hogwarts still remained a mystery to him, but it might have had something to do with his incoherent ramblings back in her office. He could scarcely remember what had come pouring out of his mouth, but apparently she had caught the gist of it.
The two Heads of schools had come to an agreement of sorts, he wasn't entirely sure what had just transpired, but she had ultimately left and he was now alone with his old Headmaster. His very dead Headmaster, who apparently wasn't so dead after all.
"Ah, still a bit confused I see. I cannot say that I blame you," his long, slender fingers drummed on the desk absentmindedly. "The young Miss Granger was in a similar situation not too long ago."
A spark of recognition flittered across his face. "Granger is here?"
"Indeed she is. She has been for some time now," he began, voice jovial and utterly out of place. "Brilliant young woman, truly the brightest of her age." Draco eyed him warily, still not understanding. The words did simply not compute. There was something seriously wrong with this picture, but the fondness for the Golden Girl seemed familiar enough, sickening enough.
"You are supposed to be dead," he stated. He no longer cared about Granger, the fact that she was supposedly somewhere around the castle made him able to focus on the most important thing at the moment, and it certainly wasn't the Mudblood.
"So I've heard," he said curiously, perhaps even a touch intrigued by the notion. Draco could only stare incredulously at the older wizard. Yes, definitely barmy.
"Time is a curious thing Mister Malfoy," he hummed, clearly contemplating how to proceed. "This might come as a shock to you, but you are currently in the year 1977."
"You are lying," his breath hitched in his throat. It was like a hard kick to his stomach, overwhelming and horrible, black spots dancing before his eyes. He had not expected that, it simply wasn't possible. This had to be some sick kind of a joke.
"I assure you, Mister Malfoy, I am not," he looked pointedly at him over the rims of his grandfatherly spectacles. He did not appear to be joking, his eyes told him as much. Draco stiffened instantly, a wave of panic sweeping through him, like an uncaring ghost not bothering to dodge unassuming students. It left him with a cold and clammy feeling, and he was sure his complexion was ashen in colour.
"This is not possible," he mumbled, eyes looking down at the floor, trying to focus on little cracks and creases instead, anything to help him stay sane. It did not help, not by a long shot.
"I'm dead, I knew it. I never should have helped them. Stupid Granger and her stupid, stupid, horrifying screams… Should have left them to die! I should have stayed at home…" he began to ramble frantically, his voice growing more and more hysterical. He was very close to hyperventilating, his hands going to his knees as he leaned over. He was close to losing his balance, yet remained standing.
"Oh dear boy, do sit down," the Headmaster said worryingly, his eyes softening in concern for the poor boy. "I understand this is a lot to take in."
"This isn't real, it can't be real!" Draco yelled, straightening up again. "I'm dead!"
"Mister Malfoy, calm yourself," Dumbledore stood from his seat, moving over to where Draco was having an alarmingly mental breakdown.
"Don't touch me!" He screamed, stumbling away from the worried Headmaster. "Stay the hell away from me!"
Dumbledore sighed but kept his distance, respecting his wishes for now. However, when Draco made no signs of recovering in the following minutes, the ghost before him muttered a few words, no wand drawn, and Draco felt himself calm down, his legs left shaky and unsteady. His thoughts were jumbled and unclear.
He staggered past Dumbledore in a haze, swaying dangerously on his feet and his head feeling lighter than before. The room was spinning again, but he made it to the awaiting chair in one piece and without falling.
"What did you do to me?" he mumbled confused, the fog starting to clear off.
"A simple Confundus Charm, and I must apologize for such rudeness, but you looked ready to keel over, Mister Malfoy," Professor Dumbledore frowned slightly, silently making his way back to his customary seat.
"Now, let us speak as reasonable adults."
.
.
"1977," he breathed. "This is really happening?" he questioned more to himself.
"Yes," came the honest reply.
"That certainly changes things…"
"It surprises me that you have yet to ask if returning is a possibility," he paused. "I'm quite curious, you see." His blue eyes twinkled inquiringly.
"I have no intentions of going back to that nightmare," he bit out cruelly. Even if his beloved mother was left there, there was no way he would ever want to go back. He wasn't even sure she was still alive, cruel as the thought was, and he knew only death awaited him in the future. There was nothing left for him to go back to, he had made damn sure of that the minute he left Malfoy Manor.
"So, what happens now?" he asked warily. He wasn't sure what the Headmaster had in store for him, but he knew, without a doubt, that he already knew exactly what he was going to do with him.
"I think it would be best if you stay at Beauxbatons for the time being," he said, surprisingly and completely unexpected.
"No," came his swift reply. "I'm not going back to that foul woman." There was no thinking about it; he simply refused to go back.
"For now, it is for the best, I'm afraid. And Madame Maxime is a lovely woman once you get to know her," Dumbledore gave him another pointed look, the look that made most cower in fear, after his impolite statement. It only grew sterner when Draco looked incredulous after Dumbledore's last comment. "You would do well to remember it, and I urge you to be more careful from now on," he finished.
"It will not do to insult your future host," he said with finality.
"Why can't I stay here?" Draco stared disbelieving at the old Headmaster. There was no way he was going back to that horrid creature, Headmistress or not, he didn't fucking care anymore. Hogwarts was the only home he had left, and now he wasn't even allowed to stay here.
"For now, it will be best for all parts involved." Draco glared at him. Best for all parts involved? Like hell it was.
"You see, there are certain conflicts going around the school at the moment. I trust you know of which I speak," Draco froze in his seat, realization dawning on him. He had not thought of that at all, and who the fuck knew how things had progressed at this point in time? Let alone Slytherin House, for there was no doubt he would end up there again, should he sorted a second time. "It would be most unwise of me to let you stay in the castle." He eyed Draco's forearm with great interest, and he would swear he saw contempt shimmering through, but it was over in flash, and he had to question whether it was real or not. For a brief moment he felt deeply ashamed.
Draco could only nod dumbly, looking down at his arm himself, silently cursing his previous choices, foolish as they were. Ways of hexing his father also came to mind, strong and detailed imaged flooding his mind.
Then something dawned on him.
"Why does Granger get to stay?" His eyes narrowed, and the thought alone made his blood boil, anger coursing through his veins. He would not stand for her being allowed to stay, when he was clearly being shipped off to France. It was simply not acceptable.
"It is imperative that she stays here," he said frankly, his gaze stony and his blue eyes colder than he had ever seen them before. "The young Miss Granger is currently working hard to further our cause, I assume you know what I speak of," another stupid nod, his anger momentarily leaving him. Well, when he put it like that it suddenly made a lot more sense, even though it still made him furious.
"She has come a long way since her arrival, and she has done a marvellous job so far. I would hate for you to ruin her progress, our progress, as it concerns all of us," the stern look he kept receiving was starting to grate on his nerves. He felt like he was being treated like a misbehaving child, chided for something he hadn't done. But, perhaps, that was what it came down to.
"I… understand," he said somewhat reluctantly, wise too, as he had no wish to go against Albus Dumbledore's orders.
"But what am I supposed to do in France?" he asked, resigned and tired, all fight leaving his body as he realised there was no point in arguing any further. He was being shipped off to Beauxbatons, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Unless he made a run for it that is, but he had no wish to try that option again. Once was more than enough for him.
"You could always finish your education, as Miss Granger is currently doing here at Hogwarts. She mentioned in the passing that you were not without abilities." And slam. Where on earth did that come from? His head snapped up to look at him, finding it hard to believe what he had just heard.
But finishing his education, taking his N.E. ? School had never sounded more appealing than it did at that moment, even if it was at Beauxbatons.
"Perhaps, it might also give you time to get your priorities straight. I imagine you have many, many things to consider," and he said that as if he had a choice in the first place. There was an edge to the older wizard's voice that he did not care to interpret. Considering his words carefully, he could only stare in surprise. He had not counted on being granted the choice of what he should do from now on, even if it wasn't entirely true. He held no illusions about what the old fool would do, should he decide to choose the path leading to Voldemort. But he needn't fear that particular scenario, there was no way in hell he was going down that road again.
It was enough the Dark Mark had branded him forever; carved into his arm as the word Mudblood was carved into Granger's. Branded like cattle, in two very different ways. Neither mark would ever disappear. He felt sorry for the both of them.
"When do I leave?" he settled on saying instead.
He let out a deep sigh, sinking further down in his seat, fiddling with the hem of his torn and tattered robe, hopeless and not even bothering to look at the Headmaster.
He needn't have asked. He already knew the answer.
.
.
December 1977.
"Delacour? That sounds vaguely familiar," he frowned at the plain girl sitting beside him. Mousy and ordinary, a forgettable face and lacklustre brown hair, yet there was something odd about her, she still stood out.
"Yes, you might have heard about my brother. He married a half-veela a few years back," she whispered conspiratorially, leaning in further. "Quite the scandal, I tell you."
"I can imagine," he looked repulsed at the idea. While veelas might be stunningly beautiful, which he had personally seen during the Triwizard Tournament, they were still creatures that had no business marrying into ancient pureblooded families. Oh, he was perfectly aware of what kind of scandal that must have been.
"Oh, don't look so disgusted, Draco," he just gave her a bland look.
"Posh, it's not like it matters," she shrugged, waving her hand at his look. "They love each other, and Apolline is a very nice witch. They just had their first child, Fleur, she's such a beautiful babe," Adrienne gushed.
"Your bloodline is polluted, and you don't care?" he nearly sneered at her, but she was still a pureblood from a prominent family and a certain manner of conduct was expected of him in situations such as these. In short, he had to behave.
"Not anymore," she sighed dreamily. "When you have seen true love, everything else just seems so… redundant?"
"And that's my cue to go." She frowned at his abrupt dismissal, quickly grabbing hold of his arm before he could scurry off to Merlin knows where.
"I hope one day you'll understand, Draco," she whispered sadly. "Blood doesn't matter. People matter." He wrenched his arm from her grip, scoffing at the ridiculous statement. He turned around and left with a huff. Food had suddenly lost its appeal.
.
.
"Are you stalking me?" he sneered, manners thrown out the window, though he was kind of curious as to why she continued to seek him out. She sat beside him in classes, whenever she could, popped up doing meals and caught him in the hallways sometimes, like now. She would talk about simple things of no real value, then switch to urgent matters, like the war in England, in a heartbeat, without any reason.
She had plenty of friends from what he had seen, yet she still singled him out whenever she could. No one seemed to have noticed, or they didn't care, though, her unexpected fascination with him, for he assumed that was it. Curiosity and fascination at someone new around her, like a puzzle she had yet to figure out.
"Maybe. Does it bother you?" she asked, just as curious. Impertinent little twit, presumptuous too.
He hadn't bothered making friends; it all seemed so different, so alien, like he didn't belong there at all.
And he really didn't.
Sure, a few boys from his year, pureblooded mind you, were all right. They talked about Quidditch and homework and girls, normal things boys their age should talk about. They got along well enough, but somehow it didn't sit well with him. They didn't understand him, couldn't see past his barriers, even if he wanted them to.
The past year things had changed, he had changed, and not necessarily for the better. The things he used to enjoy, things he used to laugh about, most of it had lost its appeal. He tried, he really did, but he was too damaged, broken one way or another. He supposed war did that to you, and for a brief moment he found himself wondering how Granger dealt with the aftermath. If anyone was broken, it would definitely be her. If anyone deserved to go mental and break down in tears, to give up and do nothing, it would be her. Mudblood or not, she had been through hell. It had taken him a while to admit it to himself, but the nightmares still haunting him, had led him to this conclusion. Thoughts of Granger always left him wary and with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a fact he had come to accept and now tried to deal with.
He snapped out of his thoughts when the annoying little chit beside him snapped her fingers impatiently, right in front of his eyes, to get his attention.
"I'm not really sure," he finally said, looking bewildered at the insolent girl for a moment, blue uniform and all, standing proud and defiant as if nothing could deter her.
"Let me know when you find out," and then she promptly turned on her heels and left. He stood there, in the abandoned hallway, wondering what the hell had just happened.
.
.
She took his mind off of things, he realised that now. She spewed shite about equality, welcoming muggleborns and half-bloods with open arms, and saying something about the urgency of having new blood in their ranks. She had been reading far too many muggle books lately, in his opinion, which must be why these ideas found their way into their conversations, sneaking and pushing until he grew confused. It was sad to see a pureblood stoop so low, even if she may have been right about a thing or two.
He still wasn't sure what her motives were, if she had any in the first place. With her he never knew, could never tell, and that perplexed him. It scared him a bit, too. Being a Slytherin made him naturally suspicious and wary of the people around him, that was the only way to survive in the dungeons, House Slytherin at it finest. It was lesson number one; don't trust anyone further than you can throw them, which in his case wasn't very far.
The fact that she spoke freely and without remorse whenever she was with him, yet put on a show for everyone else, puzzled him a great deal. Especially because the war was not a subject openly spoken about at Beauxbatons – which he found rather strange, but he had heard stirrings and concerned mutters – yet she continued to yapper on, if she so pleased. She did, however, keep her opinions on the matter to herself, when it came to others around the castle. What made him so special; he had, frankly, no bloody idea.
"Do you think it's going to get worse?"
"Yes. Much worse," he indulged her. He might as well, seeing as he always felt a bit lighter whenever they breached the subject, miniscule as the conversation might be, it didn't matter to him. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, though; it always came crashing down again sooner or later, no matter how much he wished it didn't. No matter how hard he tried to suppress unbidden memories, it only made it worse. He had long since given up on trying to forget.
The fact that the Dark Mark had started to twinge every now and then didn't help either. He chalked it up to the war getting closer, day by day, only to get worse. A lot worse and very soon, if the increasing cramps, pure pain and horror, was anything to go by. He had worried, and still did, that the Dark Lord might sense his presence through the blasted tattoo, but anything had yet to happen. For once he actually wished the know-it-all was here to tell him, to reassure him there was nothing to worry about, call him a stupid ferret, and then he would continue to sneer at her or insult her. Preferably both.
Just like it had always been, like they always did. That's what they used to do and that was normal.
He refused to admit that he missed her, because he really didn't. He rather liked not having to endure her presence, to acknowledge her existence. She was an abomination, born to filthy muggles and had no business being a part of the wizarding world. Adrienne would argue that wasn't true, and frankly he was beginning to doubt certain issues, but that was not one of them.
But Granger knew what it was like to feel so lost and helpless, to know what they did. To remember and trying to forget at the same time, and that was ultimately what it all came down to.
"I thought so," she said absentmindedly, finding it hard to focus on her Potions assignment. She seemed troubled lately, and he couldn't blame her. The uneasiness had spread around the castle, but no one said a damn thing, no one seemed to care.
"Don't you think it's a bit odd no one seems to care?" he offered for once, finally finding the courage to ask the one thing that had been on his mind lately. She seemed almost startled at his question. Perhaps, he ought to talk to her a bit more, if this was her reaction to a simple question. She usually did the talking, and that suited him just fine.
"They do care," she said, eyeing him oddly. "They are just too afraid to say it out loud. Once you start to talk about it, once you acknowledge it, that's when it becomes real."
"I suppose there is that."
There was nothing more left to say.
.
.
Christmas was nearing and he had all but forgotten about the old codger residing at Hogwarts, quite happily, too. And that was his first mistake. He had become too comfortable, too complacent, and too reliant on a normal life that wasn't really his in the first place, but desperately tried to adapt to. He hadn't exactly been lying to himself, he had just ignored certain aspects of his life, well, he had tried to anyhow, it just didn't work out so well. Adrienne had kept him focused, though, but he had still allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security. He should be ashamed of himself; he had no right to call himself a Slytherin after such a blunder.
He was clutching the letter firmly in his hands, had half a mind to tear up the offending piece of parchment, but refrained from doing so out of fear for the possible consequences it might bring about. It's not like he could do anything about the contents of the letter anyway, no matter how many letters he would tear up and apart, it still wouldn't change the fact that Dumbledore had summoned him. That in itself sounded foreboding and it scared the hell out of him.
Dumbledore had granted him precious time to recuperate and think things over, but now it was time to go back to the real world, to face his innermost fears and make his intentions clear.
Adrienne glanced at him, eyes droopy and expression only half-focused, for once foregoing any questions she might have, and he could see she had many.
"You'll tell me when you are ready," she stated, as if she had read his mind, and then turned back to her breakfast. She didn't look at him again, sleepily reaching for another cup of coffee. She really was useless in the mornings.
"You will have to wait a long time then," he didn't look at her, mindlessly pushing sausages and scrambled eggs around on his plate, fork scraping pitifully against the porcelain plate. His normally exquisite breakfast had turned to ashes, and the world suddenly seemed grey and gloomy.
"I suppose I will."
He idly wondered how she would react to the ugly tattoo on his arm.
.
.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy, it is truly a pleasure to see you again. I hope you have been well?"
"Surprisingly good, actually," he said quietly, and that was all he would disclose for now. He needn't know how satisfying it had actually been attending Beauxbatons, far away from everything familiar and hurtful – for a time that is. Then came the ghosts and unfamiliar feelings of being an outcast, of acknowledging the looming war drawing closer with each passing day.
At first he had settled in nicely, and – mostly – without complaints. He had steered clear of the hideous Headmistress with a determination rarely seen. He was fairly certain his resolve matched Granger's passionate love for anything related to school.
Also, being far away from Voldemort and his jolly little army of Death Eaters had done wonders for his mental health, and not being on the run anymore, well, his body was a lot healthier too. It was just an added bonus he hadn't been anywhere near Potter, the Weasel and, of course, Granger. He did, however, have to admit that things would never be the same for him ever again. He had seen too much.
"I'm afraid I have something I must ask of you," he said solemnly.
"I gathered as much from your letter."
"Indeed," he nodded sombrely, yet a smile found its way to his lips. "Then by all means, let us commence," he straightened up a bit and reached for a small glass bowl filled with various kinds of sweets. His desk was a mess, parchment, books and quills filling up the narrow space. "Sherbet lemon?"
He shook his head and said, "no thank you." It felt like the Headmaster was trying to soften whatever blow was about to come his way, and with sweets no less. He would have found it hilarious, if it wasn't for the fact that he was beginning to fret in his seat, uneasiness washing over him.
"Such a pity, more for me then," he said gaily, his smile widening a fraction, in a way Draco found frightening beyond compare. It was ominous, like a true Gryffindor about to reveal something utterly irrational and stupid. He did not like it, at all.
Draco sensed things were about to get messy.
"I would like you to break into Malfoy Manor."
He was not disappointed.
.
AN: That was, regrettably, a difficult chapter for me to write. Shifting from the POV's of my darling Gryffindors, to a (slightly improved) Slytherin, is hell on earth. I hope I did him justice. If not, I apologize.
Many of you probably feel cheated by Draco's predicament, seeing as he won't be staying at Hogwarts, nor will he in the foreseeable future. Don't worry, though, they will meet up in the end (not the end end, but later, so no worries).
As I see it right now, Draco has a lot of character growth to go through. I'm not saying he will miraculously change into a muggle-loving, happy-go-lucky Gryffindor. That is just… no, and I think I might have mentioned this before. But he will gradually change for the better. Besides, letting him stay near Hermione, aspiring Death Eaters crawling around the castle, and the Marauders? Now that would be a catastrophe if I ever saw one. Think it over for a second, seriously. Dumbledore is smarter than that. Also, it's an overdone plotline, in my opinion. Not that time-travel in general isn't, but still.
Hermione has her own demons to fight, and Draco will hinder whatever progress she might make, and vice versa. It goes both ways. It would also give Hermione (false) hope, as to whether Harry and Ron would appear as well. She would then continue to lose her focus, and I'm afraid her relationship with Sirius would deteriorate from thereon. And that would a shame, wouldn't it? Dumbledore does have his reasons for keeping them apart, and whether they are good or bad, I'll leave you to decide for yourselves. The old coot is mental, and who knows what truly goes on in his mind most of the time?
Anyway, I'm already in the middle of writing the next chapter, so hopefully it won't take so long for me to update again. Maybe next weekend (Depends on the length), I have already written about 4000 words, and nowhere close to finishing it?
And dear Merlin, I am looking forward to chapter twelve and thirteen. The next four chapters will be… intense. Sirmione goodness ahead, and I shall leave it at that...
I really hope to update more regularly, but for obvious reasons I won't make any promises.
On another note, if anyone has a special wish, a scene, an OC from Beauxbatons or Hogwarts, etc. As long as it doesn't interfere with my plot, of course, I will gladly grant one (maybe two if I feel like it) of you that wish. So, be creative my lovely readers! Writing a monster like this makes you a bit narrow-minded at times, and so a little something from you would be a welcome addition (not that my creativity has left me, because make no mistake about it, I have a lot of exiting stuff in store for our favourite characters)… But sometimes when you read a story, don't you just have a scenario planned in your head and dearly hope it would happen, or a new character (be they OC or canon)? Or is that just me? I admit I'm not overly fond of OCs, but sometimes they are a necessary evil, and I might as well say this now; Adrienne Delacour will not be a romantic interest to Draco. I dislike main characters ending up with OCs, unless there's a very good reason.
Well, I think I have rambled on long enough, so I'll have to say goodbye – for now. Again I must thank each and everyone who reviewed, made it a favourite or chose to follow my baby. It means a lot to me, and every single review makes me want to keep on writing.
Much love,
Winnie