Chapter 29 – The Loss of Innocence
With all the busy comings and goings around the shopping districts of central London, there were few who took notice of any activity around Purge and Dowse Ltd, an abandoned department store that had fallen into a state of disrepair over the years. No one had really lamented its absence, and now it was simply regarded as a stretch of partially whitewashed shop window (complete with mannequins adorned with outdated fashions) that one might pass on their way to work. Inside, however, was a place that had never and would never be seen by the eyes of the muggles that crowded this way and that in the London streets. Magical folk knew this to be the location of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
As All Hallows Eve slowly drew in, there were two shadowy figures standing in the alleyway beside the shop who were grateful that so few passers-by were giving them so much as a fleeting glance.
"Well, at least he got inside then," one whispered gruffly to the other, "I still don't see why we needed to do it all like this though."
His companion was quick to reply in a broad and harsh West Country accent.
"The master seems ter reckon 'e still needs a little…persuasion. Now, if yeh wanna dispute that wiv 'im, be my guest. Personally, I'd prefer to wake up tomorrow wiv my arms and legs still intact, thank you very much. Just keep an eye out, will yeh?"
Inside the building, on the fourth floor, a young wizard called Draco Malfoy wandered towards a potion dispensary room. It would've been plain to anyone who had known him that Draco was not himself on this particular day. In all honesty, he hadn't been himself for well over a year, but now his true self was demoted to the status of visitor in his own mind. An enchantment had been placed upon him to ensure that his presence in the hospital would not be questioned, and he drifted purposefully onward, with the usual vacant expression of any who were held under the Imperius Curse.
Healers, patients, and ward assistants hurried about their business, and didn't seem to notice the boy entering the dispensary. Upon sighting the table of magical remedies, mostly daily prescriptions, his eyes flew across the small cardboard name labels that stood on each tray.
"Kastner…Keela…Mason…" he murmured quietly to himself, "Ockley…hmmm…Ollivander…"
Dwelling on this last tray, he drew a small vial of purplish black liquid from a pocket in his tattered robes and poured it into a flask of potion, where it blended seamlessly. This done, he turned and rapidly exited the room before heading for the main wards. He waited patiently, observing the movements of the assistant healers, just as the voice in his head instructed him.
With timely precision, a tray was brought from the dispensary and taken to the room where Mr Ollivander lay in a near-catatonic state. Malfoy remained at his post and listened intently.
"Someone taking over soon?" enquired the assistant's voice, "You must be tired."
"Hopefully, yes," yawned Tonks, "Don't suppose there's a bed going spare, is there?"
Malfoy heard the assistant laugh, followed by the clinking of conical flasks and the pained groaning of the patient.
"Now come on, Mr Ollivander, it's nothing you haven't had before. I know it may not be a pleasant concoction, but it's all part of your treatment."
The next few moments of quiet were a living nightmare for Draco, and unbearable, were it not for the curse that had taken hold of his mind. If his restraint had simply been physical, he was unsure as to whether he would have screamed uncontrollably, thrown up, or just wanted to run as far and as fast as he could. The small corner of his mind that he still commanded was attempting to do all three simultaneously.
There came a sickly choking sound from around the corner, and a strangled cry.
"What's wrong?" asked Tonks, a definite note of panic in her voice.
"I…I don't know," replied the assistant shakily, "It's only a simply draught to calm his waking thoughts…Falkirk!"
A healer suddenly appeared, hurrying along the corridor towards the beckoning call. Draco glanced towards Mr Ollivander's room and heard a desperate retching noise from inside. As Falkirk arrived in the doorway, he was hit with a scream and a shower of blood. All at once, there was chaos on the ward. Above the crowd of voices, through which Draco was able to determine that the patient was now deceased, rose Tonks' voice.
"Search the hospital! Don't let anyone leave!"
At last, Malfoy was permitted to move. He moved quickly to the end of the corridor, the enchantment holding, to ensure that he could reach the stairs unnoticed by the hospital staff. Just as he turned the corner to make his way down to the next floor, Tonks, her eyes more highly trained than others, spotted the dark cloak heading to the staircase.
"Out of my way!" she shouted, fighting through a small group of healers.
By the time she reached the bottom of the stairs, the cloak was out of sight, but still she continued in hard pursuit.
Malfoy was now running as fast as he could, the voice in his head navigating him to the hospital exit. His heart was pounding and his stomach was performing multiple somersaults, but on he ran, now able to hear Tonks' footsteps a little way behind him. Finally, he burst through a pair of doors into the side alley of Purge and Dowse Ltd, searched frantically around him, and lunged for a large, rusty tin can that lay a few feet away.
Tonks threw herself into the alleyway, her wand drawn, and saw the last faint flash of light as the shadowy figure disappeared, along with the portkey. She lowered her wand and let her body go almost limp as she wandered slowly back into St Mungo's Hospital. Re-entry to the hospital was usually only possible by negotiating with the mannequins that lined the shop window on the street, but arrangements had been made for Ministry staff to bypass normal procedures.
Nymphadora Tonks was exhausted in a way that she could not express in words, and was feeling nauseous at the prospect of having to explain to anyone what had just happened.
Draco opened his eyes and found himself looking up at the two Death Eaters who had assisted him on the streets of London. He was now lying on the wet sand of a beach on the coast of Whitby, and suddenly became aware of the cold air against his face. He was now back in control of himself, and did the only thing that sprang to mind. He rolled on his side and vomited heavily into the sand. The two Death Eaters did not seem to be concerned at all.
"First time, eh?" one said with an obvious hint of mockery, "Don't you worry, boy. From what I hear, ye'll have to be gettin' used to it before long. Who knows, yeh might even get a taste for it!"
The two of them laughed nastily, not even bothering to help the boy to his feet.
"No," groaned Draco breathlessly, almost wishing he had the will to just take his own life right then and there.
"No?" the man replied in disgust, his grin having now vanished, "Let me tell you somethin'. What you just did was the work of a moment, nothin' more. You try torturin' one of yer own relatives to death in the name of the Dark Lord, then ye'll 'ave somethin' ter cry about! Now listen, ye've got orders ter follow. Stay here till first light and someone'll be along to take you back ter the master. Stay out of sight and don't talk ter nobody, understand?"
Malfoy nodded weakly, though he had barely listened to a word. All he wanted was to see his parents, or even Snape. Above all, he couldn't help wishing that he was someone else and somewhere else. He watched the Death Eaters disapparate, then collapsed back into the sand. This had been a bad day in his life, and probably the worst way he could imagine spending Halloween.
After a few minutes, he staggered upright and began to walk. He didn't particularly care where he was going, since he didn't really know where he was anyway. Breathing in several lungs full of salty air, he turned his back on the sea, and noticed the glimmer of firelight emanating from the other side of a nearby rock face. The prospect of warmth at that moment was very inviting, but Malfoy was faced with a dilemma. Fire would almost certainly mean people, and he hardly wanted to draw attention to himself, but then again, using magic to create a fire of his own could attract even more attention. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice that came out of the growing darkness, somewhere nearer the fire.
"You alright there, mate?"
He turned sharply towards this new arrival, a voice surrounded by long sleek black hair and a full-length leather coat.
"What…?" he replied distractedly, "Oh…yes…yes, I'm fine. Just…waiting for someone."
As Malfoy drifted a little more into the light, the stranger was able to study him properly. He flicked a tail of ash from the cigarette that hung limply between his fingers and, after a pause, continued.
"You sure about that?" he enquired.
"What do you mean?" replied Malfoy, suddenly disgusted that he had been drawn into speaking even a handful of words to a muggle.
"I mean that what you say and what I see appear to be two very different things." the stranger said, exhaling a stream of smoke into the light sea breeze.
This was already becoming an annoying conversation to the boy.
"I said I was alright!" complained Malfoy, turning his head back to the darkness.
The stranger remained undeterred.
"And what I see is a bloke who looks like death warmed up," he replied calmly, noting that the boy still hadn't walked away to be 'alright' on his own, "Speaking of which, you look like you could use a drink as well. Why don't you come back here and warm yourself up? I'm just here with a few friends and a few bottles if you're interested."
Malfoy's eyes returned to the stranger and considered this. He definitely couldn't face solitude. He wished more than ever that he could be with his parents, or anyone who could understand and sympathise with his plight. As this was currently impossible, maybe the next best thing would be the company of those who couldn't possibly comprehend the situation, even if he felt inclined to explain it. With only the slightest change of expression, he followed the stranger.
"What's your name?" asked the leather coat as he led the way.
"Draco" the boy replied, having neither the strength nor imagination to provide a more creative answer.
"Well, pleased to meet you, Draco. I'm Danny."
As they turned the corner of the rock face, Draco's eyes fell upon a group of five muggles sitting around a fire, immersed in conversation. His family had avoided all association with muggles whenever possible, but Draco could tell that these were not dressed as most of them tended to be. They all looked up as the new arrivals approached.
"About bloody time too!" exclaimed a pale faced youth from underneath a forest of shocking blue spiky hair and eyeliner, "We've been dying of thirst here!"
It was at that moment that Draco noticed Danny had been carrying a square edged bottle. By the light of the fire, he read the words 'Jack Daniels Tenessee Bourbon Whiskey' on the label. The party of five seemed to be studying his every movement, and Danny felt that introductions were in order.
"Alright, everyone, this is Draco, a lad who is in serious need of some liquid refreshment," he declared as he broke the seal on the bottle and indicated each of his companions in turn, "Draco, this is Nicky, Liz, Paul, and Damien."
Each of them raised a hand or nodded in greeting, and Danny then pointed to a very attractive girl sitting at the far edge of the fire. Draco was already struck by her appearance.
"And the lovely lady over there is Rachel,"
The girl in question was partly hidden behind a long curtain of bright blond hair. Her face was pale, yet radiant, and like her companions, she seemed to favour the colour black from the shoulders down. One blue eye looked shyly out towards the two of them, and it shone in the fire's reflection in a way that really made Malfoy's glance linger.
"We sometimes call her Glinda," cut in Liz, a girl with shoulder length black dreadlocks and haphazard streaks of eye make-up across her face, "because she's always so into her witchcraft and stuff."
"She's a witch?" Malfoy asked hopefully, turning at last to the other faces.
Rachel lowered her eyes hastily back to the flames that licked and crackled in front of her.
"Could be, for all we know," shrugged Damien, a skin-headed youth with a menacing yet friendly look about him.
Draco quietly sighed with disappointment as he reflected that muggles could hardly have reliable judgement in such matters.
"Why don't you let her tell you all about it?" said Danny, gesturing towards the space on the ground beside Rachel, "Have a seat."
As he slowly sat down on the sand, Draco couldn't help but imagine what his parents, or indeed any relative of his, would have to say about his present situation. He was effectively in another world, sitting in peaceful commune with a group of muggles. Muggles! His conduct was without doubt a disgrace to the family name. It was only when he got to wondering what had now become of his parents that this train of thought became too painful. Thankfully, he was then shaken by a sudden noise that appeared to originate from a large, curious looking box that lay opposite him. After taking a few seconds to compose himself, he could only conclude that this noise was muggle…'music'.
For centuries, despite the enormous differences between the worlds of muggles and magical folk, music was one thing that would mark certain similarities. Muggle music, although being simply another part of their culture that was looked down upon, would always leave an influence on the magical world. It was only when muggles began to make recordings of their music in the late nineteenth century that witches and wizards became rigorously selective about how this would influence their lives, and the modern muggle idea of 'music' that Draco was now hearing seemed completely alien to anything he had heard before.
As he attempted to adjust his ears to the sound, he found that the singer, singing in a very deep and melancholy voice, was describing the violent and tragic death of an unfaithful lover. The noises that accompanied this, however, were utterly beyond his understanding. The words of the song were not of the greatest comfort to Draco, and difficult as it would be, he decided that conversation would be the only way to go.
"So, you're…erm…interested in witchcraft?" he asked Rachel shakily.
Her reply was equally nervous.
"Well, yes," she said, turning to look at him properly, "It's mostly based on pagan ideas and various spell books that I've picked up."
"What kind of…spell books?" he asked suspiciously.
She reached into a bag beside her and brought out a large, leather-bound book with a golden pentagram on the front, and handed it to him. As he flicked through the first few pages of names, facts, and static illustrations, Draco felt a slight sense of relief. It was as he suspected. This was not a book of magical creation, and most certainly not an item to be found in Flourish & Blott's. Now that the initial shock was over with, he continued to flick through the pages to explore how muggles appeared to define 'magic'. He could scarcely contain his amusement as he observed the countless inaccuracies in the descriptions of magical law, the spells that couldn't possibly work, and the wild tales of magical artefacts that were about as far from the truth as Draco had ever heard. A certain portion of smug superiority returned to him as he lifted his head to look back at Rachel, which was immediately snuffed out when he saw the look on her face.
She displayed evident pride in this so-called 'witchcraft', and was, for some reason, seeking Malfoy's approval. He quickly turned his smile to a studious frown.
"Very…uh, interesting," he finally remarked.
"I somehow had a feeling that you'd appreciate it," she said, quite relieved, "Not like these sceptics."
There followed a Mexican wave of eye rolling amongst the group.
"Oh, here we go again," Damien groaned, "Time to cross her palm with silver."
Noticing the puzzled look on Malfoy's face, Danny explained.
"This is usually about the time that Rachel starts to harp on about her psychic powers," he smiled, "None of us are sure what to make of it all, but oddly enough there have been times when she's been pretty convincing."
The bottle of whiskey had now found its way into Malfoy's hand, and he sniffed it suspiciously. This was almost certainly more potent than the wares that he had tried at the Three Broomsticks.
"Go ahead, get some medicine down you," gestured Liz.
With a small degree of apprehension, he raised the bottle to his lips and took in a mouthful of the brownish clear liquid. What he felt in his throat was not entirely unlike the fire that burned in front of him. He grimaced a little, but was determined not to be overcome by a drink of muggles. His face glowed and for the first time in months, some colour returned to his cheeks. After shaking himself, he passed the bottle on to Rachel who calmly took a swig and sent it on its way, although she still winced at the strong flavour.
Malfoy contented himself for a few minutes in listening to the conversations of the group. From what he could tell, they had gathered here for some kind of annual event, a celebration of some sort perhaps, that was well placed around Halloween time. He became curious as he heard the same word cropping up over and over again. His tongue had been loosened a little by another two circulations of the bottle, and he decided that his curiosity needed to be satisfied.
"Erm, excuse me," he said, turning back to Rachel, "but who or…what…are 'Goths'?"
There was a silence around the fire, while everyone regarded Draco with surprise.
"Well…" began Rachel finally, "We are Goths."
After another pause, she elaborated on this point.
"I suppose you could tell a Goth by the music they listen to or the way they dress," she explained, "This music is Goth…Actually…we were all sort of under the impression you were a Goth. Y'know…pale complexion, black robes and all…"
This raised a nervous laugh from Nicky, Liz and Paul.
"I thought you were up here for the Whitby Goth Weekend, like everyone else here," Danny remarked.
This was making Draco a little uncomfortable. The ice was broken at last by Rachel.
"Hey, who gives a rat's arse if he's not a Goth? I quite like him…"
As the rest of them turned away to wipe the subtle smiles of amusement off their faces, Draco struggled to repress his own feelings which were somewhere between embarrassment and flattery, and decided that now would be a good time to change the subject.
"So, what are these, err…psychic powers?" he asked her.
"Don't encourage her, mate," put in Damien, but Rachel was smiling now and chose to ignore this last comment.
"Well, I suppose it's just feelings I get from people and objects. Sometimes I can tell things about a person's past or if I'm very lucky, their future."
"Ah yes," snorted Danny sceptically, "I remember when you tried that on me. Don't remember you being too accurate though…"
Rachel shook her head.
"I remember telling you that you wouldn't get any extra cash from your parents when you came up here, and I remember telling you that it would be a bad idea to rent such a small cottage for the six of us, so you can't tell me I was wrong there," she replied, without shifting her eyes from Draco, "And in the immediate future, my inner eye sees you passing me the whiskey and keeping your mouth shut."
After taking another gulp from the bottle, she took Draco's hand and began to look deeply into his eyes.
"Now, let me see…" she said, in a slightly far-away voice.
The idea that a muggle could harbour the powers of a Legilimens was utterly absurd, so Malfoy let his guard down, and was content to simply allow Rachel to have her harmless fun.
"You feel guilty about something…something you have done wrong…"
This was strangely unnerving, given that he had committed murder that very night. He may have been under the complete mental control of another, but there would be few, even among those who could understand how such a thing was possible, who would take his side.
"You seem to have taken a wrong turn in your life," she continued, gently stroking the back of his hand and maintaining her piercing stare, "and I think…I think you've tried blaming others…"
Malfoy felt this was still pure guesswork, but found himself reflecting on just how his life had gone wrong. Yes, he had murdered Mr Ollivander, a wand-making legend in the wizarding world; this he could pin on the one who had controlled him. It certainly wasn't something he would have done under normal circumstances, but then again, whose fault was it that he had been in the service of Lord Voldemort in the first place? No, he told himself, the only reason he had agreed to that was to save his parents. His parents. Were they to blame? It was very possible that had his father not been arrested at the Ministry, Voldemort would have had no reason to call upon him.
But wait…whose fault was it that his father been arrested? Whose fault was it that his father had been there at all? Why had the Dark Lord needed his servants there? From whatever angle of thought he used, he came up with the same name over and over again. Harry Potter. Was he to blame for all this? The more he thought about it, as much as he despised Harry, he couldn't help but admit that there were flaws in this theory. It was nearer the truth to say that the war was to blame, and Malfoy was just caught in the middle.
The truth itself then hit him. Harry Potter, as contemptible as he was, had most certainly not started the war. Malfoy had always stood by his beliefs of a pure-blooded ideal, but those ideas, instilled in him by his family, were what had landed him under the heel of Voldemort. He was in harm's way, and was questioning his decisions and actions. Just how worthwhile was the cause? And how much of it was his fault?
His thoughts drifted back to the present, and he at last heard reassuring words from Rachel as she continued her psychic reading.
"I feel that things are not so hopeless as you think," she smiled, "You are unsure of so much, but I believe you will know what to do when it matters most."
Although Rachel couldn't haven't the faintest idea of what these words would mean to Malfoy, he had to admit that she had good intuition for a muggle. He found comfort in the way she looked at him. She couldn't know what he had been through, but he got the feeling that she would still be sympathetic if she did, and now her expression changed as she attempted to look deeper within him.
"There is something else I see in you," she continued, in a voice that drifted still further into the clouds, "I'm just getting a strange feeling…"
Malfoy felt something stir inside him as he looked back at her. She was so much more innocent than she realised, and so far removed from the ideas he had had about muggles. For the first time, he did not feel so high above his company.
"I feel…I feel…" she began, her voice descending almost into a whisper and her eyes looking lost and confused.
"A little drunk perhaps?" suggested Damien, backing away quickly to avoid an irate swipe of her hand.
Rachel turned on him to emphasise her annoyance, then returned apologetically to Malfoy.
"Listen, we're all heading back up to the cottage," Damien said, pulling on his coat, "It's getting a bit cold for us southern folk out here."
The rest of them stood up and brushed off patches of sand as they prepared to leave, but Rachel showed no intention of leaving with them.
"Don't be too late," smiled Liz as they turned to go, "Don't want you freezing to death."
"I'll be fine," she replied, "Don't wait up."
As the five of them stomped away from the fireside, Danny examined the whiskey bottle once again.
"Am I going mad, or was this bottle nearly empty a moment ago?"
Malfoy smiled to himself and drew his wand further inside the sleeve of his robes.
For reasons that neither of them could explain, all conversation seemed to die out completely now that they were alone. They both stared at the fire, occasionally glancing at each other when they felt brave enough. Malfoy knew that he had very little time left with this strange muggle girl, and after several minutes of silence, broken only by the sea breeze and the crackle of the flames before them, he decided that he would make the most of it. The Ministry could do as they pleased. His life was already in danger, and there was nothing to be lost by throwing caution to the wind.
"Rachel," he said finally.
"Yes?" she said quickly, looking up suddenly from the fire as if she had been desperately longing to hear his voice again.
"You really like magic, don't you?"
"Well, yes," she said, looking strangely despondent, "I just wish it felt more real, like it's supposed to. Maybe the days are gone when there was enough belief around for it to really work properly."
Malfoy smiled.
"It's all real, Rachel. People just don't look in the right places."
Rachel smiled warmly back at him.
"I'd be a lot happier if it was that simple," she sighed, "Don't get me wrong, it's something I look for every day."
There followed a moment of silence, during which Malfoy cautiously slid his wand out from his sleeve.
"And what if you actually found it?" he enquired, as Rachel gazed curiously at the smooth wooden object in his hand.
"A…wand?" she said slowly, "I hate to tell you this, Draco, but thus far, wand magic is just something I've read about in stories."
"So is every other kind of magic, from what I can tell," he replied with a kindly hint of sarcasm, "but why should that stop you believing?"
She just stared at him, unsure if she should feel insulted or not.
"Tell me, Rachel, what's your favourite colour?"
"Green," she replied, somewhat confused by this new line of questioning.
Without a word, Malfoy flicked his wand in the direction of the fire. The flames then turned a deep and vivid shade of green. As the blaze grew higher, a large serpent of flame appeared to rise from the middle of it and hiss a thin trail of fire into the air. The serpent slowly recoiled, and the fire returned to its normal state.
Rachel had fallen backwards in shock, and for a few moments all she could do was gasp. After a string of breathless obscenities, she got up on her knees, steadying herself against the ground with one hand, and finally looked back at Malfoy.
"You…!" she began, still drawing in huge lungs full of air, "You…can…real magic…it's impossible!"
Draco was starting to get a little concerned that the girl would become hysterical, and the last thing he wanted to do was put a sleeping charm on her. He hastened to explain.
"Rachel, calm down, please," he said in the most gentlemanly way he could manage, "Don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you. Just think of it as one of your stories coming true."
"But Draco, I…you…how?" she blurted out, before he could elaborate on this.
"It's a matter of having magic in the blood," he said, with a clear note of pride as he remembered his pure-blood heritage, "Beyond that, I'm afraid, there's not a lot I could tell you. It's of the utmost importance that my world remains a closely guarded secret from yours."
Rachel sat back down and cradled her head in her hands as she struggled to make sense of it all.
"I understand if this comes as a bit of a shock," said Draco quietly.
"To say the least," she replied, almost laughing at how insane things seemed and wondering if someone had drugged the whiskey bottle.
Another deadly hush filled the air, while both of them tried to imagine what question she would ask first, and after a few seconds, she surprised herself and Draco.
"What other magic can you do?" she asked simply with a smile.
After a brief look around him, Draco found a pebble on the sand and transfigured it into a single red rose. Rachel blushed as he handed it to her, and was so delighted, she could barely contain herself. There was still so much she wanted to know but was somehow reluctant to ask in case this was all a dream. In the meantime, there was a truth with which Draco had been struggling.
"I feel I should warn you," he said, taking a long, deep breath, "It's very possible that you will remember nothing about this when you wake up in the morning. It all depends on what the Ministry of Magic decide to do. You must understand that no wizard or witch can perform magic of any kind in the presence of mu…err…non-magical folk. The only exception is family. It must all be kept secret, in fact I'm surprised they haven't already arrested me thirty seconds ago."
"I promise I won't tell a soul," she assured him, "but how would they…?"
"Trust me, they know about it," he cut in, shuddering slightly, "It's not something they just let you get away with. The only reason I can think of for there not being so much as an owl in sight is that they are in too much trouble to bother with me."
Rachel nodded in what she hoped was an understanding manner, even though she was still trying to get her head around what the Ministry of Magic was. As they talked, Malfoy giving one fascinating answer after another, there was a question that had managed to fight its way to the front of her mind.
"But after all the time that magic has existed, why isn't there a way for everyone to know about it and accept it? The world's changed a lot since the witchcraft trials."
"It's all very complicated," he replied, finding her look of innocence strangely endearing, "Imagine that our worlds are like two mice in a cage. Each sees a mouse when they look at each other, but both believe themselves to be a cat staring down at their prey."
"And nobody wants to be lower down in the food chain…" she said, grasping at least a little of what he was trying to say.
"Exactly," he smiled lazily, "The laws of secrecy are all there for a good reason. Not everyone is as open-minded as you are and…what are you looking at me like that for?"
Rachel wore an expression of simple joy, and looked as if the very sight of a wizard was enough for her.
"Oh…it's nothing," she began, "I've just never had a magical friend before."
This was enough to break Draco completely, enough to shatter every weapon in his armoury. It struck him at the core and brought a great personal truth to his attention. No one, to his recollection at least, had ever referred to him as a 'friend'. Even Crabb and Goyle, his most faithful companions had never used the term directly. They were more like simple acquaintances, trusted comrades who were united by their families' loyalties to the dark arts. It was all too much for him.
He turned away and hid his face, angered that a muggle had dragged such emotion out of him and fighting back any betrayal of it. Rachel leant over and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, have I upset you?" she whispered, wondering what might happen if she upset a real wizard.
"No," he replied, swallowing hard and turning his attention back to the fire, "Rachel, I can't be here much longer. Someone will be looking for me soon, and I must be alone when they find me."
Rachel found it hard to hide her disappointment and clung to him for a moment.
"Well…will I ever see you again?" she asked nervously, "For some reason, I don't picture you having a phone number or an e-mail address."
Draco went quiet and continued to stare deep into the flames.
"I…I honestly don't know," he said finally.
Rachel blinked a few times and stifled a yawn as she felt the effects of a subtle sleeping charm.
"Look, you'd better be getting inside," he said, with growing concern in his voice.
She shook her head sleepily and smiled.
"I want to stay out here with you."
These were the last words he heard from her. He had just enough time to conjure a feather pillow for her before she slumped sideways on to the ground. Pulling her coat over her as best he could, Draco watched the strange muggle girl as she slept. He couldn't let anything happen to her and as he pondered this, he remembered that he had to get away. Pulling himself slowly to his feet, he took one last look at Rachel and turned in the direction of where he had first appeared on the beach.
As if released from a powerful spell, he suddenly felt furious with himself. She was a muggle, a parasite who had managed to distract him! He was a wizard of a pure bloodline, a superior amongst his own kind and one from a highly respected family. He couldn't be seen mixing with such inferiors! This was something of which he only managed to convince himself for a few seconds before the truth came back to haunt him. His parents had both been named as supporters of the Dark Lord, disgraced by the Ministry of Magic. His father was in prison, his mother was most likely in hiding, and he himself was a murderer.
It was then that he realised that he was barely in a position to judge even the lowliest of muggles. And this one had called him a friend.
Finding a bare patch of sand in the shadow of the rock face, he lay on his back and gazed up at the stars, hoping that once he fell asleep, he would wake up in a better place. He closed his eyes for what seemed to be only a minute before the first clear rays of sunlight shone on his face.
The first sensation he felt was a powerful stare above him. Shaking himself to awaken properly, he saw the dark and menacing figure of Severus Snape looking down at him. The look on his former potions master's face was, however, more pitying and helpless than anything else.
"I came as soon as I heard," he said as calmly as possible, "I'm sorry, Malfoy. It would seem that I failed you. Had I known that this was his plan for you, I would have been able to act accordingly, but the Dark Lord is insistent that I have my own particular part to play."
Malfoy was unsure as to how to reply to this, but his first instinct was to walk to the edge of the rock face and glance at the sleeping Rachel in the distance. Snape followed his every movement and gave him a stern raised eyebrow before narrowing his eyes at the boy suspiciously. A few moments later, he simply gave the boy an impatient look and spoke slowly and seriously as he restrained his evident annoyance.
"I won't even bother asking," he said, with a heavy emphasis on each syllable, "I need to take you to our lord and master, who greatly desires to speak to you. It would be in both our interests if you spent the next few minutes focusing your mind, for now would not be the best of times to…disappoint him."
He took a firm hold of Malfoy's arm and the two of them disappeared into thin air.
An hour or so later, Rachel awoke from a succession of the strangest dreams she had ever had. She was alone on the beach, and the fire beside her was now reduced to a few wisps of smoke escaping from the powdery grey embers. Rubbing her eyes and questioning the presence of the pillow beneath her head, she found her fingers coiled around a strange ragged piece of parchment. As she unfolded it, her eyes adjusted to read the smooth, almost sophisticated italic hand:
"My dearest Rachel,
If I am still alive, I will be here same time, same place next year. Please tell no one.
Your magical friend,
Draco Malfoy"
A moment after she had finished reading this, the parchment instantly dissolved into a pile of ashes in her hand, and was carried away with the wind.
