The Voldemort Diaries—Chapter 37 (Gamut of Emotions)
October 9, 2000
He would have preferred a dragon, if given the choice, which he was not. Draco had been informed by Tanassov that his wand had been returned, he was officially no longer a murder suspect, and he was going home. 'Going home', however, had not been as simple as flooing or apparating, or a combination of the two, for the healer insisted both could be detrimental to him because of the recent concussion. No, he was to fly—and not on a broom, this being a great distance—he was to use one of the winged horses Tanassov had brought to Snape's wedding. Alright, that wasn't so bad…except that Tanassov would be riding with him to insure he got home safely. All in all, it made Draco feel like a baby.
Several hours later they landed on the front lawn of Malfoy Manor, and Draco slid off the massive animal's back, followed by the Durmstrang Headmaster. "It's good to be home," Draco murmured to no one in particular.
He led the way to the front door, leaving the horse chomping on one of his mother's rose bushes. The door was not locked, and he opened it to call out, "Sisidy!"
The elf appeared instantly; her enormous eyes grew two sizes, and she leapt at the youth, hugging his legs and singing, "Master Draco! Master Draco comes home!"
"Sisidy…" He petted the elf's head awkwardly. He'd never really liked house elves, probably because of that nasty Dobby, though Sisidy had always been nothing but delightful to him. She nuzzled her face into his calves and he smiled in spite of himself. "I want you to tell my parents I'm here." He'd barely finished the command when she popped out. Draco turned to Tanassov. "I need to thank you again for everything you've done for me. You must stay for dinner, we'll not take 'no' for an answer. In addition, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like before returning to Bulgaria."
"That is a generous offer," Tanassov said, inclining his head.
"Draco!" Narcissa ran to him and snatched him in her arms. "My baby, are you alright? Why didn't you tell us you were coming?"
"Mother, it's wonderful to see you." He pressed her to his chest, burying his face in her hair and effectively hiding the joyful tears creeping into his eyes. Lucius shook hands with Tanassov before giving his son a tremendous hug.
At last Lucius disengaged himself and straightened his robes. "Mr. Tanassov, there are no words to express our gratitude for saving our son, for keeping him safe, and now for bringing him home."
"You are most welcome, Mr. Malfoy."
"Forgive us, we're not thinking clearly. Please, won't you come in?" Lucius ushered him along to the parlour, with Narcissa clinging to Draco as they followed behind. Sisidy brought up the rear, hopping gleefully along with her fist gripping the young master's pantleg all the way. Lucius waited till all were seated before saying, "Before dinner I'd like to broach the topic of remuneration for your efforts."
"I did not do it for repayment," Tanassov objected, coming across a tad offended.
Lucius snapped his fingers at Sisidy, who jumped to the sideboard to begin serving drinks. "My wife and I are aware of that, Mr. Tanassov, but I insist. Our son means the world to us, and you must understand our need to express appreciation in a tangible way. If you won't accept anything for yourself, at least accept a donation to your school or to a charity of your choice. That's all I'll say about it for the moment; you think on it, and let me know what you decide."
"I will certainly give it thought," agreed Tanassov. He sipped at the wine Sisidy had brought him. "As for Draco, it is imperative that he be under a healer's care for a minimum of two weeks. Because of the severity of his concussion, he should not use the floo or apparate during this time, not until he is fully recovered."
"I'll notify Dr. Livingston immediately," said Narcissa. Draco had finally wiggled out of her grasp, all but one hand she held firm.
"And he needs rest," Tanassov added. "He should not entertain a lot of company."
"I feel fine, sir," Draco protested.
"You'll do as you're told, son," Lucius replied, cocking his head and arching his eyebrows ever so slightly in the 'don't you dare argue with me' manner with which Draco was so familiar, yet to an observer may go unnoticed. "Sorry, but there will be no parties, no carousing."
"I don't carouse," Draco retorted with a smirk. "But I will follow doctor's orders. When do we eat? It was a long ride here, and I'm sure we're both famished."
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"Hermione, I vant to go along. I vant to help," Viktor pleaded, his dark eyes looking positively stormy.
Bori had come to him—and through him, to Hermione—for assistance in finding Oksana. Hermione had used her connections in the Bulgarian Ministry to contact the Ukrainian Ministry and, as a political favour, they had come up with a list of addresses: Oksana's home of record, grandparents, extended relatives.
"Viktor, I'm sorry. I know you feel awful, you're berating yourself for not realizing she was so close, but it isn't your fault," Hermione reasoned.
"I smelled smoke. I vas right there," he answered. "All I had to do was call out, or look around, and I didn't."
Hermione pulled him in and he automatically wrapped her in his arms. "Agonizing over it doesn't change anything, my love. The cabin was under an invisibility spell, you couldn't have seen it. And I'm afraid after what's happened to Oksana…well, I just don't think it's the best idea for a man to show up looking for her."
"Bori is a man," argued Viktor feebly. He knew she was right. After the trauma Oksana had gone through, it might frighten her to see a virtual male stranger, albeit a famous one. "Be careful."
"I will." She kissed her fiancé once, then smashed her lips on his in a fit of passion. "I love you, Viktor. I'll be back as soon as I can."
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Oksana was not at her family home, situated at the edge of a tiny village populated with small houses. No one had been there, in fact, for quite a while by the looks of the ramshackle little house, with broken windows and holes in the porch. A neighbor, watching the unusual activity of the couple peering in the windows, and Bori bursting through the door to check inside, calmly informed them that Oksana had not lived there since she'd gone off to school; her mother had forthwith abandoned the family, and her father had died of alcoholism a few years later. She had no siblings.
"You could ask at her grandmother's house—oh, I forgot, she died two years ago. Well, I don't know where she might be." The woman shrugged and crossed her arms.
Bori and Hermione made the rounds of three more addresses, only to be told that no one had seen the missing woman. Bori poked a thick finger at the paper in Hermione's hand. "We try the grandmother's house."
"But she's dead," countered the witch.
"The house ees probably still there," Bori replied. The dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced in the sunlight.
He took Hermione's hand and they apparated to the outskirts of the tiny village, where the closest neighbor was a quarter mile away. In front of them stood a one-room, unpainted wooden shack that had seen better days. Slats of wood peeled from one wall. Bori nudged her and pointed to the thin trail of smoke coming from the chimney.
Hermione nodded, sucked in a determined breath, and walked up alone onto the porch. She knocked loudly; inside she heard the scrape of a chair on the floor. "Oksana? My name is Hermione Granger. I'm a…a friend of Draco Malfoy." Wow, that hurt coming out!
The door opened a slit, enough for Hermione to note the eyes red-rimmed from crying, the exhausted, despairing expression the witch wore. "What do you want? To tell me is my fault he is dead?"
"He's not dead."
"Sashko told me—"
"I know what he said," Hermione interrupted, in a hurry to give the woman peace of mind. "Borimetchka found Sashko, and he confessed to the murder, but it wasn't Draco. It was a man named Artem."
Oksana recoiled a bit, stricken. How could this be? Oleksandr was familiar with Draco, surely he knew whom he had killed! And even if this was true, Artem had been a good, gentle man; he didn't deserve such an end, either. "How do you know this?"
"Draco was carried off by a dragon and dropped near Durmstrang. Dimitar Tanassov has been taking care of him, and he's alright," Hermione explained, placing a hand on the door. "Oleksandr has been arrested. You're safe now." She lowered her voice. "The Ministry may call you as a witness at his trial…and Bori has come to see you, if that's okay."
Oksana's blue eyes widened, and she let the door swing open. Cautiously, hugging herself with her arms, she inched onto the porch, glancing around. During her captivity, she'd dreamed of Bori coming to rescue her, but when he hadn't she'd begun to fear that he believed she was scum, that she'd gone willingly. Why was he here? "Hello, Bori."
The huge man strode as far as the porch and stopped, his gaze never wavering from her as if afraid she'd disappear again. "Oksana." His tongue seemed to have swelled in his mouth. "I—I am glad you are vell."
"Thank you."
There was an uncomfortable silence before the statement came out of nowhere, so full of vitriol and malice it scarcely seemed possible Borimetchka had said it. "Sashko vill go to prison for killing Artem. He deserve to die for it, and for vhat he did to you!"
The witch blinked and gasped, shrinking back against the door although Bori remained on the ground below. "What do you mean?"
"He violated you! He told me."
The fierce expression he wore Oksana mistook for scorn directed at her, rather than righteous fury at Sashko, and suddenly the weight of her burden became too much. Feeling dirty and worthless, she burst into tears, hiding her face in her hands. "I let him," she cried, backing away when Hermione came closer. "I was afraid, so I let him do whatever he wanted."
"You did what you had to do to stay alive," Hermione said softly. "No one blames you."
"Bori does," she sobbed.
Borimetchka lifted his chin, shocked at her declaration. "No, Oksana, never! Shtyah da udusha Oleksandr, no Tanassov me sprya. Shte se dobera do tova bolnavo kopele i shte go dovarsha…" (I tried to strangle Oleksandr, but Tanassov stopped me. I will get to that sick bastard and finish it…) His jaw clenched with pure, unadulterated hatred.
"Ne iskam da go ubivash!" (I don't want you to kill him!) shrilled Oksana, raising her tearstained face to him. "Ne iskam nikoi poveche da umira!" (I don't want anybody else to die!)
"He won't," Hermione assured her, her glare shooting daggers at Bori. "He's upset, but he won't harm anyone. Why don't you tell us how you escaped. You were very brave to turn the tables and get away."
Oksana sighed heavily. "He had me in the cabin, with spells so I could not apparate or leave through the door or window. One day he leaves to get food…"
He was gone. Oksana sprang to the window, flung it open, and thrust an arm through—or tried to. She banged and slammed at it, yet literally could not move her body past the sill. The ward he'd used on the door had apparently been placed on the window as well, precluding escape. She was trapped, trapped like an animal waiting for her captor to return.
In desperation she turned a full circle, looking for something, anything that could help her. The only furniture was the bed, which was very sturdy; she could not conceivably break it apart for a weapon. The washstand consisted of a shelf built into the wall. No help there. She could hit him with the basin, maybe, but if it didn't knock him out, would he kill her?
She had to get out. Eventually he'd tire of keeping her here, and he couldn't very well let her go, not after what he'd done. There was no escape, the ceiling was solid beam—the walls. They were not wooden like those she had grown up in. This was an old, old cabin, and if her instincts were right… She rushed to the spot next to the window, opposite the bed, lifted her foot high, and lashed out with the sole of her shoe against the adobe wall as hard as she could. The force of it knocked her backward, yet it also left a dent in the wall. She kicked again, over and over, until the mud cracked and dropped at her feet, and the straw and twigs inside were readily visible. She dropped to her knees to claw at the dried mud, raking it onto the floor, tearing out chunks of sticks and straw used as a binding compound.
At last there it was, the sun streaming in the fist-sized hole. Tentatively she stuck a hand in and wiggled it in the air outside. It worked! With renewed vigor she alternately kicked and scratched, enlarging the hole, oblivious to anything else.
"What are you doing?"
Oksana whirled with a surprised squeal. Sashko stood in the doorway, holding a sack and looking very displeased. The words came of their own accord, from where she had no idea. "I—I accidentally hit the wall, and it broke. I was putting this straw back in and I thought I saw something gleaming, like a jewel. I was trying to get at it." She pointed at a little piece to the left, gesturing for him to come look.
She fully expected him to scoff and hex her, yet he set the bag on the floor and wandered over to her. "Where?"
"There." She pointed again. "I'll bet whoever built this place hid it, and it's worth a lot of money."
"I don't see anything," said Sashko, backing away. "And if there was a jewel, the owner wouldn't leave it behind."
"Maybe he died," Oksana persisted.
Sashko shook his head, took out his wand, and made to repair the wall. It was now or never. Oksana lurched at him and snatched the wand from his hand, but he grabbed her wrists. Being far stronger than she, he had no trouble halting her right there, and he began to force her arms down. Struggling wildly, she tried for a knee to the groin, and when he evaded it, she kicked—his shins, his feet, anything within reach.
One hit a very painful spot, for he howled and let go for only a second, a second she used to petrify him. When his stiff body fell to the floor, she fell down as well, panting and hysterical. After a few minutes she got a grip on herself and levitated him onto the bed, conjured ropes, and tied him down. She'd meant to let him stew there for a while before notifying the authorities, let him see what it felt like to be a prisoner.
With the newly acquired wand, she blasted the hole large enough to maneuver through, and she was free.
"And here I am," she finished glumly, not a hint of pride in her accomplishment, or even looking happy to be free. Too much had happened for that.
"Come to the camp vith me," Bori said softly. "You should not be alone." When she said nothing, he continued in a bare whisper, "Sazhalyavam che ne mozhah da te zashtitya. Ako byah znael che toi e tam…" (I'm sorry I didn't protect you. If I'd known he was there…)
"Ne e tvoya rabota da me zashtitavash," (It's not your job to protect me) she murmured.
His eyes darkened like storm clouds overcoming the sun. "Moya e! Kogato edin mazh obicha edna zhena, tova si mu e rabota." (Yes, it is! When a man loves a woman, it is his job.) A job he'd failed miserably at, and she had suffered for it.
Oksana stared at him, her eyes registering a bewildered shock. She'd known he was attracted to her, their earlier conversation the night of the concert in Sofia had proven that, but love? He didn't act like any of the other wizards who'd claimed to love her, who'd been anxious always to get into her pants. Bori was able to keep his distance from her, to command his actions despite his feelings. It confused her. And frankly, after this week with Sashko, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to trust a man again, let alone allow herself to have emotions for him.
For now, though, Bori's presence comforted her, and she needed that. She nodded at his offer to go back to the camp as she said, "Radvam se che doide, Bori." (I'm glad you came, Bori.)
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October 10, 2000
Severus spent little time at Spinner's End these days—practically none, in fact. And he didn't miss it, not really. Alright, not at all. Sure, he had a tenuous attachment to the old dump as the place he'd grown up in, but since Aline and Narcissa's cleaning/redecorating spree some time back, he scarcely recognized it anyway. He did miss Regulus, though, and when Aline had decided to cut short their post-baby date to go back and visit with Reg, he hadn't objected. He was beginning to regret that.
With an inane comedy show blaring from the telly in the living room, Severus, Aline, Regulus, Bayly, and Gloria crowded in the kitchen to partake of the feast Kreacher had so thoughtfully—and quickly—prepared. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, steamed carrots, fresh bread, hot tea, iced tea, milk. Admittedly Severus felt a bit guilty for enjoying the meal as much as he did, for Aline may be loads of wonderful things, but an adequate cook was not one of them. He didn't get a lot of good food at home, and if he took supper in the Great Hall too often, he'd feel like he was neglecting his wife.
"Kreacher, you've outdone yourself," Reg pronounced.
The elf went into a mini-seizure of spastic delight, grinning and bowing and hopping around the table. "Master Regulus is too kind to poor Kreacher." He heaped another portion of everything onto the young man's plate, and approached Severus with upraised spoon. "More for Mister Snape? He's looking skinny, more than usual."
"I get plenty to eat at home, thank you," Snape answered defensively.
"Kreacher, this is delicious," Aline piped up, unaware of her husband's stalwart defense of her. With Adriel sitting on her lap, leaning against her, and her arm snugly tucked about his waist, she took another bite of mashed potatoes. Adriel's round brown eyes followed the motion, and he smacked his lips.
"Here, kid." Regulus stuck his little finger in his potatoes and held it up to the baby's mouth. Adriel's tongue flicked out to taste it, and an instant later his mouth engulfed the finger with slurps and smacks.
"Regulus!" Severus barked. "He's not old enough for real food. He's not even six weeks yet."
"But he likes it," protested Reg, pulling his hand away, to the infant's displeasure.
Aline smiled at Regulus while bouncing the tyke on her lap; he was straining forward, stubby arms outstretched and fists grasping for the food on her plate. "It's okay, Reg. A bit of mashed potatoes won't hurt him. My mom fed it to us when we were babies." The expression she shot her husband clearly said he'd better not make anything of it.
Seeing his brother grabbing at the big-people food, Aidan gave a disgruntled whine and swiped a hand at Severus' fork as it lifted from the plate. He jarred his father's arm, causing the carrot slices to land all over the floor and the man's lap. "Way to teach the babies manners," he growled.
Bayly and Gloria had merely sat quietly during the exchange, not taking sides nor offering advice that neither felt equipped to dole out. Bayly blatantly changed the topic with, "So, Aline, are you and Professor Snape going to ask Winky to be your family elf?"
"Now that you've got two babies, it must be hard to keep the house clean, and cook, and shop—well, everything," Gloria added.
The Snape couple exchanged a meaningful look, and Aline nodded. "Yes, I guess so. I've been reluctant because I feel like I ought to be able to do everything myself, but my cooking is starting to suffer—"
Severus choked on the bite of bread he'd started to swallow, though he waved his wife away as he washed it down with a sip of tea. Starting to suffer? It had obviously been beaten and tortured long before Severus ever made Aline's acquaintance. "Go on, dear."
"You're alright? Anyway, I just can't find time to keep house properly. I'm so tired that a few days ago when I folded the laundry, I actually stacked the blue towels with the red ones—and didn't notice! Can you imagine?"
Bayly had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Poor anal Aline, it must have been quite a shock to her system to discover her obsessions being toyed with. "I'm sure Winky will be thrilled to be a Snape elf."
"Come on, people, finish up so we can watch the movie I rented," Regulus prodded. "I have it on good authority that it's awesome. The popcorn is already on the coffee table, and the movie's waiting in the VCR."
"I thought Jacinta and Theo were supposed to come," said Aline.
Gloria shook her head. "They owled a while before you got here. They went up to see his family."
"Theo's been worried about Jacinta," said Bayly. He immediately wished he could stuff the words back in his mouth. He'd almost let slip Theo's insecurities about George Weasley, and since he hoped for a calm, pleasant evening—which would not happen if Professor Snape thought there was a snowball's chance in hell of his daughter ending up with a Weasley—it would be unwise to steer the conversation in that direction. "I mean, he's worried he hasn't been spending enough time with her. So, Reg, what's the name of the movie?"
"Die Hard."
Halfway through the film, sitting on the couch beside Aline, who was breastfeeding Aidan while Severus rocked the sated, sleepy Adriel, Severus noticed Regulus casting a sidelong glance his way. A bit later, the younger man held a bemused second glimpse; soon it morphed into an outright stare.
"Gawk at me one more time and lose an eye," Snape said drolly.
Regulus blew out a puff of breath. "That's all you know. For your information, I was looking at Aline." His eyes flickered to the witch, noted the semi-bared breast, and hurriedly turned his head in embarrassment.
"Pervert," Severus snarled, secretly amused at his friend's reaction.
"Alright, I was looking at you," Reg confessed. "Seriously, I can't be the only one who notices."
By now everyone was listening. "Notices what?" asked Gloria.
"Hans Gruber."
"What about him?" asked Bayly.
Regulus sighed impatiently, gesturing from the telly to Severus. "Does he perhaps resemble someone in this room?" They all peered about, shrugging and murmuring noncommittally. "Sev, he's you! The nose, the eyes, the face…the nose."
Snape rolled his eyes. "Striking observation, Reg. I have a nose."
"Maybe he does bear a little resemblance," Aline said, studying her husband. "But the hair is way off, all short and brown—and the facial hair."
"Put black hair on Hans, and you've got Severus," declared Reg. What was wrong with these people? "He's a freaking clone! He even drawls. Bayly, come on, you see it!"
Not wanting to get mixed up in an argument, Bayly simply uttered, "We're missing the movie."
"It's a video, we can run it back. Can't we, Hans?" Regulus gave a wicked grin, expecting Snape to rebut. He was not wholly disappointed.
"Hans Gruber, my arse." It wasn't up to Severus' usual biting standards, but it would do.
Unable to let this one pass, Bayly chimed in, "We weren't looking at his arse." He and Reg broke into guffaws.
"But now that you mention it—" Gloria began, smirking.
Laughing along with the others, Aline said, "Watch it, Gloria, that's my man…or his doppelganger. You know, Severus, I could see you with a beard and mustache like Hans. Very sexy."
"Could we please watch the bloody film?" snapped Severus.
"Yippy-ki-yay, motherfu—" Reg bit off the last word without finishing it. The sour look on Snape's face told him he'd pressed it to the limit.
Bayly leaned over to Regulus, his face split in a wide grin. "Best line ever! You were right, this movie is awesome."
"Told you." Reg aimed the controller at the VCR and rewound it to the spot where they'd begun talking over it. Not looking at his friend, but with a twinkle in his eyes, he said, "You know what's funniest of all? Hans Gruber is a terrorist, and he still smiles more than you, Sev."
"Keep it up, Regulus. When I hex you into next week, believe me—I'll be smiling."
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Snogging sessions were par for the course for this couple, though a playground in a Scottish hamlet was the latest venue. Theo's hand slid down Jacinta's jacketed back, paused a millisecond, and dove down to squeeze her bum. She jerked slightly, and suddenly the swing he was on lurched away to swing apart from hers. He dragged his foot in the dirt to bring him to a stop.
"What'd you do that for?" he asked.
"We're in public, Theo," she replied, delivering a sweeping arm motion to encompass the area—a deserted flat field, two teeter-totters, rusting monkey bars, and a swing set.
Theo obligingly glanced around. The only movement came from the swing on his other side rocking gently in the cool breeze. "There's nobody here. I'd hardly call that 'public'."
"People could show up," she argued.
"I've come here with Missy loads of times, and I hardly ever see anybody else," he shot back, his brows furrowed and his lips set in a pinching pout. "Don't you want me to touch you?"
Jacinta moved her swing closer and swept back the hair from his face. He was so handsome, so sweet—and so horny. She hated working him up, while at the same time she craved nearness with him. It was a fine line to walk, and not always to his liking. "I love how you caress me, and I love touching you, too. Just not where someone can see us."
"I'm sorry." Theo stood up and wrapped her in his wiry arms. "I get carried away when I'm with you. I forget the rest of the world."
"That's not necessarily a bad thing," she said, smiling.
"After supper with my folks, let's go out. We haven't really had a date in ages." Theo cupped her face in his hands and planted a smooch on her lips. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go."
"Anywhere?" Jacinta asked, eyebrows raised. While she knew Theo had 'played muggle' in the past with his school gang, including Draco, she wasn't sure how deep into muggle culture he'd actually ever gone. "My Papa took me to a carnival when I was a baby, but I don't remember it. Regulus took Bayly and Draco over a year ago, and they had fun." The expression growing on Theo's face seemed a cross between 'Get to the point' and 'You want to what?' "So anyway, I heard about a carnival that's still open, this is the last week of the year, and I think we'd have a good time."
"Of course, my dear, whatever you want," cooed Theo, feigning a smile. Draco had given an in-depth rant on that expedition, and it didn't exactly seem like Theo's idea of fun, what with the muggles screaming like they were being murdered, and the cheating at the gaming tables. Honestly, the only reason he could imagine them subjecting themselves to such terrifying events as cars rolling off mountains was because they were muggles and didn't know any better.
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What was he doing here? Merlin's big, fat, bloody ghost, he could have just told Jacinta how ridiculous this idea was—if he wanted her to sulk at him, call him a coward, or think him less of a man. Nope, none of those were viable options, so here he sat in a tiny steel car next to her, the only thing standing between them and certain death a thin bar slung over their laps. Yes, it made him feel oh-so-confident.
The rollercoaster cranked up the first hill slowly, so painfully slowly a person would have time for his life to flash before his eyes five or six times. So far, so good. If his fists hadn't melded themselves to the bar, Theo would have held his girlfriend's hand; he settled for looking over at her, and felt vaguely relieved to see fear etched on her face as well. The shrill screams of the most recent occupants apparently hadn't gone over her head.
"You can see a long way from up here," he said. In point of fact, the view proved rather magnificent, not only of the colored, flashing lights, and tents, and games here at the fair, but further out to the city just beyond. It was exquisite, like being on top of the world.
Jacinta's eyes shifted from the tracks ahead to gaze out over the entire area. "Wow, it really is cool—as Reg would say," she added, smiling.
Click, click, click. The machine brought them closer to their doom. Up they went, right to the summit, and paused, the suspense so strong the wizard's and witch's stomachs contracted. All at once, the train rounded the hump in a smooth motion that sent them hurtling—to their perspective—straight down to their demise. As they careened headlong toward the tracks below, holding onto the flimsy bar for dear life, the roar of screaming voices and euphoric shouts drowned their own…they'd gone halfway down before Theo realized that the gruesome screaming in his ears was his own.
The car rounded a sharp turn at the bottom, flew up another hill, and plunged gaily down, to the joyful accompaniment of terror within. By the end of the ride, both Jacinta and Theodore disembarked on shaky legs, grateful to be alive and, not surprisingly to anyone who's ever ridden a rollercoaster, giggling at the head rush it had given them.
Theo took her hand and led her a distance away where they could recuperate. "That was incredible, wasn't it?"
"I loved it!" Jacinta agreed. "Scary but fun. Now I have to use the loo." She pointed across the field to a row of port-a-potties.
"I'll get us something at this concession stand," he answered. He managed to get through the short line to purchase a sugary funnel cake and a fizzy orange-flavoured drink that made his throat hurt but tasted so good. He'd stepped aside to wait for his lady when he heard his name called.
"Theo!" Daphne, dragging a jean-clad Sirius Black along, stopped in front of him. She was wearing low cut slacks and a soft, burgundy sweater that complemented her dark hair. "What a surprise to see you here. Are you alone?"
"No, I'm with Jacinta," he said, nodding curtly in greeting to Black.
"Oh." Daphne paused momentarily. "You're still seeing her, then?"
"Evidently," he replied, narrowing his eyes. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"No reason. Just that Harry Potter told Sirius that George Weasley has been—"
Here Sirius broke in, looking annoyed and a little guilty. "Daphne, he doesn't want to hear gossip."
"What about George Weasley?" asked Jacinta, walking up behind Theo and taking her place beside him. "If it has something to do with me, and it seems to, I'd certainly like to hear it."
"Keep in mind I'm saying this as a friend," Daphne answered, the glint in her eye bespeaking otherwise. She was not now, nor had she ever been, friends with Jacinta. They hadn't grown up together, or gone to school together, or been in a clique together—if it weren't for Draco, they likely never would have met at all, and neither would have given a rat's arse. She was, however, clever enough to spot the dubious look on Jacinta's face that said as much. "He said Weasley fancies you."
Eerily silent pause. "That's it? You're astounded to see me with my boyfriend because George allegedly fancies me? Did you expect me to throw myself into his waiting arms? And for the record, I don't believe a word of it. He's a nice bloke is all."
"You've spent quite a lot of time with him." Daphne smiled innocently and sipped at the drink Sirius shoved at her.
"Painting a portrait," Jacinta shot back, not caring for the innuendo.
Sirius tugged at Daphne's arm. "Let it go, Daphne." To the others he offered an apologetic grin. "I shouldn't have repeated what Harry said. I didn't mean any harm."
"No harm done," said Jacinta, purposely cuddling up to Theo.
The young wizard handed her the funnel cake and put his arm round her shoulders. "As long as Jacinta is mine, I don't care what Weasley thinks." The problem is making sure she stays mine. With that he steered his witch away, the image of that redheaded pain in the arse burning in his brain.
Something had to be done. No matter what Jacinta said, Theodore Nott was no fool. She may not plan to be led astray by the likes of Weasley, who was smooth and dashing, and had that whole poor-me-my-brother-is-dead line to work on the women. But it wouldn't be the first time charm had stolen away fair lady. Weasley had outright said he had no intention of backing off, and now he'd put out the word. Well, the gauntlet had been thrown down.
"Theo, what are you thinking?" Jacinta looked up at him with concern etched on her features. "I'm not involved with George."
"I know, sweetheart." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He'd put it off long enough; time to set into motion the plan to make sure she was never tempted to find out if she liked Weasley's company on a more intimate level. "Let's not spoil our night. Come on, there are games over here, maybe I can win you a prize."