This work is complete at 31 chapters and ~127,000 words. I'll be submitting a chapter a day through March until it's all up.


Chapter 19: A Pair of Misgivings

Air whipped through Draco's hair as he kicked off from his manor's garden. His Firebolt quickly rose above the treetops and his home shrunk beneath him.

Flying was the only suitable distraction Draco had found during this lull between himself and Dagmar. Were this any normal summer where his parents hadn't planned some kind of trip, Draco would have done just this to stave off the boredom. It hardly cut it, though. While his hours spent in the air were still enjoyable, Draco couldn't completely focus on it.

He still wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong with Dagmar. Draco was quite certain that, had he done something in particular to instigate this, Dagmar would have told him. Up until now, she had always been really good at explaining what was going through her mind. The only thing that had changed between now and when things were fine was her meeting with Blaise.

Although it was difficult, Draco tried to trust that Dagmar knew what she needed. What she said made some kind of sense. Her life had changed drastically very suddenly. Draco's had too, and he tried as hard as he could not to be hurt that it affected Dagmar more than him. He and Pansy were much more entwined than Dagmar and Blaise were, and Draco didn't experience doubt like this at all.

Draco didn't think Dagmar had played down her relationship with Blaise, either. They'd never come close to dating as far as Draco could tell, and not until Dagmar told him she'd been originally arranged with Blaise did he even know. He saw them as friendly in the same way Dagmar had described: as intellectuals. They were comfortable pairing up during lessons and both did well academically, but that was it. Dagmar never had a reason to hide that from Draco.

He hoped to get some answers on Friday evening, when they had arranged to chat. As Friday morning dragged on, Draco wished they'd agreed upon an earlier time. By noon he'd already gone for a fly and was otherwise ready to face the day. He grew quickly restless at home.

Draco left a note on the dining room table that he would be back home later. Spending the afternoon in Diagon Alley might cheer him up. It'd been in the back of his mind to get all his school shopping out of the way, and he'd wanted to drop in at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

He made it his last stop so that he wouldn't lose heart for the rest of his shopping, which had turned out predictably mind-numbing. The only distraction he had from it was imagining Dagmar's relative keenness as she went through all these shops before him earlier in the week. Thinking about her, even idly, defeated the purpose of Draco coming to Diagon Alley in the first place.

Draco found the new cleaning kit he wanted as well as an extra bottle of polish, and put them up on the counter. He headed down the aisles of bookshelves. Now that he'd gotten a good handle on how his Firebolt flew and reconsidered his approach on how he would rebuild the Slytherin team come September, Draco needed to start thinking about how he would direct them.

He'd filled his arm with books and was in the process of skimming another one when the bell above the store's door rang again. It happened so frequently while Draco was there that the sound of it barely registered.

What did, however, were two voices he was more than familiar with.

". . .Still can't believe Ginny lost it in the swamp. Honestly, I've seen her throw better in a thunderstorm," Ron Weasley was saying.

And of course, Potter was the one that laughed in reply. "I wouldn't want to know what's living in there that could crack it in two."

"We've had that quaffle for ages. It's been one good blow away from being replaced for as long as I've played with it."

Draco refocused himself on the book he looked at. If there was one thing he could be certain of, it's that neither of them would venture into the bookshelves. Due to all his boredom at home, Draco would be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to pick some sort of fight.

After picking as many of the books as he cared to, Draco lingered while he waited for Potter and Weasley to move along. They didn't. Their conversation moved on quickly from the quaffle they'd come to replace to Potter debating if he should buy a practice snitch, to Weasley wondering how many months of salary it would take to save up for a Chudley Cannons jersey once they started working next year, to which broom might finally one day come out capable of topping the Firebolt.

Draco eventually shook his head and rolled his eyes. He would probably just be able to sneak out while they debated the tenets of the Nimbus 2003, which had just been released in April. When Draco left the bookshelves, Potter and Weasley were at the other end of the shop with their backs to him.

The attendant came back up to the desk. "Found everything you were looking for, Mr. Malfoy?"

He had a loud, carrying voice. Because the attendant looked directly at Draco, he suppressed an annoyed grimace. Potter and Weasley had either stopped talking or just lowered their voices. Either way, they'd realized who they shared the shop with.

"Yes," Draco answered. He had his money at the ready for when the attendant could give him his total. Handing it over quickly didn't matter, because it still took a painful amount of time for his purchases to be bagged.

While the attendant struggled with his books, Draco couldn't resist looking back over his shoulder anymore. Sure enough, Potter and Weasley's moods had shifted to the usual jolly way that came over them in Draco's presence. In a way it pleased Draco that, despite his not having said a word, he still held some power over them.

Draco nodded at the attendant as thanks. He adjusted his bags and headed for the shop door. He could feel eyes on him and, sure enough, Potter and Weasley looked with long faces back with braced shoulders. Potter's eyes narrowed when his and Draco's gazes met. Draco pursed his lips to avoid smirking before pushing his way through the door and back out into the street.

Dagmar would be proud.

In a way, that was more exciting than picking a fight. No doubt Potter and Weasley would be left thinking about it all day and maybe even longer, trying to figure out what Draco might be up to. Potter and Weasley were the type of dunderheads that might just waste the rest of the summer on it.

Good. It would leave them off-balance when the Quidditch season started.

Everything Draco bought other than his stuff from Quality Quidditch Supplies was abandoned just inside his bedroom door. He tried out his new cleaning kit on his Firebolt, then spent the rest of the afternoon reading Darren O'Hare's autobiography. The Kestrels were far from Draco's favourite team, but he could still acknowledge that O'Hare had contributed some decent strategies to the Quidditch world. The Irish national team endorsed those tactics. If players that would otherwise oppose the Kestrels could suck it up, so could Draco.

An empty, rumbling stomach distracted Draco from his reading close to dinner time. To his surprise, it was less than an hour until when he'd agreed to be ready for a conversation via messenger with Dagmar.

Draco set his book aside dog-eared close to seven o'clock. His room had grown warm throughout the day and now the evening had nicely cooled off. Draco took his messenger outside onto the balcony and set up his inkwell on the table beside his favoured lounge chair.

I'm here whenever you are, he wrote.

Distracting himself all day with thoughts of Quidditch had spared Draco of the nerves that suddenly sparked to life in his stomach. Because he and Dagmar hadn't properly spoken in a couple days, he had no idea where she was on everything.

I'm here, appeared in familiar writing.

Draco dipped his quill. Its tip quivered slightly as he held it over the page, thinking how best to start this. How are you doing?

She surely had to know what that meant. Draco watched the page, then leaned his head back against the chair when after a few minutes nothing yet had appeared. This was pure agony, to see where their conversation started from.

Finally, her response came. It was much shorter than Draco expected for the time it took: Feeling quite stupid, honestly.

Why's that? Draco wrote back.

I wasn't having a good day, when I look back. I shouldn't have let how overwhelmed I was affect you. You've been nothing but kind to me since this whole thing started. I've at least had time now to get past my emotions about it all and start sorting things out. I'm really sorry about Tuesday.

Thanks, Draco started his response with. He heartened a bit, since this at least seemed like they moved back in a positive direction. Draco felt again all of a sudden just how much he'd missed not talking to her. He considered writing that, but there were more pressing things at hand. Mind clarifying then where we stand?

It took a while again for her to reply: I wish we could've had this conversation face to face, just because it's really hard to tell where your head is at without seeing you. I feel stupid that I upended everything. I don't doubt things with you, I'll just write that bluntly so you can stop wondering. I think it's tied in to everything about Blaise. I was so sure about him too, until I wasn't. I was scared it might mean that anything like that, or like this, could just switch off all of a sudden. It's different this time, though. Blaise and I were never natural like you and I are. So many things felt forced with him in hindsight.

A thought occurred to Draco as well. When things like our arrangements change so fast nothing really feels permanent.

Yes, exactly. I think we've talked about it before, what would happen if our parents changed their mind again?

The conversation existed somewhere in Draco's memory, although he couldn't pull specifics at the moment. We have.

What about you? Dagmar replied nearly right away. Where do you stand on everything?

The end of Draco's quill ended up between his lips as he thought. He was relieved now, and he couldn't really say that he'd stayed angry long after leaving Ramstad Manor on Tuesday. A quiet ache had quickly taken over, easily summed up.

I miss you, he wrote.

Another lengthy pause from Dagmar incited Draco to worry. It melted away, leaving a small smile, when more words appeared on the page: I miss you too.

So what have you been up to? Draco replied. How's Nice?

Dagmar's writing grew messier now from the speed of her reply. Draco had expected a succinct summary of a museum visit, which would have suited her excitement, but instead Dagmar seemed to have finally found it in her to relax. She'd spent most of the time so far on the beach, which was only a half-kilometre walk from where her family stayed.

. . .I won't lie, it's been nice to have some time to myself. Don't get that much often at school, and things are always so weird with my parents. They certainly aren't doing anything to help that so far. I suspect they keep carrying on as they are I might be coming home with a sibling on the way.

Draco laughed to himself. Been there. It's horrendous, isn't it?

At least if that happens, it might give me about a decade-long breather for when they start asking when we're having any kids. They might be so busy with their own until it's off to school they don't notice we haven't bothered.

If my parents ask after it, I plan on asking them why they only had one if kids are so great, Draco replied.

That's a good one. I might steal it. We'll see what happens, if by Christmas I'm not hearing I'll be an older sister.

The time-length of which Draco and Dagmar went back and forth extended into the late evening. Ulysses hooted in protection of his favourite elm tree, which meant he'd finished hunting for the night. Draco remembered suddenly that it was an hour later in Nice than it was here. He would have thought Dagmar was still adjusted to the local time if her personality hadn't cooled on how strongly it came through her writing.

Are you tired? Draco asked.

Getting there. You wouldn't think that laying in the sun all day would be so exhausting. You? Is that why you ask?

Starting to. I don't really want to stop talking.

Me neither," Dagmar wrote back. Let's call it for the night. Same time tomorrow?

Looking forward to it.