PART THREE: The Repercussions

Draco knew most of the people that came to his grandfather's funeral. Aristocrats and politicians, family and friends; the stench of old money was almost tangible. It was visible, too, in the black jewels that dripped from their throats, in the fat signet rings on their fingers, in the fine make of their clothes. Even during such sombre rituals, they couldn't resist flaunting their wealth.

She was the same. Opulence oozed from her glittering necklace, her wicked black heels, her luxurious fur collar. Diamond teardrops hung suspended from her ears and her lips were painted a savage, cruel red. Except unlike the others, she seemed genuinely sad. And unlike the others, he had no idea who she was.

Draco had first noticed her because she stood apart from everyone else. During the funeral, while the other guests had clumped together around the graveside, she had stayed back, her gloved hands clasped behind her, her gaze resolutely on the coffin as it was lowered into the frozen earth. Once the service was over, she had retreated to the manor with everyone else, but hadn't spoken to anyone, hadn't milled around and chatted or eaten off the buffet tables.

He watched her curiously from his mother's side as she made her way over to them. His mother clutched his hand a little tighter, squeezing it in reassurance.

She spoke to his father first, in a low, cool voice.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," she said, but she said it like she genuinely meant it. "Abraxas was a good friend."

"I'm terribly sorry," his father replied, all false politeness. "But I don't believe we've met?" It was phrased courteously, but there was an undertone of suspicion.

"Of course," she said smoothly, extending her hand. "Evangeline Chambers."

His father took it dubiously. "My father never mentioned you," he said coldly.

She smiled sadly. "I'm not surprised."

Then she turned to him. Draco shivered slightly under the intensity of her piercing, green-eyed stare. There was something ancient and inhuman about her, but it was oddly alluring rather than frightening. She was like a sleek mountain cat, or perhaps a wolf. Elegant, graceful, beautiful- and dangerous.

"This is your son?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question. She crouched down so that her face was level with his, and gave him her hand to shake. He did so warily. "Pleased to meet you," she said graciously. He nodded shyly in response. She smiled again, but it was a melancholy smile. "You look just like your grandfather."

Then she stood, made her excuses, and left.

A few years later, when he was browsing through some of his grandfather's old things in the attic, he found her. She was in an old photograph, tucked between the pages of a dusty textbook. It was her as a younger woman- perhaps even a teenager- but there was no mistaking that face. She was wearing jewellery and a long, black dress, smiling widely, her arm around the shoulders of a young man with pale blond hair in dress robes. His grandfather, he realised.

In all the photographs and paintings Draco had seen of his grandfather, in not one had he looked happy. And yet in this picture, Abraxas Malfoy's face was lit from within by a tentative, shy smile.

Draco flipped the photo over to read the writing on the back. It was in two hands. The first, which he recognised as his grandfather's, read 'Halloween Ball, 1943'. Then, underneath that, in a slanted, looped script was written:

'Dear Abraxas,

Thank you for a lovely night! I hope you're not too hungover.

Love,

Evangeline.'

Draco took the picture and put it in his bedside drawer. Sometimes he would take it out to look at his grandfather's smiling face gazing up at him. It comforted Draco that whenever he thought of Abraxas, he instantly pictured that photograph, with its grinning, carefree occupants. They were the golden memories of the past, and a shining promise of the future.

The summer after Draco turned eleven, his parents took him shopping in Diagon Alley. It was something of a rite of passage, he understood, and so he was practically bouncing around the shops in excitement, tugging on his mother's hand. Every storefront was a window into a cavern of treasures. He lingered for a particularly long time in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies, eyeing up the sleek new Nimbus Two Thousand, but eventually he allowed himself to be dragged away and into Madam Malkin's clothing store.

"I'll just go ahead and have a look at some wands, darling," his mother said, ruffling his hair affectionately. He scowled a bit and squirmed, smoothing down his hair hastily once she had left. His father, instantly awkward now that his wife was gone, quickly mentioned something about buying schoolbooks and scurried off, leaving Draco alone with Madam Malkin and her pins and needles. He tried to stand motionless while she fitted him, but he still managed to jump slightly when the bell jangled and the door opened, earning him a jab in the arm. He scowled again.

To his surprise, it was not his parents who had entered, but a girl about the same age as him. She was alone, but unlike him, solitude seemed to come naturally to her, and she strode with a confidence beyond her years into the shop. Madam Malkin turned to greet her with a smile.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked cheerily.

The girl smiled graciously. "Naturally."

She took a position next to him, allowing Madam Malkin to slip a robe over her head and begin pinning it. Draco envied her uncanny ability to stand completely still during the fitting, as if she were a statue carved from ice.

"Hello," he said, a bit awkwardly.

She turned her head to look at him, and he got the odd feeling that he had seen her somewhere before. Her dark eyes flicked over his face, as if in examination, and Draco couldn't help but feel a little intimidated. There was something self-assured about her, a kind of quiet confidence that Draco wished he exuded.

"Hello," she replied politely, giving him a small, tight-lipped smile.

There was a short silence before Draco realised the girl expected him to make the next move.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, instantly feeling a bit foolish. He would have stuck out his hand, but Madam Malkin was currently pinning his sleeve, and he didn't want another needle to his skin.

"Pleased to meet you, Draco," she returned, all courtesy and etiquette. "I'm Zara. Zara Dubois."

"You're French?" he asked.

"Only if you go back far enough," she replied mildly, and Draco immediately felt a touch stupid. His own surname was, after all, French too. He fished around desperately for something to say next, and alighted randomly on sport.

"Do you play quidditch?" Then, feeling as if he had to justify that randomness of that question, he added: "It's just that, well, I do, and I'm going to drag my parents to look at brooms again later. I'll probably bully Father into buying me one and then I'll smuggle it into school somehow."

She raised her eyebrows slightly, and Draco wondered if his boast had perhaps been a little ill-advised, but she simply replied that she was more of a fan of broomstick racing, personally, but she had no doubt that Hogwarts security was abysmal enough that he could probably smuggle in an elephant for all the school would care.

He asked her what house she thought she would be in. "Slytherin," she replied matter-of-factly, but she didn't sound particularly thrilled by the idea.

"Me too," he said eagerly. "I mean, all my family have been. It's obviously the best house. Imagine getting put in Hufflepuff though, I'd probably leave, wouldn't you?"

On second thoughts, that joke had definitely been a mistake.

She looked at him seriously for a second, then, to his complete surprise, cracked up. Draco got the distinct impression that she was laughing at him rather than at his joke, and felt his face begin to burn.

"Why?" she asked through her laughter. "The Hufflepuff common room is nearest the kitchens! You could sneak out for midnight snacks whenever you wanted! Hell, you could probably get hold of booze whenever you felt like it! There's no way I'd leave that opportunity."

"Right," he said, unsure of how to reply.

Once she was done being fitted, she went to the counter to pay, then headed for the door. She paused as she was about to leave and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"I'm going to the Magical Menagerie next," she said nonchalantly, "but after that I thought I'd stop off at Fortescue's ice cream parlour." She shrugged, as much of an invitation as he reckoned he'd get. "I guess I might see you there?"

Then the bell jangled, and she was gone.

It didn't take much time for Draco to persuade his parents to let him go to the ice cream parlour after he'd got his wand. They wanted to know who he was meeting, of course, but as soon as he mentioned the name Dubois, they were more than happy to acquiesce.

"Dubois is an ancient wizarding name," his father explained. "I thought they'd all died out, but apparently not."

Draco approached Fortescue's parlour somewhat nervously, but he quickly noticed Zara Dubois sat alone at one of the tables outside, tucking into an impressively large ice cream sundae. She caught his eye and waved him over.

"Hi," he said as he sat down.

"Hello," she replied, smiling. "Glad you could make it."

Draco couldn't fathom why she was at all happy to see him. He didn't think he'd made a very good impression in the clothes shop, but she must've liked something about him to invite him here.

"What would you like?" she asked. It took him a second to work out that she was asking what he wanted to eat.

"Uhm," he began uncertainly, "I'll just have whatever you're having, I guess."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Deftly, she pressed a finger to an item on the menu. The words glowed for a moment before the towering sundae appeared on the table between them. She gestured for him to begin eating, and he readily tucked into the ice cream.

It was strange, he realised. Practically every other person he'd ever met, he'd been able to dominate, adults and children alike. And yet it was clear there was no ordering her around. There was no bullying her, or manipulating her, or controlling her. She was someone who was clearly used to giving her own commands- and having them followed. It was a touch unsettling, and it left him unsure of his standing, but it was simultaneously exciting. Here, at last, was an equal.

A sudden movement caught his eye, and he glanced around, his gaze alighting on her numerous shopping bags. He watched for a second, and something inside one of the bags squirmed again.

"Zara," he began uncertainly.

"Hmm?" she replied noncommittally through a mouthful of ice cream.

"There's something moving in one of your bags," he said, his eyes still on the bag in question.

"Oh," she said unconcernedly. "Don't worry about that. It's just a snake."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "A snake."

"Yes," she said, clearly not feeling the need to explain herself.

"Zara," he began again. She looked up at him with a touch of irritation in her eyes. "Why is there a snake in your bag?" he asked.

"Because I bought it," she replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right," he said. "But why?"

"It's a present," she said.

"A present."

"Yes. A present."

He shrugged helplessly, a bit bewildered. "Alright then."

She looked at him again, a little smile tugging at her lips. "Would you like to see it?"

Draco couldn't help smirking a bit himself. "You know what," he replied, feeling a bit more attuned to her sense of humour, "I think it's a pleasure I can go without."

They chatted for a bit longer, finished their sundaes, and parted ways, promising to see each other on the Hogwarts express. It was only after he'd left that Draco realised he'd forgotten to ask where her parents were- and why she'd been conducting her shopping trip at eleven years old by herself.