The forest was cold.
Hermione's finger tapped impatiently against her bicep as she waited for Draco. With an exhausted groan, she let her head fall back against the great oak that supported her as she sat in the middle of the Duke's forest. She rolled her head over the rough bark, trying desperately to keep herself from passing out.
At her flash of movement, Norbert lipped at her sleeve searching for treats, and she absentmindedly patted his soft nose as he blew a warm puff of air over her hand.
I shouldn't have stayed up so late last night, she thought drowsily, trying to force her molasses-slow thoughts into motion.
She would have given just about anything to rest, but she knew better than to ignore Draco, especially when he'd promised to meet her in the forest at dusk. Warily, she watched the horizon, tracing the sight of the rapidly waning moon as it rose over the skyline. Hermione couldn't squash her yawn, and she tiredly forced her eyes back open.
He's late. Damn him. I'll wait for another half an hour, but if he doesn't show up, I'm going to get in my bed and sleep like a house fell on me. He can figure out the moon magic himself.
Even her thoughts sounded exhausted.
Hermione had spent the afternoon with Slughorn, working through the recipes of new concoctions that the doctor wanted to try out on Draco. She'd managed to talk him out of using leeches, but only just. She'd been terrified that Draco would bleed silver, and she knew without a doubt that it would bring hellfire down upon their heads if it were the case.
"Leeches! We haven't tried those yet!" Slughorn had thundered excitedly, flipping through his journal.
Hermione's blood had run cold, and her jaw had flapped open.
"Horace, I have it on good authority from the young Lord Potter that the Earl is deathly afraid of leeches," she'd lied quickly, trying her hardest to keep her expression neutral.
"Really?" Slughorn had asked slowly, regarding her over his spectacles. "Hermione, you are aware that we, as his physicians, are well within our rights to ignore anything so silly as a fear of leeches."
"Yes," she'd said carefully. Her mind had spun in circles as she'd scrambled for a good excuse. "However, Lord Draco is reluctant enough as it is to allow us to treat him. I'm concerned that taking a more drastic approach to his medical plan might cause him to reject our efforts completely."
"Ah, well put," Slughorn had mused, stroking his long, impressive moustache. "I will consult with the Duke. In the meantime, please research the side-effects of mandrake root."
"Of course," she'd replied, thanking whatever gods were listening that he'd bought her bluff.
Then, after Slughorn had bustled away to meet with the Duke and report their lack of progress, she'd made her way down to the stables to meet Harry.
His cheerful nature had come as a welcome change of pace, and she'd laughed along with him as easily as she would have with Ron. It was a relief to finally feel the warmth of mirth winding along her muscles; it had loosened the knot of worry that had taken up permanent residence in her belly.
They'd passed three hours with a long, much-needed ride. Harry had thoughtfully brought along a fresh loaf of soft bread and a large chunk of sharp cheese wrapped in wax. After a small picnic, they had bid each other farewell and gone their separate ways.
Under the cover of the rapidly approaching dusk, Hermione had slipped unseen into the forest, trailing a very tired and unusually docile Norbert in her wake. She'd found the largest oak in the forest and had slumped down next to it to wait.
Here I am, waiting for a fairy to grace me with his presence, she thought irritably.
Draco seemed to have a flair for the dramatic; she figured that her chances of him finding her were good if she chose a location that a fae was likely to gravitate to.
A small bottle of wine was still in Hermione's pocket from the picnic, and she took a sip, hoping fervently that it would warm her cold limbs. Every sip of the bitter liquid brought her thoughts back to the night before. Unconsciously, her hand rubbed over her collarbone, tracing along the line that had burned like wildfire along her skin as Narcissa's magic had overwhelmed her.
"What have you blundered into, Hermione?" She muttered, cradling her head in her hands. "I can't see how this is going to end well."
Somehow, stating the obvious didn't make her feel better.
Without her consent, her thoughts began to shoot every which way. She sighed. It was no use trying to relax, she had too much to mull over.
She was too wired to fall asleep now. Her mind whirred quickly over what she'd learned in the last day. Carefully, she parsed through the new information, inspecting each piece of the puzzle thoroughly before moving onto the next. Emotions bubbled up in her belly and bled into her chest as she made her way through the confusing jumble of information, but one of them in particular became a common theme.
Quite frankly, she was angry.
Draco's an insufferable git, Slughorn is hiding something, and Father Albus may have been using me all along. Does everyone at this court have a dirty secret?
I'm dying. I'm twenty-one bloody years old, and I'm dying-
Norbert let out a quiet nicker, and she nearly jumped with surprise. His interruption had stopped her self-pitying thoughts in their tracks, and she scratched his ears as his giant head descended towards her. His soft brown eye blinked slowly at her as she petted him, and she made a small face at her reflection in its glassy surface.
She could have swum in the dark circles under her eyes, but Norbert's nose insistently prodding against her hand for more affection pulled her right out of the bottomless whirlpool that held her darkest thoughts.
Sometimes all you need is an insistent horse to make you feel better, she thought wistfully. Norbert stepped several feet away to chew at some frosty grass, and as soon as his warmth lifted away from her lap, she was left with her thoughts once again.
Her nails bit into her palms as she considered Slughorn and Dumbledore's conversation. It may have just been paranoia, but a new fear had taken root in her belly.
Am I a fool? Have I been so obvious about my secret that it made me a target?
What if Father Albus knew about my secret the whole time? Did he bring me here to banish Gwaethe, or was it from some kind of scheming, misguided attempt to save my soul?
If that's the case, who else knows?
Draco never took my soul, but I suspect that I might be damned either way.
Shivering, she hugged her knees to her chest. The temperature outside was rapidly dropping, and it wasn't long before she could see her breath puffing out around her head. She wrapped her cloak more closely around her body.
Just as she was about to give up on the whole thing and seek refuge in her warm bed, the sound of soft footsteps crossing over freshly frozen leaves made her stiffen. Her head whirled around, and she wasn't sure whether she should sigh with relief as Draco carefully made his way towards her.
He belonged in the forest, of that she was sure. With his silver eyes and hair, he was nearly identical to how he'd looked during their first encounter. Unbidden, her gaze darted downwards, and she let out a tiny huff of amusement.
"Something funny, Granger?" Draco said quietly, narrowing his eyes at her and lifting one frosty eyebrow at her mirth.
"You wear shoes now," she replied quietly, gesturing under the warmth of her cloak at his now booted feet. For some strange reason, it was very satisfying to see him display some kind of human weakness. A small part of her mind wondered if he actually felt the cold at all, or if the remnants of his magic kept him warm.
Somehow, she doubted that he wore them for fashion.
Draco's expression darkened at her dry observation, and he flung himself into a cross-legged position opposite her, half-heartedly glaring at her. "You have bigger problems to worry about than my choice of footwear," he said bluntly.
She forcibly bit down on the inside of her cheek to avoid saying something nasty in return. He had a gift for getting under her skin, and she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of snapping back. She sighed, pushing her hair off of her face.
"Thank you for coming. I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up," she muttered, forcing an expression of neutrality onto her face.
"I told you that I would be here," he said very matter-of-factly, inspecting a frosty leaf and purposefully not looking at her.
She decided to ignore that.
"Did anyone see you leave the palace?" She asked abruptly, darting a glance into the rapidly darkening forest.
"No. I left orders that I wasn't to be disturbed," he replied simply, his gaze snapping up to study her. "Your charm worked. I wasn't dormant during the day."
Her breath left her lungs in a loud sigh of relief. Some of the tension drained out of her shoulders and she felt a wan smile slide across her mouth. "Good. At least I've made some progress."
He didn't reply. For several long moments, the silence stretched out between them. It was strange, but oddly comfortable to sit in silence with him. For once there was no fighting, no threats, and certainly no pressure to pretend to be someone that she wasn't.
There was something looming over them, however, and she needed to get it off of her chest.
"Gwaethe," she began carefully, unsure how exactly she was going to word what she was about to say. "I really should apologize to you."
His silver-flecked eyes nearly glowed in the half-darkness as he trained all of his attention on her. He didn't say a word, and for that she was immensely grateful. She plowed onwards, trying desperately to say what she had spent nearly an hour trying to compose in her head.
"For summoning you in the first place, I mean. I shouldn't have treated your summoning as an experiment. I can't undo what I've done, but I think that you deserve an apology."
His expression softened a mite, and she determinedly kept talking, trying desperately to get her point across and make peace with him. "I was a child, and reckless, and so determined to prove that I was right that I unknowingly put us on the path of destruction. That's what I'm sorry for."
Draco's enigmatic expression could have meant any number of things: shock, acceptance, gratitude. But, just as she was about to decipher the cast of his face, a stony veil descended over his eyes and his mien hardened into a mocking, sarcastic smirk.
He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. His hair flashed in the moonlight, and she frowned, unsure as to why he was suddenly laughing so hard that his shoulders shook.
"What?" She demanded, dropping all sense of guilt and embarrassment as he chuckled. All that she felt was annoyance, and that annoyed her even further.
Does he think that I'm lying?
"You really think that your strange little tune is what summons my kind? What kind of legends are spreading in this century?" He smirked at her, every inch a predator as he moved closer to her. He stopped mere inches from her feet and cocked his head; his piercing gaze bore into her so intensely that she was forced to look away.
"So what brought you there?" she whispered, feeling more than a little bit discombobulated as she took in the new information.
"I was searching for something."
"I don't understand why my summoning would have brought you there when you were searching-"
"The melody-" he interrupted her, raising one hand and pointing to his chest, "- is one that my mother used to sing that to me. She made a bargain with some Faroe people a thousand years ago, and they worshiped her as a goddess. That's why I heeded your silly call. You got lucky."
Alarm bells began to ring in her head. There was something off about what he'd said.
"You told me that there is an ancient law-" She began hotly.
"There is an ancient law, but I used my birthright to-" He stopped talking abruptly and crossed his arms. "Forget that I said that. It's none of your business"
Hermione was too flabbergasted to pay attention to what he'd said. "I thought you couldn't lie."
"I can't. I should have known better than to choose the one who was singing -terribly, I might add. I couldn't have made a bigger mistake," he muttered, his lip curling into a tiny sneer.
Her blood boiled in her veins, and it was all she could do to stop herself from jumping to her feet and leaving. The tiny, rational part of her brain informed her that a reaction like that was probably what he was after. Instead, she gave into her stubborn nature and dug her heels in.
There is no way that I'm leaving without some answers tonight.
"Can't you just accept my apology?" She snapped, leaning forwards. "You're always so rude."
"Probably not," he said evasively, avoiding her gaze as he crossed his arms. "You offended me in the worst way possible. I may never be able to accept an apology."
"Will you ever be able to try?" She whispered, fighting against the exhausted tears that prickled behind her eyes. "You're certain that you can't ever believe me?"
"I don't know," he admitted softly, his gaze flicking up to finally meet hers. "If I feel that I can trust you fully, I'll try."
"And in the meantime?"
"We're allies," he said simply, tilting his head to inspect her. "We have no choice."
"Allies don't treat each other like this," she said quietly, trying to ignore the bitter tang of embarrassment that flooded into her mouth.
Draco surveyed her through his sooty eyelashes, and Hermione was just about to pick herself up by the bootstraps and leave, when he put a hand out towards her. If she didn't know better, she would have taken it as a small gesture of supplication.
The severe look in his ancient eyes softened slightly as she stared at him.
"Alright, I'll be civil. However, I reserve the right to argue my side if I disagree with your tendency to blunder in and take charge," he acquiesced, watching her through the silvery fall of his hair.
Hermione didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded.
She supposed that it wouldn't get any better than that. It was better to pick and choose her battles, and she considered this one to be won, despite its stipulations.
"Fine. Will you answer some of my questions?"
"If they're relevant," he agreed quietly.
"Who exactly is your mother?" Hermione began, trying to ignore the unsettling way that her heart beat against her ribs.
He waved a dismissive hand. "You have all kinds of names for her. Titania, Queen Mab, the list goes on. They're all ridiculous. She's a powerful fae, that's all you need to know."
"She's a queen?"
He shrugged, mulling over his words as he spoke. "Not quite. We don't use the same titles, but I suppose that her rank would be closer to an empress."
"She told me that her name is Narcissa," Hermione said quietly, raising one eyebrow in quiet surprise as his jaw dropped. "Is that her real name?"
He clamped his mouth shut immediately, but not fast enough for her not to clue into the significance of Narcissa's trust in her.
"Gwaethe, can I ask you something else, something that's not necessarily relevant?"
She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth as he slowly nodded at her. "Why wouldn't you just let me die? Would that return your magic to you?"
"No," he murmured, tearing a leaf to shreds between his long, pale fingers. "The magic would dissipate. The balance would still be lost."
"Oh."
"I confess that I considered it," Draco admitted. His hands stilled on the new leaf that he was currently playing with. "But I came quickly to the conclusion that it wouldn't help anything."
Hermione laughed; it was a sharp and bitter sound. There was no mirth in her tone, and she couldn't help the incredulous grin that spread across her mouth. "If we're being honest, I was trying to find a way to destroy you when I stumbled across your mother."
The sound that he made caused her to look up in alarm, but she was shocked to see that he was laughing. Not the mocking, haughty sound that she was used to, but a genuine laugh that was warm and full of life.
Something strange fluttered in her chest. She immediately squashed it, hoping fervently that he hadn't seen anything awkward flit across her expression.
"You've got more fire in you than I expected," Draco drawled, still watching her with thinly veiled amusement.
She glared at him.
"Any more questions?" He shot back, smirking at her.
"I think that I need to understand more about your culture and your magic," Hermione said bluntly, putting up a hand to stop him from protesting as his expression grew thunderous. "Don't interrupt me. I'm not asking for the secrets of your kind, just everything that could help us."
Draco glowered at her for a moment before heaving a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine. What do you want to know?"
"Why can't you lie?" She asked immediately, sitting up straighter and hugging her knees to her chest for warmth. Her teeth clacked together from the cold, and she nearly jumped with surprise as Norbert knelt down next to her, settling his warm side against her shivering body. She breathed a sigh of relief and patted him affectionately. Draco regarded the horse for a long moment before answering.
"It's complicated," he admitted, reaching out and gently stroking Norbert's nose. The horse huffed affectionately at the Earl, and nudged his hand for more attention. "We are all, in essence, a creature that exists to simply be. One cannot go against their nature if they weren't created to be deceptive."
Hermione's brain whirled. She thought for a long moment before responding.
"So, what you're saying is that you don't have the capacity to be deceptive? Or is it the case that you simply cannot willingly bring yourself to lie? Your logic stipulates that humans were created with the willingness to lie as opposed to the Fae who aren't given a choice-"
His mouth slid into a wolfish grin. "Neither of those assumptions are correct. I can mislead, misdirect, or choose not to give an answer, but if I am forced to answer directly, I must. Humans have a looser interpretation of the theory, one that is rooted in the concept of free will."
"So you don't have free will?"
"Of course I do," was the dry response. Draco's eyes glittered at her as he waited for her retort.
I have no idea what to do with that. I don't have to be right all the time…right?
Hermione couldn't ignore the tiny voice in her head that quietly informed her that she couldn't win this argument. Despite her pride pressing at her to continue the debate, she nodded. She wasn't used to being this out of her depth, and quite frankly, it shook her.
Draco's expression didn't change, but the corners of his eyes tightened. As per usual, she had no idea what that meant.
"I don't understand," she admitted, looking down at her interlaced fingers. "I suppose that's the point, isn't it. You think differently than I do."
A small chuckle made her look up.
"Finally, we're getting somewhere," Draco said affably, smirking at her confusion. "You may actually convince me that you're smarter than I thought you were."
"Thanks..?" Hermione said slowly, making a mental note to write down everything that he'd said. When he mentioned that I should be thinking in riddles to understand him, he wasn't kidding.
He made a sound that was halfway between a grunt and a huff.
"Your politics must be a nightmare," Hermione said quietly, half under her breath as she thought.
"I don't agree. They're far more complex than yours; however they follow a very clear set of rules. The way that we conduct our government is rather dependent on magic," Draco said airily, twining yet another leaf around his fingers.
"How so?"
His eyes narrowed. "Firstly, there are two courts. Secondly, everything is conducted by tradition, and thirdly, it's a pain to explain and I don't feel like wasting my breath."
She huffed out a surprised laugh, and he paused. A flicker of something that wasn't disdain or hatred passed over his still-narrowed eyes, and Hermione suddenly found herself transfixed by the way that he was looking at her.
Hurriedly, she blinked.
She coughed awkwardly. "So, which court do you belong to?"
"The Seelie," he replied casually, crumbling yet another leaf to dust between his fingers.
"What's the other one?"
"The Unseelie," he said, just as nonchalantly, glaring at her as she smirked. "What?"
"The names aren't what I was expecting," she explained, shrugging.
He watched her in silence for a long moment, and Hermione wasn't sure whether she should break the silence. Her blood rushed through her face, and she was about to stammer out an apology when he nodded curtly. She took a deep breath in through her nose, suddenly nervous.
"So," he said seriously, watching her so closely that she got the distinct impression that he was studying the way that her heart beat irregularly in her chest. "I think you also owe me some answers."
"What?"
"Since you asked me several questions, I see no reason why you shouldn't answer a few of mine."
His tone darkened, and she couldn't suppress the nervous shudder that trickled down her spine. She nodded briskly, watching him warily.
"First off, were you aware of Tom Riddle before you came here?" He asked bluntly, watching her like a hawk.
She gulped. "No. I've never even heard of him before I found the diary, although, that's not unusual given that I'm from-"
"Do you know what he was after?" He interrupted her, obviously satisfied with her answer. Distantly, Hermione wondered if she should have lied to him.
"I'm not sure, but I think it's connected to a man called Nicholas Flamel," she muttered. Her brows scrunched together into a frown as she thought. "I found something in the diary that mentioned a rivalry between the two men. I'm not sure if it's the same Flamel who wrote some of the occult books in Horace's library, but it might not be a coincidence."
"Flamel…" Draco murmured thoughtfully, his expression softening slightly as he tapped a finger against his knee. "I've heard the name before. One of the court nobles, perhaps."
"I can't shake the feeling that he might be important, or at the very least, be able to help us find out how to give you your magic back-" Hermione cut off as Draco suddenly shifted, moving closer to her.
Her heartbeat stuttered, and she felt her palms immediately begin to sweat despite the cold as his back came to rest against Norbert's side. She was intensely aware of the nearly imperceptible press of his arm against hers as her pulse thundered through her veins.
Whether it was from fear or something else, she had no idea. Distantly, she heard him talking, so softly that it was barely a whisper.
"You cannot let anyone know about me," he said insistently, his silvery eyes boring into hers. "I'm defenseless-"
"Not if I'm around," she interrupted breathlessly, trying in vain to calm her reeling mind. "I'll find out who he is and ask him questions myself-"
"No, it concerns my life; I won't leave anything up to chance. You don't know enough about the magic yet."
"So teach me!" She half-yelled, savouring her tiny flash of triumph as his eyes widened. "I can't help you if you're trying to block me at every turn! You're the key to deciphering the magic, so stop trying to worm your way out of revealing any information! You're harming both of us by being so evasive!"
He blinked several times; he was clearly discombobulated. Finally, after the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable length of time, he sighed and ran a hand over his hair.
"Very well, you have a point, sam'eseha. Let's start with the Old Magic."
She nodded curtly at him and suppressed a huff of annoyance. It wasn't an apology, but at least it was a start.
He paused for a moment. Finally, just as she was about to say something to prompt him, he palmed an acorn that had fallen at the base of the great oak. Hermione watched closely as he drew a rough square, quickly separating it into two even rectangles with an etched line down the middle.
"The passage of time is different here from the Seelie realm, but I believe that you would think of the time frame of the story as taking place about three thousand years ago," he began softly, tracing the lines in the dirt with one pale finger.
Hermione sat quietly, trying her hardest to be patient. It was hard enough to convince him to tell me, so I'd better wait until the end to ask questions.
He glanced up at her, his gaze raking over her face before he continued, gesturing minutely at his small diagram. "Our worlds were aligned so closely that my kind could freely pass over into your realm and stay here for extended lengths of time. Humans who encountered us would often take us for gods, which is why your world's mythology follows the same story over and over again."
"My people have always been fascinated by yours; it served their curiosity to stay in your realm and study your kind. It wasn't long before we discovered that your world had a well of power that was very different from our own. So, some chose to make their home here. Some came to study your magic, others came to be worshipped."
Hermione's eyebrows shot upwards. At the very last second, she managed to bit back a barrage of questions and waited for him to continue.
"I'm oversimplifying the details, I'll have you know. Eventually, it became common practice for Fae to make certain…promises to humans in exchange for gifts and knowledge. Common choices were political power, money, love, and weapons. Sometimes, a fae would see fit to give a human magic to accomplish a task. In exchange, the fae could ask for whatever they wanted in return. Perhaps it was our arrogance, well it was more likely your kind's greed that led to-"
She'd accidentally made a small sound of protest, but quickly clamped her mouth shut as his eyes flashed with annoyance.
"-conflict between our two worlds."
"What do you mean?"
"Once a fae gift is given, it cannot be taken back; not if it was given willingly. I'm bound by oath to keep certain secrets, but what I can tell you, is that there were three brothers who abused the power that was given to them."
"What did they do?"
"Give me a moment, I'm getting there. As much as I appreciate that you're clever, it's irksome when you keep trying to interrupt me."
Hermione felt a flush of warmth at his words. Wait, does that mean that he's starting to trust me a little bit?
"They received three gifts. One brother got a tool which was a conduit of Earth magic, another a stone that could partially reverse the passage of time, and the last brother received a shaed."
Using the acorn, he drew a strange symbol into the dirt. A line, a triangle, and a circle all melded together to form a runelike shape that was both unfamiliar and puzzling to look at. Hermione twisted her neck around to look at it, unable to supress her curiosity.
"A what?"
Draco shrugged. "It's a cloak made of shadows and starlight. It takes years to weave one. In our realm it is a sentient being. In yours, it makes the wearer invisible."
Hermione's jaw dropped. "What happened to the brothers?"
"The story says that they went on to conquer all of their enemies and vanquish every foe that challenged them. They became greedy after there was nothing else left to take. The power gifted by my kind wasn't enough for them, so they sought ways to gain more. It wasn't long before they discovered that the Fae realm was an infinite well of magic that was unlike anything that they'd been able to use here. Using their Fae gifts, they began to gather up and capture every Seelie and Unseelie that they could get their dirty hands on."
His tone had darkened, and his eyes flashed in the moonlight. As she stared at his face, enraptured by the story, the silver of his irises had darkened to a steely grey. In the half-light, he appeared alien; he looked every inch the powerful, otherworldly creature that he was.
Strangely, for the first time, Hermione didn't feel any fear at the sight.
"How many did they capture?" She asked quietly, more than a little afraid of what the answer could be.
He sighed. "I can't tell you that."
"Just nod or shake your head," she murmured. Her heart was in her throat as she faced him directly, suddenly very aware that her hunger for knowledge was what had trapped the ethereal fae who sat quietly next to her. "What you don't actually say doesn't break the rules, right?"
He looked taken aback for a second, but quickly recovered and dipped his head just slightly.
"Was it more than a hundred?"
He nodded.
"Two hundred?"
A nod once again was the response.
"More than three hundred?"
He nodded again, and she had to look away from his intense gaze.
"The fae are powerful, how could they have been taken so easily?"
"I don't know. I'm not old enough to have been there," he murmured, toying with the acorn that he still held.
Her heart ached with pity for the hundreds of Fae who'd suffered at the hands of these three brothers. A trickle of anger wound through her veins as her brain conjured dark imaginings.
No wonder he hates my kind so much. Why would he have faith in any of us?
"So they wanted to be able to use Fae magic, instead of Earth magic?" She asked softly, unconsciously tugging at a curl that had escaped from her braid.
"Not just use it. They wanted to be in control of all magic."
A muscle in Draco's jaw clenched, and Hermione sucked in a shocked breath.
"To what end? They already had so much," she whispered breathlessly. "Why?
Draco snorted quietly. "Apparently they believed that they would be the masters of life and death. You made a similar mistake, didn't you? You wanted more than you had, which is why you summoned me in the first place."
His tone was bitter. She didn't blame him one bit.
Hermione's stomach did a queasy little backflip, and she couldn't squash the shiver of unease that rippled down her spine. She pulled her cloak closer to her body and worriedly clenched her fists in the sturdy wool. "What happened to them?"
"There was a cabal secretly working to bring down the brothers, according to the story. Two of your kind and two of mine made a deal with the intent to separate our worlds."
"What kind of deal?"
"The two humans -Salazar and Helga were their names- managed to free two of the oldest and most powerful Seelie. The two Fae were called Godric and Rowena. Together, they combined our two magics to seal our worlds on either side of a barrier that they called the Veil."
Hermione frowned. He caught sight of her expression in the half-darkness and smirked.
"Clearly it didn't quite work. They were found out by the brothers. Just as the four were finishing the spell, the youngest brother threw off the shaed that he'd donned and killed Helga. The magic was left incomplete."
"The other three managed to escape and gave up their corporeal forms to provide the magic that was needed to maintain the barrier between the two worlds. Helga's absence is what allows for small portals into your world, and vice versa. To maintain the balance between the two realms, they became what is known as the Old Magic."
"So the Old Magic is…people?"
"In a sense. They don't have forms that can die, so they simply watch to ensure that the balance is kept. They are powerful enough to inflict judgement upon those who break the laws, but they cannot act directly and without cause."
"What about the magic-"
"I can't tell you anymore. I've probably told you too much already," Draco interrupted firmly, quickly sweeping the rune and square away with the palm of his hand.
"So, I've angered the gods that keep our worlds separate," Hermione breathed, trying to wrap her brain around the story. Her heartbeat raced, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to calm her fear.
"They're not gods-"
Her eyes snapped open as Draco made a small sound of frustration. Her gaze raked over his face as he clenched his fists and stared straight up at the moon.
"I can't tell you any more than I already have. But believe me, there's more to the Old Magic than that," he said carefully, choosing every word very deliberately.
"Thank you," she said honestly, smiling wanly. "That's a lot more than I knew an hour ago. Every little bit that you can tell me will help. Can I ask one more question?"
He threw her an exasperated look. "Fine."
"What happened to the brothers? Afterwards, I mean."
His eyes narrowed, and he shot to his feet, brushing dirt off of his splendidly-woven cloak. Norbert huffed with annoyance as dirt rained down on his glossy coat.
"You don't need to know," he replied evasively, letting annoyance bleed into his tone and colour every word. He turned on his heel and left her behind.
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and she drew back into her cloak, looking everywhere but at him. She wasn't going to admit it, but she was hurt by his sudden change of heart. As he strode into the darkness, she chastised herself for assuming that they were friends. It would take time to build trust, and now she was beginning to understand the magnitude of what she'd done all of those years ago.
Rome wasn't built in a day, Hermione.
Her head snapped up and she jumped to her feet as something occurred to her. She ran after Draco, heedless of the fact that her legs were almost entirely numb due to the cold. He whirled to face her as she darted up to him, panting hard. Her breath puffed out of her mouth in a cloud as she braced her hands on her knees.
"Wait-" she puffed, sucking in a deep breath as he stared at her. "We need to plan how you're going to go about staging your recovery."
"I don't need to plan anything-"
"Shut up, please. Yes you do. I barely managed to stop Slughorn from attaching leeches to your arm this afternoon-"
His eyes widened, and she savoured the flicker of satisfaction that was elicited by his reaction.
"-so yes, you absolutely need to find a reason to avoid any drastic measures. We still have the issue of the Church-"
"Fine," he interrupted, crossing his arms. "What do you suggest?"
"If I'm the one to administer you a fake cure, then it'll make sense for us to be seen together all the time," she offered, almost cracking a small smile as his impassive expression softened slightly.
"Why would I want to be seen with you?" He asked flippantly, regarding her with a look so haughty that it nearly made her blood boil.
She took a deep breath, glad that she could breathe again. "The more time that we spend together, the faster we'll be able to come up with a solution to our problem. It's not my idea of a good time, but it is what it is. I don't fancy the thought of dying, do you?"
He scowled. "Very well. Bring something to my chambers in the morning. I believe that the charm will have enough moonlight to last until then."
Draco turned on his heel and strode into the darkness once more. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called to him. "Hey! Where are you going?"
"Somewhere where you're not going to follow me," he replied, clearly more than a little smug as he continued into the darkness.
It took everything that she had not to rise to the barb. She stood in silence, watching him move farther and farther away until the reflection of his silver hair shining in the moonlight winked out of view. Hermione let out a long, exhausted breath and glanced up at the moon.
"Every little bit of progress is still better than nothing," she reminded herself softly, treading carefully through the silver-dappled forest.
Her walk back through the trees was uneventful, and she moved slowly, unable to deny the exhaustion in her limbs. Now that all of her adrenaline had ebbed away, Hermione wanted nothing more than to sleep.
She returned to Norbert, and he huffed affectionately in her face and lipped at her hair. She buried her face in his mane and finally allowed the wave of anxiety and uncertainty that she'd crushed down deep to well up inside of her.
What am I going to do? How on earth am I going to do any of this? I have so many questions, and I don't know if I can solve this riddle before the Old Magic overpowers me.
Her shoulders shook as she sobbed, holding onto Norbert's mane and warm neck as if he was a steady boulder that was the only thing keeping her from being swept away by the tide of emotion that threatened to drown her. It was intensely cathartic to weep; she'd been trying so hard to keep up appearances that she hadn't allowed herself to fully process what she was feeling.
Finally, she stepped away from the horse, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand as she hiccupped.
"Everything is going to be fine, right?" She asked Norbert, not even caring that it was silly to ask that question of a horse.
He huffed in response, and Hermione decided to take that as an affirmative response. She smiled weakly and swung herself into the saddle. With a click of her tongue, she nudged the giant warhorse into a walk.
Draco had watched quietly from behind a nearby tree as Hermione had cried her heart out into Norbert's mane.
He'd been well on his way to his intended destination when the sound of her quiet sobbing had stopped him in his tracks; every sound echoed through the forest as clearly as a newly rung bell. He'd found himself moving towards her before he'd fully realized what he was doing. At the last second, Draco had secreted himself behind a tree, more than a little discombobulated by his split-second decision to turn back and investigate.
A strange ache resonated in his chest, and he hurriedly attempted to wipe it away. It was stubborn, pulsing underneath his skin and persisting despite his best efforts to ignore it. He didn't have a name to assign to the odd feeling, so he dropped his arm with a silent huff of annoyance.
There's no reason that a human crying should elicit a reaction. You're getting soft. A few tears is all that it takes to move you?
Weakness will bring only death. I refuse to let her get under my skin. I won't make the same mistakes that my mother did.
He snuck another glance around the tree trunk, noting with some relief that Hermione had dried her tears. He couldn't begin to explain why her emotional outburst had shaken him.
Whatever the reason, he disliked it immensely.
Draco had watched silently, not daring to breathe lest he reveal his presence, as she'd swung herself into Norbert's saddle and coaxed the animal into a gentle walk back towards the castle. He'd waited for a few moments after she left to head in the other direction; he needed to visit the city that lay nestled in the heart of Lucius' lands.
His fingers ran incessantly over the acorn that he still held as he walked. Draco forced his mind away from Hermione and returned his attention to his task at hand.
Two deals. That's all that I'll be able to do tonight. It'll have to be enough.
The magic within his body was rapidly dwindling. He could feel it pulsing inside his chest, growing fainter by the hour. He needed to make a deal or two, just enough to keep himself strong.
Even with the moon charm, it took energy that he didn't have to keep the mystery fae's magic at bay. Not for the first time, he cursed his lack of fae magic. His other hand reached up to wrap around the moonlight charm and he grudgingly admitted that Hermione's quick thinking had afforded him more time to find enough magic to keep himself alive.
He walked quickly; his pace quickly ate up the distance between the castle grounds and the outskirts of the city of Sussex proper. Draco strode through farmland, heading for the warm glow up ahead that promised taverns and inns.
He reached behind his head and drew his hood up; it wouldn't serve him in the slightest to be recognized here. The last thing that he wanted was to be taken by force back to the castle by the Duke's men. Draco's silvery eyes flashed in the moonlight as he moved through shadowy alleyways and between shops.
The city came alive at night, it bustled with different sounds and smells than those that swam through the air during the daytime, and he took a moment to watch the coming and going of ordinary folk for a moment.
He could smell stews cooking on hundreds of different hearths, the earthy smells of horses and wheat, and the unpleasant odor of thousands of humans crammed together in a dirty city. The colours of the night were far livelier than during the day, as windows glittered with the light of thousands of wax candles, and silvery moonlight bathed everything that the candlelight couldn't touch in an unearthly glow. It was through this beautiful world of silver and gold that Draco walked, making no sound as he made his slow way through the crowds that filled the streets.
He followed faint pulses of magic. They fluttered around him, beckoning him in a hundred different directions at once. At random, he followed one. His deals always allowed him more earth magic if the person making the deal had a whiff of power to start with.
Magic doesn't make any damn sense here, but it'll have to do.
The sun had barely been down for two hours, and the humans that he'd come to find were starting to mill about, emerging from their homes and making their way towards some of the city's more undesirable establishments. He followed a trail of melancholic, exhausted men and dead-eyed women as they plodded along the streets.
After half a mile, he was drawn towards a building that was glowing with red light. The faint pulse of magic beckoned to him, like a drumbeat. As he got closer, it grew stronger, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as he listened.
As if by instinct, his feet steered him towards it.
Draco stopped in his tracks, staring with anticipation at the building at the end of the row. He abandoned the line of people who ambled past and ducked back into the shadows. Red-glazed lanterns adorned the beautifully carved wooden door, and it boasted several red silk awnings.
That could be promising.
Draco's eyes narrowed. His gaze raked over the tall building, finally coming to rest on the sign that dangled above the front door on a chain. It waved gently in the crisp breeze that whistled through this particular alley, creaking as it moved. The painting embossed on the sign was simply a black rose twisting its thorns around a man.
It didn't take a genius to know that he was standing in the shadows opposite a brothel. Given the opulence of its décor, Draco knew that it most likely catered to the upper class. His mouth twisted in a sneer; he knew exactly what the patrons of this particular business liked.
He'd already seen countless bruises and scars on the girls in other brothels, ones that were exactly like this one. The richer the brothel, the crueler the clientele, it seemed. His blood ran red-hot through his veins as the memories of the horrors that he'd seen flashed through his mind's eye.
His lip curled in disgust. In his realm, courtesans were considered untouchable; to harm one was to risk everything. Here, humans treated them as disposable. He had to work carefully; otherwise the girl who was brought to him might bolt.
He couldn't afford to carry a fearsome reputation, not when he depended on the deals that the poor girls who were forced to work the streets were willing to make. Draco would never harm them, and he certainly wouldn't allow them to be driven into a worse situation because of his errors in judgement.
After the disastrous night that had led to his imprisonment on Earth, he'd gone about making deals a little bit differently.
It turns out that humans don't respond well to fear. You simply need to find the right motivation, and they will offer up anything that you ask.
Gwaethe closed his eyes, planning out his next move. His eyelids flicked open almost immediately, and he moved across the alleyway. He raised one pale hand and knocked on the door. It flew open on oiled hinges and he suddenly found himself staring into the face of a very extravagantly made up woman.
Her cheeks were smudged with garishly applied red rouge and her face was painted with a pasty substance that was so chalklike that he assumed it was an attempt to cover up her ruddy complexion.
"Welcome, welcome!" She said smugly, opening the door wide and waving him inside the foyer. He remained outside the door.
"Are you open for business?" Draco asked quietly, keeping his eyes out of the light of the lantern. He wasn't interested in explaining why his irises appeared as a flash of silver in direct light.
"My Lord, you've arrived at the perfect time. All of my girls are available for your pleasure. Or if you would prefer a different companion, we do cater to all tastes," she purred, raking her greedy gaze down the fine weaving of his cloak and the expensive make of his boots.
He drew his hood back, relishing her tiny gasp of surprise as his silvery hair nearly glowed in the red light flickering from the lanterns around the doorway.
"I'll take any courtesan you see fit to send me," he said curtly, stepping over the threshold and fixing her with a steely glare. "I require the use of your most private room. Should I be disturbed, your business will not last another fortnight. That includes the spy holes that are peppered across every wall of this brothel. Am I understood?"
The Madam nodded quickly, wrenching her mouth shut from when it had fallen open.
"Just one lady tonight?" She simpered, gesturing at the array of portraits that hung in the entryway. Draco assumed that it was a gallery for patrons to choose from. He didn't allow his expression to soften; the chances of him succeeding in making a deal with two courtesans at once weren't good.
He decided not to risk it. Draco pored over the portraits for a moment, before pointing to one that depicted a girl with auburn hair and hazel eyes. He wasn't interested in the look of her, only the pulse of magic that beckoned to him from her image.
She'll work.
"Yes. If you send another, despite my request, I won't be pleased," he said shortly, turning his back on her. She wisely shut her mouth, and he heard the rustling of silk skirts as she performed a very deep curtsy.
"As you wish, my Lord. Please follow the gentleman in the blue tunic to your room."
As Draco turned on his heel to follow the elegantly dressed butler, he savoured the flicker of triumph that her reaction had elicited.
He wasn't used to flaunting Draco's nobility; he'd always been dormant when it would have been most useful. He didn't relish the thought of pretending to be human, much less an arrogant git, but he was more than willing to play a part to achieve what he wanted.
Acting wasn't lying after all; he was simply borrowing someone else's personality. Gwaethe stubbornly ignored the tiny, very irritating part of him that insisted that what he was doing was wrong. To his very great annoyance, his conscience sounded suspiciously like a certain curly-haired human.
Damn her. She's managed to weasel into my business at every turn. If only she wasn't so determined to make amends. It would be so much easier to keep her out of my head if she were still the child who trapped me in the forest.
Distantly, he could hear the rumble of conversation and raucous laughter coming from below the staircase. Without conscious thought, he raised his hood again.
He rapidly smoothed his expression as he was shown to a grand bedroom at the very top of the building. The floor stretched along the length of the brothel, and he could see that every inch of it was plastered with silk and ornate carpets. A giant, four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, and he eyed it with distaste.
There was a table in the corner, lavishly laden with wine and food as well, and he quickly made a beeline for it.
His stomach grumbled furiously, and he didn't bother with politeness. He was in a whorehouse after all. Draco quickly poured himself a glass of wine and snagged an apple. His flinty gaze shot from one corner to the next, taking in every detail of the room.
"Will there be anything else for the moment, my Lord?" The weasel-like, balding man who had led the way asked the question timidly, clearly fearful of the wrath of an offended nobleman as he bowed deeply.
He ignored the butler.
It would have cost a fortune to outfit the room, but even the liberally applied perfume didn't disguise the scents of sweat and blood. The whole place echoed with screams and sorrow. Simply touching the wood of the window ledge afforded him a small taste of the pain that this miserable place had seen.
The worst thing about being a fae stuck in a human body was that he couldn't block out any of the magic that pulsed around him. The wood of the foundations, the stones that built the walls and even the dirt that blanketed the floor held memories of those who had encountered them; it was all of the earth.
They whispered, they sung, and they wept.
Draco couldn't use his magic to filter out any of it.
That was the most difficult part about this realm. Earth magic was loud. The Seelie realm was quiet, and orderly; nothing like this strange world where everything followed the same rules.
He clenched his jaw in disgust and leaned against the window frame to wait. The valet closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Draco sighed.
The flickering magic inside of him had dimmed even further, and it had begun to gutter like a candle flame drowning in its own wax. Distantly, he was aware that it was getting a little bit harder to breathe, and exhaustion draped its cold hands over his mind.
He descended into his thoughts, trying in vain to silence Hermione's voice inside his head. Her apology played over and over again on a loop, and he had to throw more effort than he wanted to towards her voice to remain angry with her. He pressed his palms to his eyes, willing his mind to focus on anything else as the door opened once more.
Draco glanced up; taking in the sight of the courtesan as she smoothly entered the room. There was nothing about her that bespoke nervousness, and she carried herself with the poise and confidence of a queen.
Her hazel eyes shone in the candlelight, and her hair reflected the warm glow of the flames, turning it into a molten wave of copper.
He raised one eyebrow as he appraised her; quite frankly, he was more impressed by the magic that pulsed through her veins than he was by her beautiful appearance.
She curtsied with ease and regarded him with blatant curiosity written all over her features. "Good evening," she breathed, moving closer to him until she stood barely two feet away. "How may I serve you this evening, my lord-"
Her small hands had reached up to pull at the ties on her bodice, but she froze as he made a small sound of exasperation.
"There won't be any of that," Draco interrupted her, not unkindly. He settled back into the window nook and fixed his gaze on her. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the unusual cast of his eyes and hair, but she stood her ground.
"My lord..?"
"I'm not here to purchase anything from you," he clarified, fighting against the fog of exhaustion that threatened to seep into his thoughts. "I have another proposition for you. You won't be stuck here any longer if you accept it."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'll not move to another house, sir. You would have me placed in danger. The Madam-"
"No, that's not it," Draco said impatiently, reaching into the hidden pocket that he'd had sewn into his cloak and pulled out a long, flat box. "I'm offering you your freedom."
"I don't u-understand," she stammered, moving a step away. "I'm not a slave."
"No, but you suffer here. Is that very much different?" He asked simply, watching her quietly as her face flushed and she looked away. Draco didn't miss the way that her hand unconsciously strayed to the small of her back. She was injured there, of that he was certain.
"I'll give you all of that gold in the box," he said quietly, gesturing at the box with one hand. "You can open it if you want. All that I ask for in return is a small thing that belongs only to you."
Her eyes widened. "You're of the Fair Folk, aren't you?"
He smirked. Magic rolled off of her skin in waves; it was no wonder she was able to recognize what he was.
"You've got a changeling in your bloodline somewhere; it's what drew me here. I'm not going to take anything vital; the terms of the agreement aren't going to harm you. I won't ask you your name, if that's what you're afraid of."
"Why did you come here?" She asked quietly, surveying him with her haunted eyes. He could tell by looking at her that she'd seen and done terrible things in order to survive. He knew that any small token of hers would carry enough magic to keep him alive.
"I'm dying," he said simply, crossing his arms. "You have enough magic to tide me over until I can escape this realm."
"And if I refuse?" She said shakily, watching him with her ancient eyes.
Draco smothered a flash of pity.
"I can find another deal, but I have a feeling that you're desperate to leave this place."
The way that her gaze was constantly drawn to the box of gold confirmed his suspicions.
"I'll take it," she said breathlessly, licking her lips. "What do you want in return?"
"I'll take a lock of your hair," he replied, pulling a tiny knife out of his pocket. At the flash of a blade, she shied away, but slowly reached out and took it as he offered it to her. Her shaking hand wrapped around the handle, and she gently drew it out of his palm.
He hissed in pain as the blade dragged along the center of his hand, and she let out a tiny shriek as a droplet of silver blood fell onto the silk carpet beneath their feet.
Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes. Humans always make everything a spectacle.
"It can't harm you, don't be stupid-" he began, allowing irritation to bleed into his tone. He gentled immediately as her pupils dilated and she took in a sharp breath.
He ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "Forgive me. The lack of magic is painful. I'm prone to lapses in civility."
With shaking hands, the courtesan reached into her elaborately curled hair and selected a ringlet. Gwaethe eyed it hungrily as she cut it. The quiet "snick" of the blade slicing through the strands was music to his ears.
"How does this work?" She whispered softly, clearly petrified that he was going to cheat her and harm her in some way. Not for the first time, he wondered what had forced her into the life of a whore. Now that she had a shred of hope, she had opened herself up to disappointment.
He knew exactly what that felt like.
He palmed the box of gold and held it out for her, offering his other hand for the blade and the severed curl. "We trade our gifts at the same time. I'll burn your hair and release the magic, and you'll have your gold."
She nodded, holding out her part of the bargain as he settled the weight of the box in her palm.
"Good. Don't be wary, I'm going to seal the promise," Draco said softly, moving slowly and carefully so as not to frighten her. He couldn't afford to scare her off now; the magic was so close that he could taste it, and the guttering flame of power inside him threatened to extinguish at any moment.
"So'el carð e'elmeɫ jaema," he murmured. "Gwaeð, undaið, ðes'ka, ðunj'a'a, saet'nae'. Waisn'a unset'lo ma'e so'eð."
I swear it by the sun and the moon's light, by the earth and the flame; I forge my promise from starlight and bitter iron. Your freedom is given in exchange for a token.
A familiar, soothing rush of magic rolled off of his tongue as he spoke, whipping up a tiny breeze around them. The girl gasped, and he grinned, relishing the way that his eyes lit up in response to the magic, and his skin glowed as if he had been painted with diamond dust.
"Go," he urged her, clenching his fist around her gift. "You won't have much time until they realize that you've left."
"Thank you," she replied breathlessly, laughing softly with unrestrained joy as she darted from the room, her hair flying out behind her. As soon as the door had clicked shut behind her, Draco strode over to a large pillar candle on the refreshment table and tossed the still-curled hair into its flame.
The second that the fire began to consume the token, he sucked in a deep, pain-free breath. He brushed his fingers through the smoke that trailed up from the candle; it glowed with a shimmering blue light.
A trickle of earth magic wound through his veins, renewing him as he absorbed the swirling cloud of smoke.
The well of power within him grew until it was no longer in danger of snuffing out. He let out a slow, relieved sigh and braced his forearms against the wood of the table. He could see the still-glowing reflection of his silver eyes reflected in the polish, and he took a moment to bask in his relief.
It had been a narrow miss.
Without wasting any more time, he drew a small bag of silver coins from his pocket and tossed it on the bed. He didn't bother to waste any more time; he wanted to be far away from here when the madam realized that he'd driven away one of her girls.
Draco drew his hood back up over his bright hair and took the steps back down to the main floor. He completely ignored anyone who addressed him and strode out the front door without a backwards glance.
He had one more deal to make tonight.
Hermione's eyes flew open as a rush of magic flooded through her body. She lay there, gasping for breath as the magic twisted through every inch of her skin. Tiny, glowing tendrils of what appeared to be smoke rose from her chest, and she hurriedly sat up, trying not to panic as the warmth of the magic slowly faded.
She sat there for some time, trying desperately to keep herself calm as her body temperature lowered once more and her heart rate returned to normal.
"What in the bloody hell was that?" Hermione whispered, hoping with every fibre of her being that she wasn't in danger.
After enough time had passed that she felt that she could relax, she laid back down on her pallet and tried to summon sleep once again. It didn't work, and she tossed and turned until she finally fell into a shallow, vivid dream-laden sleep.
"My dearest Hermione-" Ron started, clicking his tongue between his teeth as he wrote. He stared at the words on the parchment before hurriedly crossing them out and starting anew.
"Hermione- no that's just too simple," he mumbled, running his ink-stained hands through his hair in frustration as he stared at the intimidatingly blank square of parchment in front of him.
"My oldest friend-drat, no. That's not it either."
The candles that he'd placed on the counter in Hermione's father's workshop slowly burnt themselves out as he struggled to find the right words to write.
"Sod it," he muttered, dipping his quill back into the ink and scrawling furiously across the page.
Hermione,
I hope you're doing well (but not too well, otherwise I'll have no choice but to be jealous). Everyone here is doing fine, although the glue that held all of us together was obviously you. I haven't seen Neville or Seamus in nearly two months. Ginny's been helping me out around the workshop, which suits us just fine. Your father is chipper, as always, but your mother isn't keen on speaking of you. Apparently your father didn't tell her that he'd applied to Doctor Slughorn for your apprenticeship. Between you and me, I believe every word of that.
He sighed and plowed onwards.
I could talk all day about how boring life is around here without you, and I dunno if that would even begin to cover it. I can't believe that I'm saying this (and don't take it the wrong way), but I can't help wishing that you'd never left. It's not that things are bad here, because they aren't, but there's something missing that I was never brave enough to put into words before you left.
I miss you, terribly. It's like you left a giant hole in your wake. I always assumed that we'd end up together, and although it was all in my head, I wish I'd had the guts to say something to you. I suppose that's just another thing that makes us different. I'm not nearly as brave or clever as you are.
I suppose it might be for the best, you would have figured out very quickly that I'm not the kind of man that you should be with-
Before he could finish what he was going to say, adrenaline spiked through his belly and he panicked.
"Ron, you git, don't write that-shit!"
He hurriedly crossed out the last paragraph and deliberately spilled ink along it. Once the words were too heavily obscured to be read, he continued to write. His hands trembled, and his already spidery writing grew less and less legible.
Anyways, Ginny would like you to know that she's no longer out walking with Cedric Diggory, and I want you to know that I'm thrilled about it. He was far too good looking for her, and too boring, apparently. I suppose that I should tell you that Fred is miserable as well since you've left. Bill is still travelling in France, he's not expected to be back for some time. He's encountered a new smithing technique that has something to do with a girl called Fleur. You can imagine that mother is thrilled. Father has insisted that George and Percy join Charlie in Romania, although I'm not sure that they're interested in the ranger's life. Percy always throws up at the sight of blood, and George is far more interested in writing racy poetry.
As for me-
Ron paused, drumming his fingers against the wood of the counter as he thought.
As for me, I've finally decided to court Lavender. You know that we spent some time together, and y'know, once you get past the incessant chatter about children and the village gossip, she's actually quite a kind person. Thought you might want to know.
Once again, he crossed out the last sentence.
"Bugger," he mumbled, dropping his head into his hands. He ignored the ink that smeared all over his face and rubbed at his eyes. "She's off living a noble's life at the court of Sussex, why would she care about what we're up to in boring, old Ashwood?"