It Was A Fine Affair
The quidditch players had been at it for nearly a day now, Draco noted: Slytherin had been playing Ravenclaw since he had gotten back to school the night before. The seekers were growing tired, enchanted as they were, since he had not allowed for relief players. Unconsciously, Draco had pulled the sleeve of his sweater up past his elbow and was rubbing the pale skin there raw. He couldn't help it, really, for every time his mind wandered to his father he could see a morsmordre burning into his mortal flesh.
An explosion like floo powder ripped through the peace of Draco's room, making him sit straight up, though the goons moved not an inch. A violent green flame was blazing in the corner of his room with cool heat, and slowly beginning to resemble a figure.
"Out," he growled at the thugs. "You didn't see anything." They left.
"I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, Draco," she said, quietly and unintroduced.
"Not coming back?" he stammered, completely taken aback, is own paradigm shifting as he heard his voice, small and confused.
"I tried to tell you at the revel." She looked annoyed, as if she were defending herself. "Mother's hired private tutors for me, quietly, through the Ministry. The War's coming, or hadn't you heard?" She smiled. He loved that smile, that look of affection she gave to only him. She touched his forehead then, and her finger left a burning sensation as she formed a few runes there and recited a word or two.
"What are you doing?"
"A protection rune," she replied, looking into his emerald eyes. "My own Mark." She was still looking at him, as if she were trying to memorize his every feature. At least, that was what he was trying to do to her. "Before I go, I have something for you."
She took the heavy stone necklace from around her neck and set it over his head. He tore his gaze away from her and examined it: it was a disc with a hole in the middle, covered in runes that must have some meaning. "What is it?"
"A port key, silly." She was still smiling, though sadness was slowly replacing the joy she had expressed when she'd arrived. "In case you ever need to . escape from anything. You do remember the words I gave you?" He nodded. "Say them while it's around your neck."
"But port keys are forbidden. How did you manage it?" His outward persona was gone: no point in struggling to find it again.
"I told you: runic magic is much more discreet. Besides, the Ministry isn't looking for it: Voldemort uses a wand. Or didn't you know?"
She took a step toward him, and, almost as if someone else were doing it, he took her into his arms and kissed her. Her breath was quick, nearly panicked, as she requited him, held him fast against her. It lasted no more than a moment, but that seemed to last forever.
She pulled away; she drew out her quill again; she wrote on the air, in shimmering flame that quickly consumed her.
"Well, don't leave without something of mine," he said, forcing a touch of anger to rise in himself to combat the tears. He drew from his desk drawer a bookmark containing a pressed blue flower and tossed it to her through the flame: Elysian asphodel. "Where will it take me?" he called, his voice nearly breaking with rare, unchecked emotion.
"My bedroom, of course." She was grinning again, alternately at him and at the simple gift. "Use it if ever you feel you need it."
And she was gone. Draco could still feel the heat of her touch on his forehead, and on his lips. Yet, strangely, he couldn't feel his sweater touching the inside of arm any longer.
The quidditch players had been at it for nearly a day now, Draco noted: Slytherin had been playing Ravenclaw since he had gotten back to school the night before. The seekers were growing tired, enchanted as they were, since he had not allowed for relief players. Unconsciously, Draco had pulled the sleeve of his sweater up past his elbow and was rubbing the pale skin there raw. He couldn't help it, really, for every time his mind wandered to his father he could see a morsmordre burning into his mortal flesh.
An explosion like floo powder ripped through the peace of Draco's room, making him sit straight up, though the goons moved not an inch. A violent green flame was blazing in the corner of his room with cool heat, and slowly beginning to resemble a figure.
"Out," he growled at the thugs. "You didn't see anything." They left.
"I'm not coming back to Hogwarts, Draco," she said, quietly and unintroduced.
"Not coming back?" he stammered, completely taken aback, is own paradigm shifting as he heard his voice, small and confused.
"I tried to tell you at the revel." She looked annoyed, as if she were defending herself. "Mother's hired private tutors for me, quietly, through the Ministry. The War's coming, or hadn't you heard?" She smiled. He loved that smile, that look of affection she gave to only him. She touched his forehead then, and her finger left a burning sensation as she formed a few runes there and recited a word or two.
"What are you doing?"
"A protection rune," she replied, looking into his emerald eyes. "My own Mark." She was still looking at him, as if she were trying to memorize his every feature. At least, that was what he was trying to do to her. "Before I go, I have something for you."
She took the heavy stone necklace from around her neck and set it over his head. He tore his gaze away from her and examined it: it was a disc with a hole in the middle, covered in runes that must have some meaning. "What is it?"
"A port key, silly." She was still smiling, though sadness was slowly replacing the joy she had expressed when she'd arrived. "In case you ever need to . escape from anything. You do remember the words I gave you?" He nodded. "Say them while it's around your neck."
"But port keys are forbidden. How did you manage it?" His outward persona was gone: no point in struggling to find it again.
"I told you: runic magic is much more discreet. Besides, the Ministry isn't looking for it: Voldemort uses a wand. Or didn't you know?"
She took a step toward him, and, almost as if someone else were doing it, he took her into his arms and kissed her. Her breath was quick, nearly panicked, as she requited him, held him fast against her. It lasted no more than a moment, but that seemed to last forever.
She pulled away; she drew out her quill again; she wrote on the air, in shimmering flame that quickly consumed her.
"Well, don't leave without something of mine," he said, forcing a touch of anger to rise in himself to combat the tears. He drew from his desk drawer a bookmark containing a pressed blue flower and tossed it to her through the flame: Elysian asphodel. "Where will it take me?" he called, his voice nearly breaking with rare, unchecked emotion.
"My bedroom, of course." She was grinning again, alternately at him and at the simple gift. "Use it if ever you feel you need it."
And she was gone. Draco could still feel the heat of her touch on his forehead, and on his lips. Yet, strangely, he couldn't feel his sweater touching the inside of arm any longer.