The next month was a blur of impatiently waiting out classes and mealtimes to be able to steal precious moments with Amelia. After that evening in the empty classroom where Draco had let a barrier down it was like some sort of magnetism had been activated between them. She had not asked anymore about Draco's situation or how he felt, for which he was thankful as he was unsure whether he would be able to give her the answers she wanted, and he was not keen to lose whatever it was they had impulsively stumbled into starting. Their study meetings for Potions became more and more frequent as the weeks progressed, but they did little studying, instead opting to sneak around empty classrooms in the school, or deserted corners of the library, stealing whispered kisses and touches. They'd began talking as well, about their childhoods, about Hogwarts, about the world around them. Draco had never been particularly engaged with others; his two closest confidants throughout school were Crabbe and Goyle – both oafish – and Pansy, who was far more intrigued by the goings on of others around her than she was about anything beyond her grasp. Amelia wasn't like this though; she had philosophical thoughts and strong opinions on things, and wanted to know Draco's – would challenge him in ways another person had not. He did not realise what a lonely life he'd led until this point, now that all of this had entered his life.
He tried desperately to keep these feelings from Amelia. His feelings were moving faster than even he could comprehend; he didn't need to let her know just how much it all meant to him. Not yet. Even so, as the days drew on and the world outside the walls of the castle seemed to grow greyer and more hopeless by the day, Draco's world inside the castle gave him hope and safety which acted like a drug.
It was the beginning of March; the crisp mornings were slowly melting away as birdsong rang through the corridors on the way to the first lessons of the day, and around the fields of the castle flowers were once again in bloom. However, beyond the confines of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters were gaining more traction and the castle was becoming less of a sanctuary as students were more and more oppressed and misery spilled through the hallways like deadly fumes. Things would come to a head soon, Draco felt sure of it, and he'd need to make decisions he wasn't sure he was capable of making.
Amelia seemed to sense it too; she appeared distracted when they would meet up, and Draco would often observe her in the throes of tense conversation with her friends.
It had been a peculiarly warm March day that she and Draco wandered down to the Black Lake late at night, away from the possibility of being caught spending time together. They sat facing the lake mindlessly chatting, Draco's arm around Amelia as they leant against a large willow, watching its long leafy tendons trace patterns on the lake's surface as a breeze rippled through them.
There was a silence where Amelia rested her head into Draco's chest. He glanced down at her and could tell she was looking out onto the lake, could hear the thousands of worried thoughts in her head, and he wanted to kiss her on her forehead and tell her how perfect he thought she was, but didn't.
"Draco?"
"Mm?"
She repositioned herself so that she was sitting opposite him, her face illuminated by the full moon. Draco felt nervous as he saw the troubled look on her face.
She paused, apparently gathering her thoughts, and looked out at the lake once more. Her hands tugged absently at the grass by her feet.
She spoke with careful calculation. "I keep thinking that things can't possibly get worse, and then they do. The violence is increasing, even inside the castle… I don't know how much longer we have until the fight really begins and we start pushing back. Like, properly pushing back."
Draco knew where this was leading and he shifted uncomfortably on the grass, examining Amelia's expression.
"I'm going to fight. When the time is right and we are prepared. And I know what I'll be fighting for. If I die during this war, it'll be because I fought for what I believed was right; for a world I wanted to get back to the way it should be."
"I know," was all that Draco could say. His voice sounded foreign to him.
"Draco – when the war comes to us - and it will - where will you be?"
The question hung in the air, engulfing the silence that had felt so tranquil moments ago.
"I'm not sure," he eventually said. It was true. He glanced at Amelia, who had a look of disappointment now. "I think about it all the time, I just… I don't know."
To his surprise, she smiled sadly. "It's understandable. I know it's tough."
Draco nodded slowly, unsure of what else to say.
They sat in silence, though Draco could see that she was biting the inside of her lip as she gazed back over the glassy lake.
"You're worried about what I'll do?" Draco prompted.
She tore her eyes away from the water and looked back at him. "A bit, yes. I mean – if you are fighting with the Death Eaters… what will that mean?" This question pierced the bubble they had been living inside of for weeks.
Draco didn't have an answer. Of course, he had absolutely no interest in fighting for the Death Eaters, but there just didn't seem to be any other way. If he was seen fighting against them he would be dead – his entire family would be dead.
"Amelia… I told you… the position I'm in, it's not as simple as just changing sides. If it were…" He trailed off, his own thoughts flooding through his brain now.
The moonlight glinted on her face and Draco could see her eyes brimming with tears. "Fighting aside – what do you believe in?"
Draco took her hands in his, trying to ignore her hesitation as he did so. "I don't believe in what You Know Who and the Death Eaters stand for. I thought I did, for all my life almost, but I don't."
"Then how could you even consider still fighting alongside them?"
The question stopped Draco in his tracks and he frowned. "Alongside them? Don't you understand? If I don't – I'll be killed. My family will all be killed. They'd probably find out about you somehow and you'd be killed." He felt his temper rising.
Amelia shook her head. "The Order, they can help. There are ways around this, you just need to be willing to-
"Willing?" Draco repeated, unable to control what he said now. "Nothing about this has anything to do with what I am willing or unwilling to do. You think that if there was a way out of this, that I would still be trying to keep up this front? You think that I haven't done nothing but think about a way out from the moment I was assigned to kill Dumbledore? That I don't lie awake each night, tormented by the things I've seen, the things I've done or helped happen, wishing there was a way out?"
At some point, he had stood up, and was now looking down at Amelia, who looked almost afraid of him. He panted heavily, running a hand through his hair.
"Sorry," he eventually mumbled, unable to look Amelia in the eye, embarrassed by his outburst.
To his surprise, she rose up next to him and slipped her hand into his.
They didn't speak again about the war in the coming weeks, but Draco could tell that it was starting to eat away at Amelia. He could tell that, although they continued to meet up secretly around the castle at night, her mind was mostly elsewhere, and at times it was as if she looked right through him. He wanted to give her more, but was confronted with some sort of internal blockage whenever he tried to bring it up. Despite the refuge and purpose that Amelia gave him, he felt more conflicted than ever. Of course, he didn't want to keep any sort of allegiance with the Death Eaters, but with Carrow breathing down his neck now, he didn't think he was in any position to be switching up sides all of a sudden. His worries didn't just lie with his own safety, but his mother's as well. He knew that deep down she was as trapped as he was – though she hid it a lot better. If he slipped up, it was a threat that had been made before, by the Dark Lord himself, that any mistake he made, the Malfoy's would pay for it.
Draco hadn't told Amelia much about his part in Dumbledore's death, or the repercussions he suffered as a result. He wasn't sure whether it was shame, or upset, or just the wish to keep something in his life – Amelia Collins – somehow separate to all the darkness that surrounded him. Either way, he didn't want to tell her, so for now she would have to settle for his indecisive and vague answers surrounding the war.
