The Truth

Ila didn't remember much. One moment she was standing in the Great Hall, in front of John Dawlish, with everyone dancing and screaming lyrics to a song that didn't sound familiar and the next, she was throwing up in the bushes in the middle of the snowy courtyard, trying her best to shake off the snowflakes that had built upon her back. It took Ila a while – ten minutes to be precise – for Ila to stop throwing up, or at least dry heave. She didn't think this would have been her reaction. She knew it before. Even Dumbledore implied that he was back. She knew for a long time that He was back – so why exactly is she needing to count some snowflakes to calm herself down?

But it was different, wasn't it?

Dumbledore and John Dawlish are two different people. Dumbledore was one of the smartest and powerful wizards of all time. John Dawlish was an Auror. He was a regular person, who had a regular wife who unfortunately got herself entangled with something irregular. John Dawlish was someone that had no motive to believe in Voldemort coming back, did he? He doesn't have a vendetta against Voldemort, he doesn't have a student that could be the only way to stop him, does he? He's just an average man that doesn't need to get involved. But seeing the way he was now…Voldemort took that normalcy away from him. John Dawlish can never be a regular Auror now, can he? Not only did he lose his wife, but he's also now seen as the guy whose wife was a gold digger and left him.

Ila could see what Voldemort does to people. Not to people like her or Dumbledore. But to people that aren't encompassed in the revolt against Voldemort. She's lived all her life as the Girl Who Lived – just like John said. She had never really seen what it must have been like for people that weren't in the middle of everything.

The sharp sting of acid was coming back up her throat once more.

She needed to stop thinking about him. Ila sat on the ground, not caring about what the snow was doing to her body and leaned her head against the wall. She watched the snowflakes slowly fall through the air. Her palms were faced up, catching some of the flakes.

"Fifteen…sixteen…seventeen…"

"That's quite a job you put yourself there," a voice behind her said. "You'll probably be here for at least the rest of the night…aren't you going to get cold?"

"I doubt you care whether or not I die from hypothermia or not." Ila continued to carry on counting her snowflakes. She got to thirty when she felt something heavy land on her lap. A black blazar. She felt a sudden warmth on her right.

"You're going to get hypothermia if you keep staring at me…not that I care…"

"I don't need it," Ila whispered.

"Alright." The blazar was taken off her lap and for a few cold moments, Ila sat there before she saw the blazar coming towards her once more and for a few warm moments, Ila stared at a pair of grey eyes, while the warmth intensified on her shoulders, chest, and face. "Do you want to talk here, or someplace warmer?"

"I didn't know we were allowed in the kitchens," Ila said, leaning against the table in the middle of the room while her legs dangled from the high chair.

"We aren't," Malfoy said, bouncing his leg up and down, up and down as he also sat on another high chair that was further away from her. They were waiting for their hot chocolates from the house elves, even though Ila consistently denied, while Malfoy insisted that she needed one to warm herself up. She was still wearing his blazar, which she realised was so big that she couldn't see her hands without rolling them up. There would be times where Ila would see him staring at her, with his blazar wrapped around her like a blanket. Her head was already hurting from all the things that were going on with John, she didn't need another thing to confuse her. Just like when Malfoy helped her fix her nose, just like how he fixed her hand, Ila stayed quiet. Starting a conversation about what their relationship was, was going to push Malfoy away from her, which was the last thing she wanted.

Only because he was her one lead when it came to Vol-

"What made you run out of the Hall anyway?" Malfoy asked, unable to take the silence. He had some idea. He had seen her talking to John Dawlish, Lauren's husband, but he wasn't sure in the specifics. He needed to know. Not because it would be relevant to him. He didn't want to see Ila like this. He struggled to even speak to her when he first found her. Malfoy found that the way he felt about her now, was the same when he found her after getting attacked by Parkinson, though now the difference was it was all in her head. She was hurting herself.

There was an urge, an urge that he found himself struggling to keep hold off for a while now, to hold her. While he couldn't figure out the inner workings of her mind, at least for now, he knew how hard it is for her. To live a life that she didn't choose. To be constantly under pressure from everyone and have no one to fall back on. She had her friends, but they were only going to help her for a short amount of time. The rational side of him knew that he couldn't give her that, but ever since the summer, another side of him was growing; soon he knew that this side would take over the rational side, perhaps even merge with it. He thought he would be able to give it to her.

Some days he knew it was completely illogical. She hates him first, she was never going to trust him. Then there's other times where it didn't seem so hard to imagine. When he helped with her nose, after healing her hand and now. Those moments that helped him see the two of them together in the future were happening more and more often. He wondered if it was pure coincidence, or maybe it was him.

Maybe deep down, deeper than his rational side, he wanted to be with her.

"Nothing," Ila said. She cursed herself. She took too long to figure out an excuse.

"You're lying Potter," he said gently.

"Here yous' go," the house-elf said, holding two cups of scalding hot chocolate. Malfoy took them, the house-elf disapparating a second later. He walked towards the table she sat upon and handed her a cup. She stared at the swirling cloud of fresh cream that was slathered generously on the top. Ila heard him take a sip.

"Why won't you tell me?" he said quietly.

"Because…" she looked up at him, his eyes furrowing in response. "I talked to John Dawlish, I tried to talk to him about his wife." His eyes lit up with curiosity, but Ila could see him struggle to calm himself down. "It wasn't anything ground-breaking. I tried to ask him about what he thought about her disappearance and all he said was that he didn't know."

"That was all he said?" Malfoy asked.

Ila looked back down and nodded.

"Nothing else?" he said, slightly suspicious. "Him saying he didn't know about her disappearance made you spiral into a panic attack?"

"I'm not spiralling, and I didn't have a panic attack."

"Whatever happened, it all came from him saying he doesn't know?"

The cream in her mug had melted, forming a muddy clump in her drink.

"I asked him who killed her, or at least who he thought killed and…"

"And what?"

"He didn't outwardly say it but…he told me that…He's coming…and that I'm next." She found her voice quietening down. Ila's stomach churned at the thought of drinking her hot chocolate. Or maybe it was something else.

It could have been worse, Malfoy thought.

What? Having two megalomaniac Dark Lords after is worse?

Fuck.

Suddenly, that idea of comforting Ila was slipping further and further away from Malfoy.

"He probably doesn't know what he's talking about," Malfoy said before taking another sip. Ila looked at him once more, her eyes were telling enough.

John Dawlish wasn't lying.

The two slipped back into silence. Ila turned around so that her elbows were on the table. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could hear the faint voice of her auntie telling her off.

Malfoy felt slightly defeated seeing the back of Ila. But he couldn't give up now. This was his chance. At least make her smile. Make her forget about her troubles for a moment. That was all he needed.

Ila stared at the cup so hard, her vision was beginning to blur. Soon she had tunnel vision; the only thing she could focus on was the top of hot chocolate. Her eyes were beginning to water, but she couldn't stop. She forgot about everything else. The cup, the table that her elbows weren't supposed to be on, the stool she was sitting upon, the kitchens that she was taken to, taken by a certain blond-haired boy behind her.

"Potter…Potter…Ila!"

She gasped suddenly. A hand clamped around her shoulder. For a horrible second, she thought it was Him. Until the chair in front of her was pulled out and sat was the blond-haired boy that took her down here in the first place.

"Are you afraid?"

Ila scoffed. "No."

Malfoy looked at her pointedly. "Are you afraid?"

She took longer to answer this time.

"Who wouldn't?"

"Do you believe him?" Malfoy asked.

Ila raised a brow, "Did me spiralling and having a panic attack not give the answer yet?"

"Voldemort is only as powerful as the people who fear him."

Ila rolled her eyes. "Are you seriously telling me that I should just not be scared of him."

"No – no that's not" - Malfoy placed his half-empty cup onto the table. He took Ila's hands into his. He wasn't expecting her hands to be so cold. Hadn't she been holding that hot chocolate? He remembered what his mother used to do when he was younger – "that's not what I'm telling you, Ila. I'm telling you that imagine how powerful Voldermort would be if no one feared him."

Ila watched Malfoy bring her hands close to her mouth. Hot air pooled into her hands. She felt her fingers touch his lips. She was reminded of when they were watching Karakoff. He breathed once more before closing her hands to stop any warmth from escaping. His hands warmed the outside of her hands, while his breath warmed her palms.

"What're you doing?" Ila asked.

"I'm warming them up," he said, before rubbing them gently against his. "My mother used to do this all the time."

"That's not what I meant, Malfoy," Ila said, looking up at him. He avoided her gaze. "I mean what the hell have you been doing for the past few months."

He stopped rubbing her hands.

When he didn't answer, Ila drew her hands away. She knew he heard all of this before, but it didn't matter. He'll hear it as many times as he needs before realises what's going on.

"You've been acting like a completely different person," Ila said. "You said that you'll explain everything to me if I survived the First Task but you haven't said a single thing. Why not? Why can't you tell me anything?"

Ila's hand made its way to the table to where her wand lay. She couldn't tell if it was magic or anger that thrummed through her veins, but what she did know was that she couldn't control it anymore. "Why the hell have you been acting so…bloody weird!" Ila pointed her wand at his chest. He just stood there, any emotion he previously had was wiped clean off his face, pissing her off even more. "You said you'll tell me, you promised! Why the fuck won't you make fun of me anymore Malfoy? Why the hell do you shout at Parkinson and not me?" With each sentence, she poked his chest harder, but he didn't do anything. Her vision began to blur, as she felt hot tears roll down her face, making her angrier. She wasn't so supposed to let him see her cry, especially if he was the one to do so. "Just fucking tell me the truth! Tell me Malfoy! Tell me how you're working with Voldemort! I know what you're doing! You're working with him! Stop being a fucking coward! Grow some balls AND TELL ME THE TRUTH!"

Ila breathed heavily.

Fuck!

She shouldn't have told him that. Now he knows that she knows. What happens now? Voldemort's bound to know. And if he knows, that means his plan isn't going the way it should be. He'll get angry. Angrier than Ila's ever been.

"Is that what you think of me?" he whispered quietly, finally doing something for the first time since Ila had gotten angry. He looked up at her, his expression…annoyed…"A coward that's been working with Voldemort, whose plan is for me to be nice to you?"

"…No…"

"Oh, and to grow some balls?"

"…I don't know."

Ila had been lying to herself. She knew that…well, parts of her knew that. Parts that were buried deep down in her didn't need to come to the surface. She had been lying to herself. And to you, to her friends, to everyone and anyone.

Ila pulled her wand back, back by her side.

She wasn't angry at Malfoy. How could she be angry at him for things she didn't believe in? For a long time, she knew the tale that she had spun about him working for Voldemort wasn't true. He hadn't changed for Voldemort.

Ila slid down the wall, bringing her knees in and rested her head on top of them.

Merlin, did she want nothing but to cry.

She couldn't handle it anymore. She didn't want to do it anymore. Tonight was the Yule Ball. She shouldn't be focusing Voldemort. This was supposed to be her night to be normal. But now that he's back…will she ever be normal? Will she ever get a break?

Her chest tightened. The lump in her throat was suffocating. The whole room was stuffy. She was aware of everything around her. How tight the bodice of her legenha was. How itchy the sleeves are. How heavy his blazer felt on her body. How shallow her breaths were? Why were her breaths so shallow? Her heart was beating so loud. What was that thudding sound? She was going cr–

Malfoy squatted down to her level. His chest was beginning to tighten as if someone had wrapped a piece of rope around his heart was pulling it tighter and tighter.

"If you feel like crying, you should go ahead and do it now," Malfoy said quietly. "No need to hold the suspense."

Malfoy watched Ila's head move left to right. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I don't need to cry."

"Merlin, Potter, if this is cos of some Gryffindor pride thing-"

"Of course it's not."

"Then what is it?"

She stayed quiet. It took a few moments before she lifted her head up. Her eyes were red, her mascara and eyeliner trailed beneath her eyes making her seem like a very sad…badger. Was that the right animal?

"Did you just laugh at me?" Ila said accusingly.

"No" – Malfoy cleared his throat – "no, I was definantly not laughing at you."

"The sarcasm says otherwise."

Malfoy scoffed, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'm not laughing at your pain; I'm laughing at the fact that… you kind of look like a…badger." Malfoy slowed down as he saw the look on Ila's face turn from panic to anger once more. She stared at him. What was she planning? A series of thoughts came to him off all the things Ila could do: throw her drink at him, cast a hex at him, grab a knife.

Unfortunately, none of those things happened.

Rather Ila lunged at him. She hit him with what felt like his own jacket.

"HOW…DARE…YOU…LAUGH…AT…ME! YOU…VOLDEMORT SYMPATHISER!"

It didn't really hurt, Draco thought. If anything, it made the situation that funnier. He was getting attacked by an angry badger.

"STOP…LAUGHING…AT…ME…YOU IDIOT! AND IT'S A RACCOON, NOT A BADGER!"

Malfoy grabbed her arms, stopping her from getting her tenth hit on him.

"I'm not laughing at your pain," he said, slightly breathlessly, partly because he was laughing so much, and partly because he finally realised their position. "And I'm definantly not a Voldemort sympathiser."

"Why?" Ila said ever so quietly. "Your parents were Death Eaters; your father was there when they were torturing those muggles during the Cup Final. Both your parents hate me and Dumbledore, so why the hell did their son turn out so different?"

To be frank, Draco didn't expect this conversation to end up like this; Ila sitting on top of him, while he's holding her arms so he doesn't attack her with his jacket, while she looks like a raccoon, whatever that was. With all the strength that he had, which he liked to think was quite a lot, he pushed himself up.

The two stared at each other for a few moments.

Before Ila realised what had happened and pushed herself. Her back was against the wall, her knees tucked in as she waited anxiously at the answer she had been wanting to hear for months.

"It started in…I s'pose it started off a long time ago…"

Malfoy remembered all those nights in his childhood. His mother would come into his room to tell him a bedtime story. He always struggled to get to sleep unless his mother would come in and tell him the story she would always tell him.

"They hated us Draco," his mother would whisper to him. "Muggleborns and Half-bloods were out of control. They wanted to take over the Ministry. They thought they were better than us Draco. They wanted to kill us. We couldn't let that happen." Draco remembered the dreams he would have. It would start off with him leading a group of Death Eaters to battle with Muggleborns and Halfbloods, but sometime in the middle, it was wrong. Everything felt off. He would see Death Eaters kill the other side, only to see fake families cry over their deaths. He would see the hurt that the Dark would impose on the Light.

"That was when the Dark Lord came to be. He was going to save us Draco. Your father joined him. Auntie Bellatrix joined him too, along with many others. They were going to fight for our rights, against…what they called 'The Light.' You must remember Draco that just because they called themselves 'The Light,' they weren't good. Nor is it, that just because gave ourselves to 'The Dark,' are we evil. It doesn't work that way. 'The Light' uses people Draco. Manipulates them into thinking that what they're doing is good. That they have a choice. 'The Light' used innocent people. That's what made the Dark Lord so great. He saw through The Light's cracks. He saw them what they were Draco. He was a good wizard, the Dark Lord. Until he was killed. Remember how your father and I would talk about the 'Girl Who Lived?' She was the one who killed him Draco. It was her that ruined the Dark Lord's plans… She's the same age as you. You might even be in the same class as her if you go to Hogwarts…I want you to stay as far away from her as possible. I don't want you hanging around her sort…Stick with your friends from Slytherin and you'll be safe…"

"And you believed that?" Ila said, after hearing his re-telling.

"I was child. I didn't exactly have great critical thinking skills. For years I believed that the reason why Voldemort came to be was to save all the purebloods from going extinct, we were going to play fire with fire…but…I don't know, I remember times where …there was I time where I sneaked into the basement, where I nearly walked in on my father and bunch of other Death Eaters, torturing this family. A wife and two kids were locked in chains while they watched their father get Crucio'ed. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was too scared and ran straight back to my room. I got a few nightmares out of it, but apart from that, I had completely forgotten about it…until first year. I always thought it was bit weird that my parent's would tell me how much harm muggleborns and halfbloods did to purebloods, but it wasn't until first year that I was completely confused. It was the first time I saw wizards of all different blood types interact with each other, let alone be friends with each other. I saw how you, Weasel and Granger were the best of friends. It messed with my head."

"Is that why you hated us?" Ila asked quietly.

"I was lied to by my…by everyone that I knew. It took me a while to get my head around it. I thought I hated you because I had to. I saw everyone else hating on the three of you, because you were…well, the Girl Who Lived and friends with a blood traitor and a mud…muggleborn. But…I hated you because you made me questions everything. I shouldn't have done so. It wasn't your fault. All you did was just show the lies my parents would tell. "

"There has to be something a bit bigger than me. Did anything else happen?"

Malfoy sighed. His calves were getting tired. He sat on the floor. A part of him regretted telling Ila everything – well, mostly everything. There were just some things that even he hasn't come to terms with yet. But he knew he had to tell her at one point. If he was ever going to see that future, he needed her to know. It was going to take a while, but he knew he would get there.

"This summer," he said. He felt his palms getting clammy. He assumed it was supposed to be freezing in the basement during Christmas Night, but he wanted to do nothing more than to strip naked. "A couple of days before the Quidditch Cup Final, I remember waking up to my parents arguing with about a smell in the house. Apparently, it was all over the house, and they sent the house elves to investigate in the basement and outside but they couldn't find it. They even opened all the windows, but nothing was working. At one point, my mother got worried because it reminded her of…I wasn't really on good terms with my parents because of the whole…thing, so ignored them and went downstairs. I think I probably forgot the smell because I didn't realise how strong it was getting when I arrived at the dining room until I opened the doors and…I saw…I saw her…"

There was something blocking his windpipe. He tried clearing his throat and tried speaking again but nothing was coming out. Ila hadn't realised he was struggling.

"What did you find?"

"I…" He tried closing his eyes but that made it worse. The image he had been haunting him in nights broke to the surface.

Malfoy looked like he was in pain. Ila didn't know what to do. She sat still, her arms hugging her knees tighter as she watched Malfoy contort his face. He pressed a hand on his head.

Do something, she told herself.

Slowly, she uncurled out of her position and crawled her way to Malfoy until their knees could touch one another. He was still in pain. What was going on with him?

"Malfoy?" she asked.

No response.

Maybe she talked too quietly.

"Malfoy?"

Still nothing. He wasn't even registering her. She looked around the room, but no one was there. No one was going to help him apart from her. She cursed herself. She could get Ron and Hermione –

No, that would be too many questions.

"Malfoy – I'll still help you, please just…"

And they weren't going to help. Well, maybe Hermione, but Ron would definantly stay away –

Focus. Malfoy is clearly having some sort of breakdown.

But…but…

Who cares if he's Malfoy, Ila? He clearly isn't the same guy that you know is he? He's told you his life story to calm you down, so why don't you lend a hand and help the poor guy out?

Merlin, even her conscious trusts Malfoy.

Listening to her own advice, she slowly extended a hand and gingerly placed it on his shoulder.

"Malfoy?" Ila said. "Malfoy?"

She started to shake his shoulder. His hand seemed to pressing deeper into his head, as if trying to push whatever was going in his mind further back down.

"Malfoy?" With both hands now, she shook both shoulders harder. "C'mon, snap out of it!... Malfoy?... For fuck's sake Draco, snap out of it before I slap you!" She shook his shoulders so hard, for a moment, she thought they had dislocated.

But it worked.

He opened his eyes and slowly brought his hand down. There was a small red circle on his head where his hand had been. His eyes widened, taking in his surroundings before they landed on Ila, who was practically on top of him, clutching his shoulders hard, it felt like she was going to dislocate them.

"Are you alright?" she spoke softer than he had ever heard before.

"Yes," he said, unsure why his voice cracked.

And at that moment, neither knew what compelled Ila to do this – there was a moment of confusion that Malfoy saw on her face before she leaned in closer and closer and closer until she had bridged the gap between them. He felt her slender arms wrap around his shoulders. He felt her face fit in between the gap of his neck and shoulders well. He felt small sharp breaths tickle his neck as she squeezed tighter.

"W-what-what are you-"

"Shut up Malfoy and just take the hug!" she said quickly.

As if someone had taken over his brain, his arms followed Ila's and wrapped around her waist and pulled her closely. Although most of his head was foggy, as if he was trying to remember a dream, deep down, a light bulb went off and he stayed in that position with Ila for however long. He couldn't tell. All he did was focus on the scent of her perfume, the smell of her shampoo. The way his body enveloped hers. This was what he wanted. He was protecting her from everything. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wondered if Ila wanted the same.

What the fuck am I doing?

Ila wanted to leave – no she needed to leave. She can't stay like this forever. What the hell was wrong with her? This is what she gets for being a nice person. Why the hell did she decide to hug him? She could have just stuck with holding onto his shoulders, but no – she had stop using her brain for a moment before she knew it, she was hugging…Malfoy.

Merlin, even thinking about the sentence was hard. How on Earth was she surviving actually doing it?

Calm down, it's not like you're having se –

Don't you even dare!

Why weren't they letting go? There's supposed to be a mutual agreement about when a hug was supposed to be finished? Why was Malfoy not getting the hint? Did his arms get tighter?

Did I just squeak? I'm not bloody Myrtle!

Ila could practically feel his smugness oozing out of him.

Why would he even be smug? It's not like he likes this either?

Why would he be holding you tighter then? You want to know why? It's cos he lurrrvve –

Do you ever have an off button?

Ask yourself.

She needs to think of an excuse quick…

…

…

Why the hell couldn't she think of anything?

His warm touch leaves you're brain thinking nothing but hi –

I will actually kill you.

Oh! Why doesn't she just tell him that she's tired?

No, it won't work. He might just cradle you in his arms until you fall –

How about that Ila feels like she's going to be sick?

You don't want poor Drakie to get offended –

"I better go," Ila told Malfoy, pulling herself away from his and standing up in smooth motion. She grabbed her wand. She walked away from him. As she half walked, half ran to the door of the kitchen, she prayed that he wouldn't ask why.

"How come?" he asked just as her hand reached the door handle.

Maybe it was her hearing, but did he sound sad?

"Ron and Hermione are probably getting worried," she said, staring at the door. "I told them I'll save a dance with them."

"I did your what you wanted Ila. Are you still going to help me?"

Ila stilled. He sounded…he sounded genuine. It wasn't like she believed in him working with Voldemort. There were too many inconsistencies and considering the way he was right now…she doubted he was still on the same side as Him. Hermione's words echoed back to her.

Malfoy really was telling the truth about everything. What does that mean now? If what Hermione said was true – which was probably correct, he's changed everything hasn't he? The Dark doesn't have that much of a grip on their followers. Not unlike the Light. She didn't have to stick around with him anymore. He wasn't a danger to anyone, especially to her. Besides, he'll be the last one to know what Voldemort's plans are anyway, so what was the point in her spending more time with him?

Maybe it was because she wanted to find out more about how he changed, how she could convince others like him, ones that are on the edge but are scared to do anything. If she stuck with him…he could play a big part. He could even be famous. The first person to say no to the Dark and survive. He might need someone to help him along with way. Or maybe it was because she was so used to spending time with him that she wasn't ready to let that go yet. Ila wasn't sure why that was, though she didn't feel concerned about the feeling. It felt the same way as if she was hanging out with Ron or Hermione. Her fists curled around the door handle. Ila turned around. Draco was standing where the two were momentarily. He was staring at her, waiting for a reaction. He looked…desperate.

"Yeah," Ila said to see him smile slightly. "I'll help you." She swung the door open and hurried out of the kitchen.