A/N: I sincerely apologize that it has taken me over a year to post this. I wanted it to be in good shape (potentially finish the story even) before posting, but I was looking through some recent reviews and received so much positive feedback that I thought I would post this chapter now. To all of those to whom I promised cameos (aside from Griffin, who already got his), you will appear either in the next chapter or the chapter after. I haven't forgotten my promise. As for the chapter, it's nice and long, so I hope it makes up for some of the wait that you all endured.
I will reiterate: I WILL finish this story. I can't promise when, as it has already been four full years since I began this project. However, it is a nice creative release from me, and I already have a sequel in the works (I'm three chapters in), so do not fear. Hermione and the Magic Mirror will reach a conclusion; I'm about two or three chapters out at this point, so it's nearly there anyway. Plus I'd also just hate myself if I never finished it since I've already invested countless hours into this work. But no, I will not even begin to promise when the next one will be up because odds are I will not meet that self-imposed deadline. In the mean time, however, if you do like my writing, please feel free to check out my other stories. I have one Drop Dead Diva short story, and another original piece in the works (again, on hiatus). I'll also be posting a short original fiction piece (even though it should go on FictionPress instead) that is being published in my school's literary magazine and two poems that were published the year prior.
And last, please enjoy this chapter.
18. I Won't Say I'm in Love
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since she'd seen Draco, three weeks since her father had joined her in England, three weeks since she'd been released from St. Mungo's. Three weeks until Fleur had her baby. Everything seemed to revolve around the number 'three' lately, Belle thought.
Hermione had been stopping in every so often, and when she did, Belle tried to smile, but she just felt... alone. It was strange, for her father had returned, and Ron and Harry were around in the evenings, but just before she fell asleep at night, she remembered a condescending smirk and a head of blonde hair. And sometimes, in the morning, when she realized she was in Grimmauld Place, her heart sank. He was detestable, Belle reminded herself, but still Monsieur Malfoy plagued her thoughts.
Her English had begun to improve rapidly. Since neither he nor Ron spoke much French, she had to speak English in order to express what she needed, wanted, or lacked. And, now that she understood the basics, she'd begun spending much of her time reading in English, learning the grammar, and speaking with Harry. Her father, too, was beginning to learn the language, but she often acted as a go-between as his accent was much thicker, and he still felt very incompetent when speaking.
"Eet eez odd," Belle said to Harry one day as they were sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast. "Your... 'ow do you say... language eez dee-fee-cult. Very different from French. Père says eet eez 'ard to learn zee grammar, zee vocabulary. And so dee-fee-cult to pronounce. I try to copy your... 'ow you say... accent? But you speak in a way zat is not... zat is not French." She looked at Harry, frustrated.
Harry smiled, placing his hand on Belle's. "I imagine it would be difficult," he said. "I remember when Fleur was in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. She had an accent almost as thick as yours. It'll go away; I promise."
"I 'ope so," Belle said. "Eef Père and I are going to live 'ere in England, we must speak Eenglish. We must speak Eenglish well."
A silence fell among them, and Belle sighed, biting into her toast before setting it down. Truthfully, she wasn't very hungry. As she chewed, she noticed that Harry glanced at his watch, then at her, and his green eyes lit up.
"Belle," he said slowly, "would you like to join me today? I promised Andromeda I'd visit her this morning before I head to the office at noon. I was going to Floo over to The Three Broomsticks in a few minutes."
She nodded. "Eet would be my pleasure," she said, smiling. "Eet would be nice to get out of zee 'ouse."
Harry gulped down the rest of his hot coffee, Belle changed out of her dressing gown and into a summery green dress, and the two of them walked over to the fireplace. Harry went first, walking just inside the fireplace, tossing some green powder in, shouting, disappearing. Belle just stood there for a moment, looking at the space he'd just vacated. Her world was empty, just like the grate. Sure, she had her father, but... something was missing. She couldn't explain it exactly, but her heart felt leaden, pushing its weight against her ribcage.
Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Belle stepped forward, grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder, and stepped into the fireplace. "Les Balais Trois," she shouted, throwing the green dust around her and disappearing in the flames.
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"It's nice to see you both again."
Harry assented cheerfully, but Belle nodded absently from her spot on the sofa. Teddy was playing on the rug in front of her and Harry, and Andromeda sat across from them, sipping her tea. "Eet eez nice to be 'ere," she replied finally, a smile plastered on her face, when she saw that Harry and Andromeda were both looking at her, their mouths turned downward in concern.
A heavy silence fell, and only Teddy seemed unaware of the tension in the room. Harry rubbed his hands together, pressing his palms against one another; Belle brushed the toe of her shoe against the rug, back and forth, over and over; Andromeda glanced between the two of them, her eyebrows knitted together.
"Is something wrong? You're both so quiet, not at all like the last time you visited. And Belle, your mind seems a broomstick ride away."
Belle blushed and pushed a strand of her hair backwards. "Nothing eez wrong. I... I am fine."
Harry now turned his attention toward her, and he looked pensive. "You have been awfully absent-minded ever since you came back from St. Mungo's. The other day you almost wore your dressing gown when we went out. And Ron told me he heard you crying in your room yesterday. It's as though part of you... died," he finished. He was staring openly at her now, his green eyes drilling into her. "It's Malfoy, isn't it?"
"Ne soyez pas ridicule," Belle snapped. Harry stared at her in confusion, and Andromeda looked taken aback. Sighing, she realized she must have spoken in French. Belle, brushing off her dress, stood up. "My apologeez, 'Arry. Eef zee two of you will excuse me un moment. Merci."
She just needed a moment: a moment to gather herself, to act normally. She walked briskly from the room, pushing open the door to exit the flat. But just as she was about to leave, she paused. On the other side of the threshold was a woman with her light blonde hair neatly pulled into a bun, her hand raised, as though poised to knock on the hard oak.
"Since you're not my sister, and you're not that bushy-haired Muggle-born, I presume you must be Belle, that French Muggle that my sister has been going on about for the last few weeks," the woman said. She lowered her hand. "Actually, it's quite fortunate that you're here. I needed to speak with you." She paused. "May I come in?"
Belle moved automatically to let the woman pass into the foyer and proceeded to shut the main door. "Why do you need to speak weeth me, madame? I don't believe zat I know you."
The blonde-haired woman smiled and pulled off her cloak, placing it on the coat rack in the room. "No, you don't know me, but you know my son, Draco?"
Her heart pumping vigorously, Belle looked at the woman more closely. Now that she mentioned it, she did look like Monsieur Malfoy with her pale blonde hair and softly-angled features. "Yes, I do. What of it?"
"Well, he's been in a foul temper for the past couple of weeks. He's been staying at the summer home, and he's..." Madame Malfoy pursed her lips and paused. "Well, he's overindulged nearly every night, and he's broken a few priceless items. Of course, they can be repaired with magic once we are able to enter the premises, but he refuses to leave. I've been over there twice, once yesterday, and once about two weeks ago. I asked him what was wrong, and he mumbled something about Muggles and marriage and stupid rules before cursing at me. After talking with his good friend Blaise, I uncovered more of the story: Apparently he was talking about a woman who'd been staying with Harry Potter whose name was Belle. I remembered Andromeda talking about you, and I thought I would visit her to see how I could get in touch with you. Clearly, that last part was unnecessary."
Belle listened intently to Madame Malfoy's words and did her best to follow along. She spoke quickly and her words blended together. "I apologize, but I must ask... what do you want me to do?"
Looking up instantly, the blonde-haired woman's eyes were suddenly kinder. "I need you to talk to him," she said quietly. "His father will not allow him to be with you, as Draco so obviously wishes..."
Shaking her head, Belle frowned. "Pardonnez-moi, Madame Malfoy, but you 'ave me confused weeth someone else. Your son, Draco, 'as never expressed a desire to court me, and as I 'ave not 'eard from 'im in zee past three weeks, I sink very much zat you are mistaken."
"Well," Madame Malfoy said coldly, her eyes darker. "All I ask is that you speak with him. He won't talk to me, and he hardly speaks with Blaise. If I'm mistaken, as you think, then no harm will have been done." She pulled a think silver object from the folds of her robes: a sleek, expensive pen.
"Simply click the pen, and it will take you to the summer home. It's a Portkey, and it's been charmed to act as portal between the Malfoy summer home and from wherever it's clicked. Once you have spoken with my son, and you have convinced him to stop feeling sorry for himself, click it again, and it will return you here."
The woman placed the pen in Belle's palm, gave her a searching look—quickly replaced with a haughty one—and turned to put her cloak back on. Then she left without another word, slamming the door behind her. Belle stood there, staring at the pen lying flat on the palm of her hand, when she heard heavy footsteps enter the foyer.
"You all right, Belle?" She looked up and saw Harry's face peering around the corner. He shifted his weight, and she could see his whole body as he leaned against the wall. His eyes were narrowed, and his brows were knitted together.
"Yes 'Arry. I am fine," she said, wrapping her fingers tightly around the pen. It felt cool to the touch.
"We heard voices and wanted to make sure everything was all right. Was someone at the door?"
Belle shook her head. "No. Zair was no one zair. I was talking to myself." She forced a tight, toothless smile. "But I do 'ave an 'orrible 'eadache... I meet you back at zee 'ouse?"
Harry's brows drew closer together still. "Are you sure you're all right?"
Nodding, Belle twisted the doorknob. "Oui. I need rest, and I do not want to shorten your visit weeth Teddy and Andromeda. Zat would be silly. And I 'ave taken zee Floo by myself before, so I weel be fine."
After a bit more persuading, Harry returned to the living room, and Belle exited the flat and returned to Harry's in a rush of green smoke and flames.
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Meanwhile, at the Malfoy summer house, things were a mess. Draco was sitting in the study next to yet another almost-empty bottle of Firewhiskey, and Batty was wringing her hands, pleading with her young master, her eyes wide and her huge bat-like ears turned downward in anxiety.
"Please, Master. Batty is begging you to stop drinking the Firewhiskey. You is having been drunk for three days straight now, and Batty is not knowing what to do. Oh, the shame! Oh, the shame!" she wailed, and she began banging her head against the one of the desk legs. If Draco had heard, he ignored the elf and swilled yet another gulp of the clear liquid.
He thought back to nearly two months ago, before he had met Belle. His days seemed empty, looking back to that moment. He'd wake up late, eat lunch, go read for a bit, join his father for a bit of business if he cared for it, and then he'd have dinner and go to the pubs with Blaise. Despite his good looks, he'd resigned himself to marrying a daughter of one of his mother's friends. Everyone else turned down their noses at him, it seemed, and he couldn't bear that.
But then he'd met Belle. She was beautiful with her shiny milk chocolate hair and bright eyes, and she had wit. Even though it didn't come across that often (he imagined she still felt a bit uneasy in this world), he could tell that about her. And she made him think. Not that that was really a trait that he'd envisioned his future wife ever having, thought-provoking ideas, that is. Draco scoffed with a glare, tipping the rest of the Firewhiskey into his mouth, hissing as it stung. It was silly to even think of Belle at all. She was a stupid Muggle, and a French one at that, and he would probably never see her again. Then, realizing that the bottle was empty, he pushed it off the desk, and it shattered into a hundred pieces.
"Baddy," Draco slurred, "ge' me another boddle of Firewhiskey."
"Master, Batty is begging you not to do this," the elf whimpered, her head still near the desk legs, and now the smashed bottle. "You is going to kill yourself."
His grey eyes unfocused, he glared at the elf. "Tha's an order, Baddy. Ge' me another boddle."
With another whimper and then a sharp crack, Batty disappeared, leaving Draco alone in the messy, glass-strewn room. The velvet curtains hung haphazardly where Draco had tried to shred them nearly a week before, and remnants of food and rum stained the plush carpet. Even in his state, Draco thought Batty returned quickly when he heard the tell-tale 'pop!'
"Ah, Baddy, you brough' me another boddle," he said, a goofy grin on his face. "I knew you would."
"No, I didn't," he heard a clear voice say in disgust, in another language... one that Draco knew, but he couldn't remember which one it was at the moment. Frowning, Draco swiveled in his chair and found himself only feet away from Belle.
"Wha' are you doin' 'ere?" he asked, swiping at his mouth. "Go away."
"Draco," she said, still in the foreign language, "we need to talk."
Ah, French. It was French. He could speak French while he was knockered, right? "Por... porquoi?" Apparently he could. That was something at least.
"Because you left. Because I have questions. Because your mother asked me to." Belle came closer to him, carefully treading around the shards of glass and crystal. He just stared at her, uncomprehending.
"I don', I don'..." he murmured. He wanted to hold onto a bottle of Firewhiskey, to drink. That was safer than talking. And this could be a hallucination, anyway. "Am I dreaming?" he asked. Belle shook her head. Draco swore he saw her roll her eyes.
"No," she said, "you're not." She reached out, her palm upturned. "Come. Let's go talk in the library. I'll read you a story."
Draco looked away from her and tried to stare at one point on the desk. His head was spinning. "Go away," he said, trying to sound as cold as he could. He felt his eyelids going chaotic. Open, closed, open. "I don' wan' you 'ere."
A terrible rushing came from his gut, and sooner than he could bend over, he vomited. Once, twice, a third time. A fourth time. Again, again. Draco felt someone push back his hair and wipe his sweating forehead and rub his back. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," the person said, and Draco knew it was Belle from the kindness, the gentleness that laced her voice. She would be a good mother someday. And that was his last thought as he heaved a final time, and everything went dark.
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Belle didn't know what she had been expecting, but when she had clicked the pen to take her to the Malfoy summer home, and she had landed in the hallway, just outside the study, she hadn't expected to see Monsieur Malfoy with his normally well-coifed blonde hair and dust-free robes to look so horrible. His hair was sticking in every direction, his bloodshot eyes glaring at the floor, his normally slim body emaciated from two weeks of drinking heavily and hardly eating. Biting her lip, she approached carefully, trying not to step on the broken glass. Her shoes were thin.
"Ah, Baddy, you brough' me another boddle," Monsieur Malfoy said. "I knew you would."
Belle tried not to wince at how drunken his words sounded. Taking a deep breath, she hoped he wouldn't be violent. "No, I didn't," she replied, and she tightened her hands into fists at her side.
Wobbling in the oak chair, Monsieur... Draco swiveled to face her. He sneered at her, and Belle could feel her temper rising. "Wha' are you doin' 'ere?" he asked, pawing at his mouth. "Go away."
"Draco, we need to talk." More than your mother realized.
"Por... porquoi?"
"Because you left. Because I have questions. Because your mother asked me to." Belle walked toward him, looking down at the glass-covered carpet. When she finally looked at him again, only several inches from his face, he stared at her, glass-eyed, empty.
"I don', I don'... Am I dreaming?"
Belle shook her head. "No," she said, "you're not." Biting her lip, she reached out for his hand. She needed to get him out of here. She needed to get out of here. "Come. Let's go talk in the library. I'll read you a story."
Draco looked away from her. "Go away," he said coldly, staring at the desk, not even looking at her. "I don' wan' you 'ere."
Opening her mouth to protest, Belle watched as his body shuddered, and he vomited. Once, and then again and again, more times than she could count. Forgetting the glass, she closed the distance between the two of them, and brushed his hair from his forehead, rubbed his back and tried to soothe him. She wished it was her in this much pain; she couldn't bear to see him grimace and heave and expel yet more slush from his body. But finally, his body went limp, and the vomiting seemed to have subsided.
"Draco?" Belle called out tentatively, and he raised his head to look at her. His gaze was even more unfocused, if possible, and he looked like he was about to fall on the floor. Belle felt a piece of glass cut the underside of her foot, and she hissed, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, and slung it over her shoulders. They trekked to the door of the study, and then headed into the hallway, and then down and across the hallway until they reached a bedroom.
Panting, Belle pushed open the door and helped Monsieur Malfoy onto the bed. He pulled her down on top of him, and even though she tried to push him away, in his weakened state he was still stronger than her.
"Jus' stay 'ere, please?" he slurred, though he loosened his grip. Belle pushed herself away so that she was lying next to him and propped herself up on her elbow. He looked almost peaceful.
"A few minutes ago, you wanted me to leave," she said. "What changed?"
From underneath his heavy lids, Draco continued to look at her, and a goofy smirk came across his face. "I wann'ed a preddy bird to stay in bed with me."
Belle sighed. "I'm going to get you a towel and some clean clothes. I'll be right back."
"Don' leave," he said. "Ge' Baddy to do it. Baddy!"
With a quick cracking noise, the elf appeared in the room, though she seemed reluctant. "Yes, Master Malfoy. Is you wanting anything?"
Smiling at the creature, Belle replied, in English, "Please bring us two... serviettes... o 'ow you say... 'towel?' Clothes for Monsieur Malfoy... et médicaments pour mon pied?" Removing her shoe, Belle pointed to her foot, where the shard of glass was still stuck.
"Certainly, Batty is doing that, Miss! Batty was thinking that Master Malfoy was wanting more Firewhiskey, and she was ironing her toes for not bringing it to him immediately," she said, whispering confidentially. And then she disappeared with another crack.
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The next several hours, Belle stayed by Draco's bedside. He continued to vomit every so often, but she made sure he had water to drink at all times and that he had food in his stomach, only using the pen Portkey to explain to Harry in a note where she was and why. When she returned, Draco was sleeping, but she smoothed his hair and hummed a lullaby anyway. And soon, her body position changed from one of lying next to him, propped on her elbow, to being pressed against him, his arms wrapped around her.
And it was in this position that Draco awoke with a splitting headache, remembering only that he had drunk a lot and that Belle had somehow been in his dreams. But his hand felt warm, and he felt another person's warmth against him, and once he could do more than squint, he saw Belle's long chocolate-brown hair splayed against the pillow, her fair skin glowing underneath the sunlight filtering through the window. Maybe it hadn't been a dream.
The covers had fallen down a bit, exposing his arms, and he saw they were wrapped around Belle's waist. This felt right. Normal, even. And despite his horrible headache, Draco let himself imagine for just a second that he and Belle were lying in bed together as man and wife. He knew that as soon as she awoke, she would leave (or maybe he was still dreaming; that would make more sense), but for this moment, he held her. His father couldn't see him here, after all.
All too soon, she groaned, and Draco moved his hands off her and slid them beneath the covers, pretending to be asleep. He shivered; his sides felt cold with none of her body heat even though he was wearing a Muggle t-shirt. At his side, he felt Belle roll onto her side. With his eyes open only a crack, he watched her from where she was lying. She looked at him for a moment, and then he felt her gently sweeping back his hair and her fingertips touching his forehead.
"Oh, Draco. You're such an idiot," she sighed in her native tongue, as she continued smoothing back his hair. "Why would you drink so much?"
Opening his eyes a bit wider, Draco felt his mouth turn into a grimace. Bloody women and their bloody concern. "Well, it seemed like a brilliant way to get rid of all that old Firewhiskey," he drawled, rolling towards her. As soon as he spoke, though, he wished he hadn't. Belle immediately moved her hand, and pushed her body away from his so that she was on the other side of the bed. Draco followed suit, opening his eyes fully and sitting up. He noticed that Belle still looked surprised, nervous even.
"You're... you're awake. I thought you were sleeping," she said. Then her eyes narrowed. "You scared me so much last night. How could you do that to yourself? To your family?"
"A bloody lot my family cares about me," he said, his face flushing. Even though his face felt like it was glowing, Draco knew his cheeks were likely just tinged a faded pink. "They didn't want me to... you know what? Never mind. It's not worth it. Just leave me alone, Belle."
He stood up and began walking towards the door, but Belle cut in front of him smoothly. He noticed she hissed in pain as she stood there, though, and she had more weight on her right foot. Glancing downward, he saw that she wasn't wearing shoes, and that her left foot was wrapped in gauze. When he finally looked back at her face, she was standing at her full 5'4", chest puffed out and chin raised in defiance.
"Belle, what happened to your foot?" he asked. She shook her head and stayed where she was.
"It's not important. Look, I'm not letting you out of here until you promise me that you won't keep drinking yourself to death. I don't know what caused this, but you can't just expect that to get rid of your problems. Just promise me..."
"What? That I won't drink ever again, and that as soon as you leave, I'll be fine?" Draco snapped. "I can't. I won't. You just don't understand, so stop trying."
Even as he advanced, Belle held her ground, pushing her body right against the closed door. "Stop trying to push me away! You say I don't understand, but how can you say that unless you tell me what's wrong? You won't tell anyone what the problem is, and so no one can help you! All I want is for you to be reasonable, to talk to me, so that I can leave knowing you're all right."
Draco came closer, only inches away from Belle. He leaned in so that their noses were nearly touching. "You know I could overpower you," he hissed. "Get out of the way."
"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong."
Damn, this woman was persistent. "You're what's wrong," he said coldly. "If I'd never met you, I wouldn't be like this. Bloody hell, Belle, you just need to leave."
"What do you mean you wouldn't be like this if you'd never met me?" she asked. "You wouldn't be drinking yourself to death if you'd never met me?
"That's exactly what I mean," Draco said evenly. He looked into her eyes, which were so fiery, chocolate brown with thin hazel rings around the edge of the iris. Their noses were touching. "I hate you for what you've done to me."
"What have I done to you?" she asked, and Draco's eyes flicked down to her lips. His father would never have to know. He could modify her memory. Or Potter could. Potter could modify his memory... or, no, he'd trust his mother more than Potter. So he risked the danger-he placed a hand under her jaw and kissed her.
For a long moment, Belle didn't respond. He was about to pull away when suddenly, she kissed him back, and he wound one of his hands through her hair, pressing her closer to him. He felt his body grow warm, and his heart began to thud rapidly in his chest. He could even feel Belle's rapid heartbeat, and he felt his arousal grow. He thought dimly that he should direct her towards the bed, and so he did, hiking her legs around his torso and walking backwards to the king-size mattress covered with the mussed down green comforter. Just as he placed her on the bed, however, Belle broke the kiss.
"Draco, we can't do this. Not now." She stood up, only to cry out as she stepped on her left foot. Draco watched as she fell forward and he caught her automatically. "Thank you," she said as she pushed herself back onto her stable right foot. He nodded but still held her around the elbows.
"Belle, what happened to your foot?" he asked.
"I was trying to help you walk over here, and the carpet was littered with glass," she said quietly. "A piece pierced my foot."
Draco felt a sudden pang in his chest. This was his fault. Normally, he wouldn't care if he hurt someone. Hell, he could curse Potter or Weasley into oblivion and go for a Butterbeer afterwards. But knowing that he had hurt her... Well, that was different. And it reminded him why she came in the first place.
"My mother sent you here?" he asked as he guided her once more to the bed. She nodded. "I see. And what did she say?"
"Well, she spoke in English, and she spoke so quickly, so I didn't understand it all. But she seemed concerned about how unhappy you were, and it seemed she didn't know what was causing you to drink so much. She thought I might be able to talk to you even though she couldn't."
Gently, Draco unwound the gauze to reveal a deep cut at the bottom of her foot that was oozing blood and yellow pus, and he felt much worse. He looked around the room for his wand, found it on the nightstand, and knelt on the carpet, holding Belle's foot near him. "Hold still," he said. "This might hurt a bit. Episkey."
She whimpered, but he watched as the cut narrowed, became shallower, and finally mended, leaving only a narrow pink line behind. He rubbed his thumb over where the cut had been, tracing his initials even, but then realizing what he was doing, he let go and stood up. He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair and then glared at the floor. This was not going how he intended. Though it seemed Belle cared for him too, that just complicated matters.
"We can't be together," Draco said, still looking at the carpet. He let his eyes trace the subtle snake pattern that surrounded the bed. "My father made that very explicit when I saw him three weeks ago."
"Your father? What did he say?"
Finally looking up, Draco saw that Belle had swung her legs to the side and was now standing. "He said he would disown me if I were to marry you. I informed him that his concern was unnecessary."
"Unnecessary? You just kissed me!"
"Belle, please understand: I would lose my inheritance if I were to marry you. I would be penniless. My father's estate and all his funds would go to my nearest living relative, in this case, my mother."
Belle walked toward him and cupped the side of his face. He flinched slightly. "But your mother would do all that she could to help you. I can tell; she wants nothing but your happiness. If this would make you happy, that is. It would make me happy," she said quietly, letting go of him. Draco suddenly missed her warmth.
"I can't, Belle."
She shook her head in disbelief. "I don't understand you. You love me, apparently, but you're too blind to see it. But when you realize I feel the same, you reject me because you're concerned about being penniless. If your father truly loved you, he wouldn't give you this ultimatum. He would want you to pursue your happiness."
Draco sneered. "Pursue my happiness? Try: Pursue my duty and responsibility. That's what my father wants me to do. Maintain the Malfoy line. Keep it pure. Marrying a Muggle would mess that one up."
Belle paused and pursed her lips. "What is so frightening about being with me?" she asked finally. "Is it a lack of money? Or do you still seek your father's approval even though he doesn't care what's in your best interest?"
He knew his stony silence gave her all the answer she needed, and she nodded, unseeing. "Very well, I'll be on my way. But Draco, find some reason not to drink yourself to death, or forget about me if you can."
She dug the pen out of the folds of her robes, but just before she clicked it, Draco grabbed her wrist. "Wait, just a minute." He grabbed his wand and muttered, "Accio galleons!" A few coins flew into the room, and Draco caught them in his palm. "Take these with you."
Belle shook her head and wrapped her hand around his. "Keep them in case you change your mind. Harry's been wonderfully gracious to us, and if we do decide to move to Muggle London, he'll help us out." She reached out and touched his face one last time, smiling sadly. "Goodbye, Draco." And then, clicking the pen, Belle disappeared sooner than Draco could say Quidditch.