Draco ripped his hand free from mine the moment we arrived, swearing and whirling round.
"What's wrong?" I asked, panicked.
"Fucking splinched," he said through clenched teeth, ripping his shirt apart to examine his collarbone.
Blood trickled deep red from the wound, staining the silky fabric. I winced, well aware of how painful the stinging would be, having splinched myself many times.
"I'm not great with healing charms," I said, "but surely Ernie will have dittany inside."
"Don't worry. I'll survive."
"Don't be stupid," I frowned.
The late afternoon was turning to dusk, casting shadows across the street. A couple apparated in front of us, hands linked, laughing together as they walked to Ernie's. Something about it felt awkward, as though contrasting the strain between Draco and I. And the fact we both knew how I thought of him, felt about him. Blush rose to my cheeks as I recalled his invasion into my mind, and the fine memory of him that had unwillingly come forward.
"Does me undressing bother you?" he smirked, misinterpreting the pink in my face.
"You're hardly undressed," I replied, walking and hoping he would follow. "I've seen more skin on a pygmy puff."
"Whatever you say."
My cheeks warmed once more, now that I considered the angle of his collarbone, the ivory of his hairless chest. Thankful for the growing dark, I tried to push the image from my mind as I knocked on Ernie's door. Draco's shirt was still half undone, baggy around his shoulders as though intentional. I tried hard not to look, staring fixedly at the letterbox, as the seconds dragged before we were let inside.
"Astoria!" Ernie greeted enthusiastically, wrapping me in a hug and spilling half of his butterbeer. "You came! So good to see you. And…" He faltered as he took in Malfoy, who only cleared his throat and nodded.
"This is Draco," I said, somewhat unnecessarily. "He splinched on the journey here, do you happen to have dittany on hand?"
"Of course," Ernie said, his words clipped. "In the kitchen, Malfoy. I'm sure you can find it."
Draco glared at me as he left, the warning clear in his gaze. Don't go anywhere.
"Why'd you bring him?" Ernie asked in a hushed whisper.
"It's a long story," I said. "He won't be here long."
"Okay, good." Ernie sighed a little, returning to some of his former enthusiasm. "There's actually somebody here I'd like you to meet. He asked for an introduction… unless you and Malfoy are an item?"
'No," I laughed, as though the very notion was ridiculous.
But I turned my gaze as Ernie led me across the lounge, hoping Draco would be quick. The thought of sharing a memory made me more nervous than I'd admit, and I was growing anxious to have the ordeal over and done with.
"This," Ernie said, leading me to a tall, muscled man, "is Oliver Wood. Wood, this is Greengrass."
Oliver extended a hand, which I shook, smiling. Wood was attractive. He had hair tousled back almost carelessly, and the muscles of his forearm tensed as we said hello.
"Wood plays for Puddlemere," Ernie said. "And he's a reserve for the England team. Astoria's my assistant at the Prophet. Truth be told, she does most of the job for me!" He laughed, suddenly pompous.
"I've been reading your articles," Oliver said. "I liked your comparison of Quidditch to social politics. 'Somewhere amidst the chaos and point scoring, we have to step back and look for the reasonable end.' Brilliant."
"Thanks," I smiled. "And I watched you play the Canons last year. That last goal you blocked, it was really great flying."
Ernie seemed satisfied with our pairing, and left to place a joke crown on his head. I wondered if he'd transfigured it himself.
"You know, we've got a game next week," Oliver said. "I could get you tickets if you'd like to come."
I racked my mental calendar, suddenly clearer after Ernie's return. "I'd love to!"
"Great, I'll send them by owl." Oliver's eyes scanned me from head to toe, as though sizing me up. "I'll send a couple. So you can bring a friend or, you know, boyfriend." I couldn't help a grin spreading across my face as I realised what he was really asking. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No," I said, smiling coyly. I couldn't help flirting a little. Oliver had a sort of magnetism in the way he held himself, the way he spoke. It didn't hurt that he was a Quidditch player, too.
"Come on, Tori, we're going," hissed a voice behind me. Draco.
"Malfoy." Oliver nodded coldly. "I'm actually in a conversation with Astoria."
"Not anymore, you're not," Malfoy growled.
"Draco," I tried to say, but the others cut me off.
"I think she can speak for herself," Oliver said, stepping forward and crossing his arms.
"And I think you can mind your own business."
They both twitched their hands to their wands.
"No!" I said, but neither seemed to be listening.
"Give me a reason," Malfoy said, drawing his wand and glaring. "Go on."
"Don't tempt me," Oliver spat.
"Draco," I tugged on his sleeve, "come on, let's go."
His eyes didn't leave Oliver's, and he didn't put away his wand, but he responded as I dragged him across the room.
"I'm sorry," I mouthed to Oliver.
"I'll get those tickets to you," he called, raising his butterbeer in farewell.
I led Draco upstairs, tugging on each door until I found the bathroom.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, squeezing into the tiny toilet behind me.
The room was cramped, so we were almost pressed up against each other. I couldn't bear to leave out the front door, for people to murmur and think Draco had dragged me away for no good reason. Still, there was just enough standing room for me to push him in the chest, releasing a burst of anger.
"What the fuck was that?" I repeated, venom in my words. "Why are you in such a foul mood?" Draco didn't answer, but I wasn't done.
"I am doing you a fucking favour, Malfoy. You have ruined my evening, and I have let you, because I care about you. I don't want to see you dead, or your father, and if I can help avoid that, of course I will. But I have had enough. The bullshit stops here, or our deal's off, and you're on your own."
Draco's eyes fell, and we stayed silent for a moment.
"You called me Malfoy," he murmured.
"Yes." I rolled my eyes. "And?"
"You never call me Malfoy."
"And you never embarrass me, but I suppose tonight's a night of firsts."
He fumed for a moment, shaking his head in indignation. "You can do better than Wood, Tori."
His words stumped me. Was that what this was about?
"Come on," he grumbled, holding his palms out. "We'd better go."
I took them in my own, shaking my head a little to clear it. I could handle my thoughts around this another time.
"I'll guide us," Malfoy insisted. "I don't want to risk your shoddy direction splinching me again."
My eyes flickered to his collarbone, still bare. The graze had healed over now, leaving only a faint white scar.
"Okay," I said, too exhausted to retort.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the feeling of his hands in mine. He had long, nimble fingers that wrapped around my palm to the back of my hand. They were cool, but gentle, far gentler than I'd have expected. As we disapparated, he tightened them on mine, as though careful to be sure he wouldn't let me go. But, just as before, he drew them away quickly once we'd arrived at Malfoy Manor.
"Straight into your bedroom?" I asked, gazing around.
Draco frowned. "I don't exactly want questions from my parents."
Maybe due to my own fear of Lucius walking in on this scene, or maybe out of pure habit, I cast a silent homenum revelio.
"We're alone," I said.
Draco didn't reply, but strode to the tall, black mahogany cupboard in the corner. His room was neat, clean. The emerald bedsheets bore not a single wrinkle, and his stacks of alchemy books had been straightened with precision. Draco swung open the doors, and pulled out a large stone penseive.
"You have one in your room?" I asked uncertainly.
He shook his head. "Usually it's hidden in the library. I moved this up here last night. It's been cleaned, but we don't use it, anyway."
There was something awkward and intimate in the act we were about to perform. I sat on his bed, earning a frown as my butt wrinkled the duvet. I gazed around his room, trying to make small talk, trying to pretend this was perfectly normal.
"What's that?" I asked, pointing to a black, shrivelled hand in a glass case.
"Hand of glory," he muttered.
Beside the window was the owl I'd chosen, nestling in his cage. He gave a soft hoot as I watched, his glowing eyes looking at me as though he remembered me.
"Have you named him?" I asked.
Draco shook his head. "Nothing fits yet."
I gulped. I was running out of conversational observations.
"Tori," he said, his voice soft. The anger, or annoyance, or whatever it had been, drained from his face. "I really appreciate you doing this."
Every bone of his face was accentuated in the moonlight seeping through the window, the hollows of his cheeks, the curve of his lips. Moonlight suited Draco, as though he had been crafted from the very substance himself.
"Okay," I breathed.
The time had come, I realised, feeling his gaze on me expectantly. With trembling arms, I lifted my wand to my temple. I'd never extracted a memory myself, but had seen countless others do it in my line of work. The tip of my wand bounced on my skin as I fought to calm myself. I closed my eyes, concentrating hard on that Confederation meeting. The feeling of the stone bench beneath my thighs, the booming of Kingsley's voice around the room… all the details came fresh to me and I pulled my wand, slowly, extracting the thought in a wisp of silver.
"Careful," Draco warned, as I crossed the room to drop the memory in the penseive.
The bowl seemed to come to life at the addition, the silver swirling in excitement. Draco moved close behind me, leaning in beside my shoulder to watch. The scene came to life, the dark hall and the chairs and the members settling themselves in. I took a deep breath, and plunged.
I landed on the stone floor beside my own self. Draco came just a moment later, but I was too lost in my own appearance, vain as it may sound. I'd never known that my hair wrinkled at the nape of my neck, or that my nostrils lifted slightly.
"Is this everyone?" Draco asked, capturing my attention.
He was scanning the room, stepping forward and back again to catch some members through the circular row of seats.
"Yes," I said. "Wait, no. Your father isn't here yet, nor the man that was beside me."
"Hello," I, or rather the me in the memory, murmured as people began to sit next to me.
I watched myself fuss with parchment and quills, before trying the camera.
"Here," I said needlessly to Draco, as Lucius and the last guests entered.
I turned to see him frowning, deep in thought, watching them all sit, and the last of the benches fill.
"Nobody else? Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, that's everyone except Kingsley."
"Okay." He sniffed. "Nobody I recognise. And you can't remember the name of this man?" he asked, striding to the stranger sat beside the penseive version of me.
"No," I said. "He speaks to me in a while, if you want to hang around."
Draco shook his head. "I'd recognise a death eater, I'm sure of it. Probably some ministry pet, trying too hard." He looked at me. "Let's go."
I pulled myself from the penseive, and the scene around me vanished until I was standing in Draco's bedroom once more, our bodies touching.
"Evanesco," I murmured, wiping my memory from the penseive.
Draco paced and sat on his bed, wiping his hands across his face. Clearly, things had come to an end. I was of no further use to him.
"Well," I said awkwardly. "At least I won't have to deal with you rummaging through my head anymore."
He made a noise between a sniff and laughter. "I suppose twice in one day is your limit."
"Apparently so."
I lingered, all too aware that after this moment, we would have no reason to see each other again. No more secrets to divulge, or memories to share. Only the occasional death eater meeting — I shuddered at the thought — until even those ended, too. No more Draco.
"You'd better get back to your party," he said, suddenly shut off from me once more. "Wood will be waiting."
"I don't want to see Wood," I murmured. "Actually, I'll need to move my things into Daphne's."
"You moving in?" Draco asked.
"More like house sitting," I said. "But yes, I'll be there if, uh, you need to find me. For a meeting of Nott's or something, I mean."
"You're still going to those?" Draco asked.
"I don't really have much choice, do I?"
"Nor me," he murmured.
I couldn't postpone the moment any longer, and so I turned to go.
"Tori?" he said, and I turned back to face him far too quickly, too eagerly.
"Yes?"
Draco swallowed. "Thank you."
It would be silly to cry. It would be silly to feel sad, or to miss Draco after only a few hours together. But I felt a sense of loss as I left. I allowed one solitary tear to drip down my face, only now beginning to realise that every moment I spent in Draco's presence had become a rejection. Because I would do anything for him, I realised. It was almost pitiful, and everybody else seemed to be aware of it. Even Draco himself. And he didn't feel the same way about me.
To him, I was nothing.
And that hurt more than even the cruciatus curse ever could.
