Hello, my lovely readers! I'm back with a speedy update. This chapter picks up right where we left off and it's much lengthier than I would have liked. I thought about splitting it in two, but that didn't make sense. I hope you'll like it. Please leave a review and let me know!
Disclaimer: The Wizarding World belong to JK Rowling. This fanfiction is mine.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 17
A new year had begun and Draco Malfoy wondered if he dared hope.
Well, this year could not be as terrible as the ones he had right after he had taken the Dark Mark. Nothing would ever be as bad as that. Right now, he had his troubles, yes, but he also had a girlfriend that he liked, a best friend who was an annoying wanker, and his parents were alive and healthy. It was more than enough.
So yes. Maybe this year would not be so bad.
xx
Bright morning light streamed in from the large windows and woke Draco up. He lazily glanced at the vintage clock hanging on the wall. 5:44, it said.
Next to him, Ginevra had put her arm over her face in a clear attempt to not let the light disturb her slumber. He had learned over time that she was very stubborn when it came to sleep; there was not a power in the world that could wake her up before she was ready to do so. He, on the other hand, was generally a light sleeper and found it immensely hard to go back to sleep once he was up.
Which presented his current dilemma: it was far too early to be awake and he had nothing to do. Well, there was that report about the order of Anti-Paralysis Potion, but he could not bring himself to care about it at the moment.
With a sigh, he pushed the covers aside and got out of bed. He stumbled and grabbed the column of the four-posted bed to steady him. There was a dull ache emanating in his abdomen and spreading all the way to his limbs. This was not unexpected; his body had gone through enormous trauma recently, after which he had forced himself into a night of frivolity. It made sense that the remnants of the Curse would flare up. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his wand and summoned a small vial containing the Invigoration Draught. Blaise had said that it would help keep his energy levels up in the days right after the Episode. And sure enough, after taking the two prescribed sips of the orange potion, Draco felt immensely better.
A quick shower later, he emerged from the bathroom to find that the sun rays had vanished. The sky outside was cloudy now. It seemed that the universe had only intended to disturb his slumber. Grumbling under his breath, he put on his heavy winter cloak over his navy cashmere jumper, shoved his wand into his pocket and ventured out for a walk.
The Chateau grounds were covered in a blanket of snow, and everything was bright and white as far as the eye could see. A freezing wind was blowing, and he blew out a shaky breath, watching it rise in a visible puff. Draco wrapped his cloak tighter as he braved down a narrow path between the icy hedges, snow crunching beneath his boots like crushed sugar.
Draco has been visiting Château d'Orchidée since he was eight years old. After his grandfather passed away, his grand-mère moved back to her familial home, and his parents brought him here every year to visit her.
One time, when he was ten, he had gotten into a rather nasty fight with Lukas. Since they both were too young to use magic, they had emptied their stock of Stink Pellets before resorting to punching each other. He had gotten away with only a bruise on his jaw, whereas Lukas had a black eye. His mother had then taken him for a turn about the gardens, where she had lectured him on the importance of controlling his anger and tackling situations shrewdly. It was good advice, and he did not take it seriously until many years later.
The thought of his mother filled him with trepidation. Narcissa Malfoy was the most important woman in his life. She had supported him through some rather shitty times and protected him in ways that he probably still did not know to date. As a son, he felt it was his duty to never disappoint her – but her clear dislike of Ginevra presented him with a dilemma he did not know how to address.
Well, he was to have breakfast with his mother, Blaise and Daphne. He would bring Ginevra along too. He was going to get those two headstrong women to be civil towards each other, or die trying. Merlin help him.
The sound of footsteps behind him caused him to turn. He saw Jeremy Chaucer, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak, his cheeks tinged pink because of the cold. "Bonjour, Monsieur Malfoy!"
"Good morning, Mr. Chaucer."
"Please, call me Jeremy."
"You're up early." The boy did not seem too surprised to see him, and Draco had the distinct impression that he had deliberately come over to talk to him. The thought made him uneasy for reasons that he could not quite explain.
"Oui. I do not get much sleep now."
Draco did not know what to say to that, so he kept on walking. He noted the boy fell in step alongside him.
A small, bitter smile tugged at Jeremy's lips. "At least you did not try to say 'ow sorry you are for my loss." He spoke in a heavy French accent, but his English was quite good.
"I am sorry, but I doubt my words will make the situation easier for you."
"Everybody keeps on telling me zat I should move on."
"You will move on, Jeremy, but it will take time."
"No," the boy replied instantly and with such conviction that it would have been improper to disagree. His loss was too big and too fresh, after all.
They walked in silence for a while, then Draco grasped at a lighter topic for conversation. "Potions," he said. "You like the subject, then?"
"Oui. I come at ze top of my class." The smile that had lit Jeremy's face for a moment, slowly faded away. "I used to."
Once again, Draco felt that he was not at all qualified to be having a conversation with a boy who was clearly suffering from mental trauma. "Your performance in class doesn't matter, so long as you have the talent," he told him in an attempt to console. "There were many days when I didn't do well in class myself, but Professor Slughorn was–"
"Do you still 'ave it?" Jeremy asked in an urgent whisper.
"What, talent in potion-making? I hope so–"
"No, not potions!" Jeremy glanced at the Chateau, a three-story tall elegant structure with slanted roofs of beautiful blue stone, then back at Draco, his expression almost hungry. "Ze Mark."
Draco stilled. "What do you mean?"
"You were a Death Eater, non?"
"I'm afraid this conversation has come to an end, Mr. Chaucer," Draco responded coolly and turned to leave, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. To say that he was utterly taken aback with the turn this conversation had taken would be an understatement.
"No, no, please!" Jeremy stepped in his way. He looked so utterly desperate, his hands held out, as if he was going to reach out and stop him physically if need be. "I do not judge you, monsieur. You fought beside Lord Voldemort, but you wanted to protect ze Wizard kind. You were right. Look what ze non-magique did to my family!"
Draco glanced around nervously. The last thing he wanted was to get involved in anything remotely shady; it was bad enough that he was already under suspicion back in England, thanks to bloody Potter and his peanut of a brain. It was not long ago that they had duelled in Diagon Alley and the Git Who Lived Twice had dragged him off to the Ministry for questioning over why his Dark Mark was active. If anyone heard their conversation now, he would most certainly be ruined.
"S'il vous plait," Jeremy was pleading, unaware of his train of thought. "J'ai besoin de ton aide." Please, I need your help.
"Je ne peux pas vous aider," Draco told him solemnly. I cannot help you. He started to walk back towards the Chateau. The morning walk had clearly been a bad idea. It would be better if he just slipped back in bed with Ginevra or finish that official report that he was supposed to go over the day before.
"Please, monsieur," the boy's frantic voice reached him. "Je veux être comme toi."
I want to be like you.
It was that statement, the sheer shock of those words, that made Draco halt. And then he was furious. He turned on his heels and stormed back until his face was mere inches from Jeremy's. "You do not want that, boy!" he snarled, feeling savagely gleeful as Jeremy took a couple of hasty steps back, clearly terrified of his expression. "How do you even know all this?"
"M-Monsieur Lukas told me," he stuttered. "'e said zey p-put you in prison. 'e said zat you hide your beliefs to fit in."
Lukas was a gormless knob and a day would soon come when Draco would strangle his scrawny neck with his bare hands. "I wouldn't listen to Lukas if I were you."
"I will listen to you. Please. Enseigne moi." Teach me.
"Fine! Lesson one: always be mindful of your surroundings." Draco grabbed his arm and dragged him off the path, through the gardens towards a line of poplar trees that were at least forty feet tall. "If you are going to talk about things that could land you in trouble, things that are practically illegal, it is best to do so in a place where you are for certain free of prying eyes and ears."
They emerged on the other side of the trees to a large, flatter ground covered in a thick layer of snow that reached up to their knees. In the middle stood a circular pergola with marble columns and wrought iron dome, that he knew for a fact was not visible from the Chateau. During one of their rare truces, Lukas had told him that it was a perfect spot for secret snogging.
As they made their way towards it, their feet digging into the ground so that the snow soaked their trousers up to their knees, Jeremy grumbled, "We were far from ze Chateau."
"That means nothing."
Once they had reached the pergola, Draco pulled out his wand and dried both their clothes. Then, he glanced at the firepit. The boy was wearing no gloves and while it would be easier if he lost his hands to frostbite, ensuring loss of limbs to keep him from pursuing a vengeance-filled path was perhaps not the wisest move to make. So, he lit a fire, relishing the much-needed warmth it provided them.
"Lesson number two," Draco said. "Abandon all thought of becoming like me. I am not someone you want to look up to."
"B-But Lukas said zat you–"
Draco did not want to hear what Lukas had said, or the urge to go and hex the pompous bastard into oblivion would grow too strong to resist. "Lukas is manipulating you," he said sharply, wondering why Lukas was even telling stories about him in the first place. And not just any stories, this particular version where Draco was a devoted Death Eater who was fighting for the rights of witches and wizards, and had been forced to put up a façade to save himself from persecution – it sounded a lot like what Dolohov had said. His heart sank. "Listen to me, you need to be careful. People are going to try and use you."
"Zey wouldn't dare if I can fight zem off," Jeremy said with a reckless bravado that reminded him of his own teenage. "You can teach me."
"No."
"Why not? Is it because I'm too young?" He spat. "You were fighting in ze war when you were my age."
"I had no choice, Jeremy. It was a Death Eater's life or no life."
"Et alors? Ils ont assassiné ma famille." So what? They murdered my family.
"And you're going to wage a war on the non-magique?"
"No. I'm going to bring Emily's cousin and 'is friends to justice."
"How heroic of you." Draco guessed that Lukas must have told him that the main murderer had been a cousin of Emily Carre, his muggle-born best friend at school. Bastard. "Except it's not your job to do so."
"Zen whose is it?" Jeremy demanded. "Ze Aurors are not good enough. Zey 'aven't been able to catch him–"
"Yet," Draco pointed out, and the boy snorted in disbelief. "They've already caught two–"
"One. Ze other escaped and the Ministry is too cowardly to admit it."
Well, that was news to him. Honestly, it was as if Auror Offices in Europe were no longer hiring competent people; honestly, how difficult was it to capture and imprison two muggles? Time to try a different tact: "Edmond's new Act–"
"Doesn't 'elp me. My family is already dead."
That was true, and the pain of such a loss would most certainly be numbed by treading down on a war path. Of course, the pain would re-emerge, but even a temporary relief must seem very inviting for a sixteen-year-old boy. Not to mention that Jeremy's eyes sparkled with a burning hatred of his circumstances, and he would do anything to turn the tide around, to earn some glory so that he could prove to the world that he was not some tragic, broken boy that all the newspapers were hellbent on portraying him as.
The desire to prove himself was one Draco knew all too well. Had he not taken the Dark Mark to protect his family and to bring glory to the Malfoy name, after all? Had he not been blinded with those elitist, pureblood values? He had thought he was doing what the Wizarding World needed, for the good of their kind, to make his father proud, but he had ended up destroying so many lives.
The image of that five-year-old dead girl with big, brown eyes flashed before his eyes.
"Écoutez-moi attentivement," Draco said. Listen to me carefully. "This road of vengeance and hatred only leads to ruin. "No matter what my intentions or beliefs were, becoming a Death Eater was not the solution to my problems." The fact that he had no choice in the matter was something the boy did not need to know. He, after all, was trying to make a different point. "It is simple as that."
"I know Voldemort was evil. My maman told me zat ze world is better off without him," Jeremy said slowly. "I didn't care that Emily came from a non-magique family. She was my friend and look what 'appened!" A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "Britain was lucky to 'ave Monsieur Potter, but we don't all get heroes who can come and save us from ze monsters."
"What if you did?" Draco asked suddenly, spurred by a mad thought. "What if Harry Potter hunted your family's murderers?"
Jeremy looked at him, wide-eyed. "Peux-tu faire ça?" Can you do that?
It was not uncommon for Aurors of different countries to work together on certain cases, but whether the Chaucer murders qualified for such international cooperation he did not know. Besides, how was he going to get Potter on this case anyway? He would sooner hex the Scar-faced knob than ask him for a favour. "Je peux essayer," he responded. I can try.
Maybe he ought to hex his own arse for such stupidity. After telling himself firmly for years to not get involved in such matters, here he was, trying to offer help to a boy who meant nothing to him. Blimey, he really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.
"Merci." Jeremy looked relieved for a moment, then his expression darkened. "What am I to do?"
Draco wondered what he had done to deserve this. Though he would be lying to himself if he did not admit that he had always liked being placed on a pedestal and looked up to, something that has not quite happened for obvious reasons, which is why he could not understand why this boy was asking him for advice. "Well… I'd say you need to go back to school when the holidays are over and focus on your education," he said as he stepped back onto the snow with the intention of heading back. It seemed unlikely that their conversation would return to dangerous waters. Besides, it was probably best that they returned before the other residents of the Chateau woke up. "And, if you are interested, you can apply for a summer internship at the Malfoy Corporation. Or is your fascination with me only limited to my Dark Mark?"
"No! Ze Malfoy is one of ze biggest names in potioneering. You are leading the company at so young age," Jeremy looked at him with a sheepish smile, the pink in his cheeks became more prominent. "I always told my maman that I want to do ze same."
He had next to no chance of establishing an enterprise as vast as the Malfoy Corporation in one lifetime, but Draco felt it would be an unwise remark to make. Besides, he was pleased to see that he was indeed the boy's idol, and not because of the Dark Lord's brand etched onto his forearm. "Well then, you must intern with us. It is paid work and we provide our interns with food and lodgings. I'm not sure about the exact dates, but the applications for this year's programme will open sometime in April."
"I will apply," Jeremy promised with a smile. "I would love to learn from you, Monsieur Malfoy."
xx
"Ready!" Ginevra said as she hurried out of the bedroom, running her fingers through her long red hair. She was wearing sheer stockings, tartan skirt and a woollen jumper.
Draco, who was sitting at the desk in the Green Room and trying (more like, failing) to go through his official report, looked up at her. "You know, I don't quite like tardiness," he stated. She had woken up quite late and upon learning that she was invited to breakfast, insisted on taking a long, bubble bath. "And neither does my mother."
"You can go to hell," she replied cheerily. "And so can your snobby mother."
"Be nice," he half-warned, half-pleaded as they left his suite. "My mother is not going to warm up to you if you act like that."
"I could not care less what your mother thinks of me," Ginevra told him matter-of-factly.
"Be that as it may, I do expect you to behave." He grabbed her hand, hoping she would see some sense. "I wasn't particularly keen on meeting your parents, and yet I was nothing but courteous towards them."
She looked at him incredulously. "You said Ron was bogged down with petty complexes!"
"And that is true," he said, exasperated.
She held back whatever biting remark she was going to respond with as he opened the door to the Tea Room and held it open for her with a smile. "You're still a git," she muttered under her breath as she walked in.
Holding back a laugh, he followed. The tapestries of the room were white, embedded with blooming pink flowers that moved as if a light breeze was blowing. A crystal chandelier hung from the arching ceiling, unlit because there was ample light coming from the large windows. His mother and Blaise were already seated at the small, round table laden with a variety of fresh fruits, breads, cheeses, croissants and a choice of teas.
Greetings were swift, though judging from the curt manner with which his mother and Ginevra spoke to one another, it seemed that the meal might not be as cheerful as he had originally hoped.
"Where's Daphne?" Draco asked, hoping that some random small talk would bring some semblance of normalcy to the table.
"Talking to Lecherous Bennett again," Blaise replied smoothly. There was no jealousy or irritation in his voice, which meant that Daphne must have delivered on her promise last night; apparently good sex could solve a lot, if not all, marital problems. "She said she'd caught the Niffler in her shiny chain and would strangle it before her second cup of tea today, which means that Bennett will be helping the Ministry, after all."
"Your wife has a gift, Blaise," Narcissa said pleasantly. "That girl could convince Rita Skeeter into becoming a beacon of truth if she put her mind to it!"
Blaise smiled smugly, clearly glad to be hearing his wife praised in such a manner. "Perhaps, we should ask her to do it," he joked. "Or has Miss Skeeter actually given up on the fascinating Potter-Weasley-Malfoy love triangle? I haven't seen a saucy piece in a while."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Ginevra said dryly.
"Hear, hear!" Draco raised his glass of pumpkin juice and his gaze inadvertently landed on the window that overlooked the courtyard. It was a beautiful view. A cobbled pathway, currently covered in snow, led from the front steps of the Chateau to the great marble fountain of the Sphinx, and from there to the main gate, beyond which lay vast orchard fields.
Lukas was hurrying towards the main gate with a couple of his friends from last night in tow, leaving behind their footprints in the snow.
The sight of his first cousin once removed made Draco think of his earlier encounter with Jeremy Chaucer – something he had been trying to avoid pondering about. He pitied the boy, who had become a pawn in games of power. But the fact that Lukas had been talking to him, manipulating him into thinking that the Death Eater mission and that the Wizards-first ideology were one and the same thing, was quite alarming. And worse was his gut feeling, which screeched over and over again that Lukas' friendship with Crabbe and the similarities between his and Dolohov's tales were red flags that could not be ignored.
And yet, to not ignore them would mean stepping back into the war all over again. Draco wanted no part in it, he was done being a soldier. Sadly, neither Potter and his band of Aurors nor Dolohov and his band of miscreants would understand that.
A sharp kick to his shin snapped him out of his thoughts and he glared at Blaise. But it became clear within a second why his best mate had practically assaulted him under the table.
"I don't understand why you seem offended, Miss Weasley," Narcissa Malfoy said sardonically as she spread butter on a piece of croissant. "I merely commented that naming your residence after a rabbit hole seems rather peculiar."
Ginevra looked like she wanted to pull out her wand. "Oh, I'm not at all offended, Mrs. Malfoy," she said instead, her voice dripping with false politeness. "I think it all comes down to a difference of opinion. We Weasleys, for example, call our home the Burrow and make sure it is welcoming because that is who we are. Other people, who often boast their polished manners, spend their times sneering down at us out of pettiness, which speaks volumes about their characters."
In the name of Merlin's buttocks! Draco wanted to interrupt, to tell them both to behave – and yet, his mind was reeling.
What was it that Dolohov had said that night? "We're going to turn the Dark Lord's dream into reality."
To start a war, either outright or one that would be fought behind the scenes, would require capital in the form of both money and allies. So, who exactly did Dolohov mean when he said 'we'? The escaped Death Eaters, of course. The captured ones would join too if they ever found a way to escape from Azkaban. The giants, perhaps. The dementors, most likely. The old spies in the Ministry who were never outed during the War would need convincing, which Dolohov was more than capable of, and then they would become active again. But it would not be enough. He would need new allies, people who were passionate about the cause, powerful enough not only to support it financially but with names that the normal public would stand behind.
Lefebvre, for instance.
"My, my! I seem to have hit a nerve," Narcissa was saying.
"I don't think you have," Ginevra replied coolly.
"Oh, so is it common for you to get so defensive during casual breakfast conversations?"
Once again, Draco tuned them out. Edmond Lefebvre would never want to join such a cause. He was powerful enough already, and to declare himself inclined towards the Dark Arts would mean throwing away everything that he had worked on for decades. But Lukas Lefebvre was living under his father's great shadow, neither talented nor intelligent enough to create a mark that would outlive... unless he did something big.
That day in the Malfoy library, Lukas had expressed his dissatisfaction with the surveillance law his father had passed in the French Ministry of Magic. "He should have had those – those fils de putes killed and their bodies hung in the street for everyone to see." But everyone was capable was saying such things, especially when one was overridden with passion over the brutal murders of an entire family. The real question was whether Lukas had meant it enough to be lured into a movement that was promising such results.
There was no proof of such interaction, let alone involvement. So far, Lukas had done nothing shady – other than tell Jeremy Chaucer tales of a pro-wizard ideology. But that could have been an attempt to merely befriend a boy who was the talk of the entire Wizarding community. Lukas had an old habit of showing off his links with "celebrities" of any sorts.
Was this all just a mere coincidence then, or was Lukas a participant in Dolohov's scheme?
A hand clasped his shoulder roughly and he jumped, turning to look at his best mate. "Drake, you alright?" Blaise asked. "You look a bit peaky."
"Yeah," Draco shrugged his hand off and looked around the table to see his mother and his girlfriend both staring at him with concern etched on their faces. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Ginevra reached out and placed her hand on top of his. "It's got nothing to do with–?"
"No, it's not the Curse. I was just thinking." He smiled reassuringly at her, then realised only too late what he had just said. His eyes snapped to his mother, who had gone utterly still. The look on her face was one he knew all too well; it was an expression she always sported whenever she was absolutely livid with him, and he knew that there would be retribution later. Well, the pixie was out of the cage now, so he might as well do say what needed to be said. "Actually, while we're on the subject – Ginevra knows, and I'd like her to be kept in the loop from now on. I'll do the necessary documentation at St. Mungo's when we return to England, but I thought I should let you two know."
His mother did not say anything. She was not going to. Not yet, not in front of others.
Blaise, on the other hand, seemed incapable of speech. It was rare to see him so stunned, and quite amusing too. "Y-Yeah," he said after the awkward silence lingered on for far too long. "O-Of course."
The inevitable conversation with his mother came later that day. Ginevra had taken the return Portkey back to the Burrow, and Blaise and Daphne went off to explore Paris now that she was done dealing with Bennett. Draco had finished that order report and then spent an hour pacing restlessly.
There was not much he could do about the Dolohov-Lukas situation. It was a hunch and he could be wrong. He did hope that the two of them somehow contract Spattergroit and die. When he had decided that both the Death Eaters and the Aurors could go to hell, he head meant it. He was on nobody's team and he was not getting involved.
As for Jeremy Chaucer… Well, he had stupidly promised the boy something big, and as a gentleman it was his duty to at least try. How he was going to do that, he had no idea. But it was also something that he did not have to worry about right away.
Which left his mother. Her and Ginevra's mutual dislike would take a while to evaporate, but he did not want his own relationship with either of those women to go sour.
Narcissa was reading a book by the fire when he visited her suite. She looked up, pursed her lips and then ignored him.
Which is what he had expected, of course. It was her way of telling him that she was disappointed in him, and ever since he was little it was this look that had been one of his worst nightmares. "I told her," Draco admitted softly as he sat down across from her. "I understand, you are angry."
"I am," she replied stiffly, turning a page of her book. "But why would you care? Clearly, I have no value here."
"That's not true and you know it."
"I thought I knew you, Draco, but I stand corrected."
"I'm still your son."
"Are you?"
"Yes!" The urge to shout was so tempting, but it would only make matters worse. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a single white rose. It was his mother's favourite flower, and he held it out towards her with a small, pleading smile. "Please don't be angry with me, mama. I cannot bear to see you unhappy."
Her lower lip trembled, but only for a moment. "And yet you can bear to make me so?"
"You know that was never my intention. I cannot change what I feel and I don't wish to lie to you about it."
With a small sigh, his mother reached out and took the flower. "I know."
"Does this mean you're not angry anymore?" He asked as he widened his eyes like a puppy's and curved his lips into a hopeful, innocent smile. It was an expression that has always gotten him out of trouble when he was little.
His mother shot him an amused smile, as if she knew exactly what he was trying to do. "No, I'm not," she said, and he resisted the urge to pump his fist into the air victoriously. His mother had never been able to resist his adorable face after all. "You were right. It is futile of me to try and make you see sense. I won't anymore. I'll let your father handle this."
The smile dropped from Draco's face in an instant. He could imagine only too well what his father would say about his relationship with Ginevra.
Fuck.
xx
The village of Hogsmeade looked the same even after all these years. As Draco made his way down the Main Street, his mind wandered back to his years at Hogwarts. He remembered emptying shelves of Honeydukes and Zonko's with his friends before going to the Three Broomsticks. His grinned as he recalled the one time when he had dared Nott to flirt his way through Madam Rosmerta to get his hands on a bottle of Firewhiskey. He had failed miserably, of course, and they had made fun of him for days afterwards. He had often complained that Hogwarts had been terrible but now, looking back, he knew that it was not so. He had had some truly wonderful times at that school.
Draco turned left down an alley and came to stop outside a red door with a big brass knocker in the shape of a bird that he had never seen before. He reached out to knock and then jumped back in surprise as the bird opened its beak and let out an odd shriek that sounded like a hyena being tortured. Merlin!
The door swung open to reveal Neville Longbottom, who was bewildered and trying very hard not to show it. "Hey," he said, eyeing him as if he was not sure whether this was real or a bizarre dream.
"Hey," Draco nodded politely.
The seconds trickled by in an awkward silence until Longbottom jumped aside with a sheepish expression. "Sorry! Come in." he said. "I was, er, surprised to get your letter."
"Yeah, thanks for inviting me over," he muttered as he stepped in and shrugged off his cloak. Hanging it on the coat hanger, he followed his old schoolmate into the small living room.
There was a project that Draco had on his mind. He had been researching it alone for months, but while he was very clear on what he wanted to achieve, he did not have enough plant-related knowledge to get there. Reluctantly, he had gone to meet Professor Sprout (who was not a big fan of him, like most of the Wizarding community) when he had discovered that Longbottom was her apprentice. One discussion about the Sopophorous plant was enough to know that his knowledge of the subject was impressive, and a second conversation at Weaselbee's wedding convinced Draco that Longbottom was eager enough about the subject to prove a valuable resource.
So, he had sent him a letter saying that he needed to ask him about a Herbology related issue.
And here they were.
Except Longbottom looked like he was finding this encounter quite hard to stomach. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, then said, "Would you like to eat something? Oh, we could go to the Three Broomsticks for a pint of Butterbeer before we start."
"I can't," Draco said flatly. "Lifetime ban." There was no way Madam Rosmerta was going to ever let him in her premises after he had kept her under the Imperius Curse for almost a year and forced her to become an accomplice in two murder attempts.
"Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot."
He smiled icily. "Easy mistake."
Longbottom shuffled his feet once again. "I could go grab us some."
"No, really. I don't want to be a bother–"
"It's not far away. I'll be back in ten minutes." Longbottom had already summoned his cloak with a swish of his wand and was hurrying towards the front door. It was unclear whether his sudden desire to serve him Butterbeer came from an urge to be a good host or simply to leave his presence. "Make yourself comfortable." And then he was gone.
Draco stood stunned for a good minute, wondering for the umpteenth time if this was a good idea. There was no love lost between the two of them, after all; Longbottom had been the subject of his countless pranks and comments. What a daft, scared, fat little kid he had been! Well, he was not that anymore. He had grown to be a decent-looking bloke. Not to mention he was a decorated war hero too.
Blimey. A decent-looking Longbottom! What had the world come to?
Shaking his head, Draco looked around the living room, which was without doubt the most peculiar place he had ever seen in his life. It should not have come as a surprise, considering this was the house of Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.
There was a large, low-lying coffee table in the middle of the room, covered with a stack of unopened letters. It was surrounded on three sides with colourful floor cushions and a bright blue puffy couch on one side. A variety of small potted plants, magical and otherwise, stood by the window, upon which hung an odd windchime made of corks and little bells that made an odd drumming sound instead of the usual chime.
He walked over to the giant bookshelf, which was divided into two clear sections: Magical Creatures and Herbology. Draco ignored the former; his experience of Hagrid's classes had put him off magical beasts for a few lifetimes. He perused the titles of Longbottom's books: One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Flesh Eating Trees of the World, Magical Water Plants of the Mediterranean, Encyclopedia of Magical Chinese Plants, The Herbal Handbook: A guide to the ancient herbs of South America, Selina Sapworthy: An Autobiography. There were two leather-bound journals with no title – and Draco pulled one out. He had expected it to be filled with accounts of some famous Herbologist. Instead, it turned out to be a scrapbook of sorts, filled with countless candy wrappers. Frowning, he looked at the other journal, which was the same from the inside, wondering why in the name of Merlin's armpit would anyone want to store candy wrappers?
Maybe it was Luna's. She was someone who would have such quaint hobbies.
Longbottom returned with the Butterbeer ten minutes later, as promised. The two men sat down on the opposite ends of the sofa, drinks in hand. Draco took a sip and resisted the urge to sigh blissfully. He had almost forgotten how good the Three Broomsticks products were.
"Now then," Longbottom spoke up. "What did you want to talk about?"
Straight to business. Well, more like straight-to-business-after-awkwardly-stalling-for-a-longer-time-than-necessary. Nonetheless, Draco appreciated the lack of further small talk. He pulled out an ancient looking book from his pocket. "This is a manuscript detailing the unfinished experiments and untested theories of the great alchemist Paracelsus," he said, holding it gingerly in his hands. It was one of the last seven copies remaining of the account and one of his prized possessions. He remembered he had nearly bit Ginevra's head off when he had found her carelessly leafing through it one time.
"Wasn't he the bloke who discovered Parseltongue?" Longbottom asked.
"Yes, but that's not important." Opening the journal to a specific page, he passed it to Longbottom. "It says here that Paracelsus was fascinated with the way magic, especially Dark Charms, affected the human body. He believed that every hex or curse damages the body on a deeper level. If, on the outside, the curse leaves little to no effects, then it means that either the body has healed itself or that the damage is minimal, but it is always there, even if not visible to the eye. Paracelsus had planned on exploring his theory and seeing if there was an elixir to undo it, but he passed away before he could start working on it."
"Alright…" Longbottom frowned as he read the journal.
"Gunhilda de Gorsemoor, who invented the Dragon Pox cure, reiterates this theory, only she talks about diseases and poisons. Look," Draco paused to pull out a tattered copy of The Practical Potioneer, June 1593 edition. He opened it to a piece written by the Healer. "She says here that she was able to make the cure when she researched deep into how exactly Dragon Pox was able to infiltrate the human body and why it was more damaging to some and slightly less to others. The answer lay in the micro-level and upon studying the fragments of the infection, she was able to brew a concoction that could reverse it."
Longbottom look at him, bewildered. "Where are you going with this?"
"Blaise's father often gifts him books about muggle science. I know, scandalous," he added upon noticing the look on his face. "Anyway, I was staying over at Blaise's a few months back and I read this book about cell biology that got me thinking. Dark Charms cause damage on a cellular level, and in the case of more severe curses, that damage does not heal."
"So?"
"So, I want to make a potion that heals the cells that have been damaged beyond repair."
Longbottom looked at him as if he had spouted a second head. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, then said: "Why do you want to do that?"
If there was anyone in the world who was desperate to find a cure to Dark Curses, it was Draco. Would it not be wonderful to get rid of the Dark Lord's Curse? He would be able to dance freely on more than a couple of songs and play Quidditch freely without his leg seizing up. He would never have to go through all that mind-bending pain and no one would administer fluids into his body using needles. But he was getting ahead of himself. It would be folly to allow himself much hope. All he had right now was an idea. It would take extensive research and experimentation to create such a potion. It could take years.
"I mean," Longbottom went on, unaware of his train of thought. "You're not a Healer."
"I'm a Potioneer," Draco replied smoothly. "I understand that this may or may not work, but I'd like to try."
"What does this have to do with me?"
Finally, a sensible question. He had been beginning to lose hope in the ex-fat bastard. "Well, I've been studying contaminated cells–"
"You've been what–?!"
"Keep up, Longbottom," Draco shot him a look. He had been sitting on this idea for far too long and was eager to share his theories with someone. If only, said someone would pay greater attention so he wouldn't have to repeat himself. "The Malfoy Corporation has access to blood samples of some of the more interesting patients who come to St. Mungo's. With their permission and for research purposes, of course. So, I've been studying them to see how various ailments and poisons affect the blood. Now, there is one particular one that caught my eye–" He paused to pull out a small vial.
"How much crap do you carry in those pockets, Malfoy?" Longbottom asked incredulously.
Casually ignoring the remark, Draco went on, "This thirty-year-old woman suffers from a Blood Malediction that causes her to fall into a coma for five to seven months every year. I studied it under the microscope and found that all her cells have a miniscule black spot in the center that normal, healthy blood does not have. I scoured the library and found that it is similar, though not entirely same, to the effect that the Draught of the Living Death leaves, which got me thinking of one of its key ingredients: Sopophorous bean."
"So, that's why you've been talking to be about the properties of Sopophorous Plant."
"Potions and Herbology are two subjects that often intertwine. I want you to take a look at the sample and tell me if I'm right," He paused as he realised that his words sounded a lot like an order. Longbottom must have felt the same, for he had narrowed his eyes. Clearing his throat, Draco said in a more neutral tone, "I was also wondering if you would be interested to work with me on this project, since your understanding of plants is superior to mine." There, that ought to clear things.
Longbottom looked at the books in his lap thoughtfully, then slowly reached out and took the vial of blood. "Yeah, alright," he said. "I don't have a microscope at home, so I'll look at it in Hogwarts tomorrow. Unless you have one lying in your pocket?" He eyed his clothes warily.
"I don't, though it's a good idea for next time." Draco said with a laugh. Taking a deep breath, he decided to swallow his ego. "Thank you, Longbottom." Salazar, that was difficult. He would have preferred drinking an entire bottle of Skele-Gro than thank this buffoon. Not wanting his unease to become obvious, he groped for a different topic. "Ginevra told me you're taking over Professor Sprout's position next year."
"Yeah." Longbottom beamed proudly. "McGonagall asked me just before Christmas, so it's official."
"Congratulations."
"Thanks." An awkward pause. "Ginny told me it was a very pretentious ball you invited her to on New Year's Eve, but she had fun."
Draco snorted. "Oh, it was rather simple compared to what they usually have." A thought occurred to him. Longbottom had been an Auror before he became Sprout's apprentice. Dare he try to do what he had just thought of? "They tried to keep it simple this year – tried, being the key word here – because Chaucer was invited."
"Chaucer, as in Jeremy Chaucer?" When Draco nodded, Longbottom shook his head sadly. "Poor kid. It's unimaginable, the loss he's suffered."
"I had a chance to converse with him. He's troubled, for lack of another word."
"Who could blame him?"
"He doesn't have any faith in the French Aurors, says that they are not doing enough to bring the murderers to justice," Draco went on casually. "One push and he'll take matters into his own hands."
"...Who will push him?"
"Anyone could. Chaucer is an easy target to manipulate, and he seems tempted to go on a muggle man-hunt himself."
Longbottom seemed alarmed. "Did he say that to you?"
"Not in so many words," he lied smoothly.
"He's a sixteen-year-old boy. He'll get himself killed."
Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "You know, it sounded to me like Chaucer was a fan of Saint Potter. Told me that it was a shame Potter couldn't make things right for him." He drew his brows in mock consideration. "That would explain the daft idea of hunting those killers. Taking a leaf out of his hero's book, isn't he?"
The wheels were turning in Longbottom's head. "Well, what if Harry could help?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if Harry helped the French Aurors in investigating the Chaucer murders."
"Don't be absurd!"
"It's possible. Auror Departments have been known to collaborate from time to time, and no one would say no to his involvement." Longbottom insisted. "I'll talk to Harry. I know he'll want to help."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course. Saint Potter can't keep his nose out of a high-profile case like this!" he sneered. "Bet he will love getting his photos taken for the papers."
Longbottom shot him a glare. "Don't talk about Harry like that. You don't know him."
"I know him plenty," Draco sniffed in disdain, but inside he was congratulating himself on planting the idea of enlisting Potter in Longbottom's head. It was better to work through him than going to the Git Who Lived Twice and asking for help directly. Now, his promise to Jeremy Chaucer was fulfilled. Whether or not Potter actually helps or justice gets delivered did not matter. As far as Draco was concerned, his conscience was now clear. "Well, I should go," he said, putting his empty Butterbeer bottle on the table and nodding towards his books. "I'll leave these with you, but please handle them carefully."
"I will," Longbottom promised. "I'll send you an owl when I've studied the sample."
"Sounds like a plan."
xx
On the sixth of January, the British and Irish Quidditch League resumed after the winter break with a nail-biting match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Holyhead Harpies. After four hours of insane saves and incredible bludger hits, the Harpies had won 370-360.
Draco, who had listened to the radio commentary in between his meetings, sent Ginevra a note congratulating her and asking her if she would be interested in going out for a late dinner with him that night. He knew better than to visit her; the Holyhead Harpies often celebrated with their entire management and a large group of fans – a gathering that his Puddlemere United loyalty would not allow him to be a part of.
Her reply was rather quick: It's a date. I'll come to the Manor at 8:30pm. Prepare yourself for a lot of Harpies cheer!
He made reservations at an Italian restaurant that Ginevra really liked and prepared a list of Harpies insults, looking forward to enjoying the sheer bewilderment on her face as she ate her favourite pasta and he annoyed her with said insults. She may hex him before the end of the night, but it will be worth it. It was his duty as a Malfoy to suck the cheer out of others, after all.
By the time he returned to the Manor, he had composed a quatrain about the Harpies Seeker and how she wouldn't be able to see a Hippogriff if rammed straight into her, let alone catch a Snitch. It reminded him of 'Weasley is Our King', which had been another ingenious composition of his back at Hogwarts. A bit too harsh at times, for sure, but that was exactly what he had intended. And it had worked superbly, not only Weaselbee but the entire Gryffindor team had been thrown off by it.
What should he name this stanza? He was playing with 'horrendous', 'blind' and 'Harpies' when he entered the Main Hall and saw Blaise Zabini standing by the bar, his back to him. The wanker had come to steal his good Firewhiskey again.
"Please, make yourself at home as usual," Draco called out sarcastically as he shrugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of one of the chairs at the long table where the Dark Lord used to hold court once upon a time. It was then that he noticed an empty decanter of sherry on the table. "Had an early start, did we?" Silence greeted his words, causing him to frown. It was very unlike Blaise to not respond with a scathing remark, which meant that something was wrong. "You alright?" he asked tentatively.
"Me? I'm dandy!" Blaise answered cheerily as he returned with a bottle of aged Firewhiskey. Sitting down at the head of the table, he popped it open and poured himself a hearty drink. A few moments of stony silence passed, then he crumbled under Draco's scrutiny. "No," he admitted gravely. "I think my marriage is over."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Daph and I are over." The words were slurred but there was no mistaking them.
Draco would have thought it a joke, but Blaise was not a good enough actor to fake such misery. He pulled out a chair across from him and sat down. "What happened?"
"She's pregnant."
"…Is it not yours?"
"Of course, it's mine!" Blaise snarled. "Daphne would never cheat on me."
"Right, sorry," he mumbled uncertainly. Congratulating him felt an inappropriate move, seeing that there was no joy on the father-to-be's face. "So, um, does she not want the baby?"
"She does. I don't." Blaise looked at him with wide, crestfallen eyes. "I can't be a father, Drake. I'll fuck up the child," he all but sobbed. "Zabinis are the epitome of dysfunctionality. Half of my family ought to be jailed for its treatment of children. You know the shit I've had to endure growing up better than anyone. You understand why I cannot do this."
"Mate, listen, you're not like your parents," Draco supplied, finally understanding what this was all about. "You're sensible, for one. And you have a healthy marriage."
"Which is a miracle in itself! I never really believed in the constitution of marriage and yet I married Daphne because I love her so much. A baby was not part of the deal."
"She didn't make the baby on her own. You had a part to play in there somewhere."
Blaise looked like he wanted to scowl, but he could not find the strength to be angry. He downed the contents of his glass and buried his face in his hands. "We've always been careful. I don't know how this could have happened."
Draco did not know what to say. Blaise had been in love with Daphne since their third year at Hogwarts. It had taken years for Daphne to reciprocate his feelings, yes, but they had been a strong unit since then. There were arguments, of course, just like in any relationship. And half the time, the arguments were intentional and utterly playful. He did not think there existed a force in this world that could tear them apart. This child would not, either. Right? "Did you tell Daphne how you felt about this situation?"
Blaise did not reply right away. His face emerged from behind his hands, dark eyes shining with unshed tears. "I did. I told her I don't want a baby. It'll be better if she got rid of it."
"Tell me," he begged. "You did not say that last part to her."
"I did. She wanted me to be honest."
By Merlin, the man was a moron. "And how did she feel about your honesty?"
"She went mad. Said I was the shittiest person to walk this Earth," Blaise muttered bitterly as he fixed himself another glass of Firewhiskey, which he was quick to drink. "I don't get it. She never liked children, never said she wanted to be a mother. And now… she thinks we'll figure it out." He glanced up at him. "My parents thought the same, y'know? Look how that went. So, I told her that a child is not an experiment, that we're talking about an actual life here – an unwanted life, mind. So, we should just end it."
"It's easier said than done, Blaise," Draco said solemnly. "And just because she never said she wanted children doesn't mean–"
"I don't want children, and I've always been upfront about it. She's always known!" Blaise moved to pour another drink and Draco tried to stop him, but he would not have it. It was obvious that he had every intention of drinking into oblivion that night. "What would you do if Ginny Weasley told you she's with child?"
Merlin's pants. That was a scenario that Draco did not even wish to think about. His life was complicated enough without getting his girlfriend pregnant. "That's different. Ginevra and I are not where you and Daphne are."
"Humour me."
If Ginevra were to say to him that she was pregnant, Draco would walk away, find his bed and go to sleep, hoping that the entire thing was a nightmare that will have passed by the time he woke up. "I won't be happy about it," he said honestly. Unlike Blaise, he did want children – he would need to have them to continue his family line, as his father had told him – but he was not ready for that yet. Maybe in a decade, when he was in his mid-thirties, he would consider procreating with his wife, whoever she will be. "But it's not my decision, is it? I mean, she's the one who has to carry the baby in her body and if she wants it, I can't really stop her."
"But you'd be the father!"
"Yes. And my choice would be to either stay in the child's life or, if I feel strongly averse to fatherhood, leave." It was a horrible thought, abandoning a baby, but it was better than the alternative. "A child should never have parents who don't want him. No one knows that better than you." His words were cruel, but they were the truth. And he knew Blaise would appreciate them.
"But then I'd have to leave Daphne too!" Blaise protested. The mere thought of leaving his wife must be unbearable for him, for the tears in his eyes grew ever more pronounced and his lower lip quivered. "I don't want to leave her. She's the love of my life, Drake. I-I can't lose her." He was crying now, tears rolling down his cheek.
"I know," Draco murmured as he placed what he hoped was a consoling hand on his shoulder. "Look, I think you need to calm down and think this through."
"She kicked me out after our fight, y'know? Told me I was my mother's son through and through."
"She was just angry–"
"She said she had been wrong to trust me with her heart–"
"People say all sorts of things when they're fighting–"
"And that the biggest mistake of her life was marrying me–"
"We both know she didn't mean it."
"What if she did?"
"Blaise. Stop."
He wiped at his tears and looked up at him, eyes wide and forlorn. "No, seriously. You just said it: I can only be with her if I agree to have this baby together."
"That's not what I–"
"Oh, fuck. My marriage is over. It's all over." With a groan of anguish, Blaise slammed his head on the table and buried it under his arms.
"Would you stop being such a drama queen?" Draco demanded as he stood up in anger. "Look, all you two need is to calm the fuck down–"
"Draco?"
He whirled around at the sound of his name and saw Ginevra standing at the top of the staircase, wearing a Holyhead Harpies jumper. There was a gold talon painted on her right cheek, and a broomstick and Quaffle on her left. It looked like she had been grinning when she had walked in, though it was slowly fading away now, only to be replaced with bewilderment.
Shit. He'd completely forgotten about his date, otherwise he would have sent her an owl, asking to postpone their celebrations. Come to think of it, he was pretty sure he had forgotten half of the prepared insults too, such had been his conversation with Blaise.
"Is everything alright?" she asked tentatively.
"Yes," Draco lied. This was Zabini's personal matter and not his tale to tell, after all. He shook Blaise's shoulder lightly, hoping he would get up and compose himself, but the man just mumbled something incoherent groggily. Clearly, all that alcohol had taken hold. "Um, excuse me for a bit." He reached out and slung his friend's arm over his shoulders. "Come on, mate."
"'Kay..." Blaise looked up but his eyes were drooping and his head lolling. "Not fair, Drake... Not fair."
"Let's get you to bed." Draco pulled him up, grunting under his weight, and supported him outside the Hall and into the nearest bedroom. "Salazar, what do you eat?" he rasped as he flung him onto the bed, but the dark-skinned man merely rolled onto his side and let out a light snore.
It would have been to easy to feel disgruntled, but Draco couldn't. There was an unsaid vow that had existed between Blaise and him since they became best friends back in second year at Hogwarts: that they would stand by each other through good and bad. Blaise had done that. And Draco always tried his best to do the same.
Shaking his head, he bent down and took off Blaise's shoes and socks, then pulled the blanket over him. He hoped that things would get better between Blaise and Daphne; Blaise had never truly loved another woman, and probably never would. His life would be miserable without Daphne in it.
"Yugo," Draco said, and the house-elf appeared at the foot of the bed with a small pop. "Place a glass of water and a small vial of hangover potion on Mr. Zabini's bedside table. And a bucket as well. I have a feeling he is going to need it when he wakes."
"Yes, Master-Sir," Yugo nodded and disapparated with another pop.
Satisfied, Draco turned around and saw Ginevra standing in the doorway, looking at him with an expression that he could not quite decipher. He walked over to her, placed a kiss on her brow and said, "Congratulations on winning the match, darling."
"Thank you," she said, then glanced back at the sleeping man on the bed. "What's wrong with him?"
"It's his personal matter. I feel it would be wrong of me to tell you."
She nodded slowly. "Can I help?"
He shot her a look, wondering why she would offer such a thing. But then again, she was a Gryffindor and they had this annoying habit of wanting to fix other people's problems, noble heroes that they all tried to be. "I don't think so." He led her away from the room and down the hallway. "I had made reservations, but I… I really think I should be with Blaise tonight. I'm sorry."
"Of course. It's no problem."
"We can go out tomorrow night if you're free."
"That sounds good."
"And you won't have this ugly face paint on?"
Ginevra swatted his arm lightly. "I'll redo it. Holyhead Harpies for the win!"
"If you say so," he muttered dubiously, which earned him another smack on the arm. This was becoming a rather annoying habit of hers. He would have to do something about it someday. For now, he was distracted by the way she was staring at him – her brown eyes roaming over his face, her lips curved into a curious smile, as if she had noticed something for the first time. "What is it?"
"You're a good friend, Draco Malfoy."
The compliment pleased him, but he tried to look miffed. "You don't have to sound so surprised."
"I am surprised. I thought you were only capable of being a tosser." And then she leaned up to place a soft kiss on his lips.
xx
Martha's Magical Pastasciutta was a small Italian restaurant located in London. Ginevra was particularly fond of this place, partially because it provided a good view of the colourful Neal's Yard and mainly because the menu allowed you to mix the pasta and sauces of your choice – on each table were a number of refillable dishes containing various pasta sauces, and they would shout angrily if you did not choose to include them in your recipe. It was a stupid, disrespectful idea in Draco's opinion, but she rather enjoyed arguing with the crockery.
Yes. His girlfriend was bonkers.
The place was not very crowded, but they sat at their usual table in the corner. Ginevra went for a classic Fettucine Alfredo ("A choice like that, you must be vanilla in bed!" commented the Burro Pasta Sauce Dish) and Draco chose Linguine Carbonara with Cauliflower and Pancetta ("I hope Mister Fancy here gets the shits!" grumbled the Classic Marinara Sauce Dish as it simply walked off the table, landing on the floor with a loud crash and splatter).
"I hate this place!" Draco complained as Martha cleared away the mess with a wave of her wand and shot him an apologetic smile. Ginevra, on the other hand, had tears of laughter in her eyes. "We could have gone literally anywhere if you were just going to get boring Alfredo." ("You tell her, boy!" said the Romana Sauce Dish approvingly)
"Shut up, it's fun," Ginevra said, picking up her fork. Their food had appeared on the table and for a few minutes they ate in silence. "Is Zabini better now?"
"He's going to stay over at the Manor for a little while, but he'll be fine," he replied. That afternoon, Blaise had gone to fetch some of his clothes and necessary belongings from his townhouse while Daphne had been off at work. He said that he was not ready to speak to her yet, which Draco felt was for the best. It was important that Blaise decided what exactly he wanted and where he stood on the matter before he confronted his wife. "Actually, I promised to play Wizard's Chess with him tonight, so you probably shouldn't come over."
She raised an eyebrow. "Because Wizard's Chess can burn off a woman's eyes?"
"Because we're going to be drinking and bitching about things. You're not welcome."
"Ouch!"
"Don't take it personally," he told her with a shrug. "It's just what we do from time to time. No one else is allowed."
Ginevra did not look like she was cross; in fact, it looked like she understood the sacredness of time alone with friends. "Wait," she said suddenly, brows drawing into a frown. "If Zabini is staying with you then he must have had a row with his wife."
Damn. The woman would have been a better Auror than half the dunderheads at the Ministry, including Saint Potter. "Yes. And let's leave it at that." He picked up his glass of water and held it up, hoping to change the topic to the reason they were here. "A toast."
Ginevra mirrored his movement with a smile. "What do we toast to?"
"Your recent victory."
"Yes." Her smile widened. "And here's to a thrilling Quidditch season."
He nodded in approval. "I'd say may the best team win, but that would mean Puddlemere and you won't like that, so I'm just going to say – here's to Ginevra Weasley, a Chaser far too good for her shitty team."
"You're an arsehole," she stated as their glasses clinked and they took a sip, grinning at each other. "Oh, by the way, before I forget, you're invited to the Burrow for dinner next Thursday."
He stilled. "Why?"
"It's mum and dad's wedding anniversary and we're having a little celebration – just the family. It'll be fun."
"Do I have to come?"
"Yes."
Draco opened his mouth to protest, then closed it uneasily. She was his girlfriend, and they were kind of serious now in their relationship, so he could not avoid her annoying family forever. Besides, she had been nothing but nice towards him, even after learning about the Curse, so he would have to return the favour. He was going to have to make an effort. ("Well, what else did you expect from a girl who orders Alfredo?" spat the Bolognese Pasta Sauce Dish. "Here's my advice: dump her and order Bolo–what the hell, lady?!" It screeched as Ginevra 'accidentally' spilled some water on it.)
A dinner with all the Weasleys.
Merde.
xx
A new year had begun and Draco Malfoy wondered if he dared hope.
He should have known better not to. After all, how could his life be peaceful? And what little peace remained in his life, this redhead would steal away.
Merlin help him.
There. A long one, wasn't it? The next one won't be long, but the one after that... hmm... it might be. And I'm writing as much as I can these days. There are things to reveal, story lines to cover. It's going to be a crazy ride, so buckle up my readers!
Do let me know what you thought of this chapter, though. I live for your reviews! :)
Until next time! Stay safe x