In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Draco 16
The tent felt warm and cold all at once, and Draco must have readjusted his gloves and goggles about a thousand times. There were no visible cuts on his face or arms, so nobody said anything. His hair was combed and face was washed, so nobody said anything. He was an expert at keeping a straight face in times like these. Today was no exception. Draco didn't even know why he was checking his reflection in the mirror.
"Oi, Malfoy –" Draco glanced to his left at Miles' face. He was leaning on his broomstick, giving him a sort of smug grin. "Heard what happened last night…" He kept his face as neutral as possible. He frowned. Miles gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "Oi, mate? Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aw, don't be coy, Malfoy," said Tobias, a chaser, who was lacing his boot on the bench. "S'alright. Everyone knows...Blaise sneaking you your Quidditch robes this morning? Nobody seeing Ella at all since after supper…?" "
"Come on!" begged Miles. "It couldn't have been more obvious! I mean, Ella coming back to the dorm this morning in her school robes, all stiff and sore…? Her hair had leaves in it…? Her knees were all bloody…?"
Draco turned away, a strange kind of sensation flowing over him. His skin felt tight and his face and shoulders felt uncomfortably hot. His chest tensed.
"C'mon. How was it?" Miles whispered. "I mean, we all know she's loud in the classroom..." Some of the others laughed.
He heard his own heartbeat in his ears, and before he could think about what had happened, he was looking down at Miles with a bloody jaw, who had fallen into the benches. There was a great clamor and quite a bit of shouting, and Blaise came immediately to stand in front of Draco while Marcus came in front of Miles to pull him up.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen—please!" quelled Blaise. "We have a game to win today."
"He punched me!" shouted Miles, jumping to his feet.
"I'd say you're lucky to get away with just that," shot Blaise, looking down his nose at him.
"But he—!"
"—'But he' what? Defended the good name of the witch he's courting? The most powerful witch that Hogwarts has ever seen? The witch who may very well soon be a Malfoy…?" The air in the tent tensed. In that moment, Draco wondered bitterly, Will she still have me…? "I'd hold my tongue, if I were you." Blaise took a threatening step forward, looking over Marcus's massive shoulder with a glare. "A Slytherin does what now?"
Miles sighed through his nose. "'Respects his housemates.'"
"'Respects his housemates,' indeed. And what will happen when you hear, say, a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw speak such scandalous bile about our friend, our Dueling Club Captain, our Student Council President, our dance instructor, our Transfigurations tutor, and our own private Potions Master?"
Miles's face changed, feeling ashamed of his own words earlier. "We're going to shut them down."
"By Merlin, we're going to shut them down. Because a Slytherin does what?" All heads in the tent were now hung in solemn respect. Miles hung his head, too, and closed his eyes.
"'A Slytherin looks out for their own.'"
"'A Slytherin looks out for their own.' We are the greatest House of Hogwarts and we shan't besmirch the Slytherin legacy by acting like twittering, gossiping fools. Now, don't you both agree – " he turned to Draco " – That we all have a game to win?" A beat. "Kiss and make up."
Miles's jaw clenched. He then stiffly extended his hand. Draco's shoulders went tight, but then shook his hand, and all seemed well. Both of their shoulders were patted, and hands were shaken all around, a very masculine display of camaraderie. Tobias came and wiped Miles' nose.
Marcus cleared his throat. "Right, gents. Let's win this game!" They all made sounds of approval, including the second- and third-string players. They made their way to the edge of the tent, and filed out on the field, which was misty with morning dew. Draco couldn't seem to move; Blaise turned around and came to him. They exchanged a very knowing glance.
"Draco," began Blaise in a low whisper. "You told Professor Snape you were fine to play today." Draco only gulped, his eyes and back and calves feeling very hot and tense. "The team is depending on you." He couldn't help but feel that Blaise was reaching. Suddenly, Blaise put his gloved hand on Draco's shoulder, a bit tightly. When Draco looked, he could see how visibly uncomfortable Blaise was. Of course he's uncomfortable now…he knows how filthy I am, I've become…I'm untouchable. I'm nothing. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by an extremely stiff and awkward hug.
"Are—?" Draco stammered. "Why are you holding my body with your body?"
Draco heard a stiff sort of sigh; the both of them were extremely conservative people when it came to affection with friends, and neither were quite sure how to continue.
"Er—" Draco cringed. "This is a hug, Draco. I'm hugging you."
"Ahm—" He stiffly patted Blaise's back, and then very awkwardly put his hands on Blaise's shoulders and squeezed…sort of. "Thank you," said Draco, unsure of what else to say. "We can stop now if you like."
"Oh thank God—" Blaise quickly let go and sighed. "Phew. Well." He cleared his throat. "There. Hugs. Right." He cleared his throat again and straightened his robes, then adjusted his gloves. "Cheers."
"Right," said Draco. He took in and let out a big breath.
"Shall we play?" he asked, gesturing outside.
He wasn't sure he felt like playing, but he wasn't sure if he didn't feel like playing. He was wondering what people were saying about them, about Ella. He was worried about the bile that was going to soon be flying around. He was angry and scared.
"Draco, listen," said Blaise, visibly uncomfortable again. He worried that he might get pulled into another awkward hug. "I'm going to tell you something that I think you need to hear. So…listen." He sighed through his nose and closed his eyes. "Stepfather number three was one that I liked. Really. I miss him sometimes, even if I can't recall his name." Draco cringed, but was silent. "He once told me…if you worry too much on what's around you, you'll miss what's ahead of you. There are times when it's okay to just…put on blinders and focus on the road ahead." A beat. "Put an hourglass on it. In four hours, you can start caring again, or…" He trailed off. "You catch the golden snitch, then you can start caring again." He opened his eyes. "Right?"
He nodded, shook Blaise's hand, and silently followed on to the field. He took his place across from Chang. Madam Hooch blew the whistle and released the snitch into the air, and they all kicked off hard from the ground and were airborne. The crowd was cheering, and everything felt uncomfortably high. He rose on his broom, flying high above everyone else, higher than the stands. Draco closed his eyes.
He couldn't do this. He was nothing. He couldn't pretend anymore. Theo knew. Blaise knew. Ella knew… What was left? Forget Quidditch. He had to mend the Vanishing cabinet. He had to pretend that everything was alright, even though it clearly wasn't. He had to do this. He had to kill Dumbledore…or The Dark Lord's anger would be unswift and unmerciful. He was going to kill his family. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill Ella…
Ella…
Draco's mind was still reeling from that morning, the memory of all four of them lined up in Professor Snape's office. She had confessed everything: the sherry, the Cambius curse, the sleep powder she'd invented...everything. The most-unnerving thing had been watching her beg for mercy on Theo, Blaise, and himself, legs shaking on bloody knees. The most powerful witch he'd ever seen, reduced to wailing, all because of him...because of the punishment he had been given for his father's mistakes.
This is your fault, Father.
A glimmer of gold caught out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to see it. Draco seemed to lock eyes with the snitch, and all went silent. No more thoughts, no more racing heart, no more nausea, no more Father...the snitch was all there was, gleaming like a bright sun. He turned his broom to face it and, with a breath, zoomed forward, so fast his hair flew out of its neatly-combed place.
The snitch zipped through the air, between the two Ravenclaw beaters, which Draco spun through with acrobatic ease. There was no hum of the commentator as he turned over the pitch, no whizzing of the quaffle as it narrowly missed his head when he dove between Blaise and Tobias, no cheers from the crowd when he spun upside-down over Chang's head, who then gave chase behind him... The silence was only broken when he turned too tight on the vaulted stand, and used his legs to kick off hard from them to ricochet himself forward, too fast to see or feel, flying upside-down over the Ravenclaw seeker's head to snatch the snitch clean out of Chang's reach before she could touch it.
Draco looped around to be right-side-up and hovered straight in the center of the field to open his palm, and in it was the bright gleam of glittering gold. The sound came back, heralded in with Madam Hooch's whistle.
"HE'S CAUGHT THE SNITCH! DRACO MALFOY HAS CAUGHT THE GOLDEN SNITCH, IN AN IMPRESSIVE DISPLAY OF AERIAL ACROBATICS! SLYTHERIN WINS, 180 TO 50!"
"SLYTHER-WIN! SLYTHER-WIN! SLYTHER-WIN!" the crowd chanted. "SLYTHER-WIN! SLYTHER-WIN! SLYTHER-WIN!"
I really do have better reflexes when I'm tired.
He was then soon rushed by his team, and the next thing he knew they were all in the Common Room, celebrating. There was a rather annoying amount of confetti, and several kegs of the Singing Ale that Ella had brewed from last year which - as its name suggested - made everyone who drank it burst into song. When Draco had asked her why she had brewed such a ridiculous thing, she simply responded with 'I was curious.' It didn't necessarily get you drunk, but it did fill you with a strange musical euphoria, and any song you chose to sing, all others that drank it would sing with you, in harmony. It didn't take long before the entire dungeon was filled with song, all missing one distinct voice.
"Has anyone seen Ella?" Nobody could respond because they were all singing an impressively harmonic rendition of the Slytherin fight song. Draco rolled his eyes and sneaked down the hallway to the girls' dormitory. He closed the door behind him and got about five steps downward before iron bars shot out and slammed into the opposite wall to form a barrier. A glimmer of a pale face and dark hair came around the corner. "Greengrass!" Her wide eyes got wider as he stuck his arm through the bar to motion her closer. "Astoria!"
The fourth-year gulped timidly, then came towards him. "You know this is the Girls side," she reminded.
"Obviously," he quipped back. "Have you seen Ella?"
She shook her dark head. "Not since this morning," she admitted. She glanced away, then came closer to him, close enough to see her in the torchlight. "She was very upset. She looked as if she had been crying." She paused. "I don't know what's happened between you, but I don't think I care for a boy who makes his girlfriend cry."
"How dare you speak to me that way?" he responded automatically. "I am your Prefect."
"My Prefect that's sneaking across to the girls' dormitory?"
"Are you going to help me or not?" he shot.
"Why should I?" she asked with a frown, crossing her thin arms over her thin chest. "If she doesn't want to see you, then she shouldn't have to. A-And frankly," she said, pointing her finger, "I wouldn't want to see you either. There are lots of nasty things flying around about what happened between you two last night, and I just think it's disgraceful that she's being shamed for the thing you're being praised for!"
Draco's anger flared. "How brave of you to insult me behind bars," he growled.
"I'm not wrong," she shot back. "Now would you kindly move?"
He realized that he was blocking the way out. "Go down to Ella's dorm first," he said. "Then I'll move."
"What if she's not there?" Astoria balked.
"Then you'll tell me that she's not there," Draco answered. She pouted.
"What are you doing?" Draco turned around to see Astoria's sister, Daphne, behind him. He quickly remembered that Daphne was Ella's roommate. He came away from the bars.
"Is Ella with you?" he asked. Daphne put her hands on her hips and gave him an extremely nasty look.
"Are you going to let my sister out or not?" she demanded. Astonished, Draco took a few steps back, to where he was at the doorway, just enough for the bars to go back into the walls and let Astoria pass through. She came timidly and walked passed him to Daphne, who quickly put her arm around her and escorted her out. Under any other circumstance, he might feel quite insulted; but Draco felt deeply ashamed that this entire debacle had dragged Ella's name through the mud. His immediate instinct was to go and kick in the radio and announce to the entire House that he would personally curse the families of any who dared speak such bile about Ella Zamora, but he quickly decided that it was best to find Ella first and apologize. He glanced back to the common room; they were still singing.
Theo came up to Draco with a timid grin. "Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"Good game today," he said. Draco nodded in thanks. "Er..." There was a tense pause. "Listen, about...what happened..." Draco's shoulders stiffened. "...you know..." He sighed. "Well. I don't like to think that I'm a fair-weather friend. And..." Draco wanted to vomit. "...Well...about your father..." Theo sighed again. "I guess what I'm trying to say is..." Theo extended his hand. "Good game today, mate." He smiled.
Theodore Nott was Draco's oldest friend. His father was a Death Eater, too, and the Notts were one of the extremely select few that Draco's father considered equal. They used to...well, they didn't ever play. Playtime wasn't allowed. It was improper for a Malfoy to be running around outside, screaming and playing in the leaves. They could talk and play cards, go for long walks in the gardens...but they never played. They just...weren't allowed.
"You can shake my hand, you know," Theo said. Draco laughed a little at himself and shook his hand in thanks. "Like some of this?" He offered a sip of his butterbeer. Draco shook his head. "Are you sure?" He shook his head again with a grin. "Please yourself, then," said Theo, sipping. He wasn't sure how to feel. "It really was a good game...but perhaps let it last a little longer next time? A forty-minute game isn't quite worth the climb, wouldn't you say?" The game lasted forty minutes? "Sometimes I think that Quidditch matches should all have a standardized time. Say...two hours?"
"Why two hours?" Draco asked.
"Well, Quidditch matches can last for days, making it impossible to plan around. And if they only last forty minutes...?" He sighed. "What if a Quidditch match lasts for two hours, no matter which team's Seeker catches the Snitch. Oh, sure, you still get the 150 points for catching it, but then the Seeker can double as a fourth chaser, and then make the games more interesting?" Draco had to admit that it did sound like it would be more interesting. "Well, I don't know who you'd have to talk to to get that sorted, though."
"It'd likely be more trouble than its worth," Draco replied. "You'd likely have to be a respected Quidditch Pro with at least a World Cup championship under your belt to have enough sway to change the rules like that."
Theo nodded. There was a pause as the Common Room had somehow erupted in a rendition of "The Witch of the West". He then smiled. "How's this 'small talk' working out for you?"
He felt his bones ache. "I don't know anymore," he admitted.
His oldest friend forced a smile. "I suppose we British aren't accustomed to expressing such feelings openly, but..." He cleared his throat. "Should you need it..."The words almost seemed to taste of sick upon his thin lips. "Well, do me this kindness, and at least show me that you know what I'm trying to say?"
Draco had a feeling that he knew what he was trying to say, but he wasn't sure he was ready to believe it. He hadn't much recollection of the night before, except for fragments of a very vivid and pleasant dream. He remembered waking up to the sun, his bones cracking and his skin tearing and stretching and shrinking back to its nakedness in the middle of the cold forest. He remembered begging Ella to go back inside, watching her terrified face as he changed, her love turn to fear, then to loathing.
"Did I kill anything" he timidly asked.
Theo scoffed a bit, then shook his head. "Blaise said you killed a few rabbits and a badger, but he thinks the badger was already dead." Draco nodded somberly, trying to force a smile on his face for the sake of the rest of the party. "I was worried you might bring on the spiders... I hear there are Acromantulas deep in the forest." A pause. "Listen, I know it's none of my business, but..." Draco's eyebrow quirked. "Why were Ella's knees bloody this morning?"
The question was like a kick in the guts. "I..." Draco began stammering. The words to describe what he had done felt so sour and bitter and rancid all at once that he feared he may actually vomit. "I threw a rock at her—"
"—You did what?!" whispered Theo in shock. "Why?!" he gasped.
"I don't know—" He caught himself from sobbing, certainly not wanting to do this in the middle of a victory celebration. "—I was just so angry...I was humiliated... I know it's not right but I just—I saw red." He sighed. "I know it's not an excuse—"
"—Hang on, hang on...let's give blame where it's due, too. She did you wrong as well—"
"—That doesn't give me the right to throw things at her!" whispered Draco in horror. "I've been trying to ask the girls where she is, but—"
"—Why ask them? They're not going to tell you anything. Haven't you heard what people have been saying? The whole school is saying—" Theo looked as if he didn't want to continue the thought, so he simply cleared his throat. Draco felt curiously, furiously ill. " —Well, I can tell you that it's likely better than the alternative."
"How—? How could dragging Ella's dignity through the mud be better than the alternative?"
"You mean you'd like the whole school to know your secret?" gasped Theo. "You'll be expelled. You'll be added to a—"he gulped "—a registry. They'll tag you, like an animal."
I am lower than an animal now...thought Draco bitterly.
"I know that it's not right at all, but...I mean...you gave her your ring, didn't you? That means you intended to marry her anyway. And what kind of man would you be if you didn't follow through with your words? A man stands by his chosen love, even when the world slanders their name."
She won't even touch me now...why would she? "We all seemed to support the werewolf registry without question." Draco's voice was so low, he wasn't even sure if he was hearing it from his lips or from inside his head. He shook his head, as if to dislodge those thoughts. "I need to find Ella."
"Good luck," said Theo. "Nobody knows where she went."
Draco's heart pounded in panic. Did they expel her? He racked his brain. "Professor Snape might know," he offered.
"Why would he know?"
"Because he's her Godfather, that's why," said Draco, now full of resolve. "I'm going to find him."
"Wait-wait-wait, you can't just leave the party—it's your party!"
"It's my party, I can leave if I want to." And Draco left.
He climbed quickly out of the Common Room and went straight to Professor Snape's office. He himself had just returned, it seemed; Draco knocked as he opened the door. Snape glanced over his shoulder and frowned in question; he motioned him in.
"Sir," Draco greeted, shutting the door quietly behind him.
"Mister Malfoy," he greeted. "It seems as if you play rather well when extraordinarily tired," he commented. He turned and faced him. "How are you?" He seemed sincere. He wasn't certain how to answer, so he said nothing. "Something you needed?"
"Have you seen Ella anywhere?"
He paused, his face neutral. "If you haven't found her yourself, I expect she doesn't yet wish to be found," he answered.
"I hadn't been extensively searching, sir..." Draco's face felt a little red. "I was only wondering if you'd tell me where to look," he said.
"I wouldn't know where to look were I to find her, Mister Malfoy. I haven't been courting her for the passed year." Draco felt a strange sense of embarrassment, humiliation, triggering more than a few memories of his father.
"Are you going to expel her, sir?" Draco heard his own voice crack, causing his knees to shake.
Snape looked away and sighed through his hooked nose. "That would be the easy thing to do, wouldn't it? Her grandmother wished for her transfer to Beauxbatons for the remainder of her education." He sighed again, circled around at his desk, and sat. He dipped his quill in some ink and began grading the pile of scrolls in front of him. "Would you trust her again with your potions?" he then asked without looking up.
Draco wasn't sure what to say. Just the thought of needing something for the rest of his life, needing to take something for the rest of his life, was utterly...what was the word for it? It wasn't terrifying, it wasn't quite humiliating, either... What was the word for the feeling that was when you felt as if you'd never be cheerful again? He was sure that word existed, but he couldn't think of it. He wasn't cursed; a curse could be broken. He wasn't sick; you could get through being sick and you would eventually heal. He wasn't sad; you would always be happy again after you were sad, eventually. This was a new feeling, and Draco couldn't begin to understand it.
He had grown up knowing that he was thrice-blessed; first for being born a Wizard, second for being born a Pureblood, and third being born a Malfoy. When he was to attend Hogwarts, he was supposed to be the most-popular, the most-beloved...not Harry Potter. Draco was the one that was supposed to be the best flyer, since he'd been on broomstick since he was six. He was supposed to have the best friends, be the richest, be the most sought-after. He wasn't supposed to have a rival. He was supposed to rule Hogwarts as its King. All of that changed when he was eleven. All of it changed again when he was fifteen.
Ella was the first person in the world to have sought him out for something other than his name or his disdain for Potter or his fortune or his affluence. She was already rich and well-established in her own country, so there was no reason to drag him into her games, too... That day in the Forbidden Forest, the first Saturday they'd spent alone, those words: 'I just wanted to be alone with you.' That was the day they found the giant and set him free. That was the day they shared a butterbeer at Hogsmeade, and quickly learned that Ella did not like it. That was the day they tried every single type of fudge Honeydukes had to offer, and felt so sick going home. That was the day Ella tried to pay with dragots instead of galleons, and it was the first time Draco ever saw an octagonal coin. Stupidly, he couldn't remember the actual date.
Slowly, after that day, Hogwarts smiled on him. Slowly, after that day, he was becoming someone else, someone that others...liked. Everyone liked Ella, and Ella liked him, so, naturally, everyone liked him, too. He somehow felt cheated, and then all of it went away when she brought that bloody chicken of hers onto the Quidditch pitch. Drill after drill after drill, he flew until he was so stiff that he couldn't move. That first game of the season was won, and then again and again...the next thing he knew, he was the Seeker that had broken Gryffindor's streak of winning the House cup. All of it was, ultimately, thanks to Ella.
"If I said 'yes,'" Draco began, "would that mean you'd have her stay?"
Snape glanced up through his eyebrows, then put his quill down. He leaned his elbows on his desk and brought his clasped hand to his pursed lips in thought.
"I don't want her to leave, sir," Draco said. "She wouldn't have done what she did had I been honest with her from the beginning." He took a step forward. "If you must expel someone, then expel me." He felt himself projected over his own body, watching himself say these words. You sodding moron! screamed his consciousness. How the bloody hell do you expect to kill Albus Dumbledore if you're expelled?! Do you not understand what's at stake?!
"I have no intention of expelling you, Mister Malfoy," said Snape, Draco feeling only a mild bit of solace. "Nor do I have any intention of expelling Miss Zamora." He let out an audible sigh in relief. "I will be personally making your potions from this day forward, until you learn to make it yourself." Draco supposed that it was good enough news. After all, who better to keep the secret than himself? "I trust you will rest easy knowing that both Misters Zabini and Nott have consented to being put under the Fidelius charm to keep your secret."
"And Ella?"
Snape locked eyes with him. "Do you know how sorry she is?" He was overcome with the feeling of rocks hitting the bottom of his stomach. "Had it crossed your cunning little mind that the guilt she is capable of is one that of which we can only dream? The girl was raised a Catholic, for Merlin's sake—you think she'll ever let it slip? I had to physically restrain her from Obliviating herself." Snape sighed through his nose. "She's volunteered herself for Saturday detention, every week until she graduates, with no more holidays home or trips to Hogsmeade. I talked her down to a month of scrubbing floors with Filch."
"Scrubbing floors—?!" Draco wanted to scream. He didn't. He never did...but the thought of her scrubbing floors with that filthy squib, reduced to a servant...! And it was all his fault... He simply stood there, silently, thinking about how he knew he'd never feel joy again. He didn't know how long he had been standing there like that...he didn't know what to do next. He felt so utterly alone. He didn't know why, but Professor Snape suddenly appeared in front of him, his hand on his shoulders. Draco looked up. Snape was looking at him with...pity?
"Don't you dare pity me," growled Draco, shoving his hands away.
"This is not pity, Mister Malfoy. This is compassion, something far more powerful." Draco's chest tightened as he took a step away. Snape took out his wand, then bid Draco do the same. "I know you are gifted. I know you are skilled. You can control your emotions, and discipline your mind, and keep it clear when no others can. This is why I am going to show you something." He watched as Snape cast, with a great flourishing arm in a great circle above his head, barely above a whisper, "Expecto Patronum," and a silvery white doe came leaping out of his wand, dancing around the office and then leaping over the bookshelves, through the wall. It was beautiful to behold.
"Professor?"
"There will be times in your life when sorrow will wash over you in waves. There will be times where you will feel as if you were nothing." Draco looked down at his feet. "There will be times in your life when nothing can cheer you, nothing can comfort you. You will feel afraid, and you won't know what you're even afraid of." He choked on his own breath, closing his eyes tight as Snape continued. "Every voice in your head will tell you how insignificant you are, how the only reason you're tolerated is simply because everyone else is afraid of you." His words were cutting, and to his horror, Draco felt hot tears threatening to spill from his eyes. "You won't feel sad. You'll simply feel as if you'll never be cheerful again. You accept the fact that the sun will never again shine upon your face, and that you'll somehow feel that you deserve it."
"Professor, please..." Draco begged.
"Raise your wand," said Snape. Draco obeyed, only in hopes that it would make him stop. "You have trouble with the Patronus charm," he said. "I've seen you in class, attempting it. You have horrors in your past that you hide, perhaps for good reason. You can't think of a happy memory because nothing stands out. Your world is gray." A sob broke from Draco's lips. "It was the same for me," he said then, causing Draco's eyes to open in surprise. "Try instead: Don't think of a moment when you felt happy. Think of the moment, the first moment in your life, where you felt that you truly mattered." He frowned in confusion, and yet a part of him understood. "You have all the weapons you need, Mister Malfoy. Now fight."
It was like a spell. A memory immediately came to mind, like a page being turned in a book. He was suddenly there, in his mind's eye, leaving Florean Fortescue's with an ice cream in either hand. Ella was there, sitting on a bench. Diagon Alley was a faded memory, and all that was colorful was her cranberry red cardigan. She was looking down in her hands at her wand, which was snapped in two. The wand box next to her was from Ollivander's, nestled at her side. Draco came to her and shook the cone at her face. She looked up and gasped a bit.
"What's that?" she asked, her eyes still swollen and red from crying.
"For you," he answered, shaking it at her again. She seemed rather skeptical of it, but he figured that she'd like the bright pink color. She took the cone with a quirked eyebrow and then stared at it. "If you don't like it, you can have mine instead." He sat next to her, and took a bite of his own caramel apple ice cream. She seemed a little nervous, but then took a bite of her cone, and her tear-filled frown immediately turned to giggling laughter.
"Oh wow!" she laughed. "That's incredible! I've never had cotton candy ice cream before!"
He frowned. "It's called 'fairy floss...'"
"Whatever." She took another big bite, the cream smearing all over her full lips, sighing happily. She smiled at him. "Can I have a taste of yours anyway?" He couldn't think of why not, so he shrugged and offered her the cone. He expected her to take it in her hand, but she simply leaned over and licked the tip. He could smell her hair, and it was so distinct. "Oh my Lord—that's like eating Christmas!" she exclaimed. "I still like this better, though," she said, going back to her own cone. He felt oddly happy watching her be so glad. She then stopped, frowned, and looked back at him. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked all of a sudden.
Unable to think of a real answer, Draco shrugged and said "Because you're letting me." And Ella smiled.
The memory glared and became white, silvery light, and the light rose within him, filling him up, and a flare burst from the tip of his wand. He opened his eyes and waved his wand high over his head as he cast "Expecto Patronum!"
From the tip of his wand came forth a wave of white light, which sparkled in a silvery whisp. He thought of the ice cream, of the wand shop, of coming back to the forest after they had returned from Hogsmeade, and how they found the fir tree. They took their wands together and waved them over the bark. His wand carved their names, Draco + Ella, while hers formed the heart that cradled it. "Expecto Patronum!" The whisp formed a body and began to run around the office. "Expecto Patronum!" A feeling of belonging washed over him, as the memory of sharing hot cider as they watched the Pumpkin Carving contest flowed through his body. It was the first time he could remember thinking: this is right. "Expecto Patronum!" Light filled the office so brilliantly that Snape squinted, and a great and powerful stag, all made of silver light, pranced and posed proudly. He looked into its silver eyes, and a wave of joy unlike any other swept over him.
"Can you...?"
The stag turned and passed through the office door, and Draco quickly bolted out to follow, his wand helping lead the way. The stag weaved up the stairs, and Draco followed. It stopped and turned to him, then followed the light towards the main courtyard, and then out towards the Quidditch pitch. He ran across the field and soon found himself along the lake, following his guardian to the great old oak tree, only to find another silvery animal dancing around it. Draco stopped in shock as a whispy-silver doe came and kissed his stag on the nose, and they both disappeared. He looked up, and there was Ella, wand in hand, sitting on a swing that she seemed to have fashioned out of conjured vines. She seemed to swell in shock, and then quickly turned away. He felt sobered.
He watched as she sat there on that swing, dressed all in black. Black stockings, black shoes, flouncy black skirt and black jumper...the only glimmer of color was the glittering green of the Slytherin ring on her left hand. He then realized that he was still in his full Quidditch uniform, and how ridiculous he likely looked, running around the school chasing a silver stag. He wondered, briefly, how many saw him. He then wondered what she was thinking. He thought, momentarily, about using a bit of legilimency, but that seemed wrong. Draco came towards her, and saw her shrink into her own shoulders. The air around her seemed to tense and grow dark...was she using the Patronus charm to cheer herself up, too? He then smiled; her Patronus was a doe, and his was a stag. She gasped when Draco's hands came over both of hers, and then slid down the vines. He pulled the swing towards him, took a few steps back, and then pushed away.
The vines creaked, but held, and he pushed again when she swung back, a little harder this time. He heard a gasp, but then it turned to faint laughter when she swung her legs out. Her shoes clicked together, and they transfigured into the green slippers that glimmered. He pushed with more force, and she swung higher, her voice lilting up into the canopy with a light laugh. He smiled, and pushed harder when she swung back.
"Higher!" she giggled. When she swung back, he caught her, and then leaped onto the swing's seat with his feet on either side of her hips. She screamed in delight as he used his legs to push them higher, and he felt her arms come up around his calves. They were soon moving in perfect sync as the vines lifted them higher and higher, so high that he wondered if they would swing into the canopy itself with each arc. Draco felt a strange joy, as if he were on a cloud as they rose and fell together, swinging then falling then swinging up and back again.
"We're gonna jump!" he announced. Ella shrieked with excitement.
"No we can't!" she laughed.
"On three!"
"Ohmigoodness!"
"One—!" he counted as they reached the peak of the arch.
"No-no-no—! We can't!" she laughed when they swung backwards.
"Two—!" he counted when they swung high again.
"Draco, oh my God!" she squealed, their momentum at a peak.
"THREE—!" The two of them leaped forward. Ella transformed into her raven form as Draco flew forward, his arms out like he was flying. He turned on his back and flipped onto the soft grassy knoll, rolling downward, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. The raven flew and dove and flipped around, cawing in delight, then falling down to his side. He quickly snatched her wrist and pulled her down with him. She didn't object.
They lay next to each other in the soft grass, laughing hard for so long that it was likely her face was hurting as much as his was by the time they stopped. He turned to look at her. Her smile faded; her fingers laced with his. Her gorgeous brown eyes began to well with tears, and he heard her choke.
"Ella—"She put her fingers to his lips and turned on her side to face him. She looked as if she were going to say something, but she quickly retracted, and her hand came up over her mouth and nose as she began to cry softly. He panicked at the thought of her crying again; he quickly pulled her close into a tight embrace. She stopped and went stiff. You fool, he cursed at himself. Stop. She doesn't want you touching her. Werewolves are dangerous, remember? They can't be trusted...
"I'm sorry," she whispered into his neck. "I'm really, really sorry." He felt her fingers curl into his quidditch robes and grip tight. "Can you ever forgive me?" she whimpered.
A hard scoff, almost choking, came bursting from his chest. Ella quickly sat up, aghast. He grabbed her arm to keep her from storming off. "I'm sorry— I just—" He laughed again. "I don't know...can you ever forgive me?"
"What?!" she balked, incredulous. "How are you aski—?!" She buried her face in her hands and growled loudly into them. "How can you possibly be the one that's feeling guilty over this?! You're not the one that was wrong!" She flopped over on her side and rolled on her stomach, giving the ground a few pounds with her fist. "You — are not — the one — that's wrong!" she shouted into the soft grass. Is she...throwing a tantrum? Ella quickly flipped over and sat up, burying her face in her knees, her whole head covered with the mop of her pretty hair.
"You mean..." He wasn't sure if this was the wisest thing to say next, but he was going to ask it anyway. "You're not angry with me?"
She lifted her head, her eyebrows tilted up in disbelief. "Why would I be angry with you? I mean—sure, I'm mad that you didn't tell me...but I broke the Potioneer's Vow. I broke the vow of sacred trust. I purposefully gave someone something that I knew wouldn't work—" A sob rose from her throat. She quickly turned away, her face now hidden behind a curtain of curls. "I can never do this again..." she said. "I can never brew a potion again."
"What are you talking about?" he gasped. "This was one mistake—"
"—A mistake that cost at least four people their lives," she argued, looking back at him. "You'll never trust me again. I'll never trust me again." She sighed deeply. "I just... How can I continue as a Potioneer? How can I hope to ever brew again? Now I have to reevaluate my entire life and come up with a new plan..." She then scoffed. "Y'know, that Tonks woman..." She trailed off. "She offered me a place in... She said I should come to the Ministry of Magic when I graduate and become an Auror." Ella shook her head at the thought, a wistful smile on her face. "I turned her into a bird with a special curse that only Witches of my bloodline can cast and break, and she offers me a job. Isn't that crazy?"
Draco frowned. "Why?" he asked.
"Well..." Ella twitched her nose, which meant she was considering how to word something difficult. "She asked me why I chose a bird. I told her it was because she could fly far away..." She sighed and twitched her nose again. "Do you know the details of the Cambiatus curse?" He shook his head. "It's something that only the Christophes know how to do, because the curse itself is a family secret. I can't tell you too many details—I'm only supposed to pass on that to my children—but I can tell you that it's a curse you cast wordlessly and wandlessly, and you just sort of..." Ella looked conflicted, as if she were trying to tell a secret without telling a secret. "It's a special spell that only works if you really feel it." A beat. "I guess I wanted to change her into something that could get away safely...something small and simple, insignificant to a predator...something nonthreatening."
"That just sounds like a transfiguration..."
Ella shook her head. "When you transfigure someone, you have to have a clear picture of exactly what you want. Also, transfigurations are reversible. The Cambiatus curse isn't. You can only ever change back to your own form if the Christophe that cast it changes you back before the sun sets. Otherwise, the change becomes permanent."
A beat. "So, wait—last year, when you cast it on—"
"—Yup."
"So she could have been permanently a—"
"—Yup." Draco couldn't help but laugh, which caused Ella to look at him, agape. "It's not funny!"
"Yes it is!" he cackled. "So, you can permanently turn anyone into any animal you want?"
"Not just animals. You can turn them to anything. But if you turn them to a tree, or to a chair, or to stone..." She sighed. "Well, let's just say it's a particularly nasty curse, and a rather temperamental one, too. Every time you cast it, you risk killing the person—or worse! They'll live out eternity as a statue, thirsting and starving, but never dying...so they say." She groaned. "And I cast it on an Auror. I should be in jail."
"But she offered you a job?"
"I know! It's crazy. She said..." Ella closed her eyes, cringing. "She said that the sign of a hero is someone whose body reacts before their brain can." Draco didn't know what that meant; it frankly sounded like someone who was inherently foolish. She sighed. "I really don't wanna be an Auror."
"You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do," said Draco, realizing how much he wished someone had said that to him at some, any point in his lifetime.
Ella rolled her eyes. "That's a nice sentiment, but I think that you and I both know it's not true." She hugged her knees to her chest and looked to him. "If I don't make a firm decision and stick to it, my grandmother's deciding for me. Not that I blame her, I guess..." She looked away, her chin resting on her kneecaps. "She's very well-meaning. Really. She wants to make sure that I'm well taken care of...and that the Christophe line doesn't end."
Draco felt sick at the thought of Ella being put to use as some broodmare. He didn't even know why he then asked: "If she's so bent on keeping her line going, then why isn't she pushing you to marry some French wizard?" That's easily the stupidest thing you could have possibly said, you tosser. Well done.
Ella then grinned, sat up straight, looked down her nose at him, and said—in a horribly mocking French accent—"'Yew szink a French wizzarrd will ever 'ave yew, yew wild lee-ttle minkeey?!'" She then burst out laughing. "I'm not even being mean; that's literally what she said." He couldn't help but snicker a bit through his nose. A cool breeze came, gently coming its fingers through her hair. She looked back to him and smiled weakly. "It's okay if you wanna break up with me. I wouldn't blame you at all."
His eyes went wide in shock, and he imagined that he was giving her a rather dumbfounded look...which he was. "Hang on," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "You think that I want to break up with you?"
It was Ella's turn to give a dumbfounded look. "...Don't you?"
"I thought you wanted to break up with me."
"...Why?"
"Why—?! Because—!" He didn't know how to continue. He was a filthy half-breed, now, less than human, unworthy of love from her, from anyone... Perhaps it was best if they broke it off? He didn't have the right to condemn her to such a life, especially when she had such a bright future ahead of her. He didn't feel her using legilimency in the back of his mind, but she still seemed to know what he was thinking. She put her hand on his forearm and squeezed. She then came closer and cupped his face with both of her hands.
"Look at me," she said. "Look into my eyes. Can you see me? Hear me?" He nodded. She took in a big breath, and let it out. "I don't care about that. I mean, I care that you didn't tell me...but I can promise you that the only person that I'm angry with is your father. I think he's the one that should have been punished, and not you." Draco didn't know what to say or think. She kept her eyes locked with his as she took the glove off his left hand, then his right, and laid on the ground next to her. She came up on her knees and pushed his robes off his shoulders.
"What are you doing...?"
"I wanna see," she answered as she pulled his heavy quidditch robes off his long arms. She took them by the collar and folded them neatly at her side. Her deft fingers went to his hips, and a violent shiver went up and down his spine feeling her fingers on his bare skin when she tugged at the warm green jumper.
"Ella, what are you doing?!" he gasped, falling backwards into the grass.
"I wanna see where you got bit." His right hand quickly clapped over the bite mark on his left forearm. Her eyebrow quirked, seemingly satisfied at the fact that he gave it away so easily. "What do you think is going to happen? It's not like I can catch anything from touching it..." Draco looked away shyly, a flush rising in his cheeks. She offered her hand. Draco hesitated.
It's just her hand, he reminded himself. You're not going to hurt her by touching her hand. She won't be tainted by a simple touch. He took her hand, and she clasped his in both of hers. Her left hand held onto his as her right slid the long knitted sleeve of his jumper up to his elbow. He looked down at his once perfect skin, marred with a great, horrific scar, giant and oblong, stretching across his forearm from front to back. The memory was still so clear, so nightmarish...the morning they had left for the trial, the Dark Lord himself had presented Draco to Fenrir Greyback, right so his father could watch as he was bitten just before he was sent off to Azkaban. He remembered the way it burned so cold and hot all at once, how it felt to feel his own flesh ripping and tearing as they held his eyes open to watch the full moon rise. These thoughts were interrupted by her tender touch, tracing the teeth marks with her fingertips.
Ella's face wasn't twisted with disgust or marred with fear. She appeared neutral enough; her eyes were full of concern, compassion...he tried to read her, but her emotions and thoughts were too fast to see. She smiled at him then and bent; Draco felt a kiss on the werewolf bite so tender that he nearly wept. He closed his eyes, so desperately afraid she would see him cry again. Her hand came to cup his cheek, and he felt her forehead against his.
"Say you forgive me," she whispered.
He laughed through his nose, a bubble of joy filling his heart. "Only if you'll say you forgive me," he replied.
"On three, then."
"One."
"Two."
"Three—"
"I forgive you," they harmonized. Smiles and sighs of relief came from both of them.
"I really am sorry," she said softly, pulling away. "I'm sorry for what I did, for accusing you of cheating on me with Pansy..."
Draco gave a crooked grin. "I'm sorry that I shut you out all summer. I'm sorry that I kept this secret from you, and refused to come clean even when you were asking...and I'm so, so sorry that I threw a rock at you—"
"—I hit you, too—"
"—You slapped me, you didn't throw a rock at my knees." Ella looked down and shrugged. "Did you go to the hospital wing?" She shook her head. "Why?" he gasped. "Everyone was saying that you came into the dorm with your knees all bloody—"
"—Can we please not talk about what everyone was saying about me?" He felt extremely sobered and angry all at once as he was reminded of the scandalous slander and how she might be feeling about it. "I mean, I guess it's better than the alternative—"
"—A grim day, indeed, when dragging your good name through the mud with scandalous implications of your virtues is somehow the better option—"
"—Draco." He looked in her eyes, that were quite serious. "Would it be so terrible if we actually were doing what everyone thinks we are?" His heart stopped, a lump caught in his throat. Every thought process he'd been having came to a dead halt. She must have noticed, for she looked away and said: "Wow, nothing..."
"I..." He realized he hadn't any idea on what to say. What were you supposed to say? The protocol was quite clear on relations before marriage among purebloods: there were none. If they were officially betrothed , they wouldn't even be allowed in the same room unless chaperones were present. Was it really that different in America? Were all of these constraints purely cultural? He supposed that their ways were better, but America had produced Ella...England head only produced him.
He once believed England to be the center of the Universe, with his father as its King; how wrong he was...
Realizing he'd been silent for far too long, he took her hand. She didn't recoil or treat him with disgust. She didn't look at him with disdain or pity. He was then reminded of the promise he'd made her barely a month ago.
"I...need your help," he said, slowly enunciating every word. She grinned and nodded.
"Yes, you do," she agreed.
Draco didn't know what came next.
"You know, I've never been one of those people that could really just care about anything. I always have to have a reason to care..."
His eyes frowned but his mouth smiled. "What about me?" She furrowed her brow in question. "Remember? First time in the forest, you said you didn't need a reason to want to be with me."
Ella laughed. "Call yourself the only exception, then." His heart swelled so full he felt it might burst. "I really, really like you." Her face went delightfully red and she looked down shyly. "I don't wanna break up."
"Well, neither do I," he began. "I just..." He gulped. "I think you and I both know that it would be unfair to you were we to stay together." Ella looked up as if she had been slapped. "Be reasonable," he insisted. "To condemn you to a life with me now—"
"—'Now?' What do you mean, 'now?' What's changed?"
"What do you mean, 'what's changed?!'" He demanded. "I'm a—" He stopped, the very thought of the word on his tongue tasting foul.
"Werewolf." He looked up. "Say it out loud. Werewolf. You're a Werewolf." Draco looked away, humiliated. She squeezed his hand. "I don't care." He looked up in disbelief. "You need me to say it again? Fine. I — don't — care. You are a Werewolf now and I don't care."
"Ella, you can't have any sort of fulfilling life—"
"—Stop telling me what I can and cannot do!" They looked away from each other. She let go of his hand and sat straight up on her feet, her back straight and jaw parallel to the ground. "So you're sick, right? You have a disease. And diseases are meant to be cured. And that's what I'm going to do." She closed her eyes and took in a breath. "I am going to be the Witch that cures Lycanthropy." There was so much resolve in her voice that he almost believed her; almost.
"There's no cure for this curse," he said bleakly. "You can't. It's impossible—"
"—Said the wizard attending magic school?" She was giving him an extremely serious look. "Nothing is going to stop me from doing this. When I put my mind to something, I conquer it, no matter what. I'm curing Lycanthropy and that's that, god dammit."
"But Ella—"
"—You don't believe I can?" It wasn't that he didn't believe she could; it was that he didn't believe anyone could. "Fine. It'll be all the sweeter when I prove you wrong."
What an emotional chapter.
There's a line that James Potter says about how he'd choose anything other than Slytherin, and Draco Malfoy says an extremely similar thing in the first book about choosing which house to be in. I can't remember the quote, but it was a really interesting parallel. We know that James grew up for Lily, but what about the bullying jerk we never saw? James was basically this rich kid that was the product of two elderly people going "well let's see if this still works" and WHOOP there it is...
A stag represents nobility and pride. I think that's a cool thing. Anyway, more plot points, more quidditch, some fun memories...ah, I'm rambling. Thanks so much to my guest reviewer, PancakeStack, SabrinaJasmine, and HeartofAspen, as always! More to come soon...stay tuned!