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.
Ella 21
"Daddy, do you like Draco?" Her father looked up from his case file, his sausage-like fingers rifling through the parchments like they were nothing.
"Do I have to?" he asked.
Ella shrugged without thinking, far too quickly for anyone to really give a true answer to a question like that. 'Do I have to?' he asks. Do I have to what? Everyone was passing them as they sat on the bench, filing in to the courtroom. Court was starting in 10 minutes.
"Do I have to like your boyfriend?" he pressed.
"He's not my boyfriend," said Ella, far too quickly for anyone to believe her.
Daddy snapped his file shut in annoyance, sneering in disbelief. "But he's got a key to your house," he stated.
"I just want to know if you like him or not."
"Ellie, I don't have to like him to defend him in court."
"He didn't kill his father," Ella stated.
"Don't say things like that right here," he whispered, gesturing around at the Wizengamot.
"Why not? He didn't."
"You don't know that."
"Yes, I do!"
"SHHHH!" Daddy snapped his briefcase shut and turned to face her, the very same look on his face that he once got when she was seven and he faced her to let her know that slipping itching powder into other kids' chocolate milk was not okay. "Alright, that's it. I have had it up to here with you and this guy. You write me weird letters about him. You get in trouble in school because of him. You throw yourself in life-threatening danger because of him. You get yourself involved with the police because of him. And you give him a key to your place without talking to me about it first? You have always thought things through, and always done your best to, at least, attempt to be smart about important things, like your future. What happened here? What happened to my smart girl? What kind of father would I be if I actually liked this guy? Honest to God, why the hell should I like somebody who is obviously so bad for you?"
Ella's jaw tightened, her lip began to tremble, and her eyes felt hot; she knew she was going to cry. Daddy looked at her, incredulous.
"Are you friggin' kidding me with this right now?"
"I hate you!" she shouted before standing and running to the ladies' room.
She shoved the door open and ran into the first stall, slamming the door behind her. A tight heat ran through her chest, and a sharp sob escaped her throat. She stepped to hover over the bowl of the toilet, her right hand coming to hold herself up while her left came over her mouth in some sad attempt to quiet her cries. It was the most ridiculous thing; she didn't even really know why she was crying. But there she was, her legs shaking like a newborn faun, crying so hard she thought she might vomit. Ella fell to her knees, the smell of industrial-grade cleaning potion almost caustic against her nose, trying desperately to catch her breath. She felt an almost demon-like pain fill her chest, and for a split-second she panicked - what if this was how she died, stupidly, of some kind of freak panic attack in the bathroom of the Ministry of Magic?
The stall door swung open. Ella's head snapped around to shout at whomever had dared, but her anger was quelled when she saw the figure in black before her.
"Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted tensely. A look of concern was painted on Mrs. Malfoy's normally stoic-yet-judgmental face; she offered her hand. Ella wasn't sure what she was supposed to say in this exact situation, but she took her hand and hoisted herself up, brushing her bottom off with her other hand. "Thanks." Silently, Mrs. Malfoy offered Ella a linen handkerchief. She smiled and used it to dab the corners of her eyes gently, and then her nose. Mrs. Malfoy guided her to the mirrors and opened her handbag. She pulled out a tiny compact with pale green creme pressed inside. "Uh..."
"Green combats redness," she explained gently, taking a small brush from her handbag and painting the greenish cream on and around the tip of Ella's nose and under her eyes. "Close your eyes." She pulled out another brush and began to buff Ella's face, which felt a bit like tiny pinpricks all over her cheeks. "There. Much better." Ella opened one eye to see Mrs. Malfoy smiling gently at her. "Go ahead and see." She gestured to the mirror. When she looked, Ella was surprised to see that her reflection didn't appear to have been crying at all.
"Wow," she gasped.
"I'm surprised that your mother never showed you."
"No way; she forbade me to wear makeup until I was sixteen." Ella shrugged nonchalantly. "She never had a chance to show me anything. I learned from watching friends...and my Transfigurations teacher, of course." Mrs. Malfoy obviously found that a little odd, but her third-year transfigurations teacher, Professor St. Charles, was an expert at both magical and mundane transformations of all shapes and sizes. When Professor St. Charles came to the front of the class for the first time in a plain black suit, they had said 'welcome to Transfigurations', and transfigured into a beautiful woman with bright pink hair that looked as if it were made of cotton candy.
"You do quite well for being self-taught." Ella smiled, tense. There was a long pause, long enough for a witch that worked for the Beasts Division to exit one of the stalls, wash and dry her hands, and then leave. "We haven't spoken in a long time."
"No, we haven't," she agreed. Ella cleared her throat.
"I..." Mrs. Malfoy gulped. "I suppose I owe you a rather large apology, for allowing you to be held captive the way we did." A beat. "Draco once said that the best apology is changed behavior. I can only assume that this wisdom came from you."
It came from my father, actually. Ella's chest went tight, as did her jaw. "Honestly, I've tried to block that out," she stated simply. She then turned her head to the left and displayed her throat, near the junction of her neck and shoulder. "As you can see, the scars have mostly healed." She looked back at her, straight into her eyes. "To tell you the truth, I'm a little sad that they'll be gone soon. I used to hate them, but now I think they make me look brave."
"Draco felt terrible about it."
"I know," said Ella, rather shortly. "He visited my cage every day."
Mrs. Malfoy put away her brushes and cosmetics. "For what it's worth, I heard him crying every night for those two weeks, no matter how Lucius tried to tell him that it was all for the best."
"For the best," repeated Ella, smiling. A wheezing laugh ridiculously began in the back of her throat, and spilled out to a loud chortle which echoed throughout the now empty ladies' room. Tears blurred her vision; a hand came over her ribs as she shook her head in disbelief. "If you people weren't so ridiculously delusional, I would actually feel sorry for you."
"Ella—"
"—No, it's fine. Really. I know it's whatever you have to tell yourselves at night to justify—"
"—I can never make up for what was done to you and you are right. All I know is that Draco loves you—"
"—Then why did he let what happened to me happen?" she demanded. "Why did he let his father put a cursed collar on me to keep me in my animal form, in a cage, in your basement? Why didn't he stop Hermione from being tortured? Or Mr. Ollivander or my friend Luna from being held captive? For God's sake, Mrs. Malfoy, can't you imagine how scared I was? Can't you imagine how terrified I must have felt, sitting in that dark cage, wondering if my family would ever know what had happened to me?"
There was a long, pregnant pause. "I can imagine," she simply said, calmly. "All of those arrows you left in my parlor showed that Lucius was right to fear you." Ella imagined that this was an attempt to be some kind of joke, to lighten the mood. It might have been the first duel in her life, during that skirmish at the manor, that she'd truly meant to do harm to another. Not that it didn't compare…
"Your own sister tried to kill me," growled Ella.
"Yes, she did, and it was Draco's love for you that was your salvation," Mrs. Malfoy insisted. Ella did a double-take in shock. "Surely that redeems him in some fashion, Ella."
"How did—?" She shook her head again. "How is that even possible?
"The ring, of course. It was enchanted. He took it from the Malfoy treasury, all of which within are powerful, ancient magics. Surely you didn't believe that a spell like that could just bounce off of a reflective surface and you just happened to have your hand in the right place at the right time?"
"The—? The diamond ring? The one that he—?"
"—He gave it to you out of pure love. And you accepted. Love is the most-ancient and powerful magic that we have. Some have even forgotten that it is a magic at all."
"This doesn't make any sense. In order for that ring to counter a killing curse, it would have had to be...alive. You can't expect me to believe that a ring could be alive, can you?"
"Haven't stranger things happened?" asked Mrs. Malfoy, almost lightly.
This caused her to pause and consider. Haven't stranger things happened? Ella began to list all of the things that she knew that shouldn't be possible, but was. There's a candy to make you roar like a lion. There's a sport played on broomsticks with exploding balls. There's a six-legged cat that's you can't kill. There's a spell to make a sled out of ice. There's a potion that can turn you into someone else. There's a kind of glass that will never break. There's a kind of ice cream that will never go runny. There's a necklace that can turn back time. There's a special set of words to say to create a whole flock of birds out of thin air. There's a whole race of people that can bend space, time, and matter to their will. Is it something so impossible to think that a diamond ring can be alive?
"I guess I just..." Ella shook her head. "This is a lot to take in." Mrs. Malfoy nodded silently, wringing her hands. "I mean, how can I even...?" She shook her head. "Why are you telling me about this?"
"I suppose I hope that you'll understand and be as kind as I know you to be." Me? Kind? "Without you, he couldn't have survived at all; not without your cunning and your skills, your...work." She was talking about Draco's lycanthropy. He didn't tell her about how I screwed up his potions? Finally, she said: "I know that you love Draco very much. He will, someday, be able to prove himself worthy of it. You don't know what he was willing to do for you; what he did do for you."
A creeping feeling of horror swept over her, and her chest began to heave. "No," she said, shaking her head. "He— He can't have—" A hand came up over her mouth in shock.
"Ella, listen, it's—"
"—Ella?" Mrs. Malfoy turned around, and Hermione's white face appeared behind her. Her thick brown hair had been smoothed back into a tight bun, and her brow was knitted with concern. "You need to come to the court room." There's no time to panic, she quickly decided. The American witch nodded and carefully stepped away from Mrs. Malfoy. Hermione took her by the arm, her touch gentle and kind. They walked out of the bathroom together.
"Thanks," whispered Ella.
"Your hands are ice cold!" Hermione gasped. "Did she say something to you in there?" Ella squeezed Hermione's hand.
"I don't know," she whispered. "It's probably nothing." She was trying to tell herself more than she was trying to tell Hermione. "Draco's a lover, not a fighter." She immediately realized how odd that must have sounded out of context. The courtroom doors opened and they filed in, walking up to the arena-like benches where the rest of her friends were seated. Court was already in session, and the defense had already risen. Harry and Ron were dressed well for the court, and Draco was dressed in a sharp black suit, like always, but seated in the front row. They filed into the third row. To her shock and surprise, Neville was there, in the hot seat, in front of the entire wizengamot.
"Hey, Ella," greeted Ron, eyes on Neville, as she took her seat at Hermione's side.
"Why's Neville down there and not you?" she whispered.
"They're taking the Herbologist's report," answered Harry.
"And Neville's the Herbologist? I thought he was an Auror!"
"You have to be an Auror to be the Herbologist in the Auror Department," explained Ron.
But I looked at the Herbologist notes. I didn't recognize the handwriting... Ella then realized, shocking enough to say aloud: "Neville's never written me a letter. Not even a note."
"What was that?" whispered Hermione. Ella quickly shook her head and smiled dismissively. "Are you sure that you're going to be all right?" She nodded again with a big smile.
"Please state your name for the Wizengamot," said a voice, and the Wizengamot went quiet.
"Neville Longbottom."
"And what do you do, Mr. Longbottom?"
"I'm the Herbologist that worked on this case."
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom. Will you now please tell the Wizengamot, in your own words, your analysis on the victim?"
"Yes, er—" He dropped the files that were in his hands, causing a few muffled laughs here and there. Don't laugh at him, thought Ella, as Neville collected the parchment sheets and scrolls.
"Don't laugh at him," whispered Hermione, Ella seeing how tense she had gotten. She couldn't help but smile.
"The compounds in this potion match with the apple seeds obtained from the orchard just south of Malfoy Manor. So, er, this poison was made with apple seeds as its largest component. Upon analysis of the apples from the groves of Malfoy Manor, both off the trees and in the cellars, tests confirm that they're the same. Therefore, the poison used to kill the victim was made from a highly concentrated extraction of these seeds."
"And how did you know to look for apple seeds?"
"Er—" He looked at Ella, then quickly looked away, likely remembering that he wasn't supposed to be looking at her. Great, Ella sighed inwardly, realizing the full scope of how complicated this situation was. All three of my exes are here. This is the best day. "Th— The consulting potioneer looked at my initial analysis and, er, communicated to me that she knew about a grove on Malfoy Manor." Murmurs spread across the room in a lull.
"What is your relationship with the potioneer?" All eyes went on Daddy, who was sitting with his fingertips pressed together, looking contemplative.
"Are ya kidding me?" whispered Ella in horror.
"Wh—? E-Er— I—"
"You did attend school with the consulting potioneer on this case?" asked a member of the Wizengamot.
"Y-Y-Yes. She and I were in the same year."
"So working together isn't foreign to you," stated Daddy, who now stood and began to pace the floor. The British Wizengamot was taking the American legal system surprisingly well. Ella was truthfully shocked at how well everything was fitted together, all under the basis of 'international law'. It was her dual citizenship that was keeping everything together to make this trial work in ways that it wouldn't normally. It also was worth mentioning that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all instrumental in the changes of the legal systems in the magical world. After the war, they worked—they all worked to the bone to hold everyone more accountable, to make the system more equitable and fair. The last few years had changed so much. "Would you say that it's not a stretch to say that the two of you are close?" This would be the part in which a lawyer for the prosecution would say something like 'objection, counsel is leading the witness', but British magical lawyers were oddly inept, in Ella's mind, for such a task. Ella wasn't a licensed attorney, though, so she couldn't jump in.
"I..." Neville gulped. "No."
"No, you're not close, or no, it's not a stretch to say that you are close?" asked Daddy, who was now at Neville's side. Neville looked very confused.
"We're not close," he finally answered.
"Not now or not ever."
"What's that matter?" shot Neville
"I have a point, I promise," said Daddy, now facing the Wizengamot. Nobody was saying 'objection' to anything. He turned back to Neville. "I'm just curious as to your relationship with the potioneer. It's quite obvious that the potioneer that worked on this case is indeed brilliant, but this is a rather unusual ingredient, wouldn't you agree?"
"I-I suppose—"
"—And wouldn't you agree that, had you not had the potioneer's help, you wouldn't have pointed it to apple seeds? That, according to your notes, the closest you came was 'sweet almond,' isn't that so?"
"Well—er—I don't know—"
"—And wouldn't you agree that, since you knew the ingredient because of the potioneer, it was very easy to recreate the poison that was likely to have been used in the killing of Lucius Malfoy?"
"Say 'objection'!" whispered Ella to Hermione as she jabbed her in the side with her elbow.
"What?" Hermione whispered back.
"Say 'objection, counsel is leading the witness!'"
Hermione quickly stood up and near-shouted. "Objection! Counsel is leading the witness!" All eyes went on Hermione, and then to the Chief Wizengamot.
"Sustained," he answered. "Make your point, Mr. Zamora." Daddy laughed.
"I'm just saying, isn't it just a little too easy that Mr. Longbottom, who is not a potioneer, recreated a simple-yet-deadly poison with just one or two ingredients? Especially someone who, time and again, failed at potions?" He waved his wand and copies of scrolls came up to the Chief Wizengamot. "I present for the court, exhibit P, Neville Longbottom's grades from his seven years of Hogwarts—N.E.W.T. classes in Herbology, no potions since 5th year." Ella was aghast; she wanted to have Hermione shout 'objection, irrelevant,' but the fact of the matter was that it was relevant. "But notice the grades themselves. Not bad! Quite good, in fact, in many subjects. Mr. Longbottom isn't stupid. But, you know, it's very easy to ignore somebody when you think that they're stupid." He then turned on his heel to address the entire court.
"What's that matter?!" shouted Neville, his face now so red that it was nearing purple.
Daddy smiled the smile that he only smiled when someone asked the exact right question. "Do you know what 'mens rea' means, Mr. Longbottom? No?" He gestured around, but Ella was unsure of whom he was gesturing to. "Mens rea means the mind, the intent—if there's no mens rea, there's no intent of a crime, of a wrongdoing. Long and short of it is that there cannot be a crime without a vicious will." He turned to Neville and began to laugh. "But why in the world would you have any vicious will against Lucius Malfoy? Oh, wait, I guess I should ask first—do you have any vicious will against Lucius Malfoy?"
"Wha—? I-I…"
"It's a simple question, Mr. Longbottom. Yes, or no, did you have vicious will against Lucius Malfoy?"
"I—" Neville gulped, his face going back to the normal shade of pale-pink-yellow.
"Answer the question, Mr. Longbottom," said Minister Shacklebolt, calmly.
"I can't think of a wizard or witch that I know who didn't," answered Neville, which earned a few laughs from a few witches and wizards throughout the court, both in the Wizengamot and in the crowd. Daddy was smiling, but seemed only sarcastically amused.
"Mr. Longbottom, let's change the subject for a moment, shall we? Let's take a trip, back in time, in our minds to your Hogwarts days. Let's think about your classes, your friends, your—" he pointed over his shoulder at Draco, who was sitting at attention "—other classmates that you didn't quite get along with. And, of course—" Daddy then pointed straight at Ella, without looking "—the ones that you did get along with, or rather you would have liked to have gotten along with." Though his back was turned, Ella could tell that he was grinning with his big rat teeth. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? Or did you need that Remembrall—you know, the one you lost—to remember that you, in fact, did have a relationship with potioneer Ella Zamora?" The crowd went wild with shocked whispers and gasps. Neville's face went white. Ella could swear she tasted pennies. "Not during school, of course—no, she was dating Draco Malfoy then. But you knew that. Everybody knew that. Everybody knew that they were dating, but that didn't stop you from tutoring her in herbology, did it? All those long hours, sitting right next to the prettiest, most-popular girl in school—almost too good to be true, isn't it?"
"Objection!" gasped Hermione, who had shot her fist in the air. "That statement is scandalous and misleading!"
"'Scandalous?' I'm just trying to establish a relationship, here," said Daddy, feigning innocence. The Chief Wizengamot motioned for him to continue. Daddy turned to Neville. "So, wait, you didn't tutor Ella Zamora in herbology during 5th, 6th, and 7th years of Hogwarts? Yes or no, please."
Neville gulped. "Y-Yes," he said with a small voice. "I did."
Ella could tell that Daddy was grinning. "Boy, that must have been crazy for you. Pretty girl, smart, sitting right next to you. And then again, she's not just a pretty girl, is she? She was Student Founder of the Hogwarts Dueling Club, in choir, did a lot with the Student Prefecture…and all of her free time—as in, when she wasn't dedicated to school work and extracurriculars—she spent with someone you actually had vicious will against. Someone who bullied you. Someone who cursed you. Someone who's made your life a living Hell since first year. He used to practice the leg-locker curse on you, didn't he? I'll bet his bullying made you angry. And then he starts dating the pretty transfer student that you have a huge crush on? Ouch. Right out the gates? You never stood a chance."
"Objection, badgering the witness!" Ella near-shouted.
"I'm gonna go ahead and ignore that one because the one that objected is not a licensed attorney in this or in any country—"
"Miss Zamora, please restrain yourself," said Minister Shacklebolt, who was obviously trying to remain as neutral as possible. "You'll have your turn on the stand."
"And, you know, once Malfoy screws up epically—because, let's face it, you knew he would—" Daddy continued, now pacing around the room. "You finally have your chance! You're dating the girl. You go to movies with her. You go shopping with her. Everything is peachy keen, hunky dory, until—oh no—she's gotta go! She's gotta go somewhere far, far away and she practically waves it in front of your face that she wants you to go with her. But you just can't see that, can you? You make the hugest mistake, don't you?"
"I didn't know she wanted me to go with her," growled Neville. The crack in his voice told the tale that he was lying.
"Why is he doing this to him?!" whispered Hermione, stunned.
"And what happens when she comes back, two years later? What happened on Tuesday, August 22nd, in the year 2000?"
"What?" breathed Ella in confusion, her eyes going back and forth between Neville's face and the back of Daddy's head. "Hermione, did you know about this?"
"What did you see, when you arrived at Borgin & Burkes with a bouquet of pink glimmeroses?" Neville's eyes darted to Draco. "That's right. You see that—" Daddy pointed back to Draco, still keeping his eyes on Neville "—smug prick has gotten to her first. Again. That made you real angry, didn't it, Neville? I mean, what's so great about him? He couldn't even get an invite to the Slug Club; he had to beg his girlfriend to invite him along to the Christmas party—you know, the one you got stuck with serving the drinks at? And that little twat still had the gall, the chutzpah, the unmitigated audacity to look down on you and laugh at you then? This same jackass that threw around racial slurs and tossed his so-called girlfriend to Tim Roddle, Voldytort, in exchange for the lives of his jackass parents?"
"Objection!" shouted Tom Braxton, who was a graduate from Ilvermorny and third-year intern at the Hardman Red Feather office in London. He also lived two doors down from Ella growing up.
"SHADDUP, Tommy!" shouted Daddy over his shoulder before turning back to Neville.
"Sorry, Mr. Zamora," said Tom, sheepishly, who quietly sat down again. Ella looked at him, incredulous.
"Why in the world is he ganging upon him?!" whispered Hermione to Ella in horror. "You'd think that he thinks that Neville killed Lucius Malfoy!"
"You never had vicious will against Lucius Malfoy. You only had vicious will against his son. And since you couldn't bring yourself to kill him, you killed the only other person that was important to him. Isn't that so?"
"I-I didn't!" stammered Neville. "I didn't kill Lucius Malfoy!" he cried again. "I'm an Auror! I know what's right and wrong!"
Daddy stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded slowly. "Keep telling yourself that." He looked to the Wizengamot. "Your witness," he said, walking away. Ella flapped herself down to the rail and hissed at him.
"What the hell was that?!" she whispered, too enraged to pay attention to the questions that Neville was now being asked.
"Sweetheart, Daddy's working," he explained, with the confidence of a serial killer.
"'Working?' You've got to be kidding!"
"Honey, I'm Draco's defense lawyer. If I'm defending him, I have no choice but to make others see all possible outcomes in which he didn't kill his own father. That means planting plausible deniability—"
"—By dragging an innocent wizard's name through the mud?!"
"But are you so sure he's innocent?"
"You can't seriously!" she gasped.
"Whether I do or not, he's a perfect patsy and an idiot," Daddy whispered back. "It's obvious that he couldn't kill anybody, but it's not about that. Yet."
"Yet? The trial's almost over!"
"It's not over til it's over. These things can get dragged out for months."
"Neville may be forgetful but he's not stupid!"
"I'm pretty sure he is stupid—"
"—Stop! He's not stupid—!"
"—He asked you to marry him and he couldn't even be bothered to get your middle name right. Ella Xanadu Zamora? Your mother and I didn't name you after the summer capital of China's Yuan dynasty post 1264."
"Xanadu was the name of a musical starring Olivia Newton-John as some mediocre muse sent to help some stupid roller skating mullet with a polyester vest—!"
"—Young lady, you will not insult Olivia Newton-John."
"I am twenty-one years old, I can insult whomever I like, including flat-bottomed, flat-haired Olivia Newton-John."
Daddy pointed at her with a very straight finger. "Watch yourself, missy, that woman is a national treasure."
"To the UK and Australia!"
"She became a citizen of the world with her advocacy!"
"Miss Zamora!" She and Daddy looked up. "Please come to the stand." Ella's eyes went to the chair, and it was empty. She quickly scanned the room, but there was no sign of Neville. Dammit, what did I miss? "Miss Zamora." Ella looked up again; she gulped. She felt her father's hand atop hers, and when she looked he was staring at her, seriously.
"Ellie, listen to me. You stick to your testimony. Remember that you're the consulting potioneer. Remember that you're smart. Okay? Chin up, shoulders back." Ella stood up straight; she hesitated. "Ellie." She looked down. "Nobody scares you…?"
"…Unless you let them." She took in a breath through her nose and out through her lips, and then closed her eyes. "Okay." She opened them, pushed her shoulders back, kept her chin parallel to the floor, and walked on. She didn't look to the side to see if Draco was looking—even though he likely was—nor did she look to see where Neville was. She was frankly more than annoyed with herself for arguing with her father for so long and getting distracted, not that it mattered.
Ella reached the chair and sat. She tucked her left ankle behind her right ankle, and folded her hands gently in her lap. Ella took another deep breath, calming herself, inwardly chanting 'think, think, think', and smiled up at the Wizengamot.
"Please state your name for the Wizengamot."
"Ella Xanthippe Zamora."
"And where do you live, Miss Zamora?"
"Number 10, Spinner's End, Cokeworth."
"Not Westminster, London?" That's where Percy lives.
"Objection, irrelevant," snapped the voice of Ella's father from the sidelines. Ella didn't look at him, though; she stared at Eddwyn Blocke, reigning Chief Wizengamot, who was looking down at her in a manner most austere. Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt, was there as well, looking rather curiously at her. He knew that she didn't do it, but others weren't so sure that she wasn't hiding something for Draco's behalf. It did help, however, that she could feel the eyes of her friends upon her, all sitting in the benches above, all waiting on their own turns to testify. The back of her mind felt tickled, for a part of her was feeling a rather strange sense of glee, especially considering that there had clearly never been this amount of accountability held in a British magical courtroom before, and Ella was secretly loving it.
"Miss Zamora," said Minister Shacklebolt. "Can you please tell everyone where you were on the evening of Monday, March 19th?"
"I was working at St. Mungo's in my laboratory, in the Lycanthropy wing."
"And with whom were you working?"
"Objection," shot Daddy, "the Wizengamot has no right to the private lives of my client's patients, as per the laws and bylaws on healer-patient confidentiality." Ella wasn't sure if this counted, considering she wasn't a healer.
Minister Shacklebolt seemed amused. "I only meant, Mister Zamora, her coworkers, the Healers she was working with. And, may I state for the Wizengamot, I don't believe that Ella Zamora committed the murder of Lucius Malfoy for even a moment." Murmurs of agreement and shock went all around. "She doesn't make poisons, she makes cures." Ella and the Minister exchanged a smile.
"If it pleases the court, I've brought the time clock from the evening of the 19th. Names, dates, and department heads are all listed." She opened the file and held it up, where a member of the Wizengamot leviosa'd the form to their hands. All seemed satisfied.
"Miss Zamora, you stated that you thought that the poison was made from the seeds of apples?"
"I did." She motioned to her father. "If it pleases the court, may I present my notes on the analysis of the poison." Minister Shacklebolt motioned to Chief Blocke, who then nodded; Daddy opened his briefcase and out flew a rather full file which had admittedly been organized a bit. Ella never kept her notes organized in the traditional manner, so Daddy took it upon himself to 'make it decipherable to the masses', as it were. The folder floated to the hands of the Chief Wizengamot, who then opened it. "This is a poison made from organic compounds, made simply, with only one ingredient. It's incredibly complex, for only being one ingredient, but my analysis through testing concludes that this tests positive as a form of cyanide."
"Cyanide?" said a bearded Wizard, who looked to be older than Dumbledore. "Cyanide, you say?"
"Yes," said Ella, mildly miffed. "Cyanide."
"And what is cyanide?" asked a witch, who had far too much neck for Ella's taste.
"It's a chemical compound," said Justin Finch-Fletchley, who now was one of the youngest members of the Wizengamot, as a scribe. "Sorry," he said with a smile. "It's a very deadly poison, identified by muggles years and years ago." This caused quite a bit of clamor.
"A muggle-born, then!" cried a wizard. "A muggleborn must have killed Lucius Malfoy!"
"Excuse me," called Ella. "I don't believe so. A muggleborn wouldn't have had knowledge of Malfoy Manor's southern groves of apples. No muggleborns would have had free range over that land."
"What about during the Second Wizarding War?" asked Chief Wizengamot, leering down at her curiously. "The Malfoys were one of the families that held Muggleborn wizards and witches captive as prisoners of war." Not just… thought Ella bitterly. "One could have seen the grove while they were there."
"The ones held in the Malfoy cellar during the Second Wizarding War never saw the light of day," stated Ella. This time, she felt Draco staring at her, mostly because she knew how it felt when he was looking at her with a great deal of guilt. She didn't wait for anyone to ask her why. "I was held there for two weeks myself." According to the amount of gasps, she guessed that about 70% of the people there didn't know that.
"Objection!" cried her father. "That is a libelous statement – you are a Pureblood."
"Overruled," snapped Ella, turning her head. "Irrelevant."
"Not overruled—I remember the night you were conceived—!"
"—DAD!" Ella shouted, aghast. She turned back to address the Wizengamot. "I wasn't held in Malfoy Manor's cellar because of my blood status."
"Miss Zamora," began the turkey-necked witch in the crowd of maroon-clad judges. "Many have come forward to testify against Lucius Malfoy after the Second Wizarding War as being held there as prisoners of war. Why have you not come forward?"
It took Ella a moment; she only remembered reading newspaper articles about that trial, from her lab at Castelobruxo. "I was in Brazil when that was happening. Nobody asked me to testify." There was quite a clamor of talking amongst the Wizengamot, but not among the peanut gallery, who knew the truth. She hoped that nobody would ask further details, but that was far too much to want.
"Do you remember the dates of which you were held?" asked Minister Shacklebolt calmly.
"It was over Easter break. I had opted to stay at Hogwarts instead of going back to Monaco."
"Miss Zamora. Then-Headmaster, Severus Snape, was your legal guardian as your godfather. Was he a part of this treachery?" asked the turkey-necked Witch.
Ella's anger flared, a bit like a candle being lit within her chest. "I was over the age of 17, and therefore no longer an underaged witch during my 7th year at Hogwarts." She couldn't reveal that she was a part of the AWIB or the Order of the Phoenix to the public, or Draco. "Professor Snape assured that I was in no real danger when I agreed to travel to Malfoy Manor. It was to deliver a gift to Voldemort." Keep it vague, Ella. "He saw me, he…liked…me, and since he said that I was no longer underaged, I didn't need to return to school. When I tried to escape, I was captured and kept in a cage."
"How did you escape?" asked Daddy, who didn't appear to be angry.
Crap. If Harry and Ron didn't testify that she was there, those two could be tried for perjury. "Dobby the House Elf helped me escape." Good. Truthful, vague. "He used to work for the Malfoys. I use the phrase 'work' lightly." Even better. These are the same people that will push forward on Hermione's House Elf Welfare bill. "I don't know what I would have done without Dobby's bravery. He was a hero."
"Do you know Dobby's whereabouts now?"
"Last I heard he was in Monaco, having a vacation," answered Ella cooly.
"Dobby the House Elf has rescued many. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and Mr. Garrick Ollivander," said Justin. He and Ella exchanged a quick smile. "It's not unusual to believe that he's rescued many from being prisoners of war. Who knows how many House Elves have rescued during the Second Wizarding War?" Minister Shacklebolt smiled. Thanks, Justin.
"So you had reason to despise Lucius Malfoy," said another witch.
"It's like Mr. Longbottom said earlier, I can't think of anybody that didn't have reason to despise him." This earned a few laughs. "But I didn't kill him. I thought about it, of course." A few gasps, and she could hear her father 'harumph'-ing to get her to stop. "But you can ask anybody; the way I thought about killing him wouldn't be quiet and subtle; it would be violent. I'd bludgeon someone like him with a broken chair leg. Ask Draco, even. When we all returned to school after the Battle of Hogwarts, he came up and tried to apologize to me—I was so angry that I picked up a pipe from some of the debris and came swinging at him." This earned a few gasps, a few laughs; those that she went to school with didn't do either, for they knew it was true. I should probably apologize to him for that, thought Ella. If he, a man, tried to do that to me, a woman, he'd be in jail.
"Miss Zamora," began Minister Shacklebolt. "I'm going to now ask: do you have an opinion on who the murderer might be?"
It got serious again; the air felt thick. "It's my opinion, as someone who used to be close to the family, that this crime was committed by someone also close to the family. It had to be made by someone who knew about those apples. You can't just break in to Malfoy Manor."
"But a House Elf did," said another member of the Wizengamot.
"A House Elf couldn't have possibly killed Lucius Malfoy—they love serving too much." Ella felt appalled at the unabashed racism that she'd just heard.
The other members of the Wizengamot exchanged glances, seeing if anyone had any other questions for her. Ella wanted to look to see if her father had any questions, and it was likely that he did, just not the kind that would be answered in a court of law.
"Did you manage to learn anything else from the poison?" asked Daddy. Ella shook her head.
"Nothing other than what was in it."
"Who brewed it?" he then asked. Ella frowned in question. What a weird thing to ask.
"Uh—I don't know, someone who knew what they were doing…?" She thought; someone that took the time to take the cyanide out of apple seeds in that way had a lot of time on their hands. "Someone…patient?" Ella's vision went a little soft around the edges as she began to think. "Someone disciplined. Someone who is practiced and restrained." Visions of faces within her Mind Palace began to pass in front of her eyes. A pair of small, feminine hands stuck out in her memory, white as lilies. "Someone…" The hands wrung themselves in a familiar way. "…gentle." A pair of lips, red as blood, stuck themselves out in her mind's eye. "Someone…" They weren't smiling. "…precise." A coat with dragonbone buttons, and a pair of chameleon skin gloves flashed in front of her eyes, soft as a whisper. She shook her head and found herself focused on the people in front of her again, and not lost in her memories. Don't be ridiculous, Ella. It couldn't be.
"Thank you, Miss Zamora," said Minister Shacklebolt, after a long time. Ella forced a smile and stood up. She turned and walked towards the stands; she felt so many eyes on her that they almost crushed, like feeling a great pressure, like drowning. She silently returned to her seat, the direction of her vision keeping just below eye level with anyone else. Hermione's white hands came over hers.
"Ella," she whispered. "you look as if you've seen a dementor. Are you going to be okay?"
"I don't feel very well," she answered quickly. She gazed ahead, at nothing, afraid to make eye contact with anyone. "I shouldn't have gone out last night."
"Narcissa Malfoy to the stand, please," called her father. Ella glanced down and saw Mrs. Malfoy kiss Draco on the cheek before standing and walking down.
"When are they gonna call Malfoy down?" Ella heard Ron whisper to Harry.
"I expect that he's going last," said Harry. "Prime suspects always go last."
"Shh!" Hermione hissed. "Honestly, you two!" she whispered in horror. "Ella is sitting right here!"
With a tiny giggle through her nose, Ella looked to her right and grinned. "It's okay, guys, really," she whispered. "I welcome any distractions." She then winked at Ron, with her left eye, of course, so Hermione couldn't see that she was winking. She was going to slip Ron Hermione's engagement ring today, after the trial. They'd gone together just last month to the shop to help pick one out, and ended up having something custom made. Shockingly, he'd put aside his pride to allow her to help—he must have realized that his pursuits in the feminine ways of style were severely lacking. He thought the first C in the diamond index was 'cost', for God's sake.
"Please state your name for the Wizengamot," came the Chief Wizengamot's voice, snapping the four of them to attention.
"Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black." Everyone in the room joined Ella in a confused frown. She seemed slightly amused by the confused looks, and that the Wizengamot was too polite to ask for clarification. Surely, they felt rather sorry for her. She was, after all, only a victim.
"Mrs. Malfoy," began the turkey-necked witch. "In your written statements of the events of the 19th, you stated that a family altercation broke out at about 9 pm that evening."
"I did," agreed Mrs. Malfoy.
"Can you tell us what it was about?"
Mrs. Malfoy smiled a tight grin, then took in a breath. "After we had dropped off Miss Astoria Greengrass at her home, Draco became rather quiet. When we arrived back at Malfoy Manor, Lucius stated that Draco was lucky to be rid of Miss Ella Zamora. He then began to say more than a few unkind words about her. That's when Draco told us both that he still loves Miss Zamora."
"And this made Mr. Malfoy angry?"
Her throat visibly tightened. "In a word."
"And how did your son react to his father's anger?" asked a gray-bearded wizard. It was clear that many still thought that Draco killed his father.
"Quite calmly, in fact," answered Mrs. Malfoy. "Draco then told us that he was going to tell Astoria tomorrow that he didn't want to marry her anymore, and that it was unfair of him to keep her with him when he was so obviously in love with another." There was more than enough gossiping and whispering and guffawing for Ella's taste. Draco hadn't ever been anything but vocal about his feelings for her, so why was this such a shock to everyone in the room? She supposed that the elder generations really were that out of touch.
"And how did your husband react?"
"He threatened to disown my son. Draco said he didn't care. I'll never forget it, as long as I live. When Lucius told Draco that he would be without family, that he'd be knutless, that he'd have nothing, my son looked him square in the eye and said 'If I have love, I will never have nothing.'"
Ella looked down to where Draco was sitting in shock, only seeing the back of his silvery-blond head. She could see how tensely he was holding himself up.
"And what happened next?"
"Draco left to pack his things. He was going to leave that very night. I knew he was serious. I begged Lucius to come with me into the parlor so we could talk it out calmly. He agreed." She paused, gulped, then continued. "I finally told him what I thought. I told him that…Draco had endured enough heartache for one lifetime. I told him that we raised our son to expect a lifetime in which he deserved to be happy." Ella couldn't see it, but she could hear it in the way she spoke; there were tears in Mrs. Malfoy's eyes. "That's when Lucius got angry. We began shouting. I realized then that arranged marriages never made anyone in my life truly happy. I then told Lucius that Draco and Ella had something that he and I would never have."
"What would that be, Mrs. Malfoy?" asked the turkey-necked witch. Minister Shacklebolt leaned forward in his seat.
Mrs. Malfoy sat up straighter than she had been sitting before and spoke clear as day. "A deep well of emotion."
The sounds in the room changed; half were obviously feeling scandalized, while the other half were more intrigued. The Chief Wizengamot then spoke. "Go on, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Lucius then…calmed and told me that we needed to make Draco understand that he needed to listen and he needed to remember his place. If he did, all would be as it was." She gulped. "He insisted that everything would go away. He said that Draco was a foolish boy who didn't know what was best for him. And then he said that…" There was a very long pause. "Well, it doesn't matter what he said next. What matters is that Draco slammed the front door so hard that I felt the house shake, and Lucius said that Draco wouldn't last a day on his own. What happened next was that I poured him his brandy and I poisoned him."
Ella screamed. Draco stood up in shock. At least a third of the Wizengamot fell out of their chairs, while the other third began near-shouting, all while the Chief Wizengamot slammed his gavel down again and again, crying "Order! Order in the court!" Hermione's hands went up to her mouth, stunned. Ella flapped down to the railing at Daddy's side, leaning over to call to Mrs. Malfoy, to try and get her to stop; she was speaking clearly and loudly over the commotion.
"I had the poison ready for myself. It was kept in my ring, in case the Dark Lord killed Draco or threatened to kill me. I was planning to die on my own terms. I opened the ring and poured it into Lucius's goblet. I watched him die."
"Narcissa, we can talk about this!" Ella heard Daddy insist over the commotion.
"Mrs. Malfoy!" cried Ella. "Stop!"
"I wrote the suicide note, went up to bed, for a while, then called the Aurors to report that my husband had committed suicide."
"ORDER! I WILL HAVE ORDER IN THIS COURT!"
A din of shouting and cries for justice came from the stands – half of which were shouting for her to be found innocent, which Ella found more than a little surprising. When she looked to her side, she saw that Draco was gone. Her eyes darted around in a panic, and saw no sign of him save the exit door swinging closed. She quickly strode out to find him.
The corridor was eerily empty, and the light from the lamps made it somehow seem like a coffin. She heard footsteps, and then another slammed door. She began to look for him, but then soon realized that he might like to be left alone. Ella then quickly shook her head of that thought, remembering what happened the last time she'd left him alone to his own devices when he was in a distraught mental state. Only bad things happened.
She walked towards where she thought she'd heard the slammed door, but quickly realized that it wasn't the sound of a door, but an elevator grate. He'd gone up the elevator. But where would he go? Ella frowned in thought for a moment, then deduced that he'd likely go somewhere that was familiar, that was safe, and that was solitary. His office? It was worth a try.
Draco's office was on the 5th level of the ministry, down through the third door to the right, down the hall, then the second door to the left, then down that hall, and then through the first door on the right, where his secretary would normally sit. She wasn't there, since it was about noon, and time for lunch. Ella wasn't surprised that the door was unlocked. When she pressed her ear against Draco's office door, she could hear his soft sobbing. So, of course, Ella did something very uncharacteristic—knock.
"Come in," Draco's voice called.
The doorknob clicked softly and Ella peeked in. She half-expected the office to be torn apart—she may have thrown everything everywhere were she in his state—but everything was still perfectly in its place. He was lying on the black leather sofa, his left arm draped over his eyes, his right ankle crossed over his left. She gingerly stepped in and closed the door behind her.
"I don't know what to say," she stated. He didn't say anything, or even move. Ella could see, as she stepped closer, that he'd loosened his tie and unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt. She sat down on the edge of the sofa, their hips gently bumping together. Her palm caressed the front of his suit jacket, then edged inside to feel the soft pinpoint oxford of his shirt to rub gently across his belly. His skin felt near-feverish from the emotions that were surely boiling within. Ella slowed her breathing to listen to his; he was shaking. "Can I get you anything?"
Draco silently shook his head.
We should go back, she thought. God only knows what was going on in Courtroom 5. If this were America, what would likely happen was that there would be a retrial of the state vs. Mrs. Malfoy to see how she would be sentenced. Ella wasn't entirely certain of the ins and outs of the British magical government, however, so it was likely a different process. She was beginning to realize that living in such an oddly conservative country – as in, a country with such backwards ways in the legislative process and with a small enough government to be so easily corrupted – wasn't going to be the easiest one. It was already a nightmare getting any kind of respect for her strides forward in lycanthropic treatment, and the amounts of prejudice that Hermione still faced just for being a firstblood witch was appalling. I guess nobody was getting out of this war unscathed. She looked to the door. But we don't have time for this. We need to get back…
She looked back to Draco, who didn't seem to be keen on moving. "I don't want to leave you…" she began.
"Then don't," he whispered.
"Okay." He didn't see her smile.
Ella felt lost; her father's approach with this type of situation would likely be to remind the person afflicted that they don't have time to be distraught or grieve right then, but that seemed too much for Draco right now. Her eyes went a little out of focus as she went back into her Mind Palace, searching for, perhaps, her mother's advice on things like this. Her mother and Draco were, of course, from a similar background, though not as extreme. She would be the authority on handling pureblood upper-class emotions, wouldn't she?
"Why don't we have shrimp tonight?" she said in an unusually bright voice. Draco lifted his forearm to raise his eyebrow in question. Ella smiled an obviously fake smile, which had far too much teeth showing to be natural. He then sighed out of his nose.
"That would be fine," he said, letting his arm fall to his side and his head turn to look away, staring blankly at the wall of black walnut bookcases, full of historical tomes. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes.
Ella ran her long fingers through his silvery hair, much thicker and nicer than it used to be, which was thin and greasy in his teen years. It was so funny, the way lycanthropy affected different people. Some lost hair on their head and grew it all over their bodies instead. Some had bones that were becoming more and more brittle with each day. Some of them had even developed asthma, a disease which Ella thought impossible for Wizards to contract. Poor Tracy had developed horrible respiratory problems, and had contracted pneumonia twice in the last six months. Ella wished desperately that Draco would swallow his pride and come to the hospital for a full physical. The only thing she recalled about his changes was his graying skin and repressed appetite…but that could be linked to his emotional state at any given time. Oh, well, at least you've got the dread out of those locks.
"Why didn't I know?" Draco sighed. Ella frowned. He turned his head to look at her, his gray eyes begging for an answer. "Why didn't I notice, Ella? Am I so blind?"
"Y-You've…" Ella shifted and shrugged. "I don't know. I can't imagine a scenario in which you would have known."
"You would have known," he argued softly. "You notice everything. You would have noticed."
"I swear I didn't!" she whispered in horror.
"Would you have told me if you'd suspected?"
"What a question…" Ella expressed. "I… I don't know. Maybe if you'd asked me?" He didn't seem satisfied with that answer. "Papi, honestly I've just been trying not to focus on it."
Draco sat up, incredulous. "My father is murdered and you 'tried not to focus on it'?"
"I didn't mean it like that!" cried Ella. "I just…well, you never seemed to want to talk about it outright and I didn't want to push you. It's not exactly an indelicate situation here…"
He sighed through his nose, defeated, and leaned back and looked up at the ceiling; Ella watched as his eyes went out of focus, lost in thought. Another sigh came from his full lips. "She was going to kill herself if the Dark Lord killed me."
A pang hit the American's heart. "Well…" She gulped. "My grandmother could tell you all about wanting to do that." Draco didn't look at her. "She said the worst nightmare a mother can have is burying her child." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make this about me. It's just…well, if you could just tell me what you need me to say or do for you right now?"
"There's a time-turner," mumbled Draco. "It's somewhere in the vaults of my house." Ella's feathers ruffled, insulted. He knows how I feel about time-turners! "You could use it to go back twenty years or so. You could prevent me from even being born."
"Ay, papi!" Ella scolded. "Que dijiste—how could you even suggest something like that!"
He didn't rise up at all, or even try to fight back. "I've just brought misery to all I touch. I ruined the love between my parents out of my defiance. I ruined Potter's life when all he wanted was to defeat the Dark Lord out of spite and jealousy. I've ruined Astoria's life forever by divorcing her."
"Basta, güey! 'stas loco, you psycho? You can't just ruin someone else's life—y tambien you didn't divorce Astoria, you weren't even married to her."
He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ella, I'm not in the mood to argue today," he sighed. "I killed him. I didn't poison him, but I killed him."
Ella was furious. She was truthfully shocked that she wasn't flipping the couch over in the style of the Incredible Hulk and screaming that he grow up. We don't have time for this! Your mother is being sentenced right now and we need to get back to Courtroom 5! Draco sat up and swung his legs over the side, so that his back was to her. She turned away from him to face his desk, and out the window, fuming.
"Did you ever have milkshakes with him?"
The fury she felt was smacked straight out of her head, like a sopping wet towel, quickly replaced with a cocktail of confusion and shock. Ella turned her head to look over her shoulder, frowning in question. "What? Did I ever have milkshakes with whom?"
"You know exactly whom," he spat, his shoulders visibly tensing beneath his suit jacket. Ella buried a smile within herself—anger was better than apathy.
"A-Ah…" He must have meant Neville. But why would he care if I had milkshakes with Neville, of all things? "No. No, of course not."
"'Of course not,'" he scoffed. "But you went to the movies with him," he shot bitterly.
A wave of realization came over her. It's about the experiences, isn't it? "Well, I love the movies," she began. "I guess I didn't think you'd like the movies, so I've never invited you…"
"You went shopping with him," he then snapped.
"I like to shop!" gasped Ella.
"Shopping was supposed to be something that we did together!"
"That is ridiculous! I shop with everybody—I even shop with my horrible stepsisters!"
"Oh, so nothing we did together means anything to you?"
"That's unfair and untrue! I don't get midnight milkshakes and burgers with anyone else. I've never even considered giving a key to any boyfriend I've ever had. Furthermore…" A small wave of realization crept up her arms, like a rising tide. "He doesn't compare to you." Draco paused his growing rage. "He never wrote me poetry, or letters, or even so much as passed me a note in class. He never drew pictures of us dancing… He never wrote songs; he never paid attention to me like you do." Ella's eyes wandered downward, going out of focus, gazing off at nowhere in particular. "I have mountains of evidence that you actually love me." A beat. "Mountains." With a deep sigh, she closed her eyes in the light of the moment of clarity befallen her. "Hijole…" Her head hung. "I am so sorry, Draco. I've just realized how stupidly unfair I've been to you over the last five years."
Were she not so distraught, she might have been able to hear him frowning by the tone of his voice. "You haven't been unfair to me, darling."
"Yes, I have." She stood up and began to pace. "Holy crap, I have." Mouth open in shock at her own stupidity, she turned to face him. "Draco, I am so, so sorry. I can't believe what a bitch I've been to you. I have literal hundreds of pieces of written proof that you love me and I just treat you like crap."
His eyes were wide open, confused.
"Even now," she sighed. "You just found out that your mother was the one that killed your father, and here I am making it about me." The American looked him square in the eye. "How are you? Are you okay? What can I do for you?"
"No—" He shook his head. "I'm fine. Really."
There was a tight moment, tight like a bra that had too-small a band. "Do… Do you think you're fine enough to go back to Courtoom 5?"
A glimmer of something she hadn't seen of him in a long time flashed behind his eyes; it was a feeling of running and hiding. He didn't let it last, for he straightened his shoulders and flapped his lapels just enough to straighten them. Draco nodded, avoiding her gaze as he rebuttoned his shirt up to the collar and tightened his tie back up. He crossed to the mirror that Ella hadn't noticed before, the one that was hanging just to the right of the door and combed back his hair with his fingers.
"I'm going to make you shrimp and grits tonight," she said. "With a banana cream pie. Mama used to make the cream with meringue whipped into it, so she could make it into a flambé. I haven't ever done it without her help, but I'm game to try if you don't mind how it looks, in case I screw it up. How's that sound?" He smiled at her reflection for a moment, then went back to his reflection, straightening his collar and the shoulders of his suit jacket. "Then, after…" Ella gulped. "Maybe we can go somewhere?"
"Where would we go?" He seemed uninterested, preoccupied with adjusting his appearance.
Somewhere out of the country, thought Ella. Somewhere out of Europe. "How about New York City?" Draco tensed, but it wasn't the kind of tense that he got when he didn't want something—that was when his torso tightened up—but the kind of tense that he got when you mentioned something that he secretly wanted but would never say so out loud—which was when his shoulders tensed. "There is nothing like summer in New York City. We could see the Empire State Building, visit where the MACUSA is and see the Salem Museum. We can see the Flatiron building and the San Remo. We can go dancing in SOHO. Ooh! We can visit Chelsea Market and eat ourselves sick. We'll stay at the Baccarat; Mama used to take me there for afternoon tea. What do you say?"
He turned his head and grinned at her. "Whatever you like, darling." He opened the door and gestured out. "After you."
How can you be so calm?! Ella put on a smile. "Okay." And they walked together towards the elevator. "Can I ask you something?" Draco looked over at her. "Why were you going to New York City the morning that they caught you?" He looked away, exasperated, with cheeks that were flushed in a pinky shade of embarrassment. "Tell me."
His spindly fingers pressed the elevator button. "You can't laugh," he blurted.
Ella's eyebrows tilted up in question. "I promise I won't."
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. They stepped in. "I was going to try out for the Quidditch team." The doors slammed and it slantways and high-ways up.
Her head reeled. "In NYC?" she asked, incredulous. "There's no team in—" A memory of a poster she'd seen once while in Greenwich village flashed in her mind. "Wait, you don't mean the Blue Jays." Draco avoided her gaze. "The Brooklyn Blue Jays? They're the worst team in history!" Ella protested. "The only reason they even still exist is because New Yorkers are notoriously and obnoxiously stubborn. They really suck." The elevator dinged, counting the floors. "Why pick the worst team?"
"Whether they're bad or not, they're not here."
"Can't argue with that…" admitted Ella. "I guess you'll be guaranteed Seeker if you do. You've actually won quidditch matches. When are tryouts?"
He breathed in through his nose. "They, er—they've already passed, just last week."
"Last week? Why didn't—?" The elevator doors opened, and the sounds of cameras snapping photos, questions being shouted, and more clamor than likely necessary was giving evidence to Mrs. Malfoy being taken out of court. Spirit grew in Ella's heart. "We'll see what we can do."
WOW! HAHAHA WHOOOOOO!
Okay, TONS of changes. I will say that I never considered Neville as a possible suspect, myself, but one of my readers suggested it and I frankly couldn't resist. We see a lot of emotions running high on Ella's front, and a lot of anguish and anger between herself and her father. Father-daughter relationships are complicated and messy, so it was fun to kind of explore that. Yeah, Ella's dad is a jackass, but you'll see why.
We're nearing the end of our tale, soon. Probably only four or five more chapters. I'll still keep writing, of course, and likely with these same characters, so you get to see more of Ella's world and more of Ilvermorny, I hope.
Sorry for the long-ass delay. Here's hoping I'll get the next few chapters out sooner rather than later. As always, thank you so much to all of my faithful readers for reviewing. I love you guys so much. We'll hear about Draco's feelings soon. His chapter is coming up, which will pick up almost-immediately after this moment, so you'll get a little closure in his goodbyes to Narcissa - or will they be goodbyes? Either way, you'll get some good stuff soon. I'll write something lighthearted and fun as a palate cleanser in the next chapter, pinkie swear.