Italian espresso. Nothing.
Summer sun in Malta. Minuscule glow.
Meeting Draco. Slightly brighter.
His mother's smile. Much better, Granger had said.
Mastering his first spell in Charms class before the Ravenclaws. Total fizzling nothingness.
The first time he kissed Draco. The brightest yet, but not strong enough.
...
The day he'd first done accidental magic at four and his parents had both beamed at him, despite that he'd blown up a Ming vase. Nothing.
His first flight on his training broom, his father looking on with an indulgent smirk on his face. A bright spark for only a moment before violently cracking away to nothing.
Breaking Potter's nose. Dull Lumos glow.
Surprisingly, Granger breaking his nose had then popped into his head. Brighter, much better, said Granger.
The first time Blaise kissed him. Fireworks bright, but it didn't linger, not strong enough.
Blaise and his mother laughing in the parlor. A tiny blue bubble popped from the end of his wand and twirled off as it dimmed.
...
She had been watching them, her toes digging into the grass and the warm earth, hoping that being barefoot would help them feel the same contentment before they started, but it had made both of them uncomfortable for a moment.
Draco hadn't glamoured his tattoos, and Blaise had raised an eyebrow, chin toward her, some unknowable silent question as to whether or not she ought to be a witness to them. She had smiled softly at Blaise's clear protective streak, and she'd lifted the glamour on her own tattoos when he finally looked her way. He hadn't said anything, but his mouth had opened and tweaked upwards in the corners, and that was enough to move forward.
The Patronus was about embodying a happy memory, yes, but you couldn't have happiness without truth, or trust. Malfoy trusted Blaise, so she would too, for today at the very least. After nearly an hour had passed, she'd made them take a break. She gestured for them to sit in the shade while she circled the back garden, grabbing a green apple, a pear, and a pomegranate respectively off their separate trees.
Draco was handed the green apple, Blaise the pomegranate, and she pulled her curved garden knife from its sheath on her hip to being cutting up her pear. They both stared at the fruit in their hands, then at her, so she chuckled and explained,
"You notice things about people who are supposedly your enemy. At least, intelligent people do. I spent the better part of seven years in the same building with the two of you, and in a generalized state of enmity. It would have been silly not to notice what some of your favorite foods were."
Blaise chuckled and responded, clearly knowing an observation of his own, about her, counted in today's truthful tête-à-tête,
"You prefer coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and something cold with dinner." Malfoy spoke up next,
"You had a favorite study table in the library, and it bothers you that your handwriting gets messier at the bottom of the page." She nodded, both those things were true. It was her turn again in this chorus of small truths,
"Blaise excelled in Charms, Malfoy in Potions, and much to Harry's dismay, not just because Snape preferred the Slytherins." Blaise scoffed,
"Everyone knows that, try again." She spoke softly, not knowing if this was the right moment to say hard truths, with kindness, so they could all accept it and move on with learning the Patronus,
"You love your mother Blaise. And she doesn't kill your stepfathers—she was cursed, but refuses to see a cursebreaker—likely out of shame over something that is not truly her fault." Blaise's hackles went up for a moment, but when he responded it was in a low tone, somewhere between soft and dangerous, instead of entirely the latter,
"I have no idea how the fuck you know that Granger, but yes, it's true. Potter and Weasley took you for granted in school, and you resent them both just a little bit for needing them to be the center of your universe but never getting the same kind of slack from them. Potter took Weasley's side in most fights." She nodded,
"That's true, I did resent it, and until more recently, Harry did almost always take Ron's side. And I knew that because Bill Weasley ran into your mother in Diagon Alley three years ago, and he's a cursebreaker for Gringott's. Something was bothering him when he got home, so I got him tipsy and wheedled it out him." Malfoy's voice was hesitant when he jumped back into the conversation,
"You don't participate in a great deal of feminine activities because you want to be valued for your merit, not your looks, but you are not completely above a little feminine vanity, and even though it bothers you, you keep your nails perfect anyway." She nodded again,
"You grew your hair out after your father passed because it helped you mourn the parts of him you loved without anyone giving you guff about it." He nodded in return.
That was enough truth for the time being, so she stuck a slice of pear in her mouth instead. Both men took the hint, and they ate in the shade in silence. When they finished she threw the scraps on the compost heap, and turned back to them,
"This spell is not as simple as thinking happy thoughts, as you've seen. It's not even about joy. It's about the strength of your conviction in the memory. I will tell you what mine is, but know that if you ever share it with anyone else, I can kill you and get away with it."
She allowed her face her face to go blank, as it was true that she knew several ways she could, in fact, get away with killing someone, and they didn't need to know that she wasn't likely to act on it. Blaise raised an eyebrow as if he didn't quite believe her, but when he looked at Malfoy's face, it came back down. Malfoy's expression was one of recognition, and again a tiny hint that he might be impressed.
"Mine is of my Grann. She was telling me that she had never been frightened by my magic, that she remembered me, that she knows who I am, and that she loves me."
She let herself sink into the memory, closing her eyes, smelling Grann's amber perfume and the salt air, hearing the strength and love as her Gran called her by her nickname, ti tanpèt loraj, little thunderstorm. She opened her eyes and spoke with determination,
"Expecto Patronum."
Her silvery otter burst forth, swimming up through the air to nuzzle her face momentarily just like Grann, then spiraling towards the two former Slytherins to assess them, twirling in the air a bit and even lolling its mouth and grinning as it went. It stopped momentarily, scratched its belly, and then twirled off into nothingness as there was no threat.
"That's enough for today, gents. Find a memory you can believe, that you can sink into at will, that makes you feel safe, and then you can try again. After you have a corporeal Patronus, we can practice using them to send messages...For now though, who's up for afternoon tea?"
...
When they returned to the Manor, Draco felt completely at odds—emotionally drained, profoundly irritable, and yet physically jittery and energetic as a lightning bolt—which seemed to also be the case with Blaise, as they no sooner made it to Draco's suite than Blaise's mouth was on his neck.
...
Blaise felt bereft. He'd been flirtatious and charming all through tea, but behind that he'd been wracking his brain for a memory that made him feel safe, and coming up terrifyingly empty. He needed to feel something akin to joy, if for no other reason than to fight away inadequacy and fear that he might not have such a memory. He'd also been irritable since they'd left Granger twee little cottage—aggression and possessiveness battling for top spot in his chest—so it didn't totally surprise him when the instinct to pin Draco to a wall overtook him. Enough thinking for today.