Chapter 3: The Lemon Tree

29th of June, 2024

The scarf-clad witch who witnessed her fainting spell had tipped off the news. The Daily Prophet. Witch Weekly. Seeking News. Hidden Haunts. They all wanted a comment from the girl who witnessed the Malfoy's fall from grace, going as far as to camp outside the bakery like starving vultures.

"They're going to affect business," one of the bakery assistants said, looking out the locked front door, scowling.

"Only for those who can see them," Nell countered.

Outside, muggle passer-bys crossed the bakery's path without taking notice of the swarm. Dominique was grateful for the laws put into place by the Ministry. Muggle life was not to be affected by the goings-on of the Wizarding community. Whenever magical reporters were in a place where muggles could witness them, they had to charm themselves invisible to those who did not possess magic.

"That's half of our customers," the same bakery assistant said accusingly in Dominique's direction, gripping a broom.

Dominique avoided her gaze and busied herself with tying the tiny daisy bouquets. Over the last few days, it became apparent that many bakery employees did not trust her after the scandal. None of them had the guts to say it outright in front of either of the Delacours.

Part of Dominique couldn't blame them for their unease. No killer had been caught, let alone suspected, and Dominique hadn't said a word about it to anyone.

You could have stopped it…

The noise of the reporters ebbed and flowed as they tried to take picture after picture through the windows, only to discover that all the shots were coming out distorted and purple. Gabrielle had spent hours getting the charm just right so that no one with ill intent could get a picture or cross the boundary of the front door. She had done this without Dominique having to ask for it or accepting any of her praises. Her aunt cared little about the drop in business.

It was a kindness Dominique hoped she could one day repay.

"Well. Those are the type of customers that La Boulangerie Magique doesn't need!" Nell retorted at the assistant, who was angry about half the customers.

Another assistant scoffed in the kitchen. Dominique swore she could hear them whispering about her. Or was I just being paranoid?

I could have stopped it.

The delicate ribbon used to tie the daises kept slipping from Dominique's fingers as she tried to drown out the accusing noise of thoughts droning in her head. Her heart was beating so fast that it was no longer a series of distinguishable thumps. It was a hum. The same hum she felt the night she watched someone die. The same hum she felt as Scorpius pressed her to his chest to shield me from the curses.

A hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from shaking. She dropped the ribbons and looked up at her aunt, who smiled sadly. She patted Dominique's clenched fists, "why don't you take a break?"

Looking around, Dominique noticed all eyes were on her. Nell took a step forward, her face full of concern.

How violently had her hands been shaking?

"Yes, yeah…" a fresh tear sprouted from her eye, "I think I'll do that."

8th of July 2023

It was finally warm.

Draco decided to take them on a walk over the vast Malfoy estate. It was truly enormous, rivaling Hogwarts' own land. The Malfoys even owned a section of the protected forest around them. He warned that it was easy to get lost, even for him, who had lived there his whole life.

He stopped at the edge of the tree line and sat on a large rock with his legs crossed. Out of his bag, he pulled out a sketchbook, a thick red leather thing with pages so full of his genius that the spine curved. Dominique itched to look through it, wondering, in particular, what covered the black wrinkled page in the center.

The apprentices followed his lead, taking out their considerably less impressive books, and watched. He gestured to a lemon tree that was by itself in the field. It was out of season, so it bared no fruit except rinds on the ground that birds had picked from the branches.

He told them, "draw it."

"The tree?" Oliver asked.

"The tree."

"Just the tree?" Theodore dug the toe of his boot into the soft dirt, "or?"

Draco smiled, "draw it, or paint it, or smear it. I don't care how you do it. Just create."

The apprentices looked at one another. Could one of them win? Was this a test? This test was not to see if they knew how to draw the tree but how they drew it. The tree was a simple thing to draw for the likes of them. This year was not going to be like an art class when you were in primary school, where you did your best and the teacher gave you a gold star. Each of them realized this simultaneously as Draco began to ignore them and start on his own.

Oliver and Dominique shared a rock. He lounged back with one of his short legs out while he used the other to prop his book.

Dominique took to mimicking the way Draco was sitting, albeit more hunched. She stared at the tree for far too long. Everyone else had begun to scratch their pens, pencils, and charcoal. It was a symphony of sound that was missing one of its players, the soft girl in the back who could not find her inspiration. She was, once again, stunted. Crippled by the weight of Draco's expectations and the need to prove everyone she loved wrong. The manor was not a mistake. She pushed her pen so hard ink splattered out. Stifling a groan, she flipped the page only to do it again.

Her chest ached.

Oliver glanced over, his charcoal hovering over his whimsical depiction of the tree. Light illuminated it from behind, calling beings to pick from its branches. He furrowed his brow at her nearly blank, slightly ripped project and mouthed, "alright?"

With a curt nod, she turned her attention to her book and closed her eyes, flexing her hand into a fist around her pen. With her eyes closed, she could better feel the world around her as it moved; a cool breeze ruffled the baby hairs around her face, the smell of wet earth from the forest, and distant birds singing in the field. She zeroed in on the birds, their song calming her. Without thinking, she began to draw with her eyes closed. To her surprise, she did not break through the paper. She continued this way, trying to draw the tree from memory. Listening hard to the sound of nature around her. She was met with a mess of lines and shapes when she opened them, a rip into another universe. She used that as the center and carefully drew a sturdy lemon tree around it. It looked as if the tree was being ripped in two. The lines she made with closed eyes were dark and angry - as if scribbled in a fury. They were a stark difference from the carefully constructed ones she had let bleed from her pen with her eyes open.

Draco stood on the large rock and stretched his long limbs. He squinted into the sun, "everyone finished?"

A chorus of unsure voices responded.

"Excellent!"

He asked each of them the same thing when he took their books: "what were you feeling when you drew this?" even though Dominique knew it was coming, she froze by the time he got to her, she froze.

She was acutely aware of the four others waiting for her reply. They all answered with ease. While she… all she could do was blink up at Draco. He looked at her with his icy eyes, and she swore that the temperature had dropped ten degrees as she tried to form words.

"I-"

Over his shoulder, Oliver gave Dominique an encouraging nod.

"I felt overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed?" Draco hummed to himself as he looked down at the torn tree. It was much different than the rest of the drawings, much darker in nature. Dominique hoped he would not think she was trying to impress him with a hint of his dark, unnerving style. "May I ask by what?"

"Everything…"

Georgia snickered into her hand and tried to cover it up with a cough. Draco did not acknowledge her; his eyes stayed glued on Dominique's page. He swallowed, his fingers touching the gnarled mess in the center. There was a sadness behind his eyes, as if he remembered something painful.

"And do you feel overwhelmed now?"

"Not entirely?"

He looked at Dominique with downturned lips and handed her her book, which she hastily tucked underneath her arm. Behind him, the lemon tree loomed, seeming to reach toward him as he walked away from her.

"This lemon tree was the first thing I ever drew," he announced, placing an open palm against the bark of one of the low branches. "I visit it whenever I can and have put it to paper and canvas more times than I can count… and somehow, it's been different every time. Always showing me a new part of herself, guiding me to the answers I seek through my art."

The apprentices leaned forward, suddenly seeing this seemingly inanimate thing transform before them. The sway of Draco's words urged it to life, and they all saw it differently. Dominique observed dancing leaves turned into breathing lungs. Rinds, fallen eyelashes. Branches, fingers tangling in his hair.

Draco continued, "I want you all to find your lemon tree while you're here. I want you to find something that makes you feel as this tree makes me. Draw it as many times as you can. So that in the end, maybe, it can show you something you don't know you have inside of you."

The lesson was over.

Dominique stayed where she was, staring at the tree and hoping it would show her the answers. It would not. That kind of magic was reserved for him only. A promise made between brethren. She closed her eyes and scanned through all she'd witnessed since arriving at the manor. Somewhere in those memories, she knew she would find her lemon tree waiting to come alive.

Nothing popped.

It would have to come to her naturally as it had for him.

When found, would Draco still be disappointed? He seemed to hate all the answers she gave to his questions. He wanted more, and she hoped she could give it to him. It was a shame that her voice tangled in a web of spiders when she spoke to him. It had always been like that with her. The spiders were always there. Words had a way of becoming lost once they reached her tongue. Especially if she was trying to say something important, something that mattered. This was why she started drawing in the first place. She could express herself in ways her throat, tongue, and teeth would not allow.

Out of habit, she pulled out her useless phone to gaze at the home screen. It was a picture of Callum, Roxanne, Jack, and her. Her heart lurched with loneliness at the sight of the four of them huddled together, sleeping on her couch. They had fallen asleep waiting for the new year to hit, still adorned with sparkle hats and noise makers. Too tired to party and too concerned with comfort to make an effort. It was just like them to do something like that.

It was as silent as ever in the manor. Dominique took her time walking to her room, making extra sure to take in everything she passed. It was bleak, bleak, bleak… large extravagant pieces that belonged in a fancy museum and antiques so old she swore they would fall apart with the slightest touch.

Draco's one painting displayed in the foyer was the only piece that mattered to her.

A door slammed open in front of her, hitting the dark wall with a loud crash reverberating down the hall. Emilia fell to the floor, dropping a bag of laundry that burst open under her weight. When Dominique approached, she cursed and hurriedly tried to clean the mess.

"Let me help you," Dominique said, throwing her book aside.

"No, it's okay, Miss Weasley! I should have been more careful."

Dominique laughed, "just call me Dominique."

Emilia smiled wryly, dragging the rags into her arms and trying to shove them into the bag as fast as she could.

"No, really," Dominique insisted, "let me-"

She stopped speaking when she realized that they were stained with fresh blood. She jerked her hand back and made a noise she was not proud of.

"What happened?"

This question only seemed to make Emilia more flustered. She avoided Dominique's gaze, "nothing happened. Just leave it be."

That's when she saw them. Three thick, long scratches were on the other side of Emilia's face. Still fresh and bleeding. Her eyes grew wide as she saw Dominique notice. She touched her cheek, "please, just go."

The stairs behind them were ominous, looming. What was up there that did this to Emilia? Something awful occurred to Dominique, the rumors of how the Malfoys used to treat their servants… the floor swayed as she grabbed her arm. "Did," she couldn't bare to think about it, "do they…."

"No! They would never! The Malfoys, they're…." Emilia trailed off.

"Then what did that to you?"

Emilia stepped out of her kindly servant persona to rip her arm from Dominique's grasp. "This," she gestured stiffly to her face, "is none of your business. And the fact that you would even insinuate that the Malfoys would- oh, Scorpius!"

Dominique almost screamed when she saw his figure a few feet away; his door was wide open, exposing his now pristine room. He got to them in only a few long, rapid steps. His hand softly met Emilia's face as he looked up the stairwell with fire in his eyes. "Did she-"

"Scorpius!" Emilia warned him, gesturing toward Dominique.

He grunted and grabbed the laundry, closing the stairwell door with a key around his throat. He wrapped Emilia underneath his free arm and looked at Dominique, sighing heavily through his nose.

"Who's… she?" Dominique ventured.

Scorpius' face stayed still, "she is my mother's cat. A terrible little mongrel."

"A cat?"

He was so obviously lying. Even Emilia seemed to stifle a look of disbelief.

"Yes. Mother loves the wretched thing."

Domiqniue repeated his answer, "a cat."

"Sco- Mr. Malfoy, I must get this laundry to Fuller," Emilia said, pushing away from him.

"Let me escort you," he insisted, turning, so their backs were to Dominique, "and we can get that scratch looked at."

Stiffly they left Dominique standing in front of the terror-inducing staircase door. Neither spoke until they were so out of earshot that she could only just make out their voices as a soft mummer.

Cat.

That was not the work of a cat.

Those cuts were too deep, too thick.

But what could be up there?

What exactly were they hiding?

That night at dinner, the table was missing all of the Malfoys. There was no explanation offered, just empty seats with no settings. Theodore and Oliver worked themselves into a fit, jokingly trying to guess where they might be. The top three conclusions were; alien abduction, a sudden and sporadic sinkhole, or spontaneous combustion.

Georgia looked incredibly annoyed the whole time they did this, stirring her mashed potatoes with her fork and scoffing at every other word. Every so often, her eyes would twitch to where Scorpius usually sat as if she was expecting him to jump from under the table and yell SURPRISE!

Alice, on the other hand, could not care less. She sat crossed-legged and immersed in a massive book while munching on salad. With every flip of a page, she sank further into her chair. She would not have been able to do this with Astoria around, who was all about manners.

Dominique relished resting her arms on the table.

Finally, Georgia snapped at Oliver and Theodore, "will you two shut up? You're giving me a headache."

"What's wrong? Upset that you've been left out of the loop?" Oliver teased her.

She glowered at him, "for your information, I know exactly what's going on."

Still processing what she saw that afternoon, Dominique kept quiet during dinner. In her head, she was drafting the letter she planned to send to Albus the second she got back to her room. She knew the blood-covered rags were something that she should keep to herself. But telling Albus - Scorpius' best friend - was not breaking any rules, right?

It was because of her silence that it surprised everyone when she asked Georgia, "what going on, then?"

Georgia sneered, "excuse me?"

"What's…" Dominique took in the four of them, stumbling over her question. Alice crunched on a thick green. Theodore smiled an amused sort of smile. "What's happening… with them?"

"What makes you suddenly so curious?" Theodore pried.

"I just-"

"I just!" Georgia mocked Dominique loudly, "why don't you do us all a favor and just stay out of it. It's not like the Malfoys even like you."

Theodore put a hand on her arm, "Gi, that's a little-"

"You too! All of you, shut up!"

Oliver smiled, "you know, I'm starting to think she doesn't know anything."

"What did you say to me?"

"I said," he leaned over the table toward her with his hands flat on either side of his plate, "you don't know a thing."

"Yes, I do…."

Georgia flushed. Dominique knew that Oliver was right. She was just as much an outsider to the Malfoys as they were. Georgia hated that he could see through her. Her chair practically shook as she stood up and grabbed Theodore, "Theo, let's go!"

He was yanked out of his spot, "but I'm not finished!" he whined as she dragged him down the long table. The door slammed behind them, the chandeliers shuddering.

"Finally…" Alice breathed, flipping a page, "some peace and quiet."

Oliver turned to me, smirking, "what do you know?"

"Huh?" Dominique shook her head, playing dumb.

"You know something," Oliver pushed, "I can tell."

Alice looked up from her book only to watch Dominique's face swell red. She licked her lips and half closed it with a finger marking a page, A Clash of Kings, gleamed in gilt on the spine. Cocking her head to the side, she leaned slightly, "you do…."

"How do–"

"Ha!" Oliver yelled so loud that Alice and Dominique jumped. Alice lost her page in the book and groaned.

"Spill," Oliver demanded.

Dominique wasn't sure why she told them. Maybe it was the heavy lonely feeling that had been weighing on her since the moment she stepped into that place. Perhaps it was the eager way they leaned toward her with an excited glint in their eyes. Or maybe I just didn't want to spend that year alone in her room, poisoned by her thoughts.

Either way, she let the events of that afternoon spill from her mouth like a leaking faucet. Quietly, she dripped all the facts on them as they sat in that empty room with the dying fires. They took the conversation to Alice's room when she finished so the cleaning maids did not overhear.

The bones of Alice's room were nearly identical to Dominique's, except she had spent the last week making it feel less like a prison cell and more like a home. Oliver and Dominique took a moment to take in her space. It sang with life. All the heavy curtains were gone from her windows, and natural moonlight flooded through custom periwinkle lace curtains. Stacks of books were peppered over the hardwood floor, creating a maze to her bed, bathroom, and desk, which was covered in magazine clippings. Twinkle lights lined the ceiling, a plush pink carpet cushioned their steps, and stuffed animals slept beneath her galaxy sheets.

It was a whimsical, chaotic mess.

Alice dropped A Clash of Kings on a book pile near the window and pulled out her desk chair, sweeping glitter off the cushion. She shrugged when she looked over at them as if to say, 'deal with the mess or leave,' and plopped down, motioning to close the door.

"Don't worry," she dug in a drawer, "I've charmed the room so no one can hear what goes on."

Oliver gave Dominique a mischievous look. Somehow Alice knew what he was thinking; she drawled, "it's for music, you perv…" then popped up with a half eaten candy bar in her hand. She had found her treasure. "I like it loud."

"I like a girl who knows what she wants."

Alice ignored Oliver's flirtatious joke and took a massive bite out of her bar, chewing slowly with her eyes half closed. Chocolate sat in the corner of her mouth as she said, "I had a feeling there was something freaky going on up there."

Oliver plopped on her bed and took a stuffed animal in his hands, examining the button eyes, "what do you think it is?"

It took Dominique a second to realize they were waiting for her to answer. She maneuvered her way carefully around the endless stacks of books and found a spot against one of the windows on the sill. "Well, I know it's not a cat," the coolness of the outside air hit her back in a chill, "that's for sure."

"That's definitely a cover-up. But what are they hiding? Or why? And why bring in the five of us, who could expose their secret?"

Alice was crunching away at her bar as she spoke, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. It dawned on Dominique that this was the most she had ever seen her talk. Was this what it took? You hand her a mystery, and she turns into Sherlock Holmes?

"It's probably Mother Dearest," Oliver guessed with a theatrical shudder.

Crumpling the wrapper, Alice tried to throw it in the wastebasket by her bed, missing terribly. "That's impossible. She's in a coma," she stated dryly.

"How do we know that's true?"

Dominique opened her mouth to defend the Malfoys. Of course, it's true. Why would they lie about that? But it occurred to her that know could know for sure. All the Wizarding community had as evidence was the word of the Malfoys and their personal nurses. No one had seen Narcissa in years.

Stranger things had been faked.

There was one person Dominique knew who would have a chance of knowing the truth, someone she was already planning on writing.

"I know who we can ask."