Chapter 8: Hello Draco

Harry had secured the yew wand he had been given moments ago in his pocket. He was striding forwards through Diagon Alley once more, trailing Tonks who seemed to have taken the lead. He lifted his gaze upwards, and found only a few shards of the sun's rays reveal through the grey and murky sky. He sighed, the weather had been terrible for the past few days, and the robe he currently wore did not shield him at all from the skin-piercing wind whooshing around him; the temperature had become terribly cold.

He shivered, and reflexively shoved his hands into his pockets. He glanced to his right, where he found a festoon of black curls tousled into a mess – the wind was rustling through them. He lifted an eyebrow in curiosity, as he watched the individual whom the dark curls belonged to; Bellatrix's gaze was settled low on the ground, and though it was dreadfully cold she did not seem to mind it; she was far too adrift in her thoughts to really notice it in the first place.

Harry began to contemplate; what could she possibly be thinking of? He recalled the delirious act she had thrown just a few minutes ago in McLaughlin's; could she possibly be remorseful, for what she had done to Neville's parents?

No – the thought was absurd — simply absurd.

With his hands still shunted in his pockets, and fingers wrapped around his yew wand, he glanced away from Bellatrix around to the people who were regarding him. Again, he noticed how their eyes would skate from viewing him to looking at Bellatrix (who sluggishly walked beside him). Harry noted once more that Bellatrix did not seem to care an ounce for how people perceived her. Inadvertently, he began to admire her for her ability to be so apathetic towards others and what they thought of her; but he immediately stopped his thoughts of veneration upon realizing them – he could not, and did not wish to respect the witch in any form or way.

She was a ruthless, callous murderer.

Harry deemed Dumbledore to be foolish for having saved her after Voldemort's fiasco at the Department of Mysteries. But, then again – Dumbledore was merely fulfilling Sirius's wish…

Suddenly (for a short-lived second), Harry wondered: If he had been in Dumbledore's shoes, would he too have obliged to Sirius's quite alarming wish – his last wish before he had died – before the woman that he had wished to keep safe and away from harm had murdered him?

Harry did not know, and he didn't want to know.

Memories of the day at the Department of Mysteries flounced into his mind; he recalled Bellatrix – her face had been uncaring, merciless and cold. She had been fleeing from the scene, while he had held his wand firmly in his hand, running after her. He had wished to inflict her with the Cruciatus Curse – the curse that she was so proficient at perpetrating – the curse that had caused Neville's parents to embrace insanity – the curse that had caused Alice's wand to now be positioned in her pocket.

He had used that curse on her; but it had been a feeble and pathetic attempt at debilitating her.

"You have to mean them, Potter!" she had said, after he had merely knocked her off her feet with it. It seemed that he hadn't truly meant to inflict her with the curse—but why?

Harry quickly propelled his thoughts away, and dropped his gaze down to his feet. He wore sneakers that had turned quite tatty; he had been wearing them for around the past week or so, around-the-clock. His green eyes lingered on his sneakers for a while. He did not want to think – he contemplated the brick-ground he sluggishly strode on, driving his mind into a Buddha-like state.

Except, his mind did not remain that way for long.

A thought budged in – another thought budged in – until he began to think again; his thoughts centered on the mystery that strode beside him. His eyebrows crumpled, as he marched onwards in an autopilot-like mode, following Tonks, unaware of where he was heading.

He noticed that Bellatrix, like him, was silent and hushed, as though she was living in her mind (as he was at the moment). He noted that she too, like him, had her slender hands shoved into the pockets of her robe, as she trudged forwards. Her dark eyes were glued to the ground; for a split second, he sought to look at her eyes; see what she was feeling in them – grasp why she was so dreadfully confusing – so hard to discern…

"You'll need some new robes—you've grown plenty during summer!" he heard a familiar voice that tottered him out of his contemplations; it had been Tonks. He lifted his gaze from the ground and viewed her; she was standing in front of him and Bellatrix. Her current mousey-brown hair dithered with the harsh wind, as she stared at the wooden sign that said 'Madam Malkins'; scripted in immaculate calligraphy. The wooden sign hung on an iron rail outside the tailoring shop, above its pristinely clean front-windows. Suddenly, Harry remembered the very first time he had been to the shop; he had met Draco there for the first time; thus, it had also been the first time he had been introduced to the blood-supremacy extremism that prevailed among the aristocratic, and elite families in the Wizarding world; like the Blacks.

Bellatrix Black.

Was she still chauvinistic? She surely had to be, it had only been a few months since she had presumably been ousted from Voldemort's group of devotees – 'If she has been that is', Harry began to wonder.

What if she still supported Voldemort? Maybe she was two-timing? Besides, Harry had not felt the scar on his forehead burn as it typically did whenever Voldemort felt abysmal ire; and surely, Voldemort ought be infuriated, since who he had perceived to be his most trusted lieutenant had betrayed him?

'Or has she?' Harry pondered.

"Well, wachya waitin' for Harry?" he heard Tonks again — he gazed up at her in alarm, once more feeling flabbergasted for being spun out of his thoughts so suddenly; he grumbled in his head, while he watched the Metamorphmagus smile weakly at him.

The Metamorphmagus speculated over why Harry seemed so lost and woozy — Bellatrix also appeared to be in a similar condition; she was standing a few inches behind Harry, her dark hair flying wildly with the wind, while she had her eyes pasted listlessly on the ground. Tonks turned around, and strolled forwards into the tailoring shop; pushing the door with one hand, and shortly hearing a bell chime. Soon enough, she heard two more rings that signified Harry and Bellatrix were closely behind.

Harry lifted an eyebrow, as he gazed around the shop to find the tailor, Madam Malkin; but she was nowhere to be seen. There were racks and rolls of fabric lined in columns behind the front-desk of the shop. An ornate Persian carpet lay on the wooden floor; there were a few sofas situated in front of the counter, and opposite the front-window; Bellatrix had seated herself in one of the sofas. Her legs were crossed, and she had herself turned around by a few degrees, so that she could look outside the window while sitting down in her seat. Her face entertained an expression that roared with ennui – though at the same time Harry wasn't so sure; he couldn't really tell what she was thinking of – her face was always so blank, and her eyes bearing an expression hard to comprehend. He observed the silky navy blue robe she wore; it was knee-length, and it hung loosely from her waist and downwards, but was rather snug around her bosom. His eyes traveled down to her legs. They were milky-white and smooth; for a split second, he had his eyes fastened on them. However, he hastily turned his eyes away, once he noticed where he had been looking.

Suddenly, he heard a voice, and it caused every nerve in his body to go haywire.

Abruptly and swiftly, he swung his head around to where it had issued. A boy with a pointed face, and white-blonde hair drew out of one of the racks. He was wearing a beautiful, long green robe, and was walking towards a large mirror to see how he appeared with his usual arrogant strut. 'Malfoy!' Harry hissed in his mind; his hands had unconsciously turned into fists.

oOo

Bellatrix was gazing outside the window in a mannerism that screamed with boredom. Her striking dark eyes watched groups march by through the brick-streets of Diagon Alley. Her exquisite face washed over with a snidely smirk whenever someone noticed her. More often than not, their faces would morph into terrified expressions; seeing them so, dreadfully amused her, but also diverted her attention from what had occurred to her just a scanty few minutes ago in McLaughlin's. She felt the used hawthorn wand (what had been Alice's wand) in the side-pocket of a robe she had filched from one of the many closets that had belonged to Aunt Walburga in Number 12; the wand was situated against the thin-film of her pocket, she could feel it against her thigh. For a momentary second, she wondered how Alice had reacted on receiving her first wand – 'this wand' – when she had been a child. Alice had probably touched the wand currently in her pocket more than a thousand times; from her first day at Hogwarts, all the way to the day before she could no longer incant even the simplest charm with it – because she had lost her sanity.

Bellatrix shuddered inadvertently, and quickly hurled the taxing thoughts away. She let out a faint sigh (again unconsciously) and turned her face away from the window (from which on the other side, people were hurrying quickly past upon seeing her through it). To her displeasure, she found a tall young male standing rigid with his back towards her: it was Harry. His hair was the disheveled mess that it always was. 'Does he ever use a comb?' she speculated with a grumble.

Suddenly, she froze in her seat.

She could hear her heartbeat rise – rise – rise; her eyes enlarged too with her escalating pulse, while perspiration gathered around her ivory palms. 'Calm down!' she ordered herself ruthlessly, as she watched a boy with a pale pointed face emerge out of a path hidden by piles of fabric and racks. He hadn't noticed her, nor had he noticed Tonks or Harry (as of yet), as he walked towards a mirror to assess how he looked. "Mother," Bellatrix soon heard her nephew say, "I think the blue robe looked better," he finished. Then, he began to turn around, his grey eyes first landed on Harry – a malicious and arrogant smirk (that would not last long) smeared across his face. He was about to say something supercilious, when his eyes settled on Tonks.

Tonks was leaning beside the front door of the tailoring shop. She threw a loathing look his way. Draco's smirk vacillated a bit, as he recalled that the woman before him was his estranged cousin, and her mother was his disowned aunt; 'Blood-traitors!' he grumbled in his head. Then, he swiftly turned his face back to Harry to say what he had initially wished – when suddenly; from the corners of one of his eyes, he spotted a tousle of shiny black curls.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix beheld Draco with her dark eyes - stunned for a moment at his sudden appearance. She watched his pointed face as it began to rotate. His vexing and arrogant smirk began to falter, until it ripped off his face – he had now fully revolved around to view her.

She stared into his grey eyes with her dark ones; both she and he were flabbergasted for a splitting moment. Then, she flung a thin malicious smirk to him; only a faint smirk was needed for him to totter backwards. She grinned snidely again on seeing him so disturbed. "Hello, Draco," she said, silkily.

Draco did not respond; Harry felt his lips arch into a dim sneer, as he beheld him act so pathetically—Tonks had also been amused.

As all this transpired, Madam Malkin's plump and petite form arose from behind one of the racks; she was completely unaware of what was going on in her environs for a few seconds, until her eyes landed on the scene before her. Her hold on her wand began to dither while a woman surfaced behind her; this woman had also emerged from behind the same rack that she had appeared from.

Abruptly, Bellatrix turned her eyes away from Draco (who continued to stare at her in a dumbfounded form) to the woman. The woman had long white-blonde hair that she had styled it into a neat elegant up-do. Her eyes were blue like the ocean; for a split second, Bellatrix recalled how she would read to those eyes at night, until they would close peacefully. She did not know why her mind had evoked such a thought, and that too now (sometimes the mind induced odd recollections at the most unfitting times). Bellatrix continued to behold her sister; she was walking towards her son.

Narcissa had not looked around her surroundings thoroughly. Her eyes had been glued on the ground, as she strolled gracefully near Draco. She was about to place her slender white hand on his shoulder to turn him around, so that she could see how he looked from the front in the green robe he had tried on— when suddenly; from the corner of one of her eyes, she spotted a bouquet of dark curls (like her shocked son, Draco had a few seconds ago). The hand that she had nearly placed on her son's shoulder sharply fell to her side, and she immediately wrung her pale face to where Bellatrix was seated.

oOo

The air had suddenly become cooler by plunges. Tonks's tongue began to salivate, and the stillness of her surroundings caused her to hear that ringing one hears in their ears when it's far too quiet. She gaped at Bellatrix and Narcissa – her aunts. The two of them were staring at each other; their blue and dark brown eyes penetrating into each other's souls. They appeared as though they were communicating with one another on a subconscious level, and as though they did not want those around them to hear what they were sharing.

Meanwhile, Draco was standing beside Narcissa; his eyes were ignited in a cycle of glancing back and forth to his mother and aunt. Tonks turned her attention to Harry: he was standing in a manner likewise to hers; his hands were wrapped around his chest; his eyebrows furrowed; his striking green eyes revealing tremor, and a glint of interest at what was occurring before him—

"Draco," Narcissa's unruffled voice suddenly roared into their surroundings. Tonks turned her attention away from Harry and abruptly to her. Narcissa was hiding whatever it was she was feeling inside quite well; though her eyes were disloyal to her otherwise calm exterior — "Let's go to Twiflet and Tatting's. I believe they may have robes more suited to your needs," she said collectedly to her son. Draco did not respond verbally; he bobbed his head jaggedly to his mother who then turned around to Madam Malkin.

Madam Malkin was standing behind her counter, her lips were shaking and her eyes blazed with dread, as Narcissa's cold blue eyes pierced into her soul. "You," she watched Narcissa say coldly, "we'll buy the robe my son is wearing currently." Madam Malkin nodded her head hastily - "Well, what are you waiting for? Charge it on my account!" Narcissa sneered.

"Temper, Cissy," Tonks suddenly heard a familiar cool voice; she immediately turned around to where it had issued, and found Bellatrix gazing at her sister with a faint, snide smirk plastered across her attractive face. The Metamorphmagus quickly looked back to Narcissa to see how she had reacted; Narcissa's lips were trembling, and she had her head bent low to the ground (though not for long). Her head suddenly sprang up, and she turned her face to Draco, grabbed him by his hand, and began to march out of the shop haughtily. Tonks took a few steps away from the front door, as Narcissa stormed towards it - she had never been so close in proximity to this aunt.

Tonks had expected Narcissa to thunder out the door – but to her surprise, she had stopped right in front of it. Narcissa sprung her head around to Bellatrix; Bellatrix regarded Narcissa nonchalantly. A few strands of blonde hair had become misplaced in her sister's otherwise elegant and perfect up-do; they were hanging by her pale face. Narcissa's thin lips began to move - "You turned your back on your family so easily, Bellatrix. Do you not know what you've done?" she hissed. Abruptly, a second of silence that felt like days diffused through their surroundings; their surroundings felt as though they had become even frostier.

Harry watched Bellatrix's eyebrows furrow - her dark eyes were drenched in anger, and she began to breathe severely. "Narcissa," she said, her voice was cool and calm, traitorous to the passionate feelings of anger revealing through her striking dark eyes. Bellatrix was pausing to gain Narcissa's full attention. During the pause, Harry and Tonks turned their attention back to the blonde, who was holding Draco's hand firmly by the front-door – her long manicured nails dug into Draco's pale hand, causing him to squirm—"I should ask you the same," Bellatrix's low, cool voice rolled through their surroundings.

Another moment of silence commenced, in which Narcissa's eyes enlarged. The silence was then suddenly interrupted by the ringing heard when someone was leaving or entering the tailoring shop — Narcissa had furiously left. Shortly, Bellatrix gazed through the window she was seated against, and watched her sister drag her son through the brick-streets of Diagon Alley.

Meanwhile, Harry watched the dark-haired witch; her eyes were glued on the front-window. He knew intuitively (although he wasn't looking out the window) that she was watching her sister.

He beheld her, as she suddenly wrung her head around from the window; she was now staring vacantly at the Persian carpet on the wooden floor. Her dark eyes were once again hard for him to fathom – just like conversation Narcissa and she had shared—"I-I think we'll get your robes later, Harry," Tonks stammered, ushering him out of his thoughts. He turned around to Tonks, and noted that she was in a shocked disposition, "Let's go to the Leakey Cauldron to eat - I'm dreadfully hungry," the Metamorphmagus said, with a forced smile smeared across her face; Harry noticed that her mousey-brown hair had turned to an even duller brown.

Author's Note: Well, there's Chapter 8. I'm sorry if it's shorter than the previous chapter I've posted, but you see—I needed to leave this chapter here, just because it 'felt' right to end it this way. As I've already mentioned before, I believe this fic is going to be *quite* long, because you see I don't want the relationships etc. to form to abruptly and hastily. I'm trying my best to slowly progress this fic. Anyway, as I've already mentioned a hundred times before—your thoughts are wholeheartedly welcomed! And also, I thank everyone who has put this fic into their alert/favourite or/and have taken the time to leave a review, it truly means a lot to me! What are stories for if they're not read? :)

UPDATE (October 26, 2012): I'm going to be taking a few days off (a week or two) to finish the Deathly Hallows, and then return to updating this fic. During my leave, I will be writing (so once I'm back you'll be seeing quick updates, hopefully) the forthcoming chapters. I will be writing more than one chapter from now on (around three or four before updating) because that way I can change up the plot line etc. in a previous chapter if I change my mind while writing a future chapter. I hope you all understand! Nevertheless, I just want to make it clear - that I won't be abandoning this fic, at least not any time soon!