Draco had wanted to avoid London the second time around. He wasn't yet ready to return, not so soon. But while it wasn't written anywhere and no one could ever be sure where they would show up next, the schedule was set and there was no changing course once they began.
And so Le Cirque des Rêves, rolled back in to London almost two years after they had left and for two nights he waited anxiously.
He had only ever disclosed his identity to one person, and even then, he'd only had to fill in a few blanks because Isobel could see most of it for herself. But as they had moved closer and closer to the London dates he'd been filled with a terror that only intensified as the nights wore on.
Now was their third night, they would leave in the morning. It had to happen tonight if it would happen at all. She was on her way. Despite Isobel's assurances that whoever she was posed no threat to his life among the revéurs, Draco was unsure of how to proceed.
So he adopted some of the magic he'd learned outside of school and Disillusioned himself, in order to watch but not be seen. Until such time that he found someone he recognised, and then would make his decision.
When Hermione Granger made her way across Wandsworth Common, taking the same route to seek out Isobel that he had, he lost control of his spell. Out of fear that she would recognise him he almost Apparated away before remembering that he looked nothing like the boy she had gone to school with.
Trusting in that knowledge and curious to see how Isobel's prophecy would play out, he made his decision to approach her.
In the many times they had discussed this night's approach, she had never told him explicitly what would occur, how it was that this woman, no longer a mystery, would affect his life.
Even if every person there that night had been privy to the information he knew, none of them would have been more surprised than he by what happened next.
Draco Malfoy asked Hermione Granger to join his magical circus, to travel the world with him, entertaining people with illusions that it was entirely probable that he alone knew the mechanics of.
And she said yes.
While his mind was racing, outwardly, he looked the picture of serenity as he arranged things for her. He desperately wanted to ask how she could just pick up and leave, what Weasley and Potter would think. Or if she knew whether or not his parents had been punished harshly.
But that would mean revealing his true identity and he couldn't do that.
So instead he asked nothing, not trusting himself to even attempt to phrase nonchalant questions. And by the time they rolled out of town the next day, she was settled in a train car, not too far from his.
He watched her every chance he got, aware that sometimes he crossed the line from casual observer to obsessive. He couldn't help it. Aside from a one-night stop near Hogsmeade this was the first time he'd been faced with anything or anyone from his former life and he was desperate to learn about what had been happening there, even if he couldn't ask.
As much as he could, he made sure not to be alone with her, unsure he could trust himself to keep from blurting out the constant stream of questions running through his mind. Keeping his distance, he decided, was the best course of action in order to get himself under control.
But that mission proved near impossible, he found. Away from the constraints of their former society and the prejudices about blood purity, separated from his parents and their bigoted ideas, he was for the first time able to think for himself.
And what he thought was that she was in fact an immensely talented witch and he wanted more than anything to remain in her company. Even if it meant adopting more disguises.
So that was exactly what he did.
Aware that it would be odd for one man to follow the company all around the world, just to watch one performer, he began experimenting with new faces.
He kept to the same seat though, because it provided the best view within her space. With his ever changing appearance he felt confident that he wouldn't be drawing too much attention.
That was, until she asked him to observe her.
Letting loose with a string of Muggle curses he'd picked up over the past two years, Draco, still in the form of Castor, paced throughout his private car.
"How could I be so stupid?" he growled. "Bloody oaf!"
She'd looked half terrorised. When she noticed the way he was looking at her, she looked… she looked as if she'd just seen Voldemort again, as if she was back in the school with people dying all around her as a battle raged on. As if she was living in a horrid nightmare.
If he'd been in one of his disguises it wouldn't have been nearly as bad. He'd seen other men – some women too - entranced by what she could do over the last few months when he was able to tear his eyes away from her. But to go in there as someone she knew, someone she presumably trusted, and to look at her that way…
He had a lot of explaining to do.
The only question was when? After his stupidity, not being able to keep the hunger from his eyes watching her, he wasn't about to go and hound her in her own car, hurling excuses at her.
He would have to be patient. He would have to wait for her to come to him. And he would have to come up with something very convincing to tell her.
Expelling another litany of foul words – both Muggle and a few choice ones from his former life – he threw himself into the chair behind his desk and picked up the closest book, hoping to distract himself with something, anything at all.
No one had ever looked at her the way that man from Paris did. The way that Castor Burrows did. She'd never known a man could look at her like that. The closest she'd come was Ron, back in the days after the war when everyone's grief was confused and emotions had run rampant.
They had been lost as to what to do with themselves when everything was over. After a year of hunting Horcruxes, and the six previous ones spent trying to avoid dying at the hands of Voldemort, to finally have him defeated was liberating.
But there was also the issue of loved ones being lost, funerals to prepare for, a school to be rebuilt, and of course a child who needed someone to raise him.
Being Teddy's godfather, Harry naturally wanted to step forward with Ginny right by his side. But Tonks' parents had convinced him to let them take the boy while he finished school. The Weasley family had offered any assistance they could, save for George who couldn't be coaxed out of his room for weeks. Even when they did get him out, sitting at the dinner table with the rest of the family he didn't say a word.
It was then, in those weeks that she'd felt the powerful scrutiny of her best friend. The one she hadn't kissed since the night his brother was taken from them.
And it was in those days that followed that she resumed kissing him, both of them under the misguided idea that it would actually heal the hurt.
When they returned to school three months later they no longer shared such closeness. They barely shared anything at all, save for the nightmares, and a best friend who had saved them all.
Standing alone in her train car, clutching her throat, Hermione remembered it all; the smouldering encounters at the Burrow that slowly fizzled to nothingness and the distance they tried to put between themselves when it was all over.
In her mind, she couldn't help comparing the looks on the faces of those three men now – Ron, Castor and the mysterious stranger who she was certain was also the man who paid her wages.
For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder if all three were one in the same. If Ron, who grew up at the Burrow and who was descendant from a family who looked to the stars to name their children, had hidden himself away in a magical circus adopting a false name in order to keep tabs on her.
But she quickly dismissed the idea, rationalising that if it were indeed Ron she would have known the moment she first felt his gaze. Confident that he had stayed true to his intended path of joining Harry at the Ministry, Hermione shook away the idea that Ron had been with her for months without her knowledge and began to prepare for bed.
Dealing with this situation would have to wait until she'd gotten some rest.
"Did you know this would happen?" he demanded as Isobel set about making a pot of tea the next night. He'd kept to himself in his rooms for the entire day, only now venturing out to seek answers while revéurs swarmed about and he could go relatively unnoticed. "Couldn't you have warned me that I would… You should have told me that-"
"I couldn't interfere Castor."
"Not interfere no, but a warning. That's all. Just a warning so I could have… I don't know, controlled things."
"That would have changed the outcome, and even the slightest change would have altered everything. You know I can't do that."
"No, I know, but you didn't see the way that she… She's terrified. She hasn't looked at me that way in… She's never looked at me that way before," he realised. "In school the looks she aimed at me were filled with loathing and contempt, but never that. I was a monster back then, but she's never actually been scared of me. Until now."
"I saw. I see more than you know. And things are just as they need to be. All will be well, don't worry."
"How can I not worry?"
"Because I'm telling you not to. Trust me, all hope is not lost. You still have a chance to tell her-"
"I need to check on… I have things I need to do."
"Avoid it all you like, but that won't change anything. The moment still approaches."
She Apparated from the tent to, he presumed, her car, to await his departure. She enjoyed doing that at the end of some readings, said it provided an extra air of mystery. Now he wished he'd never taught her.
Ever since Hermione had joined them, Isobel had hinted at this 'moment' but she refused to elaborate and it was beginning to grate on his last nerve.
A part of him wanted it over with now, just to have it done. But another was uncertain. If things could possibly get worse, they probably would whenever this event took place and that was something he definitely didn't want.
Leaving the tent in much the same way he'd entered, Castor Burrows made his way through winding paths towards another, still under construction.
Peek through the window to your soul's mate.
Perdita hovered at the entrance of the newest tent for a moment, unsure if she wanted to go in or not. The sign outside claimed to be able to show you your soul mate.
She was frightened of what she would see when she stepped inside. But equally curious and hopeful of what could be waiting for her. With numerous conversations repeating in her mind, she reached out, pulling open the tent's entrance and slipped inside, fighting the insecurity that took her over.
When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she found herself standing in front of a simple window. Stepping closer to the panes of glass she saw a circle of snow covered trees, a blanket of white over everything and two people wrapped in a tight embrace.
The figures were somewhat obscured, so she took another step forward to see them better. And they disappeared.
With her nose practically pressed against the glass that was cold to the touch, as if there really was snow on the other side, Perdita searched in vain for the couple who had been there a moment before. She was caught off guard when a pair of eyes appeared on the opposite side of the window, looking as if the other person had their face pressed against it as well.
Jumping backward, eyes narrowing, she stared intently through to the other side, but again only saw the blurry couple in the snow.
With a frown of concentration, she once again moved in, slower, carefully, hoping not to disturb the image again. Again, all she could see when she moved in was the eyes peering back at her from the other side.
But as far as she could see, there was no other side.
A detailed inspection around the edge of the window frame showed that it backed straight on to the tent that surrounded it.
Forcing herself to stand in front of the window close enough to see the mysterious eyes she recalled what the sign outside had said window to the soul…
"The answer has to be here somewhere," she muttered. "In the eyes…" They seemed to be searching hers just as much as she was them. "Just think," she told herself. "It's here, it has to be."
Inhaling deeply before expelling the air, she stared straight ahead, confident she would be able to solve this riddle.
The colour was unique, I've never seen eyes this colour before, they were bluish, but not quite. Lighter. More like…
"Silver."
At the first glance, they looked menacing. A little dangerous. But with every second that she stood, hoping for the owner to be revealed, they began to soften. And she found that she liked the way she was being looked at.
"But I don't understand," she muttered. "This is supposed to show…"
Peek through the window to your soul's mate.
"The eyes…" she realised. "The eyes are the window to the soul. The window shows their eyes only."
Satisfied that she had deciphered the mystery she set about studying them again, hoping for a spark of recognition. But the longer she looked, the more frustrated she became. Never before had she seen anyone with eyes like these.
"It's hopeless!" She pronounced, stepping back. Once more, the couple in the snowy clearing appeared and she shook her head.
Assuming that woman was supposed to be her, not that she could even be sure of that, the man could be just about anyone. It was impossible to tell.
She left the Window to the Soul that night, frustrated and confused.
What little hope she had allowed herself to have had been dashed.
He knew she was growing impatient. That she was waiting for answers and he should give them to her. But each time he thought he was ready he found himself unable, and instead, continued to avoid her.
Isobel continued to warn him that he couldn't stop the events that were on their way and so he took to avoiding her as well. For the first time since assuming control of Le Cirque des Reves, Castor Burrows kept himself holed up in his rooms only admitting select visitors.
The Window had been partly Isobel's idea, and she'd helped him with finishing touches, but now he wished he'd never put it all together.
What he saw when he looked into it seemed a fantastic impossibility.
It has to be faulty, he told himself, too much like the Mirror of Erised and not enough of a prophetic tool. I must have gone wrong somewhere. Refusing to believe in it fully, he shut himself away, and even stopped looking out the window.
His fireplace disguised the drop in temperature and so he didn't know to look out at the night, and he missed the first flakes as they fell.
A soon as she stepped off the train, pulling her coat tighter around her to combat the chill in the air, she recognised where they were. She'd never been to St. Petersberg before, but she'd seen herself there once before.
In the snow.
And all around her lay a fresh blanket of snow.
That means… looking around, searching the faces of the people who were milling around, Perdita the Illusionist wondered if he was there at that moment, or if he was still on his way.
They wouldn't be leaving for two days. That meant he still had time to show up, but she found herself hoping he'd arrived there the same way and the same time she had, though she refused to admit to those feelings.
"I could have gone to the wishing tree and made it happen by now," she had told Isobel late one night over brandy in the fortune teller's quarters.
"Why haven't you?"
"Because I believe that these things have to happen in their own time. You can't rush certain events." Isobel nodded. "Which is also why I've not asked you to tell me who he is, I feel certain you know, but you can't say, can you?"
"It won't be long now," Isobel had replied.
"I had a feeling you'd say something like that."
She was beginning to worry though. Days ago they had been in Melbourne, and while temperatures there weren't as high as other Australian climates, there had been no chance of snow.
As much as she wanted to find the owner of the eyes in The Window, she also wished she'd never gone in to see it, and that she could bring herself to speak with her employer about the way he watched her.
He had all but disappeared. People still spoke of him in a way that suggested he was still with them, but she hadn't seen hide or hair of him in weeks and that was just another thing for her to worry over.
Her boots sinking into the snow, she vowed that she wouldn't leave Russia without answers and that she would discover the identity of the man on the other side of The Window.