Dissindere Temporalis
So here we are.
I've struggled a bit to write this week. I wanted to get this just right, the moment of Tom and Draco really coming to terms with each other. Doesn't mean its all peachy keen now, but it was a step. And one they needed to have.
I hope you all enjoy!
And thank you to the friends on the discord. If you want to join us, be sure to use the code on my profile!
Enjoy!
Praeterita Manere Umbra
The future is a tricky thing, and those who see its secrets always suffer for their foreknowledge.
Seers are rare, they are powerful, they are also highly coveted by those who wish to use, or misuse their gifts. Back in ancient times, Seers were protected members of strong covens, and the others made sure to care for their vulnerable member, as there were three stages to proficiency.
One. Uncontrolled visions, often taking the form of dreams or unwanted visions in bright objects. These often left the Seer-to-be exhausted and frightened.
Two. Control, allowing visions when wanted, but blocking them out otherwise.
Three. Visions on command.
Unfortunately the more control exerted meant that Seers could be vulnerable. The visions do not use the magical pool of a witch of wizard. But rather their life essence.
Many Seers have died from prophecy, driven to see past their capabilities. Many seers have died of madness...unable to find control.
The future is a heavy burden... few who see it remain untouched by it.
- The Veils of Time, the Future and the Past by Clarenda Brittlesworth
Honestly a part of Draco had been expecting this moment, as soon as they revealed everything about their past to the group.
Not immediately of course, that wasn't the Slytherin way.
But after they returned in the New Year? Almost certainly.
Trying to avoid it would avail him nothing, he knew that, he was keenly aware of that.
So he decided on using a rather Slytherin tactic: taking the inevitable unpleasant conversation, and making sure it was on his terms.
"Hello, Draco."
Still, that didn't stop the feeling of ice sliding down his spine as he turned to face the boy he'd fought so hard to see as a friend, and not the monster of his memories.
Tom's gaze was intent, the indigo depths almost infinite and his entire focus was centred on Draco himself.
It was almost intoxicating, almost smothering, almost overwhelming.
There was a reason he'd avoided ever being the singular, and entire focus of this boy. He'd known, intimately, what that intent attention could bring… and he never wanted to experience it again.
"Tom."
The other boy's gaze didn't flicker.
"Not 'Voldemort'?"
It was a challenge, and Draco tried to ignore the terrible squirming in his lower belly.
"Not yet."
Tom considered him, and then slowly nodded, the intensity of his gaze ebbing a little as he walked forward to stand beside him at the railing of the Astronomy Tower.
Somehow, this was the only place that had seemed right to have this conversation.
"This is why I wanted to talk to you," the dark eyed boy cut a glance at him, "You're different to the other three. They came here out of Gryffindor sentimentality, and bullheadedness. You…on the other hand, are a Slytherin. Or you were."
Draco swallowed
"They suffered under my… 'Reign', of course, if you could use that word," Tom's lip curled as he spoke the word 'reign', "However they rebelled. They always rebelled. But you…"
Those indigo eyes ran slowly over his face and Draco wanted nothing more than to hide away, "But me?"
"You knelt."
Draco shuddered at the words, at the low hiss in them.
"Yes." There was no point in denying it after all. They both already knew the truth.
"Why?"
Draco shivered, trying not to think of the summer after his fifth year, after his father's failure in the Department of Mysteries and Voldemort's exposure to the Wizarding World.
The Dark Lord couldn't blame himself of course.
So he'd blamed Lucius Malfoy.
And had targeted just what his father valued most. His family, his bloodline, his legacy.
Draco, himself.
"My father was one of his, one of your, long-standing supporters." Draco gazed out over the forest, "But he failed an important mission. Thus I took his place…"
It was a simplistic explanation, but what else could he say.
Words could never do it justice.
"You have a unique perspective then." Tom's voice was low, "And one I need to hear, Draco."
His fingers tightened on the rails, no matter how much he'd prepared for this moment, it was still hard.
"No. It's one you need to see."
Tom stilled beside him, "You would let me look into your memories?"
Draco laughed, but even to him it sounded dull, and lifeless, "Words cannot describe it, not really. You need to see it."
Slowly he turned, and met that infinite, dark, gaze.
Tom considered him.
There were moments that Tom reminded him, unpleasantly of Voldemort, of the monster from his nightmares. But the rest of the time he was simply Tom, the intelligent, driven, lonely boy who he saw as a friend.
His gaze now was dark, fathomless, deep but also…alive.
There was no red to be seen.
And then slowly he nodded.
"Very well."
Slowly Draco reached into his bag, the magical bag Hermione had made him, and he drew out the dark onyx pensieve that had once belonged to his father, using a silent, wordless summoning charm.
Riddle's eyes gleamed at the display.
Carefully he let it float between them and then drew the already prepared vial out of his pocket.
Tom's gaze slid to the vial and he nodded, a slow curl to his mouth, "You knew."
Draco didn't bother to nod.
"I knew."
Something about that seemed to please Tom, and his gaze flicked back to Draco's own grey gaze.
"Then let's begin."
Draco didn't sugar coat it.
He suspected that was part of why Tom had come to him; Harry was a sentimental sort, and would try to shield Tom from hurt by selecting memories that would help but not hurt as much. Hermione too, to an extent, though he rather suspected that Hermione had far fewer personal memories of Voldemort. The same went for Weasley.
Harry would be kind.
Draco was not.
He was ruthless, and brutally honest, presenting memory after memory that showed Tom exactly what he'd become. They did not paint himself in a glorious light either, Draco was self-serving, selfish and subservient in these memories, his self-preservation on full display. He didn't shy away from it, nor did he make any apology for it.
It was who he'd been, a boy, then a young man who cared for little past his own survival. He was not a believer, nor a true follower, merely someone who would say and do almost anything if it meant his hide was spared.
It had only been as an adult that Draco had learned the hardest and deepest lesson: That survival didn't mean jack shit.
He'd survived, so had his parents, but the Malfoy name was destroyed, blackened for generations. Their actions would be a dark stain they'd never shed. The war was over, but Draco would live with the consequences of it his whole life. Disdain, rejection, distrust, condemnation… they would never go away. No matter how much he did, no matter how much he paid, no matter how hard he fought, to try and make up for what had happened.
If he had a child, they too would be seen as he was. The sins of their father would always follow them.
The Malfoys could ask for forgiveness.
The Wizarding World did not have to accept it.
And they did not.
Only Potter, the self-sacrificing, actual real-life damned hero, had given him a chance, Weasley and Granger following his lead.
And, like he had in the Room of Requirement, like he had at their trial, he'd held out his hand to pull Draco from the flames.
And, like he had in the Room of Requirement, Draco reached up and took the hand offered.
Which was why he was cruel here, where Potter would have been kind, because right now Tom needed the cruelty. He needed the lesson. He needed to know what he'd been, what they'd fought against.
It was the best thing he could do to help.
The last memory he showed him was that desperate morning after the battle, Harry laying limp in the giant groundskeeper's arms, Voldemort victorious and gloating.
Before suddenly it all turned on its head.
And then there was the end, the final ignominious defeat of Lord Voldemort, and how he'd died like any man.
Nothing different.
Nothing special.
Only in his case no one regretted his passing, except for a few desperate followers mourning their own self-interest and those people were few and far between.
Tom's gaze was locked on Harry during the memory, on the battered, bloody, shape of his friend, standing tall above the body of the defeated Voldemort, victorious but also sad.
There was something in the dark haired boy's eyes as he watched Potter, something covetous, something protective, something almost affectionate, almost intimate.
And then they slid out of the memory, back into the dark of the night on the Astronomy Tower.
"You fear I will make the same choices. Become the same...creature?" Tom asked, voice low, quiet, as he turned to face Draco directly.
"I remind myself that you're different." Draco sighed, "Much like I am different now…"
"But you remember the mistakes. You have learned from those… Your change is self-driven…" Tom considered him, "Harry shared some of my past in that world. I was alone, I valued immortality above anything else, and I feared death and obscurity…"
"In the end only one of those fears came true," Draco smiled wryly, "You would have remained in the annals of wizard kind."
"Yes… to a point." Tom took a seat on the ground, leaning back against the rail, "I would have become a caricature. Not a truly rounded figure, merely a boogie man. A warning of the dangers of…whatever was fashionable at the time. I would have merely become…Voldemort. Evil."
He emphasised his point with two raised hands, before they dropped.
"I will not become the same man. Nor will I make the same mistakes…" He looked up at Draco slowly, and once again he felt the weight of those dark eyes in his soul, "I will make new ones. Of course."
Draco nodded slowly.
"As will we."
Riddle's lips curved faintly and then faded away.
"Draco." He hesitated, and then his gaze intensified, "What happened to the others, in this future of yours. What happened to Bash, Brax, Druella, Aurora..." he hesitated for a moment, "Kara… Tierra. Do you know?"
Ice slid into Draco's gut.
He knew about Abraxas and Druella of course, his paternal grandfather and maternal grandmother. But the others…
"I've deliberately been avoiding it." He admitted, "It's hard enough living with the shadow of your past life. I want… I wanted to know them for who they are. Not who they were."
Tom frowned, "But you know them now. There could be clues, hints, warnings in that previous future… something that could be found early… or changed."
"That way lies madness, Tom. You heard Kel, sometimes people trying to change the future is what brings it about."
"And yet here you are…" Tom leaned forward, "You're as curious as I am…I know you are."
"It wouldn't be fair…" Draco insisted, but even he could hear the uncertainty. He too had often wondered if there were things in his friends' futures that he could steer them from.
"It could stay just between us, we wouldn't have to tell them…" Tom coaxed and Draco snorted.
"Manipulate them, like you thought we were doing with you?"
Tom winced, and shrugged, conceding the point.
"That's fair. Alright, if they asked.. You'd tell them right?"
"I don't know," Draco groaned and sat down beside him, "I genuinely don't. The future has changed so much…"
Tom shot him a sly little smile, "Then it shouldn't hurt to know."
Draco side-eyed him.
"That would work on Potter. Why haven't you asked him?"
Tom scowled at him, "Because…." He huffed an exasperated sigh, "Because Potter is emotional. A sad eye here, a pleading look, a guilt trip and he might reveal it all… maybe."
Draco frowned at him, head tipping back slightly, "But that's what you want…?"
"It is… but…." Tom sighed again, louder this time, "It would…upset him."
Draco stared.
"You-wait…" he turned to face Tom, "You don't want to ask Potter because it would hurt him to know?"
Tom squirmed, slightly, obviously trying not to show his discomfort and Draco's jaw dropped slightly.
"Merlin's beard…"
"Malfoy…." It was a warning hiss but for the first time it didn't remind Draco of Voldemort. Because Draco was laughing silently, and there was a blush on Tom's cheeks, both embarrassment and temper.
"Okay-okay…" Draco restrained his chuckles, "Granger?"
Tom gave him a look, "The guilt trip wouldn't be worth it."
It was a fair point, but-
"I think she's found it hard to resist… one good push…" Draco shrugged, and then paused as Tom's eyes gleamed, "What…?"
"You are such a Slytherin." Draco hissed at Tom who smirked as they waited in their corner of the Library for Hermione to show up.
"So are you," Tom retorted with all the sweetness of venom, "Either we have a third accomplice or… she's already cracked and looked it up. In which case we'll have our answers."
"What answers?" Hermione slid into the booth opposite them, hair wild and touseled from running her fingers too many times through it. Then she paused and took in the sight of the pair of them sitting side by side. "Uh oh."
Tom's grin was sharp and wicked, "Hello Hermione, dear."
"What have you two done?" she hissed, wand flicking sharply as she cast a wordless muffliato around them. Tom's grin turned even more wicked and she quickly turned to Draco, "Draco…"
"Tom's doing some research," Draco knew his gaze was slightly apologetic, "He wants to know what happened…to our group. Back when we came from."
Hermione paled, and she turned back to Tom, "Tom…"
The smile faded from Tom's face.
"You know. You already know."
Draco blinked and turned back to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably.
"You looked it up," he realised, shock sliding through him, "Hermione… we agreed."
"I know…" she covered her face for a moment with her hands, "I know we did, but… Draco I couldn't help myself, it was like an itch. I had to know!"
"Why didn't you tell me, I could have convinced you…?"
"I didn't want to be convinced!" Hermione moaned, dejectedly, "I wanted to know. I'm sorry Draco…"
"All that aside," Tom leaned in, and his dark eyes met Hermione's, "Now I want to know. I need to know."
"Why?" she asked, bluntly, "Curiosity?"
"Like you can talk."
Hermione just stared him down and Draco glanced between them, fascinated.
Tom glared back, until finally he was the one to yield, and he looked down, scowling.
"If you must know… I wish… I wish to know if there is something. Something I can stop. I do not wish to… I would…" he paused and swallowed in discomfort, "…dislike harm to come to the others. They are… useful."
Hermione's gaze softened, "You can say you care for them Tom."
He glared again, "I shall do no such thing. Now will you tell me, or no?"
The brown haired girl pursed her lips, and Draco glanced between them again, intrigued by the familiarity, the back and forth exchange of information.
"Sure," she said finally, but continued on as Tom's gaze lit with a victorious gleam, "As soon as you admit why you truly want to know."
The gleam immediately disappeared, replaced with a glare as Tom got up and stalked away.
"He'll be back," Hermione noted, opening her book calmly, "Slytherins are so dramatic." She shot him a look, "But I see you two are getting along better… so that's good, I suppose."
Draco shook his head at her fondly, "We were honest with each other."
"And?"
Draco's smile was sheepish, "He's not Voldemort. Nor will he ever be him."
Hermione's little smile dripped with 'I told you so' but she was kind enough to refrain from saying it out loud.
The pair of them worked on their homework for about an hour until finally Tom returned, haughtily, and huffily retaking his seat.
"I want to know, because… Because I care if something bad will happen to them." He snarled, somehow managing to make 'care' sound like a curse, and glared at Hermione, who somehow, masterfully, managed not to show her victory on her face. "Happy?"
"Absolutely." She tucked her homework neatly away and then met their gazes once more, sober and a little sad.
"What do you want to know?"
Tom hesitated, clearly unsure where to begin, and shot Draco a look.
Draco shrugged, this was Tom's crazy idea, he could ask the questions, and after a glare, the other boy sighed.
"Kara." He said quietly, dark eyes lifting to Hermione's, "What happened to Kara?"
Hermione's brown eyes softened, "I don't know. Not really. She left the magical world after, after the attacks on Muggleborns started, and was never heard from again… at least officially."
Tom frowned slightly, "Why would she leave, Kara is a talented witch…"
"Apparently," Hermione winced, "Voldemort's first few Muggleborn targets were witches and wizards from our year group, or just below."
Tom's face paled slightly, as he scowled, "He was a fool. What about Robins?"
"There's little on him either," Hermione admitted, "Lived a life of obscurity really, ended up working in the magical games and sports department at the Ministry. That's the only mention I found.
Tom fixed her with a look, "Clearly there are less… fortunate stories, Hermione. Otherwise you would have simply told me so."
She sighed, "Druella married Cygnus Black, and had three daughters. Andromeda, who married a muggle and was disinherited, Bellatrix who…" here she paused, and slowly her gaze met Tom's once more, "Was the one who tortured me. In the vision." Tom's gaze darkened with anger, and she hurried on, "And Narcissa. Who married Lucius Malfoy."
Tom froze, and then looked at Draco, "Your father. Druella is your grandmother…"
Draco sighed and nodded, "Yes, she was one of the few I knew the history of."
The dark haired boy considered this carefully, "She married a Black." He muttered, the name dripping with disdain, "Well that will change, if she wishes it to. They do not deserve her."
There was a possessive, protective note to his voice, and Draco blinked, recognising the familial tone as to one he'd had himself, from time to time, about Druella. Tom saw her as family…
Interesting.
"What about Bash?" Tom glanced at them both, only his tightly laced fingers betraying his concerns.
"Sebastian followed Voldemort." Draco said, sighing softly, "He's one of the few I knew about. He died in a duel…Bash's son also followed Him and died about a year before He tried to kill Harry.
Tom winced, frowning, "Well that won't be happening either. Aurora?"
"Married Rexton Lestrange and had two sons. All three Lestrange men followed you." Hermione rattled off.
Draco felt his stomach drop.
Aurora had married Lestrange. Aurora had been the mother of Rodolphus and Rabastan. Aurora had been leashed, tamed, and had died after her sons were imprisoned in Azkaban.
Even he remembered the whispered stories of the tragic Widow Lestrange.
For a moment Draco remembered his 'uncles', remembered Rodolphus' fanatical but quiet fervour, and Rabastan's eternally watchful eyes.
They had taken after their father, thankfully, except for the watchful, shrewd, clever eyes that Rabastan had.
Aurora's eyes.
He hadn't known.
But…now he wasn't sure how he'd missed it.
"Don't seek attention." Rabastan's voice murmured in his ear, his hand gripping his shoulder tightly, "Do what must be done, and be content with that. Those that seek glory find far worse, Draco." He nodded towards the Death Eater who had tried to claim credit for a raid, which hadn't met expectations in a way he hadn't realised, and was now writhing on the stone ground, "Do not be such a fool as he…"
He'd been right in a way.
Strange knowing that his mother had been Draco's closest companion in this timeline. Other than the careful, shrewd gaze, he saw little of Aurora in her sons.
He ignored the part of him that whispered, determined, that this time, this time, she would not marry Lestrange.
Tom wrinkled his nose, "Greengrass?" he asked and then after he was given a response about a quiet, and rather dull existence in the legal offices of the Ministry, he asked quietly, "Kel…?"
Hermione shook her head, "The only thing I found was that she lived as a recluse, and had a single daughter. Who was the light of her life. After her daughter died… Kel died not long after her, leaving her…exceptional granddaughter in the care of her father."
There was something soft about the way she said that, something familiar, and sad. Draco narrowed his eyes at her, the granddaughter was clearly someone they'd known and he combed through the people Hermione would be fond of. Not Longbottom… Not a Weasley… Not one of the boorish Gryffindors…
"Lovegood." He breathed, stunned, "You're telling me our Kel, is Loony Lovegood's grandmother?"
"Don't call her that," Hermione flashed, fury in her eyes, and Draco flushed, suddenly and uncomfortably remembering the slender, quiet girl who he'd visited and talked with in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor.
She'd been weird, super weird to be honest. Weird. Bizarre. Dotty. But strangely… wise too.
"Sorry," he hurried to soothe Hermione, who glared at him a moment longer, "Did Lovegood have the… gift?"
"I don't think so." Hermione shook her head, "But she was perceptive in a way."
"Kel must have drawn away from the world. Because of her gift." Tom murmured, frowning, "She needed support, but she was alone…"
"Most Seers die young, for that very reason." Draco shrugged, "It's an accepted fact that they often kill themselves with their gift. They need to be protected, both from others, and themselves."
Tom mused over his words, nodding slowly, before slowly his dark gaze rose, and locked on Hermione.
"Tierra."
Hermione swallowed.
Something hung in the air now, and Draco realised that Hermione had left Tierra to last, deliberately. Had she been hoping Tom would forget the little Hufflepuff? Assume that her story would be peaceful?
Tom had stilled, clearly feeling the shift in atmosphere too.
"What happened to Tierra, Hermione?"
"Tom…"
Something cold shivered down Draco's spine and he saw the same ice splinter in Tom's dark, dangerous eyes.
"Tell me."
Hermione hesitated once more, tracing a finger on the woodgrain., "I found her mentioned. In a single book." Her voice seemed to fail her and she swallowed, biting her lip, "Tom."
"Hermione," Tom leaned forward, voice low and demanding, "You must tell me."
"She…died."
It was almost like there was a delicate frost in the air, the breath felt icy in his lungs.
"Died…?" Tom's voice was a whisper that set the hairs on his arm standing upright.
"She was killed. In between her sixth and seventh year at Hogwarts. It was credited, in this book, as being the final push for Dumbledore to confront Grindelwald. A student at his school, a British witch. The Daily Prophet… were loud in their calls for him to face the enemy. And so… he confronted him."
Tom's face seemed almost to be carved from stone.
"Grindelwald killed her?"
"Him, or one of his followers… yes."
Tom sat, still as stone, for long moments before in an elegant but abrupt swish of his robes, he got to his feet and swept out of the Library.
Draco watched him go with both surprise, and a heavy heart.
"That's the one fate that he didn't have any effect on… Grindelwald isn't his fault."
Hermione smiled, a little sadly, a little knowingly.
"Not the point Draco,"
He frowned at her slightly and shook his head when she simply turned back to her homework.
There was no point talking to Hermione when she got all cryptic.
"We should get married,"
Draco choked on his pumpkin pasty and looked up quickly, taking in the sight of Aurora, head tilted with perfect aristocratic arrogance, and dark eyes fixed…
…on Sebastian.
Something ugly flared in Draco's chest, and he couldn't help but watch, knowing that Kel, sitting beside him, was also watching.
Bash meanwhile leaned back in his comfortable chair near the fireplace of the Room of Requirement, and considered Aurora, looking perfectly casual, "Under other circumstances, that would be very tempting Miss Selwyn." The corner of his eyes crinkled, "Is your mother giving you trouble?"
Aurora pulled a face at him, "Always. She's determined that I marry Lestrange. Unless I present her with a better match. The Rosier family is ancient, powerful… she'd accept."
Tom's head snapped up from where he was sitting across from Sebastian, "Lestrange?"
"It's a good match, Tom." Abraxas pointed out, glancing up from his Charms homework, before returning to it with a thoughtful little noise, "And Rex isn't that bad…"
"You're saying that because he's your cousin," Druella observed, half buried in the plushest and squashiest chair Draco had ever seen, "Rexton is a pompous git. He believes in Blood Purity above anything else."
"Yes but," Abraxas hesitated, "He's not cruel…"
"Yet." Tierra murmured ominously, "He doesn't strike me as someone who takes disobedience lightly."
Tom's dark eyes flashed Draco's way for a second, before turning back to Aurora, "You can't marry Lestrange."
Instantly Druella groaned, and Aurora's hands lifted to plant firmly on her hips.
"I can't?"
"Shouldn't…" Bash quickly prevaricated, slipping into the conversation before Tom could open his mouth and make it worse, "You shouldn't marry Lestrange. But I'm not sure I'm the right choice, Aurora."
"You're tolerable. You're not going to demand too much. You're reasonably intelligent and you know how to handle conversation." Aurora recited, "That seems as good a start as any."
"That sounds miserable," Kara interjected sadly, "Aurora… you deserve more."
Aurora sighed gustily, "I can't just marry willy nilly. Marry for love and all that rot…"
"No one's asking you to…?" Hermione mused, cocking her head to the side, "But don't you want more than… tolerable?"
"You don't think I'm more than tolerable little cat?" Bash retorted, quick as a flash, eyes bright with mischief and something… intimate?
Merlin's blessed bloomers…
Draco's gaze flicked between Hermione and Bash, and saw her blush and the tiny, answering, curl of his lips.
He and Hermione would need to have a conversation some time soon…
"This isn't about you, Bash." Druella scolded lightly, "This is about Aurora. Her family will only accept the purest blood… and they've been angling for this Lestrange betrothal forever…"
Aurora nodded, "Mother made me a deal, however, I don't have to marry him, if I find an equally good match before time runs out."
"If we're looking at Pure Blood, then your choices are Potter, Rosier, and the two Malfoys." Victoria interjected, not looking up from her book, "And Potter she might not consider equal to Lestrange. No offence…"
"None taken," Harry replied, bemused, "But Aurora, aren't you a little young for marriage?"
"Black's marry around fifteen or sixteen." Druella informed him giving him a tiny sad smile, "Lots of Families find it hard to… have children. So they start early."
"Potter isn't a Pure-Blood anyway," Robins pointed out, looking amused, "Not really."
"To everyone outside this circle he is," Kel murmured quietly, "But we need her mother to accept her choice. Or else Lestrange…"
Hermione's eyes flicked over to Draco, as did Tom's.
"Not going to happen." Tom said firmly, getting to his feet and walking forward to grip Aurora's shoulders, "No Blacks, No Lestranges."
Aurora's dark eyes gleamed.
Relief? Concern? Draco wasn't sure.
But it seemed the marriage issue was now in the open…. Merlin only knew how all that was going to go…
"Has she apologised yet?"
Draco startled as Tierra spoke quietly at his elbow. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were enjoying Herbology together this year, and after years of tending to Genevieve's beautiful alchemical garden, Draco had found a new love and appreciation for the subject.
Normally he'd work alongside Aurora, with Kel and Victoria forming another pair. He was ashamed to admit he hadn't actually noticed where or whom Tierra had worked with before now, but since Aurora was currently rolling her eyes at Diggory, he rather suspected it had been him.
"Who?"
The Hufflepuff gave him a look, "You know who, Draco."
His gaze flicked up towards Aurora once more, watching as she flicked her dark, silky braid of hair back over her shoulder.
"No, she hasn't."
Tierra sighed, "Proud fool."
"Me?" he asked wryly, arching an eyebrow at her, half joking.
"Sometimes." Tierra answered with that sweet honesty she often used, a small smile showing him that she wasn't actually serious, "But not this time."
"Not my problem…" he murmured back, gruffly, gently snipping a pod from a branch.
"Draco..." He glanced up, and saw that she was watching him, face soft with understanding.
Uncomfortably he shifted his gaze to her forehead, unwilling to meet those gentle eyes.
Something about felt incredibly silly, and he heard Tierra's own breath puff in a soft laugh, and when he flicked his glance down for a milisecond, he saw that she was doing the same.
Staring at his forehead.
He struggled not to completely crack up.
Hufflepuffs were lunatics.
Slowly her forehead edged closer and he blinked, wondering exactly what she was going to do.
Which was why it was shocking a moment later when he felt her lips on his cheek, a soft, dry brush, rather like feathers, against his skin.
Shocked, his gaze snapped down to her and saw the warm grin, "You're actually rather sweet, you know that?"
He scowled, "I am not."
Her grin widened, "You are. Also... I win."
He didn't dignify her ridiculousness with a response, looking down once more.
"Bye Draco…"
What?
He looked up, in time to see Tierra disappear into the crowd, and a moment later, there was Aurora, looking irritated and prickly, "Canoodling in the greenhouses Malfoy? Really?"
What was happening?
"I was not canoodling!" Draco scowled, and clipped the next pod with a little too much force, "Bloody Hufflepuff was getting all emotional. She's a menace."
Aurora made a quiet noise beside him, and then a few moments later she picked up the tool Tierra had left, beginning work on the plant beside him.
Surprised, he glanced up at her and took in the sight of her focusing on the plant, a single soft strand of raven hair slipping out of its braid to brush against her cheek.
Quickly he looked away again.
"I… had meant to speak to you sooner." Aurora's voice was so soft, he almost thought he had imagined it, but then she continued, "I… should not have said what I did. Before Yuletide. You are not… what I accused you of."
This was an apology… Draco realised.
"Thank you," he answered carefully, not looking up at her in case it ruined the moment, "I appreciate that."
"Mmmm." she made a low acquiescing sound and continued her own work, "Shall we return to how we were?"
Slowly Draco felt a smile creep onto his lips, relief, and a weight he hadn't realised had been pressing on him since the start of their fight.
"I suppose we could." he replied, keeping his voice neutral.
Glancing up he saw a small smile on her own lips, and warmth blossomed in his gut.
That is until he looked across the table and saw Tierra's little smug, pleased smile, and bright eyes.
Bloody Hufflepuffs.
They really were a hazard.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Review responses!
Shiara - That's interesting, that Victoria was your favourite. I actually had thought that she might the perspective least enjoyed in this chapter. I did enjoy writing her very much though!
11 Devil - Thank you, glad you enjoyed!
Amk - Tierra is emotionally intelligent, and she's grown up in a loving environment. This is her place to shine.
Smithback - Thank you! It is a delicate balancing act. I don't want to draw too much away from anyone important but I still want the story to have a fleshed out feeling.
Against Fate - This was actually very interesting to read, as it was a concious choice to linger more on character study. I have a terrible tendency to zip through scenes mostly on dialogue, and it's something I'm trying very hard to curtail. This chapter is an attempt to balance the two. Draco's feelings but more dialogue. I hope you continue to enjoy as I attempt to continue balancing!