"You know how particular he is with his dragon meat. Have you reminded Dobby to ensure it's not overc—"
"This isn't the first dinner I hosted, dear," interrupted Narcissa, the rarity of such an occurrence cutting through Lucius's anxious haze. He took a deep breath and watched as she adjusted her silver earrings in the mirror.
Enough. You're acting as inept as Weasley. You are in control.
"I apologize, love. I'm well aware of your…many talents…" He purred the last two words, tracing his finger down her sides. The way her lips curled upwards confirmed it was the right move. "And never meant to imply otherwise. But surely you understand the reason for my trepidation."
"Your father has dined with us before."
Lucius resumed his pacing. "Years ago. And never on Christmas Eve!"
The previous evening, Abraxas's horned owl shattered yet another window before dropping a letter unceremoniously in Lucius's soup bowl, inviting himself over at the last minute. Abraxas's streak of seclusion during the past several years was now apparently at an end, and Lucius was too fearful of him cutting off the pursestrings to complain, though the sudden change caused him no small amount of discontent.
"If I survived hosting my Aunt Walburga, I can survive him." She took a brush from the dresser and ran it through her silky blonde tresses. "You mentioned he looks favorably upon Diana. Perhaps he wishes to see how she's integrating within our household."
"Perhaps."
He felt another stab of irritation, recalling how his daughter effortlessly and undeservingly won his father's favor. The only logical explanation was that Abraxas either knew it antagonized Lucius and crafted the illusion out of pettiness, or that it was affection borne from perceived usefulness, similar to how a wizard looks favorably upon his wand.
Narcisa paused her brushing motions and looked sharply at him from the mirror's reflection. "We need to worry less about him and more about the rest of society, if we want our son to have a future."
Lucius stopped and winced internally at the memory she was no doubt referring to. The Greengrass' famous annual Yule celebration occurred a few days prior, and Draco and Diana happened to both get sick the morning of and couldn't attend. Later that night, Lucius spotted a torn wrapped in the rubbish bin with the only legible words being "UKING PASTILLES– EXPERI." If his children really did take some substance that incited their symptoms, that meant Draco lied to his face, and the flickers of rebellion the night Lucius told him about Diana were now long-term.
The thought was extremely disconcerting, but not quite as disconcerting as Lucius's reception during the Yule feast. Acacius Greengrass was charming and disarming as ever; if he did hold any negative feelings towards Lucius, he kept them well-hidden, and they clearly weren't significant enough to warrant a removal from the guest list. Lucius didn't experience any issues with his inner circle beyond playful ribbing about his situation either.
But Acacius Greengrass cast a wide social net. Some guests weren't part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and thus lacked the shared purity, purpose, and history that overcame indiscretions of the flesh. Some guests didn't have histories entwined with the Death Eaters, and a few, somehow, lived their whole lives without taking bribes. These were the ones who proved troubling. He wasn't naive enough to believe everyone enjoyed his presence in the past, but with the exception of a few knuckle-draggers like Weasley, everyone alwaysmade sure to put on a good show. The cool reception he received from those guests signaled they no longer felt the need to brown-nose, a disturbing bellwether that didn't bode well for his family's future.
Not that he could blame them, after the disastrous poll results in the latest issue of the Daily Prophet. Only sixty-three percent of the respondents expressed sympathy towards his 'Imperius-induced' lapse of judgment. Sixty-three. Back when society still had traditional wizarding values as its backbone, he would have skirted through this with a comfortable seventy-five, at minimum. For the first time in his life, associating with a Malfoy might be perceived as disadvantageous.
"This will pass," Lucius asserted with entirely-fabricated confidence, "like you said. We must simply endure until then, with the strength that comes from our bloodlines."
To his alarm, she didn't immediately agree. Instead, she placed her hairbrush on the dresser and sat on the bed, fingers resting daintily on her lap. "It's going to require more than time," she began, dread pooling in Lucius's stomach. "It will require a shift in alliances and a more delicate touch."
The pointed look made it clear the 'delicate touch' was beyond his power. "What are you proposing?"
"To start, we must swallow our pride and stop antagonizing our ideological opponents. We simply cannot afford to stoke the fires of old feuds, and it would, perhaps, be even more advantageous to…smooth things over, so to speak." She raised her palm before he could interrupt. "I don't want or expect sudden friendships. But I'm very aware of the precariousness of our position, and dampening overt hostilities and removing ourselves from the line of fire could get us back on course."
"You're referring to Andromeda," Lucius surmised. Narcissa made plans to meet her sister after Abraxas returned to Westwell, and had been subtly hinting she'd like Lucius to come with her.
But that was simply never going to happen.
"Yes, but not only her." Narcissa's gaze drifted away from Lucius, causing another flare of anxiety. "After Diana's first lesson, I sent a letter to Dumbledore expressing our gratitude that he took time out of his schedule to instruct her."
"Th-This is ridiculous!" His thoughts fritzed like bursts from a broken wand. "We shouldn't debase ourselves like this!"
She shook her head and sighed softly, "Lucius, please…you cannot put your pride before me and Draco."
"A man without pride is nothing! You will cease these communications, Narcissa. I forbid it."
On any other day, he might have realized what a Bad Idea it was to continue in this conversation, but the accumulated stress fogged his mind with a dangerous mix of panic, desperation, and bull-headedness that overpowered Slytherin self-preservation.
Narcissa's eyes hardened as she stood slowly. "I suppose you have some other means of preserving our standing then? Something you've kept close to your chest for important reasons, no doubt."
The sarcasm dripped off her lips like poisoned honey, but he was too wrapped in his haze of self-martyrdom to care. "Of course there is."
"Really." It wasn't a question so much as a statement.
"Yes. The Dark Lord will return, and when he does, our status will—"
Narcissa laughed, short and sharp, a stark contrast with her usual melodious chuckles that always incited warmth in his heart. Now, he just felt cold. Cold, and angry. "He isn't coming back, we should be grateful for that."
"How can you even say that?" exclaimed Lucius. He gestured vaguely around them with Jormungandr, saying nothing and everything at once. "Look at us! I—We need him, Narcissa. He can restore things to the way things were, the way things should be."
The smoldering intensity in Narcissa's eyes dimmed, replaced with wariness and—
Good Lord, is that…pity?
She turned her back to him, putting on elegant silk gloves. "Not everything, I hope."
It took a moment to understand what she meant. "Of course not," he rushed to reassure. "I'd never disgrace you like I—no, it won't happen again. Never. I swear on my family name."
"I know," she replied. But when she turned back to him, her face was a porcelain mask of cold beauty. "Your father will be here soon. I'm heading downstairs to ensure all the preparations are in place."
"Narcissa…"
A flicker of softness entered her eyes. Nonetheless, she turned around. "We'll speak more later, dear."
He instinctively reached out as she stepped forward, but hesitated. His fingers curled inward while she moved further away and through the doorframe. He remained rooted in the spot until he could no longer hear the click of her heels.
How did everything go so wrong?
His grip on Jormungandr slackened, one sweaty hand threading through his long blonde locks. For the past few months, he and Narcissa had presented a united front, both in public and inside the home. While the situation wasn't ideal, he thought things between them, at least, were fine. Had he been misreading the signs?
He took a deep breath that did little to quell his frantic thoughts. Narcissa and him always acted as a team, weathered every storm, and for her to go behind his back like that was unheard of. Could it be…she didn't want him anymore?
Lucius sat on the bed, stomach churning as he drummed his fingers against the mattress in contemplation. While he was under no illusion that his surname was the deciding factor in accepting his marriage proposal, he believed she grew to love him as a person. Like he did for her. But perhaps he was wrong. He could usually gauge her moods regardless of how well she tried to conceal them, but now he felt as ignorant as his first year of marriage. The year he kept leaving to visit—
No. Don't even think of it.
He closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands. His father used to tell him stories of the fallen kingdom Atlantis, and while he used to write them off as useless tirades, perhaps Abraxas was trying to prepare him for this moment. After all, Lucius watched as the kingdom he spent decades building crumbled to ruins within hours.
But he wasn't going to be swept away in the tides like the Atlanteans, leaving nothing left in the world to show for it. No, he would not go down without a fight. He was Lucius Malfoy, damn it, and that name still meant something, regardless of what some fools might think.
He stood up abruptly, fingers clenching around the snakehead of his walking stick as he strode into the hallway with purpose. Mentioning the Dark Lord earlier was an impulsive action thought of in the moment, but upon further reflection, he wasn't wrong. Voldemort would be the greatest chance of restoring his family to the heights they deserved. Of course, there was that small matter of his purported death, but if, by some miracle, he survived…
He passed the candles, pine cones, wreaths, sun symbols, and mounted horns decorating the Manor for Yuletide. He paused briefly in the drawing room as his eyes locked onto the excessively-large straw goat standing forebodingly opposite the fireplace. Narcissa hated it, but he purchased it upon learning it was once owned by the famous skald Eyvindr Skáldaspillir and preserved via enchantment.
For reasons he couldn't identify, he felt a swell of irritation at making that lofty purchase. Those feelings only increased as he entered his secret chamber underneath the floorboards and surveyed the dark artifacts around him. Some were spoils of war, others were bought for their prestige or thrill of owning such a dangerous artifact. It all felt so empty and meaningless now. Immature, even—like a child pretending to be a dragon hoarding treasure.
He shook his head and grabbed one of the enchanted bags perched atop a shelf. There was one item, at least, of true value. But as he continued digging and removing artifacts from the bag, a cold chill crept through him. His searching grew more frantic, and by the time he reached the bottom of the bag, his worst fears were confirmed.
The diary was missing.
Dread swallowed him, and he broke out into a cold sweat, ransacking other bags like a man possessed. He scoured every inch of this room, only to come up empty-handed. Trembling fingers ran through his normally-immaculate blonde hair as fury, terror, and despair swept through him.
Narcissa was right; I should pray he doesn't come back. If he finds out I lost the artifact…
Taking an unsteady breath, he tried to view the situation logically. The room and bag were only accessible by members of his blood, and while the enchantment could theoretically be dispelled by an extremely-skilled curse-breaker, Malfoy Manor itself had numerous traps and enchantments to ward off intruders. The chance that someone could get through all of them unnoticed was minimal, and since he refused to believe he was careless enough to misplace an item entrusted to him by the Dark Lord, that left his children. Draco wouldn't be stupid enough to steal from him, but—
Then, it hit like a lighting bolt. Over the summer, Draco claimed Diana took a scrip bag from the secret room. Lucius didn't believe it at the time, but now? Now, he had no doubt in his mind. Her entire existence centered around dragging him deeper and deeper into the throes of misery.
He stalked out of the room and up the stairs, a tiger poised and ready to hunt its prey. Rage clouded his mind, and while part of him knew he needed to step back, knew that he had a history of terrible judgment when undergoing tremendous stress, he couldn't. The stronger (or weaker) part clamored for blood and alcohol, a habit he thought he broke a decade ago.
Those were the days, he thought wistfully, quickening his pace as he stormed towards his sister's old room. The days when he could effortlessly fling Unforgivables around like second nature, even after downing several bottles of the strongest wine. The days when strangers feared and respected him. The days when his wife didn't sneak behind his back. The days he never had to worry about his son hating him.
The days when that face was confined to the Acheron instead waltzing the halls of Malfoy Manor, reminding him daily of his failures as a husband, father, and man.
When he spotted the door, adrenaline spiked through him. But before he could yank it open, a sudden pop caused his fingers to curl inward.
Dobby visibly recoiled and curled into a ball at Lucius's unhinged expression, whimpering and wringing his hands. "M-Master Malfoy, Dobby offers his most pitiful apologies for having you endure my loathsome presence."
The only thing keeping Dobby from experiencing a tidal wave of pain was the knowledge that he was necessary for meal preparation. "Then why," hissed Lucius, "are you here, knowing what poor judgment it is?"
The house-elf sniveled, "Th-The Mistress wanted me to inform you that the former master has arrived, sir."
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Diana remained blissfully unaware of Lucius's fury at the time, but fifteen minutes earlier, she experienced a rage of her own. Laying on her bed with a half-eaten box of Honeyduke's chocolate beside, she re-read the Daily Prophet article to confirm that, yes, sixty-three percent of these idiots still supported her father, and forcefully crumpled the paper into a ball before glaring at the ceiling.
How? Fucking how?
Fuming, she attempted to toss the newspaper into the rubbish bin and missed spectacularly, which did little to improve her mood. Every time she started to maybe—maybe—reconsider that the majority of wizards might not be evil, and that it was really the government and some rotten apples at the top to blame, shit like this happened.
She sighed and pushed herself off the bed, grabbing the crumpled ball and shoving it in her magical bag instead. If Narcissa or Lucius checked or—more accurately—had Dobby check her rubbish, it might be problematic if they saw the kinds of pamphlets and articles she was reading. It was more logical to wait to dispose of it until her return to Hogwarts, which couldn't come fast enough.
Though she told herself otherwise, deep down she assumed she'd eventually get used to Malfoy Manor. But returning for the holidays brought the sense of Wrongness back in full force. The Christmas season—or Yuletide season, as they called it here—was so different in the White household. Sarah would play Christmas carols on loop, and Diana would bake Christmas cookies with her or Marie every weekend. They'd put up a small, fake Christmas tree that was probably still collecting dust in the attic of 6 Ironwood Lane, along with stockings by the fireplace. After Halloween, Sarah took out the snow globes, wreaths, reindeer decorations, and nativity scene. Diana remembered the paint chipping off Joseph's face, the frayed thread hanging off the bottom of her stocking no one bothered to cut, and how the 'pine-scented' hand soap smelled like orange. She missed all of it.
She even missed attending church. She thought it was boring when Marie took her on normal Sundays, but there was something special about the Christmas and Easter services that made her feel a part of something bigger, a piece in a cosmic puzzle where she was more than just the offspring of her crazy mother and evil father. She wondered if she'd ever feel that way again, or those feelings had floated out of reach permanently. They certainly weren't being replaced by the Malfoy's customs, at any rate.
In the Wizarding World, December 21st signaled the start of Yuletide, which was a week-long celebration that served as an amalgamation of the traditional Yule, Christmas, Saturnalia, and other winter traditions. The focus of each day varied, and whether families celebrated all, some, or none was up to them. Though Narcissa's family came from a nominally Christian background, the Malfoys adhered to the more traditional pagan customs, and Diana interested in seeing what they were like, especially since she she used the experimental Puking Pastille Ron gave her to get out of the Greengrass' Yule feast. But once again, she was disappointed. The White house may have been small and shabby, but it had so much heart compared to Malfoy Manor, which was adorned in an outwardly grandiloquent manner, yet also seemed sterile and performative. She'd seen far more faith and sincerity in the few hours spent in Thule than the days in the Manor after returning from Hogwarts.
Which wouldn't necessarily be a problem, but if the holidays didn't mean anything to Lucius and Narcissa, why put up all the decorations? It was yet another example of going through the motions, pretending to be something they weren't.
Doesn't that ever get tiresome?
Diana's eyes drifted towards the clock; Abraxas was officially scheduled to arrive at 7:00, but Narcissa said he'd always arrive 20-30 minutes late for dramatic effect. She trudged to the closet and sighed, running her fingers across the delicate black lace. For the past few months she felt as though she was living someone else's life, a dark fairytale princess living in a magical castle with an enchanted necklace and elfin servants. And sometimes, during her weakest moments where she allowed herself to forget the context, she didn't mind it. But it wasn't her. It wasn't an outfit suited for Diana White.
A sudden streak of rebellion caused her to rummage through the closet and carefully remove her mother's white flowered sundress. Five minutes later, she tilted her head, inspecting herself in the mirror. Their height difference made the dress hang longer on her than it did Sarah, and it fit looser in certain areas due to her scrawniness. But the black silk shawl and stockings did a decent job of transforming the sundress into a winter ensemble. Her father and stepmother might be unhappy, but oh well. So was she.
Dobby popped in, eyes bulging upon seeing her outfit. Stuttering, he informed her of Abraxas's arrival and popped back out before Diana could inquire as to why the poor house elf seemed even more rattled than usual. She headed to the drawing room, butterflies roosting inside her stomach.
The first face she saw was Draco's sullen one, then Narcissa's pursed lips when she spotted Diana's choice of attire. Lucius's face was the one that gave her pause. For a brief second he looked—for the first time—completely rattled, which quickly clouded over with fury and venomous hatred that pinned her like a butterfly on a collector's board. She felt weak in the knees and, with all her might, fought the instinctive urge to bolt upstairs. Instead, she walked down with her head held high, allowing her to spot the final guest who was smiling at her like a shark.
"Finally!" chortled Abraxas. "The whole reason I bothered setting foot in this wretched place."
"Hello, Grandfather." Diana smiled politely and curtseyed.
She still wasn't sure how to feel about Abraxas; he was one of the few people in her corner, but even without overhearing Quirell's conversation with his lover, she knew her grandfather had a checkered past, and suspected he might be one of the aristocratic bullies responsible for trapping Tom in the diary. But if nothing else, she wanted to ask more about his vision.
Lucius finally tore his glare from Diana and redirected it towards his father. "'Wretched?" he echoed lightly. "How unfortunate it must be, to fall so deep into the throes of Pox-induced dementia that you'd insult your own ancestral home."
"When I was Master of the Manor, I had enough sense not to put up garish monstrosities like this," he scoffed, gesturing to the straw goat.
"That's a sacred relic made by Eyvindr Skáldaspillir."
"I'm aware. It still looks hideous." He leaned his weight into his wooden cane, entwined by two carved snakes. "Surely that wasn't Narcissa's doing."
"No, it was not. And speaking of what I didn't pick," she skillfully redirected, "Diana, is there a reason you didn't wear the dress I picked out for you? It was custom made at Madame Malkin's, and if there is a defect, I must know."
"No defect," mumbled Diana, feeling a sudden, irrational stab of guilt. "I just wanted to wear this…"
"Why?" snapped Lucius. His eyes were cold, sharp, and more incensed than she'd ever seen them before. It frightened her, and she cursed her past self for giving into childish impulse.
She shrugged feebly, but before Lucius could respond, Abraxas swiftly interjected, "It's just a dress, Lucius. There's no need to interrogate the poor child. After all, it's not like she's on trial." His lips curled upward at Lucius' icy expression. "Now, let's eat, shall we?"
"I must say, Father, I was surprised to receive your letter. Considering your health, I was under the impression the healers advised against Floo travel."
"And yet, I'm here, no worse for wear. To your great disappointment, I'm sure." Abraxas inspected the dragon meat carefully on his fork before nodding, apparently satisfied. "It appears these old bones still have some life in them, at least when given the proper motivation."
Lucius flashed a fake smile to Abraxas, causing Diana to squirm in her seat. Her father's aggression had been replaced with the usual charade of normalcy, but something still seemed…off. "Yuletide? How uncharacteristically sentimental."
"Don't be ridiculous," scoffed Abraxas, rolling his eyes as he brought the wine to his lips. "I wanted to spend time with my granddaughter before I shuffle off this mortal coil. That's all."
Diana looked up and he smiled, friendly but calculating. She quickly lowered her gaze so she wouldn't have to look at anyone else.
"How sweet," said Lucius, lips tightening. Draco scowled and pushed his spoon forcefully into his potatoes, sighing under his breath as Narcissa quietly chided him for putting his elbows on the table.
Abraxas ignored him and stared intently at his granddaughter. "How is school, child?"
"Good. I'm making…friends," she said, remembering his talk of alliances. "Harry and Ron." And Hermione, she added silently.
He nodded in approval while Lucius's face twisted at Ron's name. "Excellent."
"And I also went to Thule."
Lucius and Narcissa's head snapped in her direction, surprised. "How?" demanded Lucius.
"With Dumbledore," she mumbled. "He took me there during one of my lessons…"
"It should have been one of us," he seethed. "A Malfoy by blood. Who does that man think he is?"
"It is unpleasant," Abraxas agreed. "But perhaps this is for the best. If Diana ingratiates herself towards him properly, she could be the first Malfoy to gain his elusive trust."
A vein throbbed in Lucius's neck, and a slight smile flitted across Narcissa's lips. "No. This is–this is an absurd suggestion. The you from twenty years ago would have laughed."
"Because we were in a different social and political climate. It isn't a sign of weakness to adapt to changing circumstances." Abraxas smirked and steepled his hands underneath his chin. "And let's be honest, Lucius: You wouldn't take her there, and I can't with these brittle bones. Place personal feelings aside and look at matters objectively."
"You always have a canny eye for such things, Father," Narcissa said smoothly. "I believe we find ourselves in agreement."
Lucius opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it. Instead. He reached for the wine bottle in the center and poured himself a glass.
Diana swallowed and asked, in an attempt to lessen the tension, "Grandfather, I was wondering if we could talk later? About school and other"—she remembered from his letters he hated the word 'stuff'—"things talked about last time."
"Of course," hummed Abraxas. Lucius's grip tightened on the goblet.
"Diana," he began, fake smile straining, "Your grandfather will be leaving right after supper. Anything you wish to say can be said now."
"She doesn't need a hovering nursemaid," Abraxas gestured dismissively, then refocused his attention on Diana. "I already have an inkling as to what you'll inquire. We'll speak after—"
Lucius slammed the goblet down on the table, six startled eyes snapping in his direction.
"No, you will not," snarled Lucius. He stood up and pointed Jorungandr at his father. "You gave this to me. I'm the Master of Malfoy Manor, and I will decide what is or is not appropriate." He sat down slowly, though the hardness in his eyes remained. "I can bring her to Westwell later in the week, if need be, but Narcissa and I have other matters to attend to after the dinner and it's presumptuous to expect us to alter our plans to accommodate your whims."
Diana couldn't decipher Abraxas's expression. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he finally said, after a long pause.
Lucius's brows furrowed, but when he saw his father wasn't going to say more, his shoulders relaxed and supper resumed, albeit silently. A couple minutes in, she felt a foot's nudge against her leg and glanced in Draco's direction. Unlike everyone else, he seemed to enjoy the blowup and mouthed 'Wicked' to her. She couldn't help but smile in return.
Their silent exchange went unnoticed by Lucius and Narcissa, but Abraxas looked on with interest. Any plans of addressing it would be lost to time, as the crashing arrival of a short-eared owl shattered the window and silence. It glided across the table and stopped in front of Diana, dropping a letter on her lap. Her stomach churned as she opened it.
Hello Diana,
You have my deepest apologies for not contacting you sooner. Lucius notified me of the political brouhaha over the summer, but I attended a retreat in Shangri-La before your arrival and just recently returned.
(As an aside, it was absolutely breathtaking. The natural world has a healing quality far more effective than anything at St. Mungo's.)
I'd love to see you in person, but crossing into British territory would put myself in a vulnerable position I'd rather avoid. So unless you plan on entering France anytime soon, we unfortunately must remain separated until Abraxas' funeral, which I'll gladly attend. Hopefully, it shouldn't be too much longer.
If I know Abraxas (and I do), he's no doubt roped you into one of his plots. Do not be fooled by his facades; he lies, manipulates, and destroys until nothing remains. He's very skilled and you won't even realize it's happening. No matter what he says, do not trust him.
And on the topic of trust, please do not be quick to judge poor Lucius. My son is a good man, and despite what those media vultures say, it's not fair to dismiss all his accomplishments because of one little mistake. If you could speak to the press and extol his virtues
Diana blanched, but forced herself to continue.
it would be exceedingly helpful.
The two of you are always welcome to stay at the villa, though I understand Lucius harbors some reservations regarding my relationship with Sebastian. Please let your father know that Sebastian wishes for reconciliation. He misses the friendship they used to have, and would love to catch up soon.
I'm unsure if this letter will arrive in time given the distance, but if all goes well, you should receive it on Mother's Night. While I'm sure the distance between rudimentary Muggle life and the destiny and birthright of a witch is vast and—perhaps—overwhelming at times, always remember that the Norns have woven your fate for a reason. On this holy night, recall the memory and spirits of your aunts and the future the Norns will bear witness to, a time of new beginnings and hope.
Your Loving Grandmother,
Aurelia Malfoy (soon-to-be Laurent)
She blinked, but before she could mentally or emotionally process the contents of the letter, Lucius snatched it from her.
"I recognize that handwriting anywhere," growled Abraxas as Lucius skimmed through the letter. "Well? What does she want?"
"She introduced herself to Diana," he said simply, returning the letter to her. "And"–his eyelid twitched–"she's marrying Sebastian, apparently."
Abraxas let out a string of colorful swears.
"Father," Narcissa said, growing frosty. "Need I remind you there are children present?"
"Bah, they've heard worse. What else do you expect me to say? That disloyal, backstabbing, slattern...a vile cu–"
"I can't say I'm particularly pleased either, but I refuse to have you speak ill of Mother in my presence," interrupted Lucius. "And surely, this turn of events comes as no surprise."
"It does. I thought she had more self-respect than to abandon the Malfoy name in favor of Laurent's, but clearly, it wasn't only her looks that deteriorated."
"Did the tea leaves forget to mention this would happen?" mocked Lucius.
Abraxas scowled, but the question dimmed his temper. "I must hand it to the boy," he said grudgingly. "If nothing else, he certainly showed that legendary Gryffindor courage. Stealing my wife—my wife— like that…hmph. Balls of a Hungarian Horntail on that one."
"It's not like you made it particularly difficult," muttered Lucius. He poured another glass of wine for himself.
"No," sighed Abraxas, "I suppose not."
"This is not an appropriate conversation," Narcissa repeated, voice deathly low, "to have at the dinner table with children around."
Draco observed the exchange with the excitement of a Quidditch match, but Diana was grateful for Narcissa's interjection. She took the opportunity to inquire, "The letter mentioned Mother's Night? What's that?"
Abraxas frowned. "An ancient celebration. Most of its traditions have long been folded into Yule proper, so I can't recall the specifics…it was something of a woman's holiday, if memory serves."
"Mōdraniht—Mother's Night—was meant to honor the tripartite goddess who supposedly weaves our fates," Narcissa said. Diana looked at her in surprise. "On this evening, the dísir—do you know who they are?"
"Yes," she replied, recalling one of the ballads she overheard in Thule. "They're spirits of the dead."
"Female ancestors, specifically. On this night, they traverse through the veil weakened by Odin's Wild Hunt a few days prior. They watch over and, perhaps, communicate with their descendants, guiding them to their destinies."
Narcissa dabbed her lips with the napkin daintily, and Abraxas smirked and answered the question Diana and Draco were wondering. "Ah yes. I sometimes forget you're also a child of the Rosiers. Good on Druella for imparting the wisdom of the Old Ways."
"Only some," she clarified, sipping her wine glass, "and purely for educational purposes. We certainly didn't celebrate."
"Why not?" Diana asked hesitantly.
"There's no need. No one celebrates Mōdraniht anymore."
"I meant, why did people stop?"
"Hmm. I suppose the meaning was lost."
Before she could inquire further, Narcissa turned to Abraxas and redirected the conversation, asking for his opinion on some of Fudge's recent ordinances and rumors about Gringotts lending money to nonhumans. It became difficult and boring to listen to, and her thoughts drifted to the recent conversation.
What 'meaning' was lost? The wizarding world unfortunately seemed to have some degree of misogyny present in its backbone, much like its Muggle counterpart. Did she mean women's power? Narcissa didn't seem much of a 'female solidarity' type, with the way she remained with Lucius even after learning what he did to Sarah.
Thinking of her mother caused pain to blossom in Diana's chest. On Yule, it was customary to remain indoors to escape the attention of the phantasmal 'Wild Hunt' that allegedly circled the skies looking for prey, yet if her mother was one of the dísir, she'd stay outside all night in the freezing cold if need be.
But Diana doubted it was true. She doubted many things were true, though she hoped she was wrong.
"I don't understand," Draco repeated, capturing one of Diana's pawns with his rook. "Out of the hundreds of gods, the one Muggles flock to the most is the one who dies—to humans, no less!"
"Well, he doesn't stay dead," said Diana, rubbing her stomach warily as she eyed the board. Her stomach still didn't feel 100% after those Puking Pastilles, but it was a lot better than before. "That's kind of the whole point."
"I know that. Mastery of life has an obvious appeal. I just meant the process of submitting to humans and dying. It's disgraceful."
Diana bristled. She never considered herself particularly religious, but a tide of indignation rose in her nonetheless. "Like I said, that's the whole point. A god who's willing to become human and die for the sake of humans." She sighed and moved her pawn back. "I don't expect you to understand."
"I do understand. It's an appealing thought to Muggles, but a higher being sacrificed oneself for lesser entities is contrary to the natural order. I suppose it's only natural for Muggles to think of themselves as special, or worthy of divine attention and affection, which explains why Christianity managed to get such a foothold in—oh. You're in check, by the way."
Diana groaned and reassessed her options on the board. Draco grinned cheekily and continued, "Anyway, our ancestors always favored the strong gods. That's what those shrines around the Manor are for, though we barely use them nowadays."
"He is strong, it's just—it's just a different kind of strength." She moved her piece. "Caring for other people, even the worst of the worst, takes a lot of strength and power, I think. Probably more than throwing lightning bolts around or whatever."
"Compassion isn't a strength," he argued. "It makes you weak and gives enemies an advantage to exploit."
"Is that your father's thought or your own?" she snapped, temper fraying.
"Our father's. And he's right in this case."
"No he's not," she insisted.
"If you think so, why don't you forgive him then?" he sneered. "Turn the other cheek. Isn't that how it goes?"
Her face heated and fingers clenched. Eyes brightening, he moved his rook one final time. "Aha! Checkmate!"
She couldn't imagine ever forgiving Lucius; such an event would be a miracle in its own right, especially since it was more likely for Snape to start juggling than Lucius ever admitting he was at fault.
"Grandfather," Draco began idly, "is it true you were at Hogwarts when the Chamber of Secrets was last opened?"
Narcissa and Lucius stilled. News of Kevin's petrification reached the parents, which led to the retroactive recognition of Janet's petrification, the coverup, and the resounding political shitshow which got Muggle Rights activists up in arms.
"It is," replied Abraxas, more interested in cutting the roasted boar.
Draco remained undeterred. "I'm not sure if you heard, but two students this year have been petrified."
"Yes, I heard."
"Would you please tell us about that time?" her brother requested.
Narcissa smiled tightly. "Once again, I don't believe that's an appropriate conversation to have on Christmas Eve, of all nights."
"Nonsense, I enjoy reminiscing about the past." Abraxas lifted the fork to his mouth to chew, taking a bit longer than necessary for dramatic effect. "It happened during my final year. The Chamber opened, a juvenile message was scrawled on the wall proclaiming themselves the Heir of Slytherin, and a Mudblood died. There was the usual hand-wringing and politicking, but nothing came of it, just as nothing will come of this."
"Do you know who the culprit was?" Diana dared ask.
"I do."
"Who?" he demanded, leaning forward eagerly.
"I don't believe—" Lucius interjected. But the next words stopped him in his tracks.
"Voldemort."
Draco's eyes bulged, and Lucius started coughing on a piece of meat. Narcissa's lips curled downward. "I thought—didn't he die?" Draco asked.
"So the story goes. And yet, here we are, '' Abraxas sighed theatrically. "Like a cockroach, it appears he scuttled off somewhere instead. Unless, of course, he really did pass and his reach extends from beyond the grave. Wouldn't both those options be unfortunate? He'd surely go after all those who wronged him."
Harry… she gripped her spoon tighter as Lucius glowered, pouring himself yet another glass.
"Lucius," whispered Narcissa, placing her hand gently on her husband's arm. "You've had enough."
"Yes," agreed Abraxas, though his eyes sparkled. "Perhaps I was mistaken, but I thought you swore off drinking years ago."
Lucius pulled his arm away from Narcissa, and even her sculpted mask wasn't able to hide the shock. But he said nothing, instead electing to bring the cup back to his lips.
"They're the same? You're positive?" Diana prodded. "Did he—how do you even know? Wouldn't that be a big secret?"
"To those outside the Slytherin dorm, perhaps. But the young Voldemort was driven by ego and a pathological need for attention, which led to him stupidly bragging to his loyal sycophants. It got back to me, naturally."
"Why didn't you say anything?" she asked, aghast. Could Voldemort have been the one who imprisoned Tom? "I mean, if someone died…"
"Because it was far more important I keep my contact within his circle, and to reveal that information would expose the leak. But don't feel too much pity for the Mudblood, my dear. That girl was insufferable, and her removal from the halls was a net positive."
"If it was the Dark Lord last time, who do you think is doing it now?" queried Draco.
Abraxas scoffed. "How the bloody hell should I know? It's been years since I set foot in that school. But, if I were to hazard a guess, I'd assume it was either Voldemort himself or someone he instructed to follow in his footsteps. Or, perhaps, someone who benefits from maintaining the illusion of his presence."
"At any rate, the two of you have nothing to worry about," Narcissa assured her son and Diana. "You come from esteemed wizarding lineages."
"It does if Hogwarts gets shut down," grumbled Draco, slouching against the back of his seat.
"Ridiculous. That will never happen," said Abraxas. "Not even if the creature kills twenty mudbloods. Hogwarts is a cornerstone of our cultural heritage, and a centralized school for wizards is too valuable and convenient for the Ministry to give up. What else could provide them with documented records of every young wizards' primary personality traits, talents—"
Lucius finally rejoined the conversation, though from the paleness of his skin and the way his eyes were unfocused, Diana suspected he was starting to feel the effects of intoxication. "Not everything is a conspiracy, Father."
"I never said it was—they're very transparent about it. You need to ask yourself why."
"Yes, but your phrasing…" Lucius sighed and gestured vaguely with his hand, then refilled his glass.
Draco didn't relent. "There are still other issues. It increases tensions between Muggleborns and Purebloods."
"Which have always existed," Lucius interjected before Abraxas could speak. "Don't talk about things you know nothing of. It makes you look foolish."
Draco's gaze lowered to his plate, but something sparked in him, and his eyes met his father's. "If they think they're being targeted, it'll make them more isolated. That could make them radicalized and join the Association, and then things will be worse for us."
"The Association is nothing," he hissed, glaring daggers at Diana. "They hold virtually no power, and any they do have is solely the result of proper wizards giving an unearned boon."
"I think you're wrong," Draco said quietly. "Ignoring them is a mistake."
Abraxas watched Drcao, fascinated, as if seeing him for the first time. Lucius' jaw dropped, and Narcissa cleared her throat.
"I believe it's time for dessert."
The duration of the feast mainly consisted of Narcissa and Abraxas speaking about various current events. Lucius stood up midway, claiming his head wasn't feeling right and he was going to retire for the evening. Before he left, he said Abraxas and Diana could have their private conversation in the drawing room before returning to Westwell. He also took the bottle with him.
"You," said Abraxas, pointing a bony finger at Draco as they made their way to the fireplace, "surprised me today."
Draco blinked, startled. "How?"
"You're coming into your own instead of existing as one of your father's appendages. Good work."
"Oh. Er, thank you…"
"I hope you had a lovely evening, Father," Narcissa said politely. "Do you plan on attending the candle-lighting ceremony tomorrow, or—"
"No," he snorted. "One of these feast-days is enough, and I'd rather swallow glass than see the Notts and Yaxleys again. Now, let me and Diana speak."
Narcissa and Draco looked slightly put off, but they acquiesced. Abraxas took out his wand and performed a silencing spell before turning to his granddaughter. "So, I take it the school year has been rather eventful?"
"Yes." She wished she read Aurelia's letter before requesting this meeting. Still, he was her best shot at gathering information. "I saw the man you were talking about. The one with two faces."
He didn't seem surprised. "Oh?"
"He's splinched, I think, and he was trying to figure out who opened the Chamber of Secrets. He thought, um, you were involved…"
"Do you believe I am?" he asked with amusement.
She hesitated before answering. "I don't know. I don't think so, but nothing's ever certain."
He nodded. "It's wise to be cautious, though for once, I don't have my hands in this."
"How does he know you?"
"Hard to say. I've made many enemies over the years." He waved dismissively. "Don't meet with this person alone."
"I won't," she said quickly. She made very, very sure of that after overhearing Quirrell's conversation. "I also found the black book."
"And what does it reveal to you?"
"...Spells," she lied.
She didn't think Abraxas believed her, but at least he didn't prey. "Remain on guard, and don't let Lucius know. He's going to want it from you, but you must remain firm. Events are unfurling the way Fate intends."
A spike of panic shot through her. "When's he going to find out?"
"Tonight, if he hasn't already." At her horrified expression, he chuckled and placed his scaly hand atop her head, surprisingly gentle. "You needn't worry, Diana. You possess more strength than you think."
Sure enough, Abraxas' prediction proved correct. Narcissa left to visit her sister about an hour after Abraxas' departure, and a shaken Dobby popped into the library an hour later, interrupting a conversation between herself and Draco and apologetically informing her that Lucius requested her presence in his study.
Pushing open the door, her anxiety heightened. Lucius stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking worse than he did earlier, though—judging from the several empty bottles on the desk—the fact he was able to stand was a small miracle.
He didn't beat around the bush with bullshit like he did months ago. "Over the summer, you stole a scrip bag from my chamber underneath the drawing room floor. One item from inside remains missing. What did you do with it?"
She was so, so grateful for the necklace around her neck. "Um, what item?"
The sudden slam of his fist on the table caused her to jump. "The diary, you stupid girl! Where is it?"
"I don't—I don't know. I–I put everything back…"
He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, leaning back against the bookshelf. The smile tugging at the edges of his lips scared her more than his words. "I don't believe you understand the precariousness of your position. If you hand me the diary now, that will be the end of it. If you don't…"
"T-Then what?"
He opened one eye: calculating with an underlying volatility. "Then you will not be happy. But we needn't get to that point. Perhaps…yes, perhaps there's something you'd like in return? A new pet or dress?
Rage slowly filled her heart, remembering Solveig and the vision. She was respected in the Völva's hut. Valued. Now…now she was treated like a child. Which she knew, objectively, she was, but didn't feel like it for years.
She hated it.
"The only thing I want is to go back to my grandma's."
He gave a short laugh which did nothing to placate concerns about his mental state. "As do I, but alas, there are some things that escape even my reach." His smile vanished and eyes hardened. "That's the problem: You're incapable of seeing reason and the opportunities laid in front of you. Everything about you is designed to upset me. Getting cozy with my father, wearing that dress, flaunting my failure, stealing Narcissa and Draco from me, and–and the diary…do you know what will happen to me if I don't have it?"
She shook her head, which was apparently the wrong answer. In one sudden movement, he grabbed a glass and flung it at her, which she narrowly avoided. The glass shattered and her heart started hammering.
"I'll be ruined!" he snarled, voice breaking, eyes wild and bloodshot. "I'll be dead or in Azkaban and—and we'll be even more disgraced than we were when you arrived!"
Diana swallowed, eyes darting around the room. Lucius was always an evil snake, but this was the first time seeing him completely unravel at the seams. Desperation, fear, and fury—along with a heavy dose of alcohol—were a powerful combination.
Any strength she had in the dream was a distant memory, and she battled the urge to confess.
I can't, Tom's counting on me.
"Sorry, but I don't know what book you're talking about," she whimpered, blinking back tears.
Lucius' face twisted in rage as he grabbed his serpentine cane. "Get over here. You're going to experience a mere fraction of the pain I feel."
She expected something like this would happen eventually, but now that it was here, she felt completely unprepared. Her legs remained rooted to the spot despite her mind screaming for her to move. Unable to maintain eye contact, she glanced downward, only for her breath to catch in her throat.
The desk and location Lucius was standing would have prevented him from seeing it, but circling her legs slowly were two dark shadows, like twin alligators waiting for their prey. In the light of the study, she noticed for the first time that they emanated from her legs, attached by a thin black strand.
"N-no. You're drunk and not thinking right and I don't think—I don't think it'd be…safe."
"Of course it's not 'safe,'" he spat. "You're going to be in pain. That's the point. Now get over here before I make it worse."
She shook her head, confidence growing as the circling shadows picked up the pace.
Lucius hissed, twisting open the top of his cane and thrusting his wand in her direction. "You're as vexing as your mother."
Something in her snapped.
"Go fuck youself!"
An animallike fury filled his eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut as Lucius snarled, "Crucio."
She braced herself.
…
But nothing happened.
After a few seconds, she tentatively opened an eye. Whatever rage-incited stupor Lucius was in seemed to have abated, and surprise, horror, and resignation filled his eyes as he stared forlornly at his wand. He didn't look like the proud, smarmy bastard strutting through the streets of Diagon Alley, or the man fueled by barely-restrained fury. Instead, he looked like a hollow shell of a man: sad, broken, and pathetic.
"I–I'm sorry. I never should have done that."
Diana blinked, unsure which of the many sins he was referring to and taken aback by the sudden change in temperment. "...Done what?"
The shadows around her leg stilled as he slumped down in his seat. "I always did want a daughter," he confessed, after a long pause. But his eyes weren't on Diana, instead flickering numbly to the empty bottles. "I just wish things were…different."
She remained silent as he threaded his fingers through his long blonde hair. There was another long pause until he said, finally, "Leave me."
She didn't need to be told twice.
When she returned to her room, Draco was waiting. She summarized what happened to the best of her ability, and when she finished, Draco glared venomously.
"You're lying!"
Indignation spiked, mixed with hurt. It had been a long time since he looked at her that way, and she thought they'd gotten past this. "I'm not! Why would I lie?"
"Because Father wouldn't do that. And if he did, you wouldn't be talking to me right now. You'd be frothing on the ground or in St. Mungo's or something."
A cold chill crept through her. What the hell was Lucius trying to do? "Okay. Well, if you don't believe me, can you go back to your room? I want to sleep."
But Draco remained rooted to the spot, searching her face for something he apparently couldn't find. The hard edges of his eyes dimmed, replaced with horror and despair. "You're really telling the truth?"
She nodded. Draco sank onto the bed, eyes glazing over and immune to Freya's head rubbing against his arm. Then, after a moment, his eyes sharpened and his head snapped in Diana's direction.
"We're leaving in five minutes. Pack a small suitcase and meet me by the fireplace."
"What? Why?" she asked, a deer in the headlights. "Leaving where?"
"Diagon Alley first."
"But—"
"Stop wasting time!" he hissed, heading to the doorframe. "Just hurry up, and don't let Dobby see you."
She reluctantly did as he asked, trepidation swirling inside her.
"I think those blokes are looking at us," Diana whispered, peering nervously at the leering men outside the bar. She moved closer to her brother, who let out a hiss of frustration.
"I mussed my hair to blend in with the ruffians, and they still recognize me? Damn Fortuna…" He sighed, oblivious. "Hoods up."
She followed the orders, stomach flipflopping. Diagon Alley was quieter than it was during the summer, but busy enough that witnesses could theoretically testify to their presence. Their cluelessness made them stick out like sore thumbs already, and their robed 'disguise' did nothing to deter attention, instead making them look like little blonde Satanists.
"How much farther?" she asked, Freya meowing from her cat carrier.
Draco said nothing. He turned to head into a nearby alley, but Diana grabbed the sleeve of his robe. "We can't go in there, it's dangerous!"
"Being out here is dangerous," he argued. "We're in the open!"
"There's nothing down there besides that creepy old lady," she whispered. "Where are we even trying to go?"
Draco said nothing, but pulled away from the alley, at least. Panic started to rise in Diana's throat. "Draco, you do have a plan…right?"
He didn't make eye contact. Diana groaned and buried her head in her hands. "Oh my God…"
His cheeks turned pink."It's not like I had a lot of time to come up with one!"
"We have to go back," Diana declared, glancing back. The men from the bar were heading in their direction, and Diana grabbed her brother's hand to bring them back on the busy streets.
"We can't. It's not safe."
"It's not safe here," she muttered as they came to an intersection. She glanced up at the sky and decided to follow the brightest star. Please God. if you're there, we could really use a miracle.
He shook his head in exasperation. "You don't understand."
"Then help me understand," she begged. "What was the spell he used, and why was it such a big deal?"
Draco's eyes flickered around to ensure they weren't being watched. "It's called the Cruciatus," he whispered, so low Diana had to strain to hear. "It's one of the Unforgivables, like the Imperius."
She swallowed. "What does it do?"
"It causes the recipient an unimaginable amount of pain, like being stabbed hundreds of times by heated daggers."
'Oh." Her throat grew very dry. "So, it's, um, a mental spell? It gets into your head and makes you think you're in pain?"
"It doesn't make you 'think' it," he snapped. "It happens. It doesn't leave scars, but it does something with the body's nerves. Some people never recover."
"Oh," she repeated, horror giving way to confusion. She touched her necklace absentmindedly. "Why do you think it didn't work then?"
Draco was quiet for a moment. "To cast an Unforgivable, you have to really mean it."
It took a few seconds for it to click. "So he didn't really want to hurt me," she surmised, trying to cheer him up. "Not like that, anyway…"
"It doesn't matter. He didn't know the spell wouldn't work. He never should have tried it."
"He didn't seem right in the head. He was soused, and really stressed and scared about—"
"Stop defending him!"
Her hackles rose. "I'm not defending him," she clarified. "I'm just trying to…"
She trailed off, but Draco finished the thought. "'Make me feel better?'" he scoffed. "Nothing can make me feel better right now. Using the Cruciatus on one's offspring, even in our circles, is considered barbaric. I mean, there are sometimes rumors, of course, like the one with Nott…"
They stopped as a crowd of women with shopping bags crossed in front of them. "What rumor?" Diana asked, alarmed.
"I'm not saying this is true, but I heard his father uses it on him to teach pain tolerance."
Diana's eyes bulged, horrified. "Holy shit, that's awful. Poor Theodore…"
"Not 'Poor Theodore,'" bristled Draco. "He's the worst! Cantankerous should have practiced the Killing Curse instead."
Diana rolled her eyes, then frowned. Following the star led them to a dead end (of course…), and they would need to start retracing their steps. "Look, we can't just keep walking around here randomly. You mum went to her sister, right? Do you know where she lives? Maybe we can meet her there…somehow."
Draco shook his head. "If he used it on me, she'd leave with us in a heartbeat, but if it's you…I don't know. I think she's going to try to smooth things over and pretend like it didn't happen."
"But you don't want that," she concluded. A disheveled man on the street took out his wand, emitting light from its tip. Diana tensed despite his disinterest in the pair.
"No, and neither should you." He folded his arms. "Honestly, Diana, you're being far too blasé about this."
She shrugged helplessly. "I always assumed something like this would eventually happen. The only thing shocking to me is that it didn't work."
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes widened. When Diana followed her gaze, hers did the same.
A purple triple-decker bus was somehow zipping through the streets of Diagon Alley before screeching to stop next to the man. She held up her hand to shield her eyes from the blaring headlights, but Draco grabbed it quickly and broke into a sprint.
"I read about that. It's the Knight Bus," Draco panted as they finally reached the bus before the doors closed. He yanked off his hood.
Diana had so many questions, but remained silent as the pimpled conductor eyed them up and down. "You with this gent?" he asked, gesturing to the man with his thumb.
"No," Draco said quickly. "But we need to be here anyway." He reached into his robe pocket and thrusted a handful of Galleons at the conductor. "Let us stay for as long as we want, don't ask questions, and if anyone asks, we were never here."
The conductor saluted as they sat on one of the beds in the farthest corner. She thought they might attract stares, but people here seemed largely involved in their own affairs. The middle-aged man with a stained shirt and bags under his eyes they saw earlier leaned his head against the window. An old woman laid down on the bed, sniffling. A harried mother endured her toddler-age child pulling her hair and complaining he was hungry. Everyone seemed involved in their own little world, so Diana tentatively lowered her hood.
The bus zoomed through the streets, and after a mini panic attack, she realized they weren't actually going to hit anything (despite logic dictating otherwise) and relaxed again. The relative quiet of the Knight Bus' interior allowed her to hear the fuzzy melody of "O Holy Night" over the radio, and she unconsciously leaned against Draco. The events of the day were catching up to her, and she didn't realize how exhausted she was until now.
"How many people do you think usually go on here?' she yawned.
"How should I know?" he said, attempting to sound snippy, but only succeeding in a hollow mimicry. "Do I look like the kind of person who normally takes a bus?"
"I'm just wondering if we should get off now before more people show."
"I—I don't…" Draco hesitated, surveyed the bus again, and bit his lip. Diana instantly regretted asking the question.
"We could tell the driver to bring us back to the Manor," she said gently. "Honestly, I think it's better for—"
"No," Draco said sharply. "We're staying here."
"Okay," she mumbled.
Guilt and nerves twisted inside for a minute, but they dimmed as lethargy took over. She eventually drifted into a state where she didn't know didn't know if she was sleeping or awake, or shifting between the two. She definitely looked out the window at the whizzing sceneries at some point, but her mind felt disconnected from her body, and the stars in the night sky became the heavenly hosts, which shifted into dísir and back again. She was back at her house, the smell of gingerbread wafting in the air and the fireplace crackling, Sarah telling her something from the kitchen that she couldn't understand. Sitting on the couch on the fireplace was the girl from the painting–Valeria–and the presence of another figure, though she couldn't see it no matter where she looked.
And then she stirred from slumber, blinking groggily. She felt Draco's shoulders trembling, and tilted her head upward. His face was turned away so she couldn't see his expression, and it was only when he raised a finger to his eyes to wipe them that she realized he was crying.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"...why?" he sniffled.
"Because I ruined your family," she said, moving her head off his shoulder. "I know things were better before I came."
"They were." There was a long, heavy moment of silence. "Well, I don't know if it was 'better.' It was easier. And I think…it's better that I know. And it's better that you're here. Even if you're annoying."
The tears in Draco's eyes now mirrored her own. She didn't dwell on it too much before, but it took a tremendous amount of courage and loyalty for Draco to leave the Manor for her sake. Courage, loyalty, and—ultimately—compassion. For all his mocking a few days prior, the Malfoy scion was willing to sacrifice his own comfort and happiness in order to protect someone weaker and vulnerable. A half-blood. A 'lesser being.'
Thinking of how far they came since their animosity over the summer filled her with warmth and affection. She felt the sudden impulse to tell her she loved him like she would have her mother or grandmother, but was too embarrassed. Instead, she squeezed his hand gently and said, "Thank you, Draco. For everything."
He slumped further down, edge softening. "I just…I don't understand what happened. He's not…he's not evil. I know you think he is, but he's not. I've known him longer than you have. I'd know. He lo—he likes me. And Mother. That's not a lie. So it's hard to imagine he could do some of these things…"
"It doesn't have to be a lie," she began carefully. "Sometimes people we love can have different sides to them. My mum did some things to me that weren't great. But she also had a good side to her, which made things confusing. I guess adults are just kind of…strange, sometimes."
"I suppose…" he murmured.
They stayed in the bus for a long time as people entered and exited sporadically. She didn't know the time, but her eyelids were growing heavy again.
"We do need to decide where we're going," she repeated tentatively. Her gut instinct was to tell the driver to drop them at 6 Ironwood Lane, but seeing the empty house would be devastating in a way she wasn't sure she could handle. Going to one of her friends' houses and seeing them wonder who she was would be almost as bad. "Maybe Grandfather's house? The Westwell Estate?"
"That'll be one of the first places they look," Draco grumbled.
"What about the castle?" she suggested. "Some students are staying there, like Harry."
Draco flagged the conductor over and asked, but the conductor shook his head. "Can't go on Hogwarts property, and no goin' over water, I'm afraid. But the Knight Bus can travel anywhere else on land, yes siree."
"Oh!" Diana exclaimed, remembering Aurelia's letter. "What about France?"
"Er, anywhere on British land, I meant," the conductor said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"What good is this bus, then?" scoffed Draco. The conductor frowned, and Diana hurriedly apologized for her brother before he left.
"What about Hermione?" he asked.
"You're okay going to a Muggle home?"
"It's not like we have many options," snapped Draco. "Give the driver her address."
She stood up, but hesitated. "Um, what's her address?"
"She didn't tell you?"
"No…" Diana waited expectantly, then groaned. "Aaand, she didn't tell you either. Maybe if I had a phone book…"
"What the bloody hell is a phone book?"
"It's a really thick book with phone numbers and addresses."
"Where do you get one?"
Her heart sank. Where would she get one at this hour? "I dunno…"
Draco groaned. But mentioning Hermione caused another possibility to spark in her mind, one she completely forgot. "Wait, I know! Instead of Hermione, why don't we—"
"No."
"Come on, I have the address. His dad gave it to me for emergencies."
"No."
She gave him a pointed look, and he sighed. "Ugh, fiiiine. We'll go to Weasley's. But if I get fleas there, it's your fault."
