Surviving Malfoy _ Part II : Anger and Depression

Kate Bush 'Wuthering Heights' – I'm coming back to his side to make it right.

TW: Suicidal ideation.

Chapter 22:

There's so much pain.

So.

Much.

Fucking.

Pain.

And it won't stop.

And I can't move a muscle.

I can't do a thing to just make it stop.

I can't breathe.

I can't cry.

I wake up screaming, crying, groaning in pain.

There's the elf. Looking at me. And I wail at it.

I will it, wordlessly, to just end it.

It's close to my face. It's got something in its hand.

But I can't see for the life of me what it is. My vision blurs.

It takes hold of my chin with bony fingers. Says something I can't hear.

Pours something down my throat I almost choke on.

I force it down.

Whatever it is, I hope it ends things.

When I wake again, there's just a dull ache left.

I don't scream. I don't cry. I don't groan.

I don't wail.

I don't make a sound. But the elf is still there.

"Would Miss like a bath?"

I don't respond.

I stare at what's next to me, and frown. A nightstand.

I'm in bed.

He'll be mad.

I hate it when he's mad.

I try to move the duvet off me. It's heavy.

My muscles scream in pain again. And I do wail.

The elf snaps its fingers. The covers flip back, exposing me to icy cold air.

My muscles cramp up.

The elf snaps its fingers. I levitate, off the bed, and into the bathroom.

There's steam rising out of the tub.

It smells nice.

I should know the smell.

I don't recognize the smell.

The elf snaps its fingers. My clothes disappear.

I hover over the tub.

The water in it is shallow. Too shallow to drown.

The elf snaps its fingers. I'm lowered gently into the warm water.

It's warm. It's soothing.

It relaxes my muscles. The tension leaves them.

I lay awkwardly on my side.

I turn my head when my neck muscles relax. Upwards.

I think about moving it downwards, but the elf doesn't leave.

As my muscles relax, I sink further into the water.

"Master said, Alf is to supervise Miss."

So, I don't kill myself.

He's not dumb.

He's been in my head. He knows what I think about.

"Master will be back in twenty minutes, Miss."

I shiver.

I don't want him to find me in the tub. Naked.

But I can't move yet.

I move my fingers. My toes. Testing.

It hurts. But it's bearable.

I stretch my legs.

It aches. But it's bearable.

I lift my arms, aching, bearably. And grab hold of the edge of the tub.

I pull myself up.

The air is freezing.

"For the fever, Miss."

The elf hands me a vial.

I stare at it blankly.

It unstoppers it, puts it to my lips.

I don't protest.

It doesn't really help.

I pull myself up, onto my feet.

The elf snaps its fingers. The tub dries up.

My feet have more grip this way.

I stumble over the edge, steady myself, out of the tub.

The elf snaps its fingers. I'm clothed.

Bright white pajamas. Silk.

Nothing I'd ever be allowed to wear.

"No," I croak. I pull at the buttons.

"Masters orders, Miss. "

I stare at my corner. The chain is gone.

Icy cold fear runs down my back.

I don't know how much time I have left.

I walk to the corner on stiff legs.

I want to sit down, hide the missing chain. But my knees lock up.

I'm too stiff to sit. Too stiff to breathe.

I lean against the wall, so I don't fall over.

The elf stares at me. Until the door opens.

He's here. I don't look at him.

I can't look at him. My neck is too stiff.

He stands in front of me.

He looks worried.

"Potter?"

His voice is calm, soothing. Traitorously soothing.

He takes my chin, raises my head.

He looks at my neck.

His face contorts, angry.

I close my eyes. Burning hot tears escape them.

He's in my head.

I don't fight, can't fight, just let him do.

He doesn't search, doesn't look.

He goes outside, to my quiet place.

And rips it apart.

And my world crumbles.

An onslaught of noise in my head, of images, feelings, voices, calm and warmth and solace, soft touches, words, sentiments, and pleasure, and sweet pain. Of anxiety and dread of a different kind.

Of comfort.

Of the comforting touch of the hand on my chin. Of the fingers on my neck, gently caressing a dull burn. Soothing it.

My eyes fly open. And look straight into his.

His grey, worried, loving eyes. Looking at me like I am the most precious, most delicate, most beautiful thing he has ever seen. There are tears in his eyes, glistening softly in the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. His hands cup my face.

He looks terrified.

I can't piece it together. Can't understand this safety.

There are tears streaming down my face, unbearably hot against my freezing skin. They pool around the corners of my mouth. They taste salty. And strangely metallic.

His jaw is tense. He doesn't speak.

I look down. Want to look at his arms, make sure it is really him cradling my face oh so softly.

There's blood. A lot of blood. On his hands, on my clothes. It burns angry red against the white, yelling out at me.

Am I crying blood?

I raise a trembling hand to my eye, clean. I dab at my nose, soaked in blood.

I stammer, something, I don't even know what I'm trying to say. My ears ring, louder and louder. It reverberates around my skull, amplifies, sears through my brain. I look back up at him. And the ground tilts.

The last thing I register are Draco's arms, catching me.

There's a strange sort of rushing sound, soft, crinkly. White noise, filling my ears, and for a moment I'm certain I fell asleep on the couch and left the TV on. I half expect to open my eyes to a Christmas tree next to a kitchen counter, separating the tiniest of kitchens from the open plan living room I have to be sleeping in. I listen out for quiet snoring from an upstairs room, but other than the static, there's not much. Just an occasional pop, or crackle. Fire. But we don't have a fireplace. And I'm warm, not on fire, and I don't smell smoke.

My mind battles its way back into consciousness and as it does, the static grows more defined, into a soft pitter-patter of rain onto glass. I don't open my eyes, I'm not ready yet. It has to have been a dream. Just a terrible nightmare. It's still Christmas. I fell asleep while Blaise and Casper played cards or some such, Austin isn't a Death Eater, Debbie is still mad at me. My mother is going to walk through the front door behind the couch any moment now, carrying in a freshly baked black cake, with fruits soaked in so much rum, I can smell it before she even opens the door.

I bask in the warmth, relish the feeling of numb limbs, knowing full well I'll feel the weight of everything the second I move a finger. Even in this calm state somewhere between dream and reality, something screams at me not to, screams at me nothing good comes from waking up. I try to will myself back to sleep, but my mind wins its battle. The first thing I feel is my bladder. I need to pee. Badly. So badly I know I couldn't have slept through it, even if the battle hadn't been lost.

I pry my eyes open. The room is dark, with only a soft orange, flickering glow casting dancing shadows over the books on the nightstand.

It wasn't a dream.

The sound of the rain gets louder, there's a storm outside. I'm buried under a thick duvet, bearing me down onto the mattress. I'm comfortable in my soft cocoon, which makes the prospect of leaving it all the more daunting.

I move my first finger. My muscles are sore, not in terrible pain, but sore enough for me to let out an involuntary hiss. I stretch out my arms, pushing my hands out from under the covers, and feel the cool air. Stretching helps, it turns the soreness into a relieving kind of pain. I turn onto my back, stretch out my legs, arch my back until every joint in my body has cracked.

Then I brace myself.

I flip the duvet off me. Cold air hits me. It's expected, but I wasn't aware of how sweaty I was and the air seeps coolly into the fabric of my pajamas, now clinging to me uncomfortably. I hiss again and push myself up gently. I feel incredibly weak, and it takes me a moment longer than it normally would. My head spins and I sit still until my vision returns.

There's a white blonde head of hair poking out over the armrest of the couch at the foot of the bed. Draco's fast asleep, I can see his shoulder moving rhythmically when I pull myself up further to look over the armrest. The position he's in doesn't look comfortable though, can't be good for his neck. I wonder why he's not in bed next to me.

The cold starts feeling oddly soothing. I finally feel ready to place my feet on the ground. I allow my circulation another moment to adjust to the new position. When I push myself off the mattress, it's onto unsteady legs. I try to tiptoe around the bed, but my joints are too stiff, I can't really help dragging my feet across the carpet. I hold onto the bed post, very lightly support myself on the couch next to Draco's head and just about make it to the mantelpiece without falling over when Draco stirs.

"What are you doing?" He sits up and looks at me apprehensively. He looks worried, almost scared, as if bracing himself.

I frown down at him. "I need the bathroom," I try stating, but it comes out like more of a question.

"Okay." He's up and by my side quicker than I can think 'toilet', slings one arm around my back and takes my hand into his. He half pushes, half carries me to the bathroom door.

"What are you doing?" I echo his earlier question, but he doesn't grace me with an answer. He opens the door and guides me through. "I think I can take it from here," I say drily.

"You can barely stand upright," he states.

"I can pee on my own!" I say, heated.

"I'm aware, but I'd rather you do in the toilet and not on the floor, because you couldn't make it there in time." He doesn't even look at me, "save Alf the trouble."

I dig my heels in and push him back with all the force I can muster. "Get out."

"Potter-"

"Malfoy, you're making this take longer than I can handle."

We look at each other for a moment, defiantly.

He finally says, "Leave the door open." and has the audacity to turn around, leave the room and keep the door cracked.

"Fuck no!" I huff indignantly and slam the door shut. He doesn't protest.

It does take me longer than usual to make my way across the room, and arguably takes me longer than it probably would have if Draco had helped me. He did waste my time by arguing with me though, so all in all I still mostly blame him for the amount of pain I'm in by the time I do finally make it to the toilet bowl.

I drop my head onto my knees and enjoy the greatest relief I have ever felt. My head swims when I get back up and I hold on to the flush for a full minute after using it, steadying myself. The sink thankfully isn't too far and by the time I have it in my grip, I start to feel a bit steadier on my feet. But the second I look up, I freeze.

There's a massive bruise stretching itself from my jaw to my left temple, greenish blue and just a few touches lighter than a different set of bruises on the side of my neck. My nose looks like it's been broken and reset, I have both a split lip and a split eyebrow. And there's a longer cut running horizontally across my throat, oozing slightly with a green, puss like substance.

But the strange thing is, I can't feel any of it.

I remember the cut, the pretty blade it was made with. And I remember how I got the bruises on my neck, that'll be difficult to forget. But the ones on my face look like they happened in a much less pleasurable way. And I cannot, for the life of me, remember how I got them.

I grab a hand towel off the side of the sink and wet it slightly to dab at the cut on my throat. But before I can do so, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

"I'm fine," I say shakily. I dab at the wound, just as Draco cracks the door open. Rationally, I know it should sting.

"Don't do that." Draco pulls the door open fully and strides over to me, taking the towel form my hand. He puts his fingertips under my chin, lifts it gently to look at the cut, and I drop my hands at my sides, unsure of what to do with them.

Memories start flooding my brain again as I piece things together. They feel less out of place now though, less jumbled, and from the way Draco is holding my chin, it's pretty obvious which ones are real and which ones aren't. Draco produces a small tub from his pocket and dabs the contents onto my skin with a dry corner off the towel. And I stare up at the ceiling, trying as best I can to remember how I got the bruises on my face.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to decipher the herbal smell coming from the paste.

"Dittany mostly. Yarrow, chamomile, and a bit of crushed billywig sting," Draco says. "The blade is cursed. We don't know with what, so Alf and I had to improvise. It's been working okay, you looked way worse two days ago."

I glance at the wound in the mirror without turning my head, careful not to disturb Draco's work. The strange green tint it had was throwing me off, but I have an idea. "Have you tried marshmallow?"

"And how exactly are marshmallows going to help?"

"Not the candy," I say, rolling my eyes. "The plant. It's what's normally used against furnunculus curses, and that's the only type of curse where I've ever seen that green tinge. It sounds ridiculous, but the curse has a component that keeps the boils from healing over. Marshmallow soothes the inflammation. Billywig will dry up the wound, that was a good idea, but as long as it's inflamed like this… Use the petals though, the roots are too harsh and will counteract the yarrow. And drop the chamomile, it's way too mild."

Draco pauses, straightens himself and looks down at me with one raised eyebrow. "So next time I should just wait the two days until you wake up and get you to heal yourself?"

I resist the smirk that's fighting its way onto my face. "You did say it looks better than it did before. You did do a decent job," I offer diplomatically.

Draco huffs and throws the towel into the sink. "Alf!" He calls out and the elf appears.

"Master called." The elf stands in front of Draco, looking up at him expectantly. He's holding his right hand tightly in his left, as if trying to hide it from view, but the bandage covering it is difficult to overlook.

Draco thrusts the tub of ointment into Alf's hands. "Replace the chamomile with marshmallow petals," he says with a sigh.

"Of course, Sir." Alf disappears again and I stare at the spot he vanished from.

"What happened to his hand?" I ask.

Draco fiddles with the towel. "Bellatrix," he offers matter-of-factly. I cock my head questioningly and he carries on. "She started beating you when you passed out." He pulled another tub of ointment out of his pocket and started dabbing its contents onto my face with the last clean, dry corner of the towel. "Alf intervened. He said it didn't look like she would stop, and he was worried she would kill you. She cut his pinky finger off for the offense, but left you alone after." He pauses for a moment and even though he's gently dabbing away at my face, he refuses to look me in the eye. "You lost a couple teeth too, but we managed to salvage those."

"And Alf's finger?" I ask.

Draco shakes his head gently. "Cursed blade," he offers as an explanation.

I swallow hard. "It's weird though," I start quietly.

"What's weird?"

"I can't feel any of it," I say. "None of the bruises or the cuts. It doesn't hurt?"

"I put a numbing charm on you before I left." Draco still didn't look at me. "It's technically for combat, it can keep you going for longer if you can't feel any physical pain. Bellatrix taught me. It's tricky though, tricky to master and tricky to use. If you don't pay enough attention, you might just bleed out and not notice in time. I hoped it would make it easier on you. It only lasts for a couple of hours. I've been putting it back on you regularly, so the pain doesn't wake you up."

I'm quiet for a moment, contemplating the fact that Draco apparently woke up every few hours for two days to redo a charm so I wouldn't wake up. "Crucio?"

"Isn't physical pain," Draco says. "At least not the way Bellatrix uses it."

I definitely felt that. It is pretty much all I remember from Bellatrix' visit.

"Did she buy it though..? The memories?"

Draco's jaw tightens. He finishes with my face, puts the lid back on the ointment and gives it to me. "Every couple hours and the bruise at least should be gone by tomorrow." The corner of his mouth twitches, but he seems to hold himself back, "I wasn't sure if you would want those healed, so I didn't touch them." He pointed at the side of my neck.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Did she buy it?" I repeat my question, focused on getting an answer.

"I only saw her once, at breakfast yesterday. She didn't say anything to me in front of my parents, and I doubt she will if she ever sees me alone. She obviously knows I know what she's done though."

"And?"

"And that I might turn into a little tattle-tale and run to the Dark Lord." The corner of his mouth twitches again. "Which puts me either in a very favorable position, or a very precarious one."

"So, she bought it?" I ask, for clarification.

Draco nods. "We'd have heard it if she didn't".

I let go of the tension in my shoulders and lean sideways against the sink. "I'm okay," I say, when Draco instantly lifts his arms to catch me. "Just relieved." He doesn't lower his arms though but pulls me into them instead.

We stand like this for a long moment, unmoving. Until Alf arrives and informs us that breakfast is ready and I let go of Draco and wrap my arms around the tiny creature instead, lifting him off the ground in a tight hug. The elf freezes, obviously not used to any forms of affections being shown to him, but I frankly don't care. When I let go of him and set him back on his feet, he furtively dabs his eyes with a corner of the pillowcase he's wearing.

Draco doesn't comment.

We eat breakfast in silence. I don't have the time to talk anyway, as my stomach demands food. We sit at Draco's desk, and he pulls my feet into his lap while we eat. His left hand rests on my crossed ankles, squeezing them periodically, as if trying to make sure that I'm still there, still okay. He offers to renew the numbing charm after, but I refuse, they're only bruises, no broken bones, and I'd rather feel the pain.

When Alf comes back to take away our plates, he informs Draco that his mother needs him to run an errand for him, something Draco raises his eyebrow at. He doesn't protest though, much to my dismay. I would much rather keep him around, I have questions. But those will apparently have to wait. As Draco gets ready to leave, I pull the duvet off the bed, an issue of 'The Adventures of Martin Miggs' out of Draco's extensive collection, and curl up on the couch with both.

"I have no idea what it is she wants me to do for her, but I'll try and be back as soon as I can," Draco says, putting on cufflinks.

"Are the wards back up?" It's not a serious question, I know the answer.

"Of course," Draco smiles. He bends over and places a kiss on the top of my head, something I hadn't expected. I look up, hook my fingers in his collar and pull him back down. He groans as I kiss him, a deep grumbling sound I lock away safely in the depths of my mind.

I sit facing the door, just in case. With the wards back up and the threat of Draco returning at any moment, I feel safe enough from Bellatrix. But I still feel much too uneasy to sit with my back to the door. Just in case. But that case turns way too real when barely five minutes after Draco has left, there's a knock on the door. It's so soft, I'm pretty sure my anxious mind just imagined it. It's playing tricks on me, trying to prepare me for the worst.

There's another knock, slightly more forceful. Difficult to ignore.

I freeze.

"Miss Potter?" It is a gentle voice, a woman, definitely not Bellatrix. I don't relax. "Miss Potter, I'm going to come in now."

I tense. The doorknob is pushed down, the lock clicks open. I don't move, I still sit cross-legged under the duvet, the Mad Muggle hanging open from my hand. I can't bring myself to move. Everything in me screams at me to lock away my memories, to hide everything, but I don't have the time. Nothing is in order, nothing is organized, it would take minutes to sort through it all and lock away what's vital. Minutes I don't have.

Because the door swings open and Narcissa Malfoy steps into the room, hands raised, empty of weapons or a wand.

"I mean you no harm," she says, in the sweetest of voices. I want to believe her, but every muscle in my body is taut, ready to fight, should freeze no longer be an option. "If you'll allow me," she continues, taking sideways steps along the wall and away from me. "I'll place my wand here, on the nightstand, and I'll come sit next to you." She's talking to me like I'm a caged animal. Which I guess in her eyes, I am. I hope I look like it to her, with the bruises and cuts, and my wide-open eyes I can't get to blink. It makes me look volatile. And I much prefer volatile to frozen.

I watch as Draco's mother gently places her wand on the nightstand, careful not to point it at me, which I appreciate. She takes careful steps back along the bed, towards the couch. "May I?" She asks, pointing at the end of it, as far away from my end as possible. I don't react. She sits down. "We don't have much time," she starts.

For what exactly? I want to ask, but my vocal cords aren't mine anymore.

"I told Draco I urgently needed some potions from Diagon Alley, but can't go myself, as I need to prepare for a Ladies Tea this afternoon. None of it is true, but I needed an excuse to get him out of the house." She's stalling. "I needed to talk to you."

She pauses for much longer than someone with no time has any right to. We stare at each other, unblinking, in a deeply uncomfortable silence. I haven't moved since the moment she came into the room, and I still can't bring myself to. I'd like to look at how she's placed her wand, but that would look suspicious. She'd be there quicker anyway, she's closer. I would have to lunge over the bed. She only has to run a few steps.

"I did expect worse," she interrupts my thoughts and gently cocks her head to the side.

Excuse me? Finally, my facial muscles allow me a slight frown.

"Bella said Draco is keeping you chained up in the bathroom," she continues. "I didn't believe it really, I raised him better than that. But then she showed me."

She's a Legilimens. I immediately break eye contact, looking to a spot on the wall to the left of her head. She cocks her head further, trying to catch my eye again. "I'm glad she wasn't right. I'm glad he's healing you." She points at my throat and pauses again. "Nasty business, that knife. It's a Black family heirloom. Goblin silver, with a jade handle, and imbued with Atropa. That's why the wound won't heal." She points at it again. "You might want to try-"

"Distilled rosemary," I whisper, interrupting her.

"Yes!" She exclaims proudly, "Very good. Are you good with plants?"

"Potions," I say, just as quietly.

"I see." Her smile fades and she continues, "truly awful knife. Bella is the oldest, so she inherited it. Otherwise, it would have fallen into my hands, what with my other sister…" She waves her hand in front of her face like she's swatting away a nasty fly. "I would have locked it away at Gringotts, never let it see the light of day again. But I guess that's not much comfort to you."

I want to ask her what it is she wants, why she got rid of her son and came here. It can't be to talk about fucking knives. But I can't get myself to, my mouth is too dry. Those three words are all my jaw will allow for now. It clamps down, rigid and tense, just like the rest of my body. But I'm not making the mistake of looking at her again.

"I'm glad he's not treating you as awfully as Bella made it look," she repeats, stalling again. "I doubted my education for a moment. My son would never, treat a woman that way," she whispers that part so quietly I can barely hear it. And I want to shout at her, that's how v every mother feels. Some just aren't right.

But she is right. And I'm offering her confirmation by just sitting on her son's couch, under a thick duvet, cuddled up like it's any old rainy Sunday afternoon. If this gets out-

"You know each other," Narcissa starts again. "You and Draco."

No shit.

"Much longer than you think." She's trying to get me to look at her again, but I refuse, her words barely registering. "You met, years before Hogwarts. Enjoyed each other's company greatly in fact." Her voice quirked up at that, as if she was remembering fondly.

And things click into place in my head.

I look at her, realization dawning on my face, and she stops speaking. I'm aware my mouth hangs open, my brows pull together in a deep frown, but I make no attempt to change that. I can't pretend right now.

"Cissy," I state. She just smiles at me, and I reiterate, "You're Cissy."

"Your aunt told you," she says.

"She also said you had dark hair." I'm not sure if I should be buying this.

"One wand wave." She makes the appropriate gesture.

"No," I shake my head, incredulous.

"You were here for a few months," she says, like it's no big deal.

"When you should have brought me straight to my aunt," I say, with more force than I intend to.

Her face falls slightly. "Yes," she finally has the decency to look away. "I suppose I should have."

She falls into silence, and I look at her incredulous. But she makes no move to continue speaking, so I say, "Well go on then, what's your story."

She flinches at my tone. I don't care. If she goes blabbing about my true state in her son's care, her son is first to die. She wouldn't let that happen.

"Severus brought you to me."

Who the- "Snape?!"

"Professor Snape, yes." I ignore the slightly piqued correction. "Severus and your mother were childhood friends. They fell out during Hogwarts, but when it came to hiding you, Lily seemed to think you would be safest hidden away 'with the enemy' as she put it, until it would be safe to bring you to your aunt.

I was never very close to Severus personally, but Lucius was. My husband was a mentor to Severus in his early years at Hogwarts, introduced him to…"

Voldemort. Go on, say it.

"Anyway, you were with Severus all of two days. He was a 21-year-old man at the time, with no idea how to care for a child. You screamed and cried for your parents the entire time, from what he told me. To be honest, I can't imagine Severus being very comforting to a one-year-old, even at 21." She pauses. "So, he brought you to me. Severus is Draco's godfather, a frequent guest in our home. He didn't know many other parents, and none he could trust. He knew not to come to Lucius with the request, so he came to me."

I stare at her, doubt probably splattered all over my face, as it dawns on me. She's trying to get me to trust her. What if that's her way of getting me to crack? I don't know what I prefer, this or her sister.

"You were a truly adorable child." I look at her in disgust and she presses her lips together for a moment. "I admit I had my reservations. Not about taking you in, never about taking you in," she underlined her point with a definite hand gesture. "I always wanted a second child, a little girl, and I tried finding a credible story to tell Lucius. He never wanted more than one, but if you were an orphan of the war, a child of a friend of mine, maybe I could…" She sighs deeply.

"I realized it would be foolish. You would have been way too close to any commotion here with us, much too close. And I couldn't risk Draco's life. Or yours. Just for my wishes…" She trails off again. "So, I found your aunt. I arranged for new passports for the both of you, and new names. Your first name was Severus' wish, really."

I have to ask, "do you know my real name?"

She looks at me apologetically. "I'm afraid not. Lily never mentioned it in her letter and Severus never bothered to learn it beforehand. It took us hours to settle on a name for you, but I couldn't refuse Severus in the end. He named you after a muggle song his mother was apparently very fond of."

I huff.

"But speaking of letters." She reaches into her pocket, but before I can recoil from any possible weapon, she hands me a yellowed piece of parchment. "Maybe this will convince you."

I unfold the parchment. Out falls a small picture, landing face down on my lap, that I chose to ignore for the time being. It's the same handwriting as in the letter my mother showed me. It almost breaks when I unfold it, deep creases cut through Lily's writing where the paper was folded, making it difficult to read in places. I stare down at it, can't really get my brain to pick up any words. I take a deep breath.

Dear Sev,

I know we haven't spoken in ages. I hope you're doing well. I've heard you're taking up the position as potions professor at Hogwarts come next fall. I think you'll be well suited for the job. I'm proud of you.

I won't beat around the bush for long. My children are in danger, Severus. I hope you'll be willing to help me. This is my daughter. I need you to keep her safe. Not forever, just long enough until you can bring her to James' sister at 7 Dynevor Road, London N16 0DH. Her name is Effie Potter.

I'm sorry, Sev. I'm sorry for springing this on you like this, but you're the only person I can think of who could help us. Everybody else I know is in The Order, and I think she'll be safer hiding right under Voldemort's nose, with the enemy.

I haven't discussed it with James, and I don't think I will. I have modified his memories. And those of Remus, Sirius, Peter… No one knows she exists. Please make sure it stays that way.

Love,

Lily

"She didn't intend for Severus to bring you to me," Narcissa says way before I'm ready to take in any more information. "He did break Lily's trust in a way, but he knew no other way to help you. Please forgive him." She takes a deep breath. "He did make the right choice, though." She's cocking her head in that way again, hands clasped in her lap, trying to catch my eye. "I would never jeopardize your safety, not then and not now. I knew who you were, the second you walked up my driveway, Miss Potter. And-"

But before she can continue the door bursts open. Draco comes storming in.

"The fuck do you think you're doing?!" He yells, not at his mother, at me.

I know how to play my part. I grab the picture off my lap, throw the duvet off myself and run to the bathroom, Draco hot on my heels. He doesn't touch me, doesn't shove me, grab me or slap me. He could have caught me in two quick strides, he's much faster than I am. But he doesn't, he just slams the door to the bathroom shut with so much force the chandelier rattles.

I listen as he screams at his mother, demands to know what she's doing here, and as she screams back, with much more authority. But their voices drown out quickly as soon as I look down at the picture in my hands, at a tiny Draco, smiling up at a tiny me.