Chapter 37) Blood, Heart, and Intention

Selected Listening: Old Money- Lana Del Rey

On Easter morning at precisely 11:30, Anastasia stood in one of her best dress robes at Snape's office door. A few moments later, the professor opened the door into the hollow. He looked towards her, and then down the hall.

"Where's Malfoy and Parkinson?"

"How should I know?" she asked with a scoff. "They're your students."

Snape glared at her but said nothing. The two stood in the cool, still hallway, waiting awkwardly, having nothing to say to each other.

"Knock when they arrive," he said and slammed the door.

Anastasia leaned against the wall, staring at the small bit of sunlight echoing in from the dungeon's high windows.

It wasn't easy telling Fred that she was going…

"You can't be serious? Didn't you come back crying last year? And someone's trying to murder you. Who's to say they won't be at dinner?" Fred asked when she handed him the invitation. They were sitting in one of the window alcoves in the common room after everyone had gone to bed.

Anastasia shook her head.

"There's a chance…" Anastasia began, not sure of how to fully explain, "…that Narcissa may have used an imperious spell to make Lucius kill my mother's husband in a death eater raid, so that my mother couldn't have a child without her help, and so she could essentially design my bloodline for making the Malfoy bloodline better later on…"

"Oh…" Fred said, expression moving from shock to disgust, "that's horrible."

"Yes…and I really need to know if she did it…because if she did, it means she was manipulating me and Draco since…before we were born. So, I have this," she pulled out the veritaserum.

"Blimey, Stasia…Mum said that healer was up to some sketchy magic. What if she gets angry?"

"Narcissa's not going to hurt me. She can't without hurting Draco too. At most, she'll ignore me forever," she said as her voice faltered. Fred grimaced.

"She's the wife of an ex-death eater, Anastasia, a very dangerous, high-ranking death eater. And you don't think hurting you or otherwise incapacitating you for accusing her of a life-sentence crime is past her nature?"

"It might not be," she admitted, "but either way, I need to know the truth."

"Why are you so cross?" Pansy's twangy voice startled Anastasia from her anxious memories. She stood up straight as they approached.

"We're late, Parkinson. There's only so many ways you can do your eyebrows, and only the normal way that really matters."

"Sorry if I want to look good for your family!" she spat.

But her refute didn't bother him. Draco was too busy staring at the ginger, staring back at him with a solemn expression. The dress Anastasia chose was a knee-length, dark teal velvet number with forest animals printed throughout—foxes, birds, and rabbits—and a bit of fringe off the hem. Her hair had now grown out enough to pull the top back, but it poofed out gently from her face. It wasn't ideal, but it wasn't horrible either.

"What is she doing here?" Pansy seethed.

"I told you already, Pansy. Mum invited her. Don't be dramatic."

Anastasia shook her head and wrapped her knuckles against the door behind her. She didn't want this interaction to last longer than necessary. She planned to be nearly invisible at supper, only present as a trophy for her godmother to show off until she could get the woman alone. She wouldn't even pipe up if Lucius Malfoy said something blood purist, or if Pansy had another go at disintegrating her dress.

The truth potion in her pocket weighed heavily. She couldn't exactly drill Narcissa with questions in front of everyone at dinner. Doubts crept in about whether she would find the opportunity to use it at all.

It was a hope, but not a promise.

The door to Snape's office swung open, and Anastasia walked in, not making eye contact with Draco or Pansy as they scuffled in behind her. She pretended not to notice Draco give her a second look or Pansy fuming as Anastasia reached up to the mantle and took a scoop of the sparking gray powder from the ash tray.

"Out of the way, Dumblebrat. It is Draco's house after all." Pansy shouldered past her to get to the floo powder, causing Anastasia to spill a part of hers onto the floor. Anastasia smiled slyly at the Slytherin girl as she revealed none had fallen on her dress. Pansy scowled.

"Well? Draco?" Parkinson asked impatiently when she grabbed her own handful. Anastasia stepped aside for them, already wishing the day to be over.

"Uh-right…" Draco stepped forward and took his own share. Then gestured for Pansy to go before him. She hesitated. "I insist, Parkinson," he said more forcefully.

"My, Draco," she fawned, "so polite." Pansy stepped forward into the floo, announced Malfoy Manor, and disappeared into the flames.

As soon as she departed, Draco turned to Anastasia. His eyes said everything he couldn't voice aloud.

"Are we going or not?" she asked, her face fully flushed with embarrassment and guilt.

"You look beautiful."

"You should tell Pansy that."

"Then I'd be lying."

"Get out, brats," Snape muttered under his breath. Draco and Anastasia snapped out of their personal bubble, and Draco disappeared quickly into the flames. Anastasia stepped in behind him, turned around and took a deep breath while staring at her shoes, watching the micah-like dust fall into the hearth below. Was she really going to do this?

Snape stopped his writing to make eye contact.

"Go or not, Miss Dumbledore. It's none of my concern, but do leave me in peace on this day of mourning."

"Right…Malfoy Manor."

Anastasia rippled and reemerged in the grand den she hadn't seen since over half a year before. She took in the smell of the dark wood and instantly became conflicted.

The house held nostalgia now.

"What is that creatin doing here?" Mrs. Parkinson asked. No one answered. The other adults were gathering. Anastasia saw Mr. and Mrs. Crabbe and Goyle, though not their children or Blaise. Narcissa and Lucius must have been preparing elsewhere. Draco went to join Pansy on the chaise to tease her and cover up his late timing.

Anastasia said nothing and walked purposefully to the hors d'oeuvres table where she began placing stuffed mushrooms on her plate. She had missed out on them the year prior while she was taking everything in.

"Miss Dumbledore," Madame Zabini greeted, joining her in line. "I saw you altered my gown."

"Yes," Anastasia admitted, "I'm sorry it wasn't exactly what you designed, it's just—"

The woman put up a hand.

"It was gorgeous. Every witch should love what she wears."

Anastasia smiled gratefully, "Where's Blaise today?"

"He and the other boys are out at the quidditch pitch. They'll be in soon."

"I didn't know he played," Anastasia commented. Mercucia smiled knowingly.

"He plays when he knows he'll win…never against Draco."

Anastasia made a noise of agreement as she reached the end of the table and stopped to look around for a seat.

"Oh, you snuck by me, dear," Narcissa came alongside her, gently placed her arms around the girls' shoulders. "How are you doing?" she asked nervously and pulled away.

"I'm doing well," Anastasia said quietly. And I plan on using a truth potion on you later. She didn't realize how nervous her plans would leave her. Her palms began sweating.

"Well, that's…lovely." Narcissa looked over to Draco and Pansy who were now up getting their food and fighting over a piece of brie with a pair of tongs. Her gaze floated back to Anastasia. "And—erm—how are things with the Weasley fellow?"

"Yes, Fred's very, um—sweet," she said kindly, awkwardly.

"Right, well, that's grand," Narcissa said, although her eyes said otherwise. "Excuse me, will you?"

And she went back to the kitchen to help Mopsy with something.

Anastasia found a comfortable place to stand along the garden windows, hoping no one would speak to her. Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle came in from the pitch and disappeared to change. Mrs. Parkinson began engaging Crabbe and Goyle's mothers in conversation.

Anastasia thought she was succeeding quite well at being invisible until Lucius appeared on the staircase with a familiar character—Dolohov, the same man who interrupted their dinner in August.

Anastasia felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. The two men walked down, looking over the heads of everyone in the room. She prayed they wouldn't notice her, but of course, Dolohov saw her and looked at Lucius questioningly. Lucius rolled his eyes, and when he reached the bottom of the stairs, got his own plate and walked straight for her. Dolohov went about his own food, peering intermittently over his shoulder.

"Miss Dumbledore," Lucius said, nodding his head in recognition as he appeared on her left. She stared, waiting for him to explain why he bothered. "I suppose I should thank you for making a reasonable decision. The Weasleys are much more on par with you socially, don't you think? They certainly aren't worried about maintaining ancient pureblood family wards."

Anastasia's skin flared red. She certainly wasn't going to get into an argument with Lucius Malfoy about why she broke up with Draco. Instead, she decided to remind Lucius why she didn't care to speak to him in the first place.

"You hurt my owl," she said pointedly. "And you paid that awful woman to write about us."

"Did I?" Lucius sipped his drink with a smirk.

She turned to him with an equally salacious smile.

"You can keep your pristine blood purity, Mr. Malfoy," she said politely and looked over to where, back on the chaise, Pansy was trying desperately to feed Draco grapes by hanging the bunch above his head. He tried to catch the lowest one in his mouth, but misaimed and fell onto the floor with a thump. "Good luck with Parkinson."

Lucius scowled and left to bark at Draco for acting foolish while Mopsy called everyone to lunch at the entrance of the dining room. Anastasia, realizing the appetizer table wasn't the direction she was walking, gaited towards the elf and handed the small plate.

"Mopsy, could you please?"

"Yes, miss." Mopsy's feet zipped to attention as she received the porcelain saucer.

Anastasia found her place at the table. No longer next to Draco, but two down, after Blaise and before Mrs. Goyle. She could handle that. She noticed each place was set with a glass of wine this year. She supposed the Malfoys didn't want another teen drinking incident and decided giving them a little was worth not having to worry about it.

Anastasia glanced at Narcissa's place setting, but it was too late and too far to reach. People were already gathering. She couldn't pour the truth potion in Narcissa's glass, nor could she have asked the questions she wanted to in front of everyone.

Anastasia pulled out her chair and sat disappointedly.

"Dumbledore," Blaise said smoothly and took the chair next to her.

"Hi Blaise? How are you?" she asked.

"Surprised to see you here," he admitted. "I thought you'd be avoiding this place after your messy breakup."

"I plan to do what you suggested in December."

"Ah…interesting…and is—" he pointed to Narcissa's glass. She shook her head.

"I'll have to get her alone."

"Good luck," he offered.

The adults began to fill in. Dolohov had taken a seat towards the end of the table on her left. Anastasia felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

Lucius finally joined the table, pulled his chair out shakily, and began his usual bemoaning of the fall of wizarding power to the hands of muggles. Many of the adults chimed in to support his complaints. The only one who didn't was Dolohov.

"Unlike you all, I am hopeful…and perhaps surprised more of you aren't more hopeful. For I have a feeling this year there will be opportunities for change on this matter," he said as he placed his glass down from the toast.

Lucius's welcoming expression changed to one of discomfort. He squirmed. Narcissa froze, eyes dead behind her gaze. It was the same sort of expression Sirius wore when they asked him about Azkaban. The same way she looked in August. And this time, Lucius picked up on it.

"Ah, perhaps some of us simply don't like reading our palms before we've paid for our divination," Lucius chuckled nervously.

"But we've all paid, Lucius," Dolohov commented smoothly, "you know that."

Anastasia didn't miss that as Dolohov spoke, he rubbed his left wrist, just as Karkaroff held his when he came to speak to Snape.

"Then, here's hoping," Lucius grabbed his own wrist and finished with a strained smile.

Their plates filled with food. Veal and vegetables along with fresh baked bread. As the guests appeased their appetites the conversation simmered to life once more.

"You know, I am looking forward to the future," Mercucia said positively. "I see all these wonderful brilliant young people and feel reassured they'll make great leaders of the wizarding world."

"Certainly, some of them will," Mrs. Parkinson drawled, "So sad that some young people feel the need to lie to the media for attention." She looked directly at Anastasia.

Anastasia felt her anger flare, still she held her tongue. A few chairs down, she heard Draco give an irritated scoff.

"You'd think their parents would teach them better," Madam Zabini mused, looking meaningfully at Mrs. Parkinson.

Anastasia smiled gratefully as Blaise stifled his chuckle.

"I'm just so glad Pansy and Draco found each other," Mrs. Parkinson gushed. "They make such a beautiful couple."

Anastasia stuffed another bite of veal in her mouth and tried to ignore Pansy's mother's comments. She couldn't be jealous. There was no reason for her to be jealous.

"Please, Patricia," Narcissa bade, "they're only in fourth year."

"What? I remember someone getting married at 17," Mrs. Parkinson jibed. Narcissa cringed, but held her stature. Anastasia winced, unsure how many others at the table knew the Malfoy's union had been mutually agreed upon but forced prematurely, before Narcissa had even left Hogwarts.

Lucius faked a sincere smile and took Narcissa's hand.

"It only makes sense when the person is right. Why delay fate?" Lucius asked to gracefully cover the insult, but something hovered in his gaze, a nervousness that hadn't gone away since he joined the table. Narcissa returned a small smile to him.

"I agree," Mrs. Parkinson laughed, looking meaningfully at her daughter and Draco. Draco had turned redder than she'd ever seen him.

Anastasia raised her eyebrows and held her breath as she ate. The faster she finished, the faster she could get away.

"Patricia, behave yourself," Madame Zabini scolded in a whisper. "They are our hosts."

Mrs. Parkinson ignored her.

"Besides, I thought you'd be happy, Cissa. Wouldn't want your little science experiment tainting another sacred bloodline," Pansy's mother continued laughing, but even Lucius stared at the woman as if the comment was off color at the dinner table.

Anastasia, having held her tongue for long enough, placed her napkin down and rose from her seat.

"Ah, yes, excuse me, the science experiment, for even considering tainting a sacred bloodline with that of two Hogwarts founders and a man who was once selected by a Qilin as one of the purest wizards in the world."

The table fell silent. Blaise bit down on his smirk as Mercucia hid her laugh behind a cough. Anastasia was pleased to see Draco's neck turn pink under the collar in embarrassment. Knowing she would not get a moment alone with Narcissa at this rate, she cleared her voice.

"May I be excused?" she directed towards Narcissa and Lucius, hoping not to make a fuss. "I need some air."

Lucius nodded tersely.

"Yes, of course, darling." Narcissa spoke the last word. The term of endearment was meant only for her, but the whole table heard it. Anastasia felt a surge of joy as she walked gracefully out of the dining room, leaving the fumes radiating off Pansy and Mrs. Parkinson, and the echoes of Draco's embarrassment in her wake. She escaped across the large den, and out the glass doors to the garden.

Anastasia stared as the water flowed down the stream, under the bridge, and into the tiers of flowers and shrubbery. Hydrangeas bloomed. Sun sparkled off the water and warmed her skin. She wanted to absorb the beauty of the grounds while she had it. Despite performing elegantly under pressure that day, she knew the conversation had been strained due to her presence. It was only because of her godmother's good graces that she was invited at all.

A well-dressed figure appeared on her right.

"Couldn't take another moment of Pansy shimmying up to your man?" Blaise asked, swirling his wine in hand.

Anastasia looked up at his dark eyes and smiled.

"Couldn't take another moment of pretending to be whatever I am in that house. And now that Draco and I aren't together, what's even the point?" She picked up a pebble off the bridge and threw it over the side, it tried to float away, but hit another, larger group of rocks and stuck.

"You and I are two of a kind," Blaise drifted off. Anastasia frowned.

"How so? Last time I checked you were the heir to a multimillion galleon robe company."

"This isn't about money, princess. This is about blood. The bastard children. The freaks of nature. We can pass, but we can never be them. That's the long and short of it. We might have pure blood, but not the documentation to prove it."

"What is up with the Sacred 28 thing?" Anastasia asked. "Seems stupid."

"Twenty-eight families that are certified pureblood in the UK…it's not that many, princess. That's what makes this whole escapade a falsehood. As soon as they're born, they're competing for each other's hands."

"I would never want to spend my life like that."

"You and me both," he confirmed.

Anastasia felt her heart crumple.

"If Pansy hadn't thrown that drink at me…maybe Draco and I would have been together a little longer, but eventually, all this," she gestured to the mansion's grandeur, "would have eaten me alive one way or another."

Blaise looked at his drink and then up at the house.

"I think you underestimate yourself, princess. And I'm not just saying that because I'm tired of Pansy hanging around…which I am, but I truly believe that if anyone could break the mold in this world, it's you."

Anastasia looked away.

"I'm with Fred, Blaise."

He laughed darkly.

"For now," he took another sip. "But you don't see how Malfoy looks at you across the classroom even when Pansy's sitting right next to him. And Malfoy doesn't see that when you're staring off into space at dinner, you're actually staring at the back of his head."

Anastasia frowned, not even realizing she'd been doing that.

"Blaise, please don't say—"

"I'm not going to ruin your relationship with the bookend. If that's what you're thinking. You're not necessarily doing anything wrong. But it's obvious your heart is somewhere else…and how can it not be when you're tied together with a lifeline?" he asked, purposefully revealing his hand.

Anastasia stared at the bridge. She wasn't surprised that he knew. He was Draco's best friend after all.

"I love Fred," she said hesitantly, but the words sounded awkward, felt awkward, like they shouldn't be coming out of her mouth, much less hanging around in her head.

Blaise just smirked and looked out at the sun beaming over the clouds.

"Sure…you have puppy love with the bookend who's older and smarter and more mature than the one you're tied to. But do you want him?"

"Do I want him?" she asked, not understanding.

"In the evening, Stasia. Or in the morning. When you're lying all alone who do you think about?" he asked mischievously.

"That's none of your business." Anastasia blushed, but she knew the answer.

"See…" he said. "Has the bookend even tried to get past first base?"

"Base?"

"Has he tried to get in your robes?" he asked more blatantly.

"No," she admitted, face burning, and remembered Draco's hands sneaking up her shirt as they snogged...and how she let him, and she missed it.

Blaise smiled in triumphant condescension.

"Weasley sees you as a pet…a princess to save on occasion. Not an equal. You should fight for who's yours, Dumbledore. That's what he's waiting on. Crushed him after you said you wouldn't take him back. Now he thinks the Sacred 28 is all he's good for."

"I won't betray Fred," she repeated.

"It's not betrayal if your whole heart never belonged to the bloke," he finished his drink, pushed off the banister and waved as he walked away in the direction he came, "ta-ta!"

"But wait, where are you—" Anastasia didn't understand why their conversation had to end until she heard her name.

"Anastasia! Anastasia, quickly—" a clatter of heels on the wooden bridge rushed toward her as Narcissa approached on her right.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Narcissa swallowed, catching her breath.

"I'm sorry to ask this of you. But there's been a terrible emergency. None of the other midwitches are on duty. I need your help. A patient has gone into labor dangerously early."

Narcissa's hand hovered over Anastasia's arm. The woman's eyes bore into her own, politely, urgently waiting for confirmation.

Caught off guard, mouth slightly ajar, Anastasia nodded.

And the two midwitches apparated away.