Draco
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The journey back on the Hogwarts Express was gloomy. Looking around at his friends, Draco remembered with nostalgia the journeys of their first years. When everyone laughed, exchanged sweets and chatted enthusiastically about the year to come, or the year gone by. That was no longer the case.
It was one of the many things that had changed in Draco's life.
Since the end of the Third Task, the atmosphere had been terrible. The tension that had built up since Diggory had returned dead had not abated. There was a palpable fear in the Castle that made Draco terribly uncomfortable.
It was a good thing that Professor Snape had taught him Occlumancy, because he would have found it very difficult to cope with this level of stress if it hadn't been for this escapade. Whenever Draco felt overwhelmed, too emotional, or on the verge of a panic attack, he would meditate and manage to sort out his thoughts. Oddly enough, it helped him to calm down. It was as if, by clearing out his mental library, he was also clearing out his life.
He hadn't seen Granger since. And yet he had been waiting for her. Every night after the Third Task, he had gone to the secluded table in the Library, but she had never come. Draco had finally given up. She probably never wanted to speak to him again. He had left the money for the bet on the table and never returned. He understood her decision, even though it was terribly painful.
Draco looked around the compartment.
Pansy was lying on the bench, her head half resting on him. She pretended to be asleep, but Draco could see her eyes open occasionally. She had cried a lot the night of Diggory's death, and the heavy lines of fatigue on her pale face showed it all too well.
Blaise was across from them, reading a Quidditch magazine. He hadn't said much since the Third Task. From what Draco had heard, he had also broken up with Daphne. Draco had rarely seen his best friend so sad.
Theo was the worst of the four. He still hadn't gotten over the horrible moment when Potter had returned. He tried to pretend he was reading his book, but Draco could see that his eyes were far away. Every once in a while a spasm would go through his body and he would curl up further into the seat. Draco remembered hearing him crying in his bed the night before.
But he wouldn't have been able to laugh. He was in the same state. Diggory's death had upset him, much more than he let on. He too could see his frozen body landing on the grass before he fell asleep. He could still hear the wailing of Diggory's father as he knelt beside his son. He imagined, against his will, what they might have seen that night and it kept him awake.
The combination of that dark evening and Granger's silence was hard to bear. He had avoided looking at her, for his own good, but had failed more than once. Granger had the same stunned expression as his three friends. She too was as shaken as ever. He had seen her crying at the memorial service.
Draco, on the other hand, hadn't shed a tear.
He was slightly startled when Pansy opened her mouth, breaking the silence that had reigned in the compartment for hours:
"No one seems to be talking on the train."
Draco listened. Usually, the thin walls of the compartment let in the muffled conversations of the other students. Often, a few of them would run past the door, laughing. This time, however, all was silent. Draco could only hear the faint rumble of wheels against rails.
"Yeah.'" Draco confirmed quietly. "It doesn't seem like anyone wants to talk about it."
"That's to be expected." said Blaise, barely looking up from his magazine. "It's only been a few days. Everyone's still a bit in shock."
"I can't believe you wanted to sign up for this, Blaise." Pansy said as she stood up to look Blaise in the face. "If you'd been cast in Diggory's place... If it had been you... You who would have come back like this..."
Pansy shivered. She suddenly found it hard to breathe. Draco wrapped his arm around her and Blaise leaned over to take her hands in his:
"It's not the case, Pans'. I'm right here." he said to reassure her.
Pansy nodded and calmed down a little. Draco didn't remove his arm, though. He could feel the shivers running through his best friend's body.
"Thank Merlin it wasn't you." she said almost defensively. "Potter looks like he's come back from the dead, Merlin knows what he saw."
"He does look a mess." Blaise commented as he let go of Pansy's hands to settle back into his seat.
"I feel sorry for him." Theo suddenly interrupted in a husky voice.
"Why?" snorted Pansy. "I don't really feel sorry for Potter, it's given him an excuse to put on his show as usual. He'll be telling lies again just to scare people when everyone knows he's a complete madman."
"He saw someone die in front of him." Theo replied, suddenly angry. "Even if he's lying, he still witnessed something horrible, how can you not feel sorry for him?"
"You don't even know him. You've never spoken to him." Pansy shot back, also on edge.
"Yes, I have!" challenged Theo. "He asked me where your precious Divination class was at the beginning of the year..."
"... And that was how you got to know him?" said Pansy, heavy with sarcasm. "Why do you care so much about what people are going through? Who cares about Potter, we never liked him!"
"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that we can feel for him!"
"That's enough!" interrupted Blaise, seeing that Theo and Pansy had raised their voices considerably. "There's no point in getting upset about it. Everyone deals with their grief as they see fit. If Theo feels bad for Potter, he has every right to. The important thing is that we're fine."
Theo sank back into his seat. He was a little red, but Draco didn't know if it was from anger or the urge to cry. He went back to reading in silence, his face hidden by the curly hair that had grown back since the Ball. Pansy muttered something between her teeth and lay back against Draco, sulking.
Draco looked around the compartment again and noticed that Blaise wasn't quite right. None of the four of them were really fine.
He preferred to meditate rather than think about it any longer.
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Hermione
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As the sweet trolley passed in the corridor, Hermione grabbed her purse and got up to go and buy something. She was starving and she knew the boys were too, they hadn't had the strength to eat much lately.
The lady in the carriage asked for a Galleon and twelve Sickles, and Hermione blushed slightly when she saw Draco's Galleon coins in her purse. His note was folded next to it, and next to it was another note that Viktor had given her a few hours before the train left, with his address in Bulgaria so that they could send letters to each other. Hermione was glad to be able to keep in touch with him, but she had a feeling that Ron (or Draco) wouldn't be too pleased to see it.
She hurriedly put her purse away and brought back the sweets, which she placed on the small table in the compartment. Ron and Harry thanked her and each took a Chocolate Frog. Hermione took a Sugar Quill and chewed absently as she read the Daily Prophet.
She saw Harry looking worriedly at the front page and immediately reassured him:
"There's nothing in there. You can look for yourself, but there's nothing at all. I've been checking every day. Just a small piece the day after the Third Task
saying you won the Tournament. They didn't even mention Cedric. Nothing about any of it. If you ask me, Fudge is forcing them to keep quiet."
"He'll never keep Rita quiet." Harry complained. "Not on a story like this."
"Oh, Rita hasn't written anything since the Third Task." Hermione replied. "As a matter of fact, Rita Skeeter won't be writing anything at all for quite a while. Not unless she wants me to spill the beans on her."
"What are you talking about?" asked Ron.
Hermione felt a small surge of excitement. She'd been waiting for the right moment to tell them what she'd been up to and she couldn't wait to finally reveal it.
"I found out how she managed to eavesdrop on private conversations when she wasn't allowed to set foot in the school again." she said mysteriously.
"How?" asked Ron, full of curiosity.
"It was you, Harry, who gave me the idea." she said with a small smile.
"Me?" Harry asked in astonishment. "How?"
"Bugging." Hermione said happily.
"But you said they didn't work..."
"Oh, not electronic bugs." Hermione said. "No, you see, Rita Skeeter is an undeclared Animagus. She can turn... into a beetle." she announced triumphantly, taking the jar out of her pocket.
She showed them the insect in the jar. The two boys leaned over it in amazement.
"You're joking!" exclaimed Ron.
"No, it's her. I caught her on the windowsill in the Hospital Wing. Look closely and you'll see that the marks around her antennae are exactly the same as her hideous glasses."
Ron leaned closer, wrinkling his nose as he analysed the insect.
"There was a beetle on the statue the night Hagrid told Madam Maxime about his mum!" Harry realised.
"Exactly." Hermione replied. "And Viktor found a bug in my hair when we had our talk by the Lake. And if I'm not mistaken, Rita must have been on the windowsill the day your scar hurt during Divination class. That's how she managed to get all her information."
"And when we saw Malfoy under the tree..." Ron said slowly.
Hermione jumped a little, as she did every time Ron or Harry mentioned Draco's name next to her. The scene where they had seen him talking to Skeeter under the tree in the courtyard seemed like months ago, even though it had only been two weeks. Hermione looked at one of the leaves she'd put at the bottom of the jar so her two friends wouldn't see the pain in her eyes.
"It was in his hand and he was talking to it." she explained, her throat tightening. "He knew, of course. That's how she got those nice little interviews from the Slytherins. They didn't care if she did anything illegal as long as they could tell her horrible things about Hagrid and us."
Hermione chose to change the subject. She shook the glass and watched as the beetle pressed its ugly head against the glass.
"I told her I'd let her out when we got to London." she explained. "I've used an Unbreakable Charm on the jar, you see, so she can't transform. And I've told her she's to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can't break the habit of writing horrible lies about people."
She put the quill back in her bag and realised, with surprise and pain, who she looked like. It was a typical Slytherin plan, full of revenge. Hermione looked like Draco. She had often complained about his antipathy, and yet she copied him, just as he copied her badges. They looked more and more alike.
She thought about it for a long time while the boys continued their conversation. She looked out of the window at the green trees. Fred and George arrived in the compartment and brightened the mood, but Hermione's mind kept going back to a certain blond boy a few compartments away.
When they arrived in London, she looked for him in the crowd. She couldn't stop herself. When she spotted Blaise Zabini, who was taller than everyone else, she had no trouble recognising Draco in the crowd. He had his head down and was following Parkinson, who was smiling as she made her way towards Narcissa Malfoy a little further on. Hermione hated knowing that this was her last memory of him before the summer: overwhelmed, depressed. She could hardly believe that this was the boy she had spent every evening in the Library with.
Fred interrupted her contemplation by putting an arm around her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. Suddenly she came back down to earth and smiled at him, which he returned. They all made their way over to Mrs Weasley who hugged them one by one, especially Harry.
Harry's uncle, a bloated man with a face as kind as a brick, stood next to Mrs Weasley. He didn't even greet Harry when he saw him.
"See you soon, Harry!" Ron said, giving Harry a friendly pat on the shoulder.
He too was looking at Mr Vernon with hostility.
"Bye, Harry!" Hermione said in turn.
Caught by a sudden pang of compassion for her best friend, who was about to spend an entire summer with this man, she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled tenderly at her and reluctantly followed his uncle.
"Hermione, dear, where are your parents?" asked Mrs Weasley, looking around.
"They're waiting for me over there." Hermione said, pointing to the other side of the station.
"We'll come with you, then." decided the mother of the family.
"Oh, that's really not necessary, Mrs Weasley..."
Ron nudged her gently to pick up her trolley full of luggage.
"Of course there is! Besides, I'd love to see them again." Molly said, and the whole group started walking towards the exit.
Hermione thanked them, secretly suspecting Molly of making sure she got home safely. Paranoia was at its height that July, ever since that terrible night.
They walked through the crowded station. Many of the students had trolleys and were struggling to walk without bumping into each other. Mrs Weasley pushed Ginny's and she took the opportunity to put her arm around Hermione. They hadn't had much of a chance to talk since the Third Task, but Hermione could sense that the redhead wanted to send her a message of support. Hermione tightened her grip with a small smile.
Hermione quickly spotted her parents. It was hard not to recognise them in this strange crowd. They looked curiously at the other students. Danny stood next to them. Hermione was struck again by his physical changes. He had grown taller, like Ron, and his hair was even longer on his forehead.
When they saw Hermione, the three of them smiled at each other. Hermione was so happy to see them again after so long that she was tempted to run and hug them, but she held back in front of Ron's family.
She saw her mother staring at Fred's arm, still resting on her shoulders, and realised with horror that she must have thought it was him, the boy she had mentioned in her letter.
"Mummy, Daddy!" she said as soon as she was close enough to kiss them.
She stayed in their arms for a long time, enjoying the hug that she had missed so much this year. The smell of her mother was as comforting as ever: a musky, cottony scent that Hermione breathed in for long minutes before she was finally able to let go.
Then, she wrapped her arms around Danny's neck to hug him. He hugged her even tighter with an affectionate "Mimi!" When she pulled away, she saw the confused look on Ron's face.
Molly greeted her parents too, and thankfully the Weasleys seemed to understand that Danny was a Muggle and didn't know anything about the wizarding world, as they didn't mention anything suspicious.
"Mione, you've got to come and visit us this summer!" blurted out Ginny as they parted.
"Oh yeah, you'd better!" said Fred. "Don't forget, you've got a dare to complete..."
He winked at her and Hermione tensed as she realised he was talking about her chess defeat and her dare to ride a broom.
Ron, against all expectations, gave her a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye, too. Hermione was delighted, but she had a feeling he was doing it on purpose in front of Danny. Ron took one last look at him, his eyebrows furrowed, and followed his family out of the station.
When they were alone again, Hermione hugged her family again. As she released her grip on her father, he exclaimed:
"My God, you've grown! You're going to outgrow me soon!"
"No, I'm not..." Hermione began, laughing.
"Hermione! Your teeth!" her mother suddenly shouted.
She had slightly forgotten that detail. She hadn't told her parents about the incident with Draco. She reflexively closed her mouth and looked at Danny.
"Oh, you're so lucky!" he exclaimed in surprise. "It took me at least two years to straighten mine, and yours shrank in less than a year!"
"That's the advantage of having dentist parents." Hermione said with a slightly embarrassed smile. "They gave me the best braces."
Danny burst out laughing and so did Hermione's parents. But their eyes still hadn't left her mouth. She sighed in spite of herself as she thought of the discussion they would have once Danny was gone.
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Danny stayed until dinner. It was a very pleasant evening for Hermione. It made the horrors of the end of the year seem strangely far away. It was hard to worry about the wizarding world when she was having such a good time at home. Her family's Muggle problems were insignificant: neighbourhood problems, an emergency at the practice, Danny's bad marks in Literature... Still, it was refreshing to hear. Hermione laughed more in one evening than she had in a month.
Crookshanks seemed to like his new summer home as well. He curled up into a ball on Hermione's father's lap, purring as he stroked his ears affectionately. Hermione ate appetisingly, which was also quite a change from her last few days at Hogwarts.
At the end of the meal, Danny thanked his parents warmly and they insisted that he was always welcome. Hermione was touched by the fact that her parents continued to see Danny regularly, even when she was away. She was relieved to see that they hadn't been too lonely during the year.
He returned home and Hermione's parents rushed to ask the questions they'd been holding back since the station.
"So how did the last Task go?" her mother asked impatiently.
"You haven't sent us anything since! We're dying to know!" her father said.
Hermione looked at her parents hesitantly. Here, in the warmth of her home, soothed by the orange blossom tea her father had prepared for her, and far from the turmoil and misery of the past few days, it was difficult to plunge back into painful memories. Hermione bit her lip.
"Well... Harry won. Tied with Cedric."
It was the first time she'd lied to them face to face. She saw her parents raving, congratulating Harry, offering their own theories, asking for details.
So Hermione told them, imagining it had really happened like that, just for one night.
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Hermione's parents were not happy with her new teeth. They told her several times that she shouldn't play around with changing her appearance with magic, that it could cause confidence problems. Hermione's mother even showed her "before and after" photos of plastic surgery from magazines she'd collected in the waiting room at the practice. No matter how much Hermione explained that it was a simple corrective spell with no consequences, they were still upset.
They were especially angry that Hermione hadn't warned them. And she understood their grief: it must have been difficult not to have news of their only daughter, especially such important news. So Hermione agreed to be examined by her father in the practice so that he could analyse her teeth. He seemed reassured and they didn't talk much about it after that.
Muggle life went back to normal. Hermione tried to get back into the simple rhythm of summer life. She read on the bench, ate with her parents and went to the park with Danny.
The day after she arrived, she went to the local park where Danny spent most of his summer. As she passed through the gate, she checked to see if anyone was around and picked up the jar she had put in her pocket. The big black beetle was waiting, tapping the bottom of the jar with its paw.
Hermione looked at the insect for a moment. To any passing Muggle, Hermione might look like an insect collector. But in reality, she had the most horrible reporter in the wizarding world at her mercy.
She opened the jar wide enough to whisper into it:
"Remember our agreement. If you write a single article between now and next summer, I'll tell the Ministry everything."
The beetle flapped its wings impatiently. Hermione nodded and turned the glass upside down on the grass. The insect dropped to the ground and flew away.
Danny was already there, sitting on his favourite bench. He waved to her and she waved back. As she approached her friend, she tried not to think about another bench hundreds of miles away.
"Hey Mimi!" he said cheerfully.
"Hey Danny. What are you doing?"
Danny proudly showed her the sheet of paper he was holding: it was a pencil drawing of the outline of the small pond in the middle of the park. Hermione was surprised at the progress Danny was making between each drawing.
"It's beautiful, Danny." she exclaimed. "You know, I still have the one you sent me of the park you did in watercolour. It's in my dorm drawer."
Danny looked honoured. He smiled, his dimples poking into his slightly plump cheeks.
"And I keep all your letters in the one in my room." he replied. "You know, you're the only person in the world who can make me write so much. My teachers would be jealous."
Hermione laughed.
"I wish I could say the same to you, but I'd be lying."
"I don't doubt it." he said with a grin. "But I must admit, I understand you. I love writing to you, I can tell you anything and I know you'll respond. It's quite liberating."
Hermione agreed: there was definitely something liberating about the letters she wrote to Danny. It was like a diary, or a kind of escape from her overly hectic wizarding life. She loved being able to write to him without thinking he would judge her, he knew her too well.
"By the way, you never told me how the end of year inter-school tournament went." Danny said without stopping to draw on his paper. "Did Harry win in the end?"
"Yes." she said, her throat a little dry. "He won."
Danny nudged her in the ribs:
"See! Nothing to worry about after all!"
Hermione tried to smile. Thankfully, Danny didn't notice her sudden change of mood.
"Was one of the redheads I saw at the station Harry?" asked Danny.
"No." Hermione replied with a smile. "No, that was Ron's family."
"Wow, there's a lot of them."
"Seven children to be exact."
"Ron, was he the one with his arm around your shoulders?" asked Danny.
He was now in the shade of the pond. He was dragging the lead of his pencil to make grey blobs all around.
"No, that was Fred, his older brother." Hermione explained. "Ron, he's the one with the longer hair and the freckles."
Danny stopped drawing for a moment and looked thoughtfully up at the sky.
"The one who looked at me funny?" he guessed with a smile.
"Yes, that one." Hermione admitted.
"I see. And you two are together?"
Hermione felt the blood rise to her cheeks beyond her control. She was relieved that Danny was too engrossed in his drawing to notice her face.
"No. I thought... I thought he was going to ask me to the Winter Ball, but he didn't."
"Why?" Danny wondered.
"I don't know. His sister, Ginny, the one I was holding on to? She said he had feelings for me, earlier this year. I believed her at first, but since he didn't invite me, I figured it wasn't true." she said.
Danny let out a little laugh that shook his chest and made him miss his line.
"Oh, believe me Hermione, from the look on his face after you hugged me, I think he still does."
"I don't know." she admitted. "Maybe. But I was tired of waiting for him to make up his mind. Besides, he was a bit mean to me."
Danny turned to her, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Mean how?"
"Not much." she promised. "Just... enough to make me question my feelings."
She was careful not to tell him what had really made her change her mind. In fact, she didn't even dare tell herself. But every time she thought of Ron, her mind drifted to another boy who made her heart beat even faster. She pushed the other image away and sat up:
"Enough about me." she said, ending the conversation. "How's Sam?"
Danny then launched into an explanation of a story that had happened at school just before the holidays, and Hermione was lulled to sleep by the familiar hum of Danny's voice as she watched his hands busily working on his drawing.
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Hermione had always loved coming home after a long year at school. She loved the quiet life, free of problems and adventures. She loved reading on her bench with Crookshanks between her legs, or enjoying the sunshine in the park. She loved talking to her parents and living in their routine.
But this year something was missing.
At first, she thought she just wanted to talk to her friends. She sent a letter to Ron in the first week of July, then to Harry, Neville and Hagrid. But even after writing all those letters, the feeling of missing them remained. When Pigwidgeon came through her kitchen window one morning, she realised that Hermione wasn't really waiting for that letter. She was waiting for one she hadn't sent.
She was thinking of Draco. All the time, without warning, without her noticing. She wondered what his summer had been like. What he'd found when he got home. Was Lucius there? Did Draco know what he had done that night? Was his father instilling in him the same beliefs he'd had when he first arrived at Hogwarts?
Did Draco believe him?
Worry gnawed at her, but so did anger. She was mad at Draco. She wanted answers, explanations.
And most of all, she wanted to talk to him.
So one evening, when her parents were asleep and her room was pitch black except for the small lamp on her desk, Hermione took out a piece of paper and began to write the letter she wanted to send to the person she missed the most.
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Draco
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Life at the Manor was even worse than it had been at Hogwarts.
As soon as Draco stepped through the door, he felt dizzy with horror. He had forgotten how cold and unwelcoming the Manor was. The grey stone walls were the same as in the Slytherin Common Room, but they didn't give off the same feeling. Maybe it was because his friends weren't there to warm up the gloomy atmosphere.
He was happy to see his mother again, but even though she seemed delighted to see him too, he could see the anguish gnawing at her features. Like Pansy, she seemed to have cried a lot. Of course, she hid her true feelings behind her marble mask, but Draco knew her too well to know the hurricane that must have been raging inside her head.
After a few days, Draco understood why he felt so uncomfortable in this house that had once been his home. It was because he lived in constant fear of seeing his father.
Draco had always been afraid of his father. As a child, he had nightmares of him yelling at him, and during the day, he lived his nightmares. He considered himself lucky, though: his parents had always given him everything he wanted. But that didn't change his fears. No matter how many flying broomsticks Lucius bought him, Draco could never shake the feeling he had for his father.
For the first few days after his arrival, Draco was in constant fear. He jumped at every sound. He hid in his room. He only came down when his mother called him down for dinner, when he was sure she was alone. Yet she had told him that Lucius was away, at the station. That he was "at a meeting". Draco didn't understand if this word was a hidden meaning to his real occupations. What kind of meeting could Lucius Malfoy be attending?
In any case, it didn't make much difference. It was exactly the same as when he worked at the Ministry: he was rarely there. But that didn't stop Draco from being on the alert.
Draco used these long, lonely afternoons to indulge in his new hobby: meditation. At the Manor, where no one seemed to mind his presence, Draco could retreat to his mental library without fear of being disturbed. Snape had taught him enough to control his every thought.
He practised closing his mind as quickly as possible. He imagined an unexpected attack and concentrated on clearing his mind. Within a few days, Draco could do it in three seconds. These exercises were extremely tiring, but at least he slept well.
Satisfied with his progress, he spent more time in his private library. He studied his surroundings, trying to recreate the round table he loved so much. He could almost smell the cinnamon and the old books. He set about arranging each of his incriminating memories. Each shelf around the table represented someone. From left to right, Granger, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, his parents and himself.
He started by sorting out all the memories he wanted to keep to himself. He put them in several books on his shelves, then moved on to Blaise, Theo, his parents, and then Pansy. Pansy took the longest. He had so many memories of her. He meticulously arranged all their conversations by the fountain. Her promises. What she had told him about her father. The times she'd cried in his arms. And all the times they'd been physically close. He called this book "Under the Ivy."
He avoided the shelf on the far left. It hurt a bit to think of Granger. She was the one he most wanted to protect, the one he most needed to put away in his mind. But every time he tried to do so, he was suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. Every memory, no matter how insignificant, reminded him of how much he was in love with her. And when he opened his eyes and saw the dull, cold room he was in, he no longer had the strength to "endure" those happy memories.
So, when Draco became too claustrophobic in this huge Manor, he went to his second home: Blaise's house.
His mother wasn't surprised that he went away so often. He had almost taken up residence there. For the second half of the first week of July, Draco slept at his best friend's every night. He only went home once in a while for dinner and to get a change of clothes.
Draco loved spending time at Blaise's house. He felt free. He no longer felt the pressure, the fear of running into his father every time he turned into a corridor. They played Quidditch for hours on Blaise's life-size pitch at the bottom of the garden. He rediscovered the feeling of riding a broom that he hadn't had in a long time, and the adrenaline was as addictive as ever. Theo still lived with Blaise, so he'd lie on the grass and read a book while Draco and Blaise flew overhead.
Pansy came every afternoon. No one had come to pick her up at the station. Where her father usually waited for her, his house-elf was waiting, ready to Apparate her.
When she had arrived at the fountain on the first evening of the holidays, Pansy had explained:
"My father wasn't there when I arrived. I was alone in the Manor with my elf. I ate alone, and it wasn't until I'd finished that the elf explained that my father was at an important "meeting" and that he wouldn't be back for a few days. I have no idea when he'll be back..."
"It's the same for me." Draco had said, arms crossed and head turned towards the stars. "My mum says he's taking care of some unfinished business and he'll be back soon. What do you think he's doing?"
Pansy had shrugged, but she'd felt a shiver, so Draco hadn't asked any more questions so as not to add to her stress.
On the first Friday of the summer, Draco stayed at Blaise's all day. They played Quidditch for most of the afternoon and when Pansy arrived, the four of them stretched out on the grass to sunbathe and chat. Cooky, Blaise's house elf, brought them huge ice creams that wouldn't melt, and they enjoyed them, savouring the different flavours that were layered on top: vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, praline...
Draco dozed off as the sun warmed his face. Once he had finished his ice cream, he lay down on the grass and closed his eyes, lulled by the voices of his friends next to him, to catch a few minutes of sleep. He was just about to fall asleep... when a splash of ice-cold water hit him in the face.
He gasped and opened his eyes: Blaise was standing in front of him with a bucket in his hands, laughing. Given the way Pansy and Theo were soaked, Draco quickly realised what Blaise had done.
A gigantic water fight ensued. Pansy and Draco against Theo and Blaise. They sprayed each other with water as soon as they saw each other and Draco laughed so hard that he fell to the ground a couple of times. Blaise was very good at this game: he managed to finish almost dry, compared to Theo whose too long hair was dripping. It was an excellent afternoon.
So excellent, in fact, that when Draco returned (dried out by one of Cooky's spells) and took Pansy home, he was still lost in his memories of the afternoon. Thinking back to the moment when Pansy and Blaise had fallen in the mud after chasing each other, he opened the door to the Manor, a smile on his lips, and stopped dead in his tracks between the door and the hall when he heard his father's voice coming from the living room.
All the anxiety, fear and dread came crashing down on him. He froze and stood like a statue. He could hear Lucius's voice clearly from the living room.
His first instinct was to clear his head. He mentally closed his library and put it as far away from his mind as possible. He had practised this so much that it was done quickly, despite the stress. Then, when he had regained the neutrality of his brain, empty of any incriminating evidence, he closed the front door and walked quietly towards the living room.
"I can't, Narcissa!" said Lucius' sinister voice. "The Dark Lord asked me specifically. I have to do this. My hands are tied!"
His mother's voice replied, but Draco didn't understand what she was saying: it was too muffled by the thick wall between them. But Lucius' was loud enough for him to make out what he was saying:
"The next few months will be crucial, and our family will play an important role. I've failed him. I have to do this or I'll suffer the consequences. I'll be at the Ministry..."
Draco leaned against the wall, trying to understand what his mother was saying, but to no avail. She was mumbling her words too quickly.
"I'm in no danger." Lucius replied with a touch of gentleness. "Neither is Draco, so stop worrying. Besides, where is he?"
Draco heard his father's footsteps and hurried back to the front door of the Manor. When his father arrived in the hall, Draco pretended to enter.
"Ah, Draco, there you are!" said Lucius when he saw him. "Where have you come from?"
"From Blaise's." Draco replied, surprised to find that there was absolutely no fear in his voice. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, yes, I had some important business to attend to at the Ministry." Lucius replied evasively. "We'll eat in a few minutes."
Draco nodded. He was about to go upstairs to his room to get ready when his father approached. He froze. Lucius looked at him for a few seconds, then his face softened slightly and he placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
"You've grown a lot, son."
Draco didn't know what to say. He nodded again. His father withdrew his hand and walked away as if nothing had happened. Draco climbed the stairs at full speed before he was called back.
As soon as he reached his chambers, he closed the door and allowed himself to release the breath that had been caught in his throat ever since his father had touched him. He hated it. This feeling he got every time his father showed the slightest bit of affection towards him. How could pride overcome fear?
He tried to remember what little he had heard. His father was on a mission for the Dark Lord. Even though Draco knew He had returned, it was still frightening to hear his father talk about it. He was about to give in to his fear when someone knocked softly on his door, startling him.
He opened the door and looked down. It was Chubby.
"Your mother wants you to know that dinner will be served in about ten minutes."
Draco replied instinctively:
"All right. Thank you, Chubby."
The elf didn't hide his surprise. Neither did Draco. He had never addressed an elf so politely. He coughed and closed the door, then locked himself in the bathroom to change.
As he combed his Quidditch ruffled hair, Draco pulled himself together. His father couldn't hurt him. And even if seeing him made him nervous, the last thing he needed was for him to notice. He needed to be invisible and gather as much information as possible.
As a precaution, Draco took the five minutes he had left to meditate before going downstairs. He breathed slowly and closed his eyes. He knew Lucius wasn't a Legilimens, but the knowledge that his thoughts were safe reassured him immensely. What's more, by blocking out his memories, he wasn't thinking about them, and that relaxed him a little, though he didn't know why. It was as if the fragile Draco no longer existed. He could pretend to be someone else.
As he closed his library and pushed it as far away as possible from his mind, something surprised him. In the mirror before him, he could see his eyes darkening and his face closing. He had the same marble face as his mother, or Snape. Perhaps the successful result of an Occlusion.
He shook his head and checked his appearance before going back downstairs. He was much calmer than when he had come home. The prospect of seeing his father was not as alarming as before. He was rested. A tiny part of his brain had been cleared and he wasn't thinking about it any more.
When he reached the dining room, he was hardly surprised by the stately décor. His mother (and especially Chubby) had managed to make this room sumptuous in a matter of minutes. He stayed behind his chair until his mother arrived. She was wearing a green dress with a tight waist and a hairstyle that was far too neat for an ordinary evening. Draco noticed that his mother's eyes were also dark. She was Occluding, just like him.
They exchanged the briefest, most stern of smiles, then Lucius entered the room.
"Let's sit down and enjoy our meal." Lucius announced before taking a seat at the head of the table.
Draco and Narcissa followed. Chubby arrived to serve the father of the family a glass of wine. Then the food arrived and the three Malfoys ate without a word. Draco nibbled at his vegetables with no appetite.
From time to time he glanced at his father to his right. He had changed.
His father, like his mother, had always prided himself on his appearance. But tonight, Draco could see the small differences. He stood less upright, as if in pain. His complexion was waxy and wrinkles were beginning to crease his features. His eyelids were puffy. As he reached for his glass of wine, his hand trembled slightly.
Lucius caught his son's gaze and looked thoughtfully at his own glass of wine. Then he called out in a loud voice:
"Chubby!"
The elf appeared in the room.
"Pour some wine for my son. He's almost an adult now."
Draco said nothing. Narcissa started to protest, but Lucius stopped her with a look. Chubby poured Draco a glass of wine and Draco took the glass and swirled it, just like his father used to do. Lucius looked proud. Draco took a sip and found the taste too bitter, but showed no sign of it and drank the whole glass.
When Chubby refilled it, Lucius nodded with the shadow of a smile:
"I'm impressed to see how much you've grown, Draco." he repeated, taking another sip of wine. "How was your year?"
"I studied a lot." he replied. "I think I did well in my exams. I'll know in a letter in a few days."
"Very well, very well." Lucius replied without taking his eyes off him. "What about the Tournament? What did you think of it?"
Draco had a vivid image of Diggory's body landing heavily on the grass. He replied in an emotionless voice:
"I didn't like it. It stopped me playing Quidditch. Potter had been the centre of attention all year. And the students at the other schools were all stupid and full of themselves."
"Really?" his mother asked. "Even that Quidditch player you went to see at the World Cup? Kram?"
"Krum." Draco corrected dryly. "I'm not so keen on him anymore. He's a real prat."
"You shouldn't be hanging around with those people anyway." Lucius agreed. "They're traitors. Just like their headmaster, Karkaroff." His father grimaced in disgust. "Scum. He preaches values and runs away as soon as his Master returns..."
"Stop it, Lucius." Narcissa said. Her voice was commanding, but very calm. "I don't want to talk about this at dinner. Draco should be enjoying his summer."
"Our son has a right to know what's going on, Narcissa!" said Lucius, pounding his fist on the table in sudden anger. "He needs to know where he belongs!"
His mother pursed her lips but said nothing. Lucius picked up his glass of wine and turned back to his son:
"Draco." he said, and the latter felt the hairs on his arms bristle. "Now that the Dark Lord has returned, it's more important than ever that you respect the values of this family. You must be discreet. I want you to observe without interfering. And I want you to report back to me in writing if anything looks suspicious. The Dark Lord will be pleased to have you as a link between us and Dumbledore.
The fact that the Dark Lord might know of his existence was terrifying, but Draco merely nodded to hide his horror.
"Stay with your closest friends, the pure ones." Lucius continued. "Pansy, for example. Don't talk to the others. Do well in your studies. And make us proud, Draco."
He nodded again. He couldn't speak anymore. He was tempted to take a sip of wine, but he was afraid he would spit it out because his throat was so tight.
"He's got his strength back." Lucius said, his eyes suddenly empty. "And he'll want to come up with a new strategy to lure Potter out. He's even more furious that he managed to escape."
Escape? Potter had managed to escape from the Dark Lord? He had barely managed not to drown in the Black Lake...
Lucius stopped speaking and Draco resumed his meal. He tried to work out what his father meant by his warnings.
Chubby brought dessert and served them three slices of blueberry tart. Draco found it bland. He avoided looking at his father, who was brooding. Finally, when Draco had finished his last piece of tart, Lucius announced:
"I have to leave tomorrow on a Ministry mission. I don't know when I'll be back, maybe the end of the month."
Narcissa made a small noise, but when Draco looked at her, she hadn't blinked. Her eyes were as dark as ever.
"Alright. May I leave the table?" asked Draco. "I'd like to say good night to Pansy."
Narcissa nodded and he hurriedly pushed his chair back to leave. The atmosphere in the room was stifling and he felt like getting some fresh air. But just before he walked through the door, his father called out to him:
"Draco?"
He turned reluctantly. When he met Lucius's stern gaze, Draco wondered if he was going to blame him for his rendezvous with Pansy. His parents had always known, more or less, that they were seeing each other near the fountain, but they had never spoken about it directly. Draco was suddenly afraid that Lucius would forbid him to go out.
"I want you to stop talking to that boy, Nott." Lucius said abruptly.
"What?" asked Draco, who felt a huge weight crushing his chest. "Why?"
The hidden part of his brain prevented him from remembering Theo exactly, but he knew he loved him. He could never stop talking to him. This request was as painful as ending the nightly rendezvous with Pansy. It was unthinkable.
"His father told me that his son was disowned by the family because he didn't share Pureblood values." Lucius explained as if it were pointless. "I don't want you spending any more time with him."
"He shares my dormitory." Draco argued desperately. "I have to talk to him."
"I want you to stop being friends with him." Lucius said even more coldly. "Is that clear?"
Draco exchanged glances with Narcissa, who silently warned him not to say any more. He nodded:
"Very well, Father."
And he ran out the back door.
Once through the barrier, Draco found it easier to breathe. He took three deep breaths of fresh air to calm himself. He had been so tense during dinner that his arms hurt. He stepped out onto the grass and watched the sunset disappear behind the orange clouds.
Pansy was already there, by the fountain. She was wearing silk trousers, a blue nightshirt and white socks stained by the grass. Draco was so unaccustomed to seeing her in trousers that he lingered for a second on her covered legs, his eyebrows raised. She was lying with her arms behind her head and her hair completely dishevelled.
"Hey Draco." she said as she saw him coming.
"Hey. Why are you in your pyjamas?" he asked as he lay down next to her.
"Why are you in your evening clothes?" she asked as he did.
"My dad's back."
Pansy's curious look turned to concern.
"Oh. What happened?"
"He just warned me to stay away from the vermin and bring honour to the family, nothing new."
"Then why are you so stressed?" she asked.
"What?"
"I don't know, you seem... strange." she said quietly. "Like you're careful about what you say."
Draco realised he was still Occluding. He let go and his body instantly relaxed.
"I'm just a little tense. I didn't expect to see him tonight." he said with a sigh.
"Did he scream?" asked Pansy.
"No, not really. He seems a bit shaken. I heard him telling my mother that he has a mission to complete and that he has to do it. I think he's a bit... scared."
It was extremely odd that his father, so proud and dignified, could be afraid of anyone. Still, Pansy nodded:
"I would be too, if I had a mission for the Dark Lord." she said in a whisper.
"Has your father returned?"
"No." she said, taking a blade of grass between her fingers. "I imagine he's on some other mission."
The sun was hiding behind the clouds, casting a last beautiful light on the grass before it disappeared for the night. The water in the fountain splashed gently beside them. All the emotions Draco had felt since he opened the door to the Manor melted away. He was relaxed. Without thinking, he took Pansy's hand from the grass and simply said:
"I'm glad you're here."
She turned her head and looked at him for a long moment, then smiled:
"I'm glad you're here too."
They kept their hands intertwined as they watched the sky above them without speaking. Pansy's hand was as cold as his own. To feel it against him was comforting, familiar. When she was next to him, he felt as if he could breathe more easily.
The minutes passed and the sky grew darker. Draco was deep in thought when Pansy called out:
"Look, it's a full moon!"
He looked up and followed Pansy's pointing finger. Behind the thick clouds, he saw the shape of a round moon peeking through.
"It's a full moon in Taurus." Pansy explained. "Professor Trelawney says it's the most intense time of the year in terms of Astrology. She says that the full moon in Taurus is linked to Venus, the planet of love, so tonight will be all about love and fun. It's also a good time to introspect and start a new phase of the year, putting the bad stuff behind you."
"All in one night?" quipped Draco.
"No, silly. It's for the whole month." Pansy said seriously. "And each sign is affected differently, depending on the full moon. For example, I won't be able to sleep well."
"You've been hiding from me all this time that you're a werewolf, Pans'?"
"If you keep interrupting my lessons, I'll become one." she warned, not without a little laugh. "So, this full moon is going to be difficult for me, because I'm in astral opposition to Taurus. But normally, I'm getting rid of a weight I've been carrying for a long time. For you, this full moon will be an opportunity to take a new chance and move forward."
"I see. So if Trelawney is telling the truth, Blaise should have trouble sleeping, too?" guessed Draco.
"That's right." Pansy confirmed without the slightest doubt. "And as for Theo, he needs to take the first step in the project he's started. What do you think that is?"
Draco swallowed hard. His father's authoritative voice echoed in his head, but he shook it off.
"Probably the OWLs or some shit like that." he said with a mocking sneer.
The phrase was directed at two Virgos he knew, but he didn't want to think about the second one at the risk of knocking a few books off the shelves of his mental library. It was always so painful to think about her.
A bird flew past them, obscuring the moon for a second. Draco asked:
"Pans? Why do you like that crappy Divination stuff so much?"
He pointed to the sky in front of them with a vague wave of his hand. She smiled.
"I don't know. We all have ways of escaping reality, don't we?"
Draco was shocked to understand that sentence, much more than he would have thought. An escape. Blaise had Quidditch and girls, Theo had his books, Pansy had her Divination and Draco had a secluded table in a Library.
"Yeah. I suppose." he said in a breath.
They looked up at the sky. Draco was fascinated by the moon behind the clouds. From time to time they shifted enough so that they could see all of it.
"I'm going to bed." Pansy said after a moment.
She removed her hand from Draco's and rose gracefully to her feet. She dusted off her pyjamas and wished Draco a good night before heading back down to the bottom of the garden. He did the same.
The Manor was completely silent. Draco climbed the stairs as quietly as he could and arrived in his room without seeing anyone. He locked his door, went to the bathroom, changed his clothes and was heading for his bed when he heard a noise from outside.
He hadn't noticed the black figure behind his window. Leaning down, he realised it was an owl, tapping its beak against the glass. Draco opened the window quickly, wondering who it could be. He thought of Blaise, but he had never seen this owl before. It was mousy grey, and carried a small pouch around its neck: a post office owl.
Who could write to him at this time of night? He took the letter and paid the owl, who took off into the night. He looked at the envelope and frowned. No one around him used this kind of paper.
He tore open the envelope and opened the three-fold sheet. As soon as he read the first word, his heart leapt. He could recognise Granger's round handwriting anywhere.
He smiled like an idiot.
Dear Draco,
I didn't get a chance to talk to you after that dreadful Third Task. But I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask you. I'm very angry with you, so you'd better answer my questions or I'll never speak to you again. No deals, no promises, no Slytherin-like manipulations to get you out of this. I want the truth, plain and simple.
Here are my questions, in order of importance:
- Did you know what was going on all along? Did you know of the Dark Lord's plans? Did you predict the disastrous end of this Task? (If the answer is yes, you don't need to answer the following questions. I never want to speak to you again).
- Do you know that your father is involved? Harry saw him where the Dark Lord took him. He swore that he supported him and that he was still one of his Death Eaters. Are you aware that your father's beliefs go far beyond name calling?
- How long have you known Rita Skeeter's secret? There's no point in lying, I saw you talking to her under a tree in the courtyard of the Transfiguration. I know you told her terrible things about Harry. Don't you feel any remorse that you might have hurt Harry? That he had better things to do than see lies spread in a newspaper?
- If you weren't aware of Lucius' actions, have you seen him since the holidays began? How's your summer going?
And... one last question. Are you angry with me? Because I am, a lot. I hate that I wasn't informed. That you didn't tell me about Skeeter when I spent hours theorising in front of you!
But I want to know if you're mad at me. For something. We didn't get to see each other at the end of the year and I'm afraid you've changed your mind about me. Maybe you don't want us to spend time together, just like in December. Maybe Lucius's plans have messed with your head and you're the old Malfoy again.
I'd hate for that to be the case. Because as much as I resent you (immensely), I want you to know that I never stopped wanting to talk to you in the Library. If you do, just say so and I'll stop writing.
I hope you're having a good week anyway (even though I'm terribly angry with you.)
I look forward to hearing from you,
H.G.