Mon ange gardien

by virgules

We all know what Harry went through during his years at Hogwarts. But what happened where he wasn't looking? A love affair between his best friend and his nemesis...? Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, from first to seventh year, gradually fall in love during the real books. Chapter every Sunday evening!

85. 85 : merry christmas

Hermione

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Three days before Christmas, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione were escorted by Lupin and Mad-Eye to St. Mungo's to visit Arthur. Hermione had never been to the hospital before. So she was expecting a lot, but certainly not a dilapidated shop window with old, broken mannequins in the middle of London. But when Lupin leaned against the glass and whispered, "Good morning, we've come to visit a patient" Hermione wasn't even surprised to see the mannequin raise its hand to invite her forward.

"Come, Mione." Ron said, taking her arm.

Harry, Ron and Hermione walked through the window together, just like on Platform 9 . The interior was nothing like the closed shop Hermione had expected. It was a huge waiting room, with rows of green chairs stretching as far as the eye could see, occupied by patients of varying degrees of seriousness and Healers pacing up and down in mint-green scrubs. Hermione had time to spot a witch with a nose the size of a balloon, a ghastly pale man hiding his eyes from the sun streaming through the huge window, and a child whose skin and hair had taken on a chicken-yellow hue.

"It's on the second floor." Ron pointed out to Hermione when he saw her looking around in wonder.

Everyone headed for the stairs and Hermione followed, lingering for a few seconds at the paintings of the Healers on the hospital walls. Each one had a small sign underneath with the invention or accomplishment for which they were famous. Hermione recognized several names from her reading and bitterly regretted having left her wizard's camera at Hogwarts.

Mr. Weasley's room was relatively small, with a single window overlooking the hospital courtyard. The only source of light came from the globes hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the three beds. Ron had warned her that the man next to his father had been bitten by a werewolf, but she'd probably guessed it from his greenish complexion and the veins popping out under his eyes.

The Weasleys' father occupied the bed closest to the window. He had a tray of food on his lap, and several bandages covered his torso, arms, and neck. Several potion bottles lay on his bedside table, some half-empty.

Ron, Fred, George and Ginny took turns hugging their father, then Hermione and Harry approached the bed:

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley." Hermione greeted kindly, careful not to look at the bandages. "We've brought you a get-well present from Harry and me."

"Oh, how lovely!" Arthur cried happily.

She handed him the package, which he eagerly opened, his eyes wide with joy as he saw the contents:

"Oh, it's absolutely beautiful!"

He took out each of the screwdrivers and fuses to admire them, while Harry and Hermione exchanged an embarrassed look. Ron offered her some Muggle magazines he'd picked up on the way, to the delight of his father, who promised to read them that very day. Molly then approached the bed, her eyes slitted with suspicion:

"Arthur? Your bandages have been changed. Why did they change it a day early, Arthur? They assured me they wouldn't do it until tomorrow."

Mr. Weasley's smile fell from his face.

"What? No, no... it's nothing... it's... I..."

Seeing his wife's angry look, he gave in with a sigh and explained in a sheepish voice:

"Well... Don't get angry, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea... He's a trainee Healer, a lovely boy and very interested in... er... remedies... I mean, certain Muggle remedies... they're called stitches, Molly, and they're very effective for... Muggle wounds..."

Mrs. Weasley let out an angry hiss that boded ill for the future. Like a warning signal, everyone moved away from the bed: Lupin went to chat with the werewolf, and Fred and George muttered something about a cup of tea.

"Are you trying to tell me..." Mrs Weasley said, her voice rising with each word, "that you've been fooling around with Muggle remedies?"

"Not fooling around, Molly dear..." Mr Weasley replied pleadingly. "It was just... just something Pye and I wanted to try... Only, as luck would have it... that sort of injury... well, it didn't work out as well as we'd hoped..."

"Meaning?"

"Well... er... I don't know if you know what stitches are?"

Hermione winced as she suddenly realised what he'd done.

"I suppose that means you tried to sew your skin back on?" Mrs Weasley replied with a kind of mirthless laugh. "But really, Arthur, even you wouldn't be that stupid..."

"I think I could do with a cup of tea myself!" cried Harry suddenly, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny ran with him almost to the exit. As the door to the room closed behind them, they heard Mrs Weasley scream:

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA'?"

"Typical Dad." Ginny commented, shaking her head as they walked down the corridor. "Stitches... Nonsense..."

"You know, it works very well on non-magical wounds." said Hermione, who always had the reflex to defend Muggle techniques, even when they were less effective. "There must be something in the snake's venom that dissolves stitches or something. I wonder where the tea room is."

"Fifth floor." Harry replied.

They climbed the stairs where dozens of paintings of Healers hung. Unlike the ones in reception, they were smaller and spoke. On each floor they were given a dozen diagnoses for strange diseases Hermione had never heard of. On the fourth floor, a medieval wizard with a monocle shouted at Ron that he must be suffering from a very serious form of spattergroit. His ears immediately turned bright red.

"And what's that supposed to be?" he asked angrily.

The wizard walked across all the paintings, trying to keep up with him:

"It is, my young sir, a very serious affliction of the skin which will leave you with a cracked complexion and make you look even more abominable than you already are... See those unsightly marks on your face..."

"They're freckles!" Ron retorted indignantly.

Hermione could barely stop herself from laughing, so it took her a while to realise why Harry had suddenly stopped. She followed his gaze to the small window cut into the double doors that marked the entrance to the SPELL DAMAGE section. A man was watching them, his nose pressed against the glass, his blond hair neatly combed, his eyes blank, glassy blue. He was smiling with all his teeth, a smile that had earned him...

"Oh, my God!" Hermione exclaimed as she recognised the man. "Professor Lockhart!"

Lockhart pushed open the double doors and came towards them, dressed in his long lilac robes. Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the sight of him.

"Hello!" he greeted cheerfully. "I suppose you'd like my autograph?"

"He hasn't changed much." Harry muttered to Ginny.

"Er... How are you, Professor?" asked Ron in a small voice.

"I'm very well, thank you." Lockhart replied exuberantly, pulling a peacock feather that had seen better days out of his pocket. "So, how many autographs do you want? Now I can tie the letters together, you know?"

"Er... we don't need any autographs at the moment, thank you." Ron replied.

Hermione looked at Lochkart in amazement. There was nothing in his demeanour to suggest that he resented Harry or Ron for casting a spell on him in their second year. Hermione had been petrified at the time, but Ron had told her that he had knocked him unconscious, and had even boasted that he had performed an undiscovered feat of magic. She was beginning to seriously doubt that version of the story.

"Professor, is it safe for you to wander the corridors? Perhaps you should return to your room?" Harry offered gently, glancing towards the window.

Lockhart's smile slowly faded. He stared at Harry for a few moments.

"We've met before, haven't we?" he said.

Hermione gave Ginny a confused look.

"Er... yes, we have." Harry replied very slowly. "You used to give us lessons at Hogwarts, remember?"

"Lessons?" Lockhart repeated, a little confused. "Me? Are you sure? I must have taught you everything you know, I suppose? So, these autographs? Why don't we say a dozen, and you can give them to your friends and everyone will be happy!"

But just then the doors opened and a Healer in green scrubs poked her head through:

"Gilderoy, you naughty boy, what are you doing here?"

"I'm giving autographs!" exclaimed Lockhart with another beaming smile. "They want lots of them and they insist! I hope we have enough pictures at least!"

"Oh, Gilderoy, you have visitors! But it's wonderful, and on Christmas Day too! You know, he never has visitors, poor little lamb, and I don't understand why, he's so sweet, aren't you sweet?"

The Healer took him by the arm, her face beaming as if he were a particularly precocious two-year-old.

"He was quite famous a few years ago, so we're very hopeful that this taste for autographs is a sign that his memory is beginning to return." she explained to the group of "visitors". "Would you mind coming this way? He's in a special room, you know, always locked, he must have escaped... Usually the door stays locked... Not that he's dangerous! But he's a bit dangerous to himself, poor thing... He doesn't know who he is, he wanders around and can't find his way back... It's really nice of you to come and see him."

She opened the doors to let them through, none of them daring to tell her that they weren't there for Lockhart at all. As they entered the room, Ginny laughed a little when she saw that Hermione was tomato red and elbowed her in the ribs. If she made the slightest comment, she would die of embarrassment.

The Healer led Lochkart to the nearest chair, then pointed to the practically empty room around them:

"This is where our long-term residents gather." she explained in a low voice. "Those with incurable diseases caused by spells. Oh, of course, with intensive potions, a few therapeutic charms and a bit of luck, we manage to make some progress. Gilderoy seems to be regaining some of his self-awareness, and we've seen a very marked improvement in Mr Bode, who is gradually regaining the use of speech, although we don't understand the language he uses."

She pointed to another bed where a dark-haired man lay. He didn't move his head when he heard his name. Despite the many Christmas decorations, the atmosphere in the room was gloomy, and not even the bright smiles of the doctors and nurses could brighten it. The few beds were occupied by silent patients, staring at the ceiling or the small window in deep boredom. The back of the room was covered by a curtain, probably to protect the privacy of those who weren't receiving visitors.

"Well, I'll leave you to chat." the woman said with a broad smile.

Lockhart began signing photographs, which he threw at random to Harry, Ron, Ginny and her. Hermione was the only one to discreetly slip one into her bag. It was just a present for Lavender and Parvati. Maybe she could hang it up in the dormitory. Just as a joke, of course.

"Ah, Mrs Longbottom, leaving already?" the Healer asked from behind them.

Hermione turned as she recognised the name. The curtain at the back of the room had been opened to reveal two beds with two patients lying on them, but Hermione couldn't see them very well because they were hidden by the imposing figure of an elderly woman wearing a long green dress, moth-eaten fox fur and a hat topped with a stuffed vulture. Beside her, with a sullen stride and his head bowed, was Neville.

"Neville!" called Ron. "It's us, Neville! Lockhart's here! And you, who have you come to see?"

Neville jerked violently and when he recognised the small group gathered around Lockhart, his shoulders slumped as if someone had pushed him to the ground.

"Are these friends of yours, dear?" asked what Hermione thought was Neville's grandmother kindly as she walked towards them.

Neville was extremely embarrassed. He fled from everyone's eyes and seemed to want to disappear at all costs, practically ducking behind his grandmother who offered her hand to Harry first:

"Ah yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville always speaks very highly of you."

"Er, thank you." replied Harry, shaking his hand. He too looked embarrassed, though Hermione couldn't understand why at all.

"And you two are the Weasleys." Mrs Longbottom continued, extending her hand to Ron and then to Ginny. "Yes, I know your parents, they're lovely people... And you, you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville's told me about you. You've helped him out of a few scrapes, I understand?"

Hermione's heart clenched as she realised that Neville had told her about her. She shook his grandmother's hand with a polite smile.

"Oh, he's a nice boy." she said, turning to look at Neville. "But he doesn't have his father's talent, I'm afraid to say."

She indicated the two beds at the end of the room with a shake of her head so abrupt that the stuffed vulture in her hat began to wobble dangerously. Hermione's breath caught as she realised. Neville wasn't just embarrassed about introducing his grandmother to his friends. He was embarrassed because his parents were there.

Hermione knew Neville lived with his grandmother. She had always thought her parents had died in the war and had never dared to bring it up. She'd never thought they were ill. Poor Neville's face had taken on the same colour as Hermione's when she'd seen Lockhart again.

"What?" said Ron, stunned. Hermione had the overwhelming urge to stomp on his foot to shut him up. "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"

Neville's grandmother frowned and looked at her grandson:

"What's this? So you haven't told your friends about your parents, Neville?"

Neville took a deep breath as he stared at the ceiling and slowly shook his head, looking as if he was holding back his tears with difficulty. Hermione had rarely felt so much empathy for anyone; she desperately wanted to reach out and hug him.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of!" continued Mrs Longbottom angrily. "On the contrary, you should be proud, Neville, do you hear me? Proud! They didn't sacrifice their health and sanity for their only son to be ashamed of them!"

"I'm not ashamed." replied Neville in a tiny voice, still avoiding looking at them.

Ron stood on tiptoe to try and catch a glimpse of Neville's parents over his grandmother's shoulder.

"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it!" retorted Mrs Longbottom dryly, unmoved by her grandson's embarrassment. She turned to them and said, in a voice laden with gravity: "My son and his wife were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth at the same time as Ginny. Ron fell noisily back onto the balls of his feet. All three of them were mortified, but Harry didn't look surprised by this revelation: he scratched his head, looking everywhere but in Neville's direction.

"They were Aurors, you see." Mrs. Longbottom went on. "Highly respected in the wizarding community. Both very talented. I... Yes, Alice, dear, what is it?"

Neville's grandmother turned and Hermione jolted when she saw a frail woman dressed in a long white nightgown standing behind her. Her cheeks were sunken, and her eyes were so large they took up practically half her face. Her hair was short and dull, almost white. Yet Hermione recognized a bit of Neville in her worn features. They had the same eye color and the same cheekbones. The woman opened her mouth a little, but no sound came out. She held something out to Neville.

"Again?" said Mrs Longbottom, a little wearily. "Very well, Alice, dear, very well... Neville, I don't know what this is, but take it."

Neville had already held out his hand, into which his mother had dropped an empty wrapper of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum.

"That's very kind, dear." Mrs Longbottom said in a falsely cheerful voice, patting her stepdaughter on the shoulder.

"Thank you, Mum." Neville said in a low voice.

Hermione felt as if she'd been hit by a Stupefix, her legs frozen by the scene she had the misfortune to witness. It was as touching as it was upsetting. Neville's mother staggered back to her bed, and Neville gave Ron and Harry a provocative look, as if he expected them to burst out laughing, while Hermione honestly thought it was the saddest sight they'd ever seen in their lives.

"Well, it's time to go home." Mrs Longbottom sighed as she pulled on long green gloves, not at all disturbed by Mrs Longbottom's appearance. "It has been a great pleasure to make the acquaintance of you all. Neville, put this paper in the bin, she must have given you enough to paper your bedroom by now."

Neville nodded shyly and followed his grandmother to the exit. Before he left, he slipped the gum wrapper into his pocket with a shaking hand.
Hermione had tears in her eyes.

"I didn't know." she whispered blankly.

"Neither did I." said Ron and Ginny in the same tone, their eyes still on the door Neville had just closed.

"I knew." Harry confessed, clearly reluctant to share the secret.

The three turned to him.

"Dumbledore had told me, but he made me promise never to repeat it to anyone... That's why Bellatrix Lestrange was sent to Azkaban, because she used the Cruciatus Curse on Neville's parents until they lost their minds."

Hermione felt a terrible shiver run down her spine.

"Bellatrix Lestrange did that?" muttered Hermione in horror. "The woman whose picture Kreacher keeps in his lair?"

She turned her head towards the beds at the other end and a few tears rolled down her cheeks as she spotted Neville's mother sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the miniature version of a Mimbulus Mimbletonia that Neville had given her for Christmas.

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"There you go, Arthur..."

Molly pushed her wheelchair-bound husband to the end of the kitchen table in Square Grimmauld. He still had the bandages around his neck and arms, but he seemed to be in much better shape. He was wearing a Christmas hat and was smiling broadly at each of his children around the table.

"Daddy's home!" Mrs Weasley announced formally.

Everyone applauded. Several fairies flew around him, dropping snow on his shoulders and hair, and the light from the tinsel Sirius had hung on the tree behind him reflected off his red hair.

"Sit down, sit down!" called Molly cheerfully, and Hermione took her place at the large table between George and Ginny. A small pile of presents had been placed in the centre of the table, which Molly happily dipped into:

"Ron, this is for you, and Ginny, here's yours... Wait until you open them, I want to see your faces! Arthur, yours, Hermione... Fred, is that you?"

"No, I'm George, nice to meet you." replied the twin beside her.

"Oh, George, sorry!"

She handed him a parcel marked with a large G in red letters.

"Go on, open it!"

Hermione lifted the lid of the box to find a purple knitted jumper with the letter H on it and shared a knowing look with Harry, who had received the same in blue. Swapping Christmas sweaters during the year had become something of an unspoken tradition between them. There were also hazelnut shortbreads and balls of wool for her to practice her knitting.

Ron pulled out a scarf with an orange R on it, and Hermione smiled fondly as she watched Ron stand up and hug his mother tightly.

Hermione handed out her presents in turn: two homework planners for Harry and Ron, who could hardly hide their disappointment, a necklace with a water lily pendant for Ginny, two boxes of sweets for Fred and George, knitting needles for Molly and a light bulb for Arthur, which she had bought at the local supermarket and which he seemed to enjoy very much: he amused himself by turning it on and off with his wand for a good ten minutes.

Mrs Weasley began to serve Christmas dinner, and Lupin and Sirius agreed to put aside their parchments full of strange diagrams to sit down with them. Fred and George exploded crackers far too powerful to not be rigged, and offered her and Ginny the two stuffed rabbits inside.

Before everyone helped themselves to the food, Arthur stood up awkwardly, raised his glass and looked into Harry's eyes:

"A Christmas toast!"

Everyone around the table rose in turn and picked up their glasses.

"To Harry." Arthur said, his voice suddenly a little shaky with emotion. "Without whom, I wouldn't be here."

Harry dropped his eyes in embarrassment. Everyone around the table chanted in unison:

"To Harry!"

Then Hermione took a sip of champagne and almost choked as she felt the bubbles burst against the roof of her mouth. She didn't know that wizarding champagne was fizzier than Muggle champagne. Ron laughed mockingly as she swallowed hard. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Molly hug Harry and thank him warmly.

Hermione never thought her Christmas dinner could be so joyful after all the misfortunes of the past few days. Everyone was laughing, eating and looking at each other lovingly. No other members of the Order came to dine with them, and that was all the better. Molly, Arthur, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Harry, Lupin and Sirius were enough for Hermione. She watched everyone around the table with a smile on her face.

Her family.

Hermione enjoyed her Christmas dinner, eating everything Mrs Weasley had prepared. Sirius had put a lot of effort into the decorations: the house looked nothing like the one they'd lived in over the summer. The corridors were lined with tinsel to hide the dull colour of the walls, there was a delicious smell of pine and orange in the air, and Christmas music was playing on an old gramophone. At the end of the meal, George invited Ginny to dance and Fred asked Hermione, so a dance floor was improvised in the middle of the kitchen and everyone danced, including Harry, which was rare. Once again, Hermione regretted not taking her camera.

Sirius joined in, causing Ginny and Hermione to whirl around and laugh so hard their stomachs hurt. Arthur clapped his hands happily, and Molly, who had refused to join in, was finally persuaded by Sirius, who danced with her to her favourite Celestina Warbeck music. Ron spun Hermione around several times, and she pretended not to notice the blush on his cheeks and neck.

When the music changed, Hermione went to get a glass of water and watched George and Ginny practising a porté. Ginny ran to her brother so he could lift her over his head, but they landed in the buffet, knocking several plates to the floor. Molly ordered them into the living room to make more room by throwing successive Reparo at the dishes, although Sirius insisted they looked much better in a million pieces.

The "living room" was actually a huge long room that Hermione guessed was the former ballroom of the Black family. She could imagine Pureblood couples dancing in circles in this room and realised that there must be one in Malfoy Manor too. Draco must be at his mother's reception right now. She hoped he wasn't too lonely there. He'd told her once that he'd learnt to dance before Hogwarts, and she wondered if he was still obliged to practise his dancing skills, even when he was older. Maybe he was dancing with Parkinson...

Hermione was sipping her second glass of delicious homemade mead, her head resting on the back of the sofa as she watched Ginny leap into George's arms, when she noticed Lupin sitting in an armchair at the far end of the room. He was watching Sirius teach Harry how to turn around without hitting the carpet, his eyelids barely ajar, a tired smile on his lips. He was obviously fighting sleep.

Hermione poured herself another glass and walked over to him.

"Professor Lupin, a glass of mead?" she offered.

He looked up at her and straightened in his chair.

"Oh, gladly, thank you." he said, taking the goblet she held out to him. "And for the tenth time, Hermione, call me Remus. I'm not your teacher anymore."

"Sorry." Hermione said with an apologetic smile. "I'm too used to it."

He invited her to sit in the empty chair opposite him and Hermione sat down.

"You were the best teacher I ever had in my life." she said sincerely. "If only you had stayed, I wouldn't have had the pressure of failing my O.W.L."

Lupin grinned, as if her sentence had reminded him of a joke Hermione didn't know.

"You remind me of someone." Lupin explained.

"Oh, who's that?" asked Hermione.

"Me." he replied. "I was always worried about failing my exams too. You can ask Sirius, it used to drive him mad, especially when I'd get a good mark at the end, after I'd been telling him for weeks that I'd failed. You needn't worry, Hermione. Even with that shrew Umbridge, I'm sure you'll excel in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione thanked him and drank her mead to hide her rosy cheeks. Lupin returned to watching the dancers.

"How is he?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione followed his gaze to Sirius and Harry, but she couldn't tell who he was talking about. She didn't have to ask him to explain, because Remus went on:

"These visions... They must be very difficult to live with."

Hermione focused on her best friend, who was out of breath from dancing with his godfather.

"Yes." she replied honestly. "He feels guilty. He thinks he's the one committing all his crimes because of his... connection, with Voldemort."

Remus turned his head back to her, one eyebrow raised in surprise:

"You say his name?"

"Dumbledore says that fear of a name only increases the fear of itself." Hermione recited automatically.

Remus smiled, stretching the long white scars on his cheeks.

"That's true. So you think Harry has a connection to Voldemort?"

"Well... I know Harry isn't... "possessed" by him in the strictest sense of the word." Hermione said, feeling much more comfortable explaining her theories to Remus than to Dumbledore. "Ginny was possessed by Tom Riddle in her first year, and what she told me has nothing to do with Harry's visions. I think Voldemort made a connection with Harry when he tried to kill him that night. That's why Harry's scar hurts, and that's why he can see his thoughts directly, or scenes happening right in front of him. And... I don't think Voldemort himself knows about this connection."

Remus kept his look of surprise.

"I don't think so either." he admitted after several seconds of silent thought. "But I think that if Harry is suffering from these visions, then Voldemort must be going through the same thing. Surely he can see his thoughts, feel his emotions, maybe even catch glimpses of moments in his life."

Hermione suppressed a shudder at the thought of Voldemort having access to this. He'd had to see Ron, Neville, Hagrid, Ginny, herself.

"If that's the case, he needs to be careful." Remus continued in a more serious tone. "Because this kind of connection is unique. Voldemort won't hesitate to use it to destabilise Harry."

Harry tripped over his own feet and Sirius burst into a loud, barking laugh.

"I'll make sure he doesn't. Ron too." Hermione promised.

And she meant it. Her relationship with Draco would never again surpass her friendship with Harry. She couldn't afford to miss another vision, for whatever reason.

Remus nodded thoughtfully and sipped at his glass of mead.

Hermione liked talking to Lupin because, unlike most members of the Order, he considered her an adult. He had never underestimated her and seemed to value her opinions, which Hermione appreciated. It reminded her of her conversation with him about S.P.E.W. over the summer, when Remus had been the only one interested in her opinion on the treatment of house-elves.

She watched distractedly as Ginny and Fred waltzed in the ballroom and her thoughts drifted to Draco. She didn't really remember him from the fourth year Yule Ball: had he danced? Hermione regretted not catching a glimpse of him, as it would probably have been her only chance to see him dance. Hermione watched as Fred twirled his sister around and tried to imagine Draco doing the same. He'd probably be more formal, more rigorous. He'd certainly stand as straight as possible, his head held high, his steps precise.

Perhaps she could persuade him to show her when school started, with a sufficient deal.

She thought back to the Astronomy Tower, to the moment they had flown on the broomstick. In the panic that had followed, Hermione hadn't had time to enjoy those moments. She had been so overwhelmed with guilt at being away from Harry and Ron at that crucial moment that she hadn't realised how happy it had made her. She hated being divided like that, between love and friendship. She hated that Draco was so controversial. She wanted to share the happiness she felt every minute in his company, but she couldn't, at least not completely. She was forced to keep Harry and Ron in the shadows or Draco away from her, and she was unable to distance herself from either side. She had to find a balance.

Hermione unconsciously bit her lip as she thought about her nightly escapades, which were becoming more frequent. At first they were just innocent moments on a bench, but now that it was becoming a habit, she desperately needed to cover her tracks. She had to be more careful.

And the best person to ask was standing less than a metre away from her.

So Hermione took a deep breath, feigned indifference as best she could, and asked:

"Remus?"

"Yes?"

"How did you create the Marauder's Map?" she asked.

If Lupin was surprised by the question, he did nothing to show it.

"Well, I didn't create it all by myself." he said modestly. "I only contributed to it. First we mapped the whole of Hogwarts, including the secret passageways we explored thanks to James' Invisibility Cloak, then we cast several spells on it to track all its inhabitants and their movements, and another to lock and unlock it."

"And... which spell did you use to locate everyone?"

Remus considered her for a moment.

"Are you asking me this to find a way to hide from the map?"

Hermione tried as hard as she could to keep her face from showing that this was exactly what she wanted to do.

"Well, partly, yes. I think the Map, as brilliant as it is, can be a dangerous object, and I'd like to know its limits, to make sure I understand it in its entirety. Mr Weasley told me you shouldn't trust something that can act and think for itself if you can't see where the brain is."

Remus nodded with a small smile:

"That's good advice, although in this particular case I'd certainly reply that the brains are Sirius, James, Peter and myself." he said, a wistful wave crossing his features as he pronounced their names. "But it's a good initiative. So, the spell we used was the Homonculous."

Hermione frowned:

"I don't know that spell?"

"That's normal." Lupin replied with a hint of pride in his voice. "I'm the one who invented it."

"Really?!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Quite so. After we'd finished drawing the map, we came up with the idea of adding everyone in the Castle at that very moment, and Sirius then offered to track their movements. Of course, we were young and stupid; now I can see all the dangers we ignored in creating such an object. But at the time, we wanted to make the place our own, and besides, who wants Mrs Norris around all the time?"

"No one." Hermione agreed.

Remus nodded wisely.

"So Sirius suggested we use a Tracking Spell, but we soon realised that it would have been complicated to cast such a spell on everyone in Hogwarts. Besides, we wanted our map to last from generation to generation, and we would have had to locate every person who entered the Castle. That's when James realised we shouldn't put the spell on people: we should put it on the Castle."

Hermione was now completely absorbed in the story, her glass of mead forgotten and her question gone. Her mind was filled with images of four funny boys with a piece of paper, a cloak that was too small and a Castle that was too big.

"For weeks we've been trying to locate the room so we can put it on the map instantly." Remus explained. "That meant many sleepless nights in the Library. I don't need to describe the moment when the Gryffindor dormitory we were occupying appeared on the paper, it looked like we'd just won the lottery."

Hermione chuckled. Remus was drifting off into his memories, as if he was being transported back in time just by telling his story.

"After that, we decided to surround the whole Castle and add the movements that took place there in real time. It worked, but not very well. You could only see the humans, not the ghosts, not the animals, and in the case of James, Sirius and Peter, not the Animagi. Then, Peter had an idea. We had to name them."

"Name them?" repeated Hermione.

"Yes. We'd spent so much time locating each room that we'd forgotten that the footsteps that would be represented in them wouldn't just be ink. They'd be real people, with names, whatever they were. We tested our theory on Nearly Headless Nick and Sirius in dog form, and their names and movements were well and truly recorded on the map. That's when I invented the Homonculous spell, which is actually a mixture of all our ideas put into one spell. We encircled the whole of Hogwarts with it, and James found a way to lock and unlock the map with a phrase, a sort of variation on Alohomora."

Hermione knew that the Marauder's Map was a complex invention, but she hadn't realised how long it had taken to create it. She felt a deep admiration for her former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The latter took a sip of mead, his eyes lost in the emptiness. His shabby brown suit was becoming too big for him and there were dark circles under his eyes.

"If the Locating Spell is cast on the Castle, how is it possible to disappear from the Map?" asked Hermione.

The corners of Remus's mouth dropped, and Hermione wasn't quite sure if he was smiling.

"Well, technically, it is not possible to disappear from the Map." he said flatly.

Hermione's shoulders slumped in disappointment, but one word piqued her interest.

"Technically?"

This time, Lupin actually smiled.

"Technically." he repeated. "Four sixteen-year-old boys in possession of such a Map, it becomes a weapon. I was like you, I wanted to find the limit of the invention we'd just created, which was outstripping us more and more. Disillusionment spells, Invisibility spells, Polyjuice potions, cloaks, Animagi - nothing escaped the Map. So we created a kind of counterspell that would allow us to disappear from it for a few hours, that only we knew about."

"Which one?" asked Hermione, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Lupin's relaxed features hardened slightly as he asked:

"We both agree that this conversation is still based on protecting Harry?"

She felt the lump of guilt slowly rise in her throat:

"Yes. More or less." she replied vaguely.

Lupin looked at her and Hermione was sure he could see that she was lying. Hermione had often been told that she was not a good liar, but she hoped that a year of hiding her relationship with Draco Malfoy would help her to pretend. After a long moment, Lupin nodded softly:

"I trust you, Hermione. I know that whatever your intentions are, they are good and thoughtful."

Hermione's insides tightened as she heard his sincere tone. It reminded her of McGonagall when she'd come to the hospital wing after Hermione had messed up her dose of Polyjuice Potion. She'd trusted her, despite her rule-breaking. "I have great confidence in you, and I think Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley should be glad to have you by their side."

"We promised each other we wouldn't tell anyone, but I think that promise was broken when Peter betrayed us." Remus murmured quietly, the pain echoing in his every word. "And I suppose James and Sirius won't hold it against me. I trust you, Hermione. Use this spell wisely."

Hermione didn't answer, because she wasn't sure if what she was trying to do was a good thing. She knew that her wish to disappear from the Map had nothing to do with Harry. That it was a selfish desire to spend time with Draco undetected. But they couldn't stay away from each other, no matter how many times they tried, they always found their way back. With forgiveness and deals and promises. She couldn't function without Draco.

Remus didn't wait for her confirmation. He took out his wand and pointed it at her:

"Peribit ex charta." he pronounced, articulating each syllable.

A white glow came from Remus' wand and landed on Hermione's jumper. She felt no effect of the spell on her, but when she looked down at her hands, she was shocked to see her palm disintegrate until it was practically transparent, before returning to its normal form in less than a minute. It was as if she'd just put the Cloak of Invisibility over her hand.

"What..." Hermione began, stunned.

"If you were at Hogwarts, you'd be erased." Remus replied before she could even formulate her question. "The spell lasts four to five hours, I'd say."

She watched her hand return to its normal appearance, then raised her head to him:

"Thank you, Remus." she said sincerely.

He had taken on a serious, stern expression and for the first time since she'd known him, Hermione thought he looked old. He had always looked older than he really was, with his hair streaked with white, his features hardened by war and memories, and his back bent by transformations. But there, in the light of the ballroom chandelier, Hermione felt he'd just aged ten years.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you with my questions." she said sheepishly. "I imagine it must be difficult to delve into the past like this."

"Don't be." Lupin said. "It's always nice to remember the good times, even when you know the future."

He smiled then and Hermione imitated him.

"Hey, Mione! Come dance with us!" called Ginny from across the room. Hermione looked away from Lupin to see her best friend sitting on George's shoulders. Fred was hunched over the gramophone he'd stolen from the kitchen, presumably trying to get it to play something other than Celestina Warbeck's depressing songs.

Hermione was about to refuse when Fred tapped his wand on the machine, which played much more energetic music. Then he approached her, half walking, half dancing, and held out his hand:

"Will you do me the honour?" he asked in a fake aristocratic accent.

"Come on, Mione!" shouted Ron, who was standing next to the huge piano at the back of the room, his mouth full of cranberry jam.

Sirius had approached the gramophone and was flicking his hair back and forth, much to the delight of Ginny, who was laughing out loud.

Hermione gave in, standing up and taking Fred's hand, but before she left she turned back to Lupin:

"Are you coming, Remus?"

"Hm? Oh, no, thanks." he said, sinking back against the back of his armchair. "I'm a bit tired, you dance without me..."

Hermione was forced to follow the twin, and once in the circle, she could not stop dancing: between Sirius, Ginny and the twins, the energy was at its peak. Hermione could feel her heart beating against her skin after five minutes, and a film of sweat covering her forehead after less than ten. She danced with Harry and Ron, who amused themselves by spinning her faster and faster, climbed on Fred's shoulders to move in time with Ginny, and learned a particularly difficult head movement from Sirius that surely had nothing to do with the waltzes he must have learned as a child.

And when Hermione turned to call Lupin, he was asleep in his armchair.

.

.

---

Draco

---

.

.

Draco stood at the entrance to the Manor, where his mother had ordered him to stand to greet each guest. It was cold, no one had thought to cast a Warmth spell on him, the suit his mother had bought him was too tight, the music from the orchestra was deafening and Draco was in a very bad mood. For the moment, he didn't recognise anyone. Yet the guests passed by, so many that Draco wondered more than once how many pureblood families there could be in the world.

"Good evening, welcome." he said to a couple of ladies who were about to pass through the two huge doors.

One of the women, quite elderly and her hair magically dyed a very dark red colour, looked him up and down shamelessly.

"Salazar, aren't you the young Malfoy?" she exclaimed in a thick Scottish accent.

Draco gritted his teeth to keep from replying sarcastically. He was standing at the entrance to his Manor and his hair was blond, who else could he be?

"Yes, it's me." he replied instead, unconsciously lifting his chin.

"Ah, I recognised you at once, you're the spitting image of your father!" the woman said.

Draco held back a grimace. It was the tenth time he'd been told that tonight.

"Er, thank you. Please come in, don't stand in the cold."

... unlike me, he thought. The two women thanked him and entered the Manor, where Chubby served them two glasses of champagne.

Draco felt as if he'd spent three hours in fake, tense smiles and forced politeness. Women judged him and men shook his hand too hard, asking him where his father was and how much he looked like him. Some spoke French, others languages Draco had never heard. Most came in carriages, each more impressive than the last, the witches dressed in sumptuous gowns, green or red.

The peacocks were out. Draco was sure it was his father who had requested this. He liked to show off his wealth, and bringing a flock of peacocks into the garden fit in perfectly with his idea of grandeur. The beasts walked stupidly around the path, frightening several guests. Draco had never been too fond of the peacocks at the Manor, so he preferred to stay by the front doors to prevent any of them getting too close to him.

Draco felt so tight in his suit that he had to discreetly loosen his tie to avoid choking. He dimly imagined his mother's reaction if her son fainted on the steps of her Manor when a man approached the doors.

"Good evening, welco..." Draco greeted for the hundredth time, but this time, he stopped abruptly when he recognised the man in front of him.

Theodore Nott Sr.

He had short, grey hair and features marked by advanced age. His hands were twitching and the whites of his eyes were streaked with red veins, probably from the effects of the alcohol Draco could smell emanating from him. Everything about this man repelled Draco to the core. He reflexively reached into his pocket for his wand, forgetting for a moment that he wasn't supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts.

"Good evening." Nott Senior said quietly, as if he hadn't noticed Draco's change in mood. He looked over his shoulder to take in the interior of the Manor: "What a magnificent reception. My compliments to your mother, Malfoy."

Draco said nothing. All traces of false politeness had vanished. It was a good thing he was Occluding, because he was tempted to throw a Crucio right between his eyes and watch him struggle to the floor. He gripped his wand tighter at the thought. It was because of this man that Theo cried at night. It was because of him that his body was covered in scars.

How could he have been invited? How could he still enjoy his freedom after what he had done? He should be in Azkaban, not strutting around his Manor.

Nott Sr. looked behind Draco again and he realised he must be looking for Theo. A shiver ran down his spine as he imagined what he could do to him if he caught him. Torture him for defiling the bloodline, leave him for dead like last time.

Without realising it, Draco hissed through his teeth:

"Your son is not here."

The man looked away to stare at Draco and a wide, evil smile stretched across his face, revealing dirty, broken teeth. Theodore Nott Sr. was nothing like Theo's sweetness, so why did Draco recognise those almond-shaped blue eyes? Why did they have the same eye colour, when Theo's were warm and his father's cold and sadistic?

"I don't have a son." Nott replied.

Draco felt his hair bristle under his suit and took a step closer:

"Yes, you do." he spat. "And he's not here. You'll never see him again and you'll never hurt him again, you psychopathic piece of shit."

His voice trembled with menace, but Theo's father was unimpressed. He laughed, sending an alcoholic breath across Draco's face, who recoiled in disgust.

"We'll see about that." he replied in a low voice.

For a second, the two men looked at each other and Nott's smile sent a jolt of anger through Draco's body. He could feel his anger rising and blinding him, barely diluted by his Occlumency. At that moment, Draco's mother arrived at his back:

"Mr Nott, what an honour to receive you."

She approached, close enough to stand beside Draco, but not close enough to Nott to extend her hand. She was wearing a dark green dress with lace sleeves, and a red bow in her hair. Draco didn't miss the way Nott ogled her, and his anger rose even more, he could almost feel it bubbling in his veins.

"The same to you, dear Narcissa." the man said in a smooth, drunken tone. "Thank you for the invitation. I was just looking for Lucius, do you know where he might be?"

"I think I saw him near the buffet earlier." she indicated, pointing to the ballroom at the end of the hall. "Please come in."

Nott bowed his head respectfully and walked between Draco and his mother, leaving behind a rancid odour that made Draco wrinkle his nose. He didn't even wait until Theo's father was far enough away before turning to her:

"What the hell is he doing here?!"

Narcissa raised her eyebrows in outrage:

"Draco!" she whispered, looking around to make sure none of the guests had heard him. "Don't speak to me in that tone!"

"I don't care about my tone, I want to know what the fuck that man is doing in my house!" he shouted, pointing inside the Manor.

Narcissa's hand clung tightly to Draco's arm and she led him into the garden, probably to avoid anyone hearing them from inside. When they reached the patch of grass hidden by the shade of an olive tree, she released him.

"I don't know, it was obviously your father who invited him." she said in an annoyed whisper. "You know very well what I think of him, I'm no more enchanted with the idea of having him here than you are."

Draco doubted that very much. She wasn't the one who saw the scars on Theo's shoulders every time he changed into his pyjamas.

"If Theo had been here, can you imagine what would have happened?" asked Draco, not bothering to lower his voice. He was far too distracted to remember that the guests were nearby. "He would have hunted him down to punish him! He would have killed him, Mother!"

Narcissa trembled, but her grey eyes were hard and cold. She was Occluding, just like he did, and much better.

"I don't think he would have been capable of such an act..." she said, and Draco could see that she was not convinced by her own words.

This answer did nothing to ease the anger he felt at that moment.

"Really? What about during the World Cup? When he asked Theo to join him in torturing Muggles, what do you think he would have done if Theo had refused? If Blaise hadn't stepped in to protect him, what state would Theo be in today?"

He saw the effect of his question on his mother's icy face, like raindrops falling on snow. He knew she didn't like to talk about that night. She'd run away from the subject every time it came up, probably remembering her terrible fear of losing her only son. Her pupils blurred and she shook her head firmly:

"That was different. It was chaos, and he was drunk."

"He's drunk now, Mother." Draco replied dryly. "He was drunk when he tortured Theo, that's no excuse for his behaviour."

Narcissa pursed her lips and looked anxiously towards the Manor door, as if expecting to see Nott standing on the landing. Draco had the feeling her cold mask had cracked for the first time in years. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"It's true, you're right." she said finally.

But she didn't do anything, because she couldn't. It was Lucius who controlled this house, and Draco and Narcissa knew that only too well. All they could do was let the vile man pass without saying a word.

"I hate him." Draco said in an almost childish voice.

"I know you do. I do too." she admitted, much to his surprise. He'd never thought she'd criticise one of her guests so openly, whoever they were. Then again, his mother had always liked Theo. The idea that he might have been hurt by his father must have been unbearable to her.

"And on top of that, he... looked at you." Draco said, pointing to his mother's dress with a small grimace.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, he..." Draco stammered, not knowing how to formulate his sentence without sounding indecent. "... ogled you."

His mother's features relaxed as she understood.

"Oh." she huffed. "Don't worry about it, Draco."

He recoiled in shock:

"What? How could I not worry? Someone just disrespected my mother in front of me, and I'm supposed to do nothing?"

"No, you're not supposed to do anything." Narcissa said firmly. "I'm touched by your willingness to protect my honour, but there's really no need. Men like Theodore Nott Senior have never frightened me."

"That's no reason why he should be able to do this in front of our house and suffer no consequences." Draco said in an irritated tone.

"I think you're blinded by hate, Draco." his mother said gently. "You would never have been so outraged if it had been Lord Frays who had looked at me in this way."

Draco had no idea who Lord Frays could be, but he shook his head anyway:

"Whoever it is, I won't let anyone disrespect you in front of me."

She smiled a proud little smile and ran her icy fingers along his cheek. Draco took it as a silent thank you. He enjoyed the rare caress from his mother. For a brief minute, it was just the two of them, the black Christmas sky, the peacocks wandering beside them. No more guests, no more ball, no more orchestra, no more Theodore Nott Sr. Then his mother dropped her hand to her side and turned her head back towards the gates of the Manor.

"I've been away too long. I should go back."

She climbed the steps and added:

"Come back to greet the last guests."

She reached the front doors, ignoring Draco's exasperated growl behind her.

"Again?!"

"Yes, again, Draco Lucius Malfoy, hurry back to your place. Right away!"

Draco followed her at a slow, sullen pace:

"Yes, Mother... But I need at least a Warmth Spell, I'm freezing to death here... Mother? Mother!"

But she had already mingled with the crowd in the hall and didn't hear her son's cries.

"Mother!" he shouted. "Fuck..."

He loosened his tie angrily.

"Good evening, Mr Malfoy."

Draco turned to face Pansy's father. His breath caught somewhere at the undone knot of his tie.

"Oh, uh, um, good evening, Mr Parkinson." Draco greeted, a little taken aback. "Welcome."

Pansy's father nodded in appreciation. Draco was sure he'd heard him curse a few seconds earlier, but thankfully he didn't comment on that or his attire.

"I wanted to speak to your father." he announced gravely. "Could you tell me where he is?"

"Sorry, I haven't seen him since the reception began." Draco said grimly.

Why were all these people so desperate to see his father tonight? It was Christmas. Couldn't they put their meetings aside to enjoy the party his mother had been planning for weeks?

"Fine, I'll look for him myself. Excuse me."

Draco shifted to let him in and let out a relieved breath as he watched him walk away. He had been so distracted by Mr Parkinson's appearance that he hadn't even noticed his daughter behind him. And yet she was the only one who could be seen, in her green dress that hugged her waist perfectly. Her hair was loose, smooth and flat, and adorned with the timeless headband her father always insisted she wear.

"You look beautiful, Pans." Draco said.

She didn't hear his compliment.

"Merlin Draco, what's with that pitiful look? Since when do you greet guests like that?"

She rushed over to him and in less than ten seconds had the tie over his collar. He refrained from pointing out that this was a remark her father could very well have made to her.

"I was suffocating in there!" he complained. "My suit is too tight!"

"Your suit's too tight? I'm wearing a corset, Malfoy, do you know what that feels like?" she asked, unimpressed. "It squeezes your chest and makes it hard to breathe, and I've had it on since four o'clock, so put on this tie and stop complaining."

Strangely, this speech managed to make Draco's bad mood disappear. Pansy tied a knot in his tie and ironed his shirt with her fingers to get him dressed properly again. When she'd finished, Draco decided there were no more guests to greet and offered his arm to Pansy instead:

"Shall we?"

She wrapped her arm around Draco's and nodded:

"Let's go."

They walked into the hall, then through the doors of the ballroom, which was flooded with people in green and red. His mother had, once again, pulled out all the stops with the decorations. There were Christmas trees everywhere, holly on the walls and ceiling, and fairies twirling red garlands over the heads of the guests. The orchestra was set up on a raised stage, with each of the four members playing magical instruments that Draco didn't recognise, and which he thought made shrill music.

The dancers were nothing like the ones in the Common Room during Pansy's parties. They were all stilted to the point of pomposity. Couples held each other at arm's length, almost disgusted to be touching in this way, and turned in such a synchronised manner that it was almost an optical illusion for Draco, who was facing the dance floor.

"Would you like to dance?" Draco offered to Pansy, who nodded happily.

They waited for the music to end and joined the line of dancers. As the music began, Draco led Pansy backwards, then forwards, a step to the side, a step to the other, never taking his eyes off her. They'd learnt this dance together and practiced it hundreds of times. No matter how many years passed between waltzes, the steps were engraved in their minds. Pansy was stiff in his arms, not too commanding, but not too nonchalant either. Her head was up and straight, he could see her neck muscles tense with effort, and her legs followed Draco's movement to perfection.

His costume was so tight that he had to stop after the third dance and Pansy followed him, reminding him that she was wearing a corset and should have been the one to forfeit. Draco rolled his eyes:

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm pathetic. All you have to do is find Blaise and he'll dance with you..."

His sentence stopped them both. Draco was so used to Blaise being around that he had forgotten that he hadn't been invited. He continued his sentence awkwardly, trying to dispel the unease that had set in:

"...or some guy, I don't know."

"Look around, there's not a boy our age here." Pansy grumbled.

Draco scanned the crowd around them and spotted someone:

"Well, yeah, over there."

Pansy followed his gaze and her face took on a look of horror as she recognised him:

"Seriously? Crabbe? Don't you have anything better to offer me than Crabbe?!"

Draco burst out laughing, and several women looked at him strangely, as if laughing at a Christmas ball was the rudest insult.

"He's got a crush on you, you know." Draco remarked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Pansy made a strangled sound:

"Yuck. Go get me a drink instead of talking rubbish like that."

Draco was still laughing as he made his way to the buffet. Poor Chubby was struggling to serve everyone in time, fidgeting and almost spilling the food several times in his haste. Draco made his way to the bar and served himself. He was sure that among the hundreds of bottles here was the vanilla whisky that Pansy loved, but he couldn't really offer her alcohol here, so he opted for two glasses of lemonade.

When he returned, it took him a while to find Pansy. Eventually he spotted her a short distance away, near the entrance. She was in the middle of a discussion with three women Draco didn't recognise, and even though her back was to him, Draco knew her well enough to know that she had been forced into the conversation and didn't want to be here just by looking at her tense neck. He stepped closer and heard her embarrassed laugh over the music.

"So, Miss Parkinson, tell us a bit about where you're at..." Draco heard one of the women ask in a wheezy voice.

"Oh yes, do you have a fiancé?" another lady asked, eyeing Pansy as if she were a piece of meat she wanted to cook for dinner.

Draco froze, both glasses of lemonade in his hands.

"No, not yet." Pansy replied quietly, not at all bothered by the question.

"Really?" the third woman asked, putting her hand to her heart in horror. "But it's about time, girl! You must find yourself a suitable husband before Hogwarts is over!"

"I have several suitors." said Pansy, a word Krum had already used to refer to Granger and which Draco had found terribly unfashionable. None of the three women seemed surprised by its use.

"From good families?"

"Purebloods, yes." Pansy replied.

Draco noticed that she wasn't standing as she usually did, and that she was speaking with a voice he had never heard before.

"We'll keep our fingers crossed that one of them will propose sooner rather than later." the first lady said hopefully.

She raised her champagne glass to her mouth and Draco saw that her red lacquered nails looked almost like claws.

"Yes. I hope so too." Pansy murmured in a weak voice.

Draco was jostled by someone and he realised he was standing in the middle of the ballroom listening to a conversation that didn't concern him. He cleared his throat as best his tie would allow and approached Pansy with a strained smile:

"Here, your drink." he said, handing her his cup of lemonade.

"Oh, thank you, Draco." Pansy said, taking the glass in a slow, practiced gesture.

She drank her lemonade from the tip of her lips in a perfect imitation of Narcissa. Draco had never seen his best friend so... refined. He wondered where she'd learnt such manners.

The three women looked at Draco expectantly, and he realised they must have thought he was one of those so-called suitors. He slipped an arm through Pansy's and pulled her gently towards the dance floor:

"I'm sorry, ladies, I'm borrowing her for the next dance." he announced, not wanting them to ask about his marriage plans as well.

"Excellent initiative, Mr Malfoy." the woman in the middle said with a smile that looked horribly like Umbridge's. "Enjoy."

Draco bowed his head in greeting, and when he turned around he saw that they had begun gossiping at full speed. He led Pansy to the other side of the room:

"Merlin, what was that?"

"Mrs Teawell, Mrs Russel and Mrs Knight," Pansy recited, as if Draco had just quizzed her on her class notes.

"I don't care what their names are." Draco said, sweeping the air with his lemonade cup. "What did she want from you?"

"Nothing in particular," Pansy replied with a shrug.

"Why did those women just ask you if you had a fiancé?" asked Draco, annoyed that he had to elaborate to get a proper answer to his questions.

Pansy gave him a funny look.

"I've been asked that question for at least two years." she said. "Didn't you ever notice?"

Draco felt his eyes widen. He had, indeed, never noticed. He knew that Pansy's father had this strange obsession with Pansy marrying quickly, but he hadn't realised that it was an opinion shared by many people.

"What? But why?"

"Because I'm a Pureblood." she replied simply.

"So what? So am I, and yet no one has ever asked me who my fiancée is."

Pansy's look turned blasé.

"But I'm a girl." she clarified. "It's part of my duties to marry quickly."

"Your... duties?" he repeated in disgust.

"I've been told about my marriage for as long as I can remember, Draco." Pansy said as if explaining it to a child. "I was even lucky it happened to me so late, Astoria was already getting proposals when she was thirteen."

Draco made a face of disgust and Pansy just said:

"I know. It's disgusting."

"You're not actually going to do it, are you?" he asked, worried that she might be listening to the ladies.

Pansy shook her head:

"No, I'm putting it off as long as I can. And no one has proposed to me yet."

Draco didn't find that answer very satisfying. To hear her tell it, it sounded like the only thing stopping her from getting married right away. He wasn't jealous of the idea of Pansy dating another boy, but rather horrified that marriage was something she could consider so soon.

Pansy took a sip of lemonade and Draco objected:

"But you're not even in love."

Pansy stopped drinking and looked at him over her glass.

"Do you think your parents were in love when they got married?"

The question disturbed him greatly. He looked at Pansy without understanding her insinuation. He knew there were forced marriages among Purebloods, it was well known. Couples who couldn't stand each other but were forced to live together in unhappiness for the rest of their lives, Draco was sure it had existed for decades. But his parents weren't like that, were they? They fought a lot, but they loved each other, he was pretty sure. He could see the way his father looked at his mother when she came downstairs in a pretty dress, he could see the way he stepped aside when she was angry. He could see that, despite his mask of indifference, he listened to her and confided in her. They loved each other, strangely, not like the Weasley parents, but they loved each other. Did they not?

"You're a boy." Pansy continued without waiting for an answer. "Nobody pisses you off with crap like that... Oh fuck Draco, there's Theo's father!"

Half choking on her lemonade, Pansy pressed herself against the wall when she spotted Nott Sr. among the guests. He was walking across the ballroom until he reached a man near the buffet that Draco didn't recognise. He whispered something in his ear and the two men made their way to Lucius' office.

"Yeah, I know." Draco muttered, feeling the anger rise again.

"What do you mean, you know?" asked Pansy in shock.

"We had a heated conversation at the entrance to the Manor." Draco explained through gritted teeth.

Pansy hiccupped in surprise:

"What?"

"Come outside, I'll tell you over there." he said quietly so that the dancers next to them wouldn't hear what they were saying.

Pansy followed him to the entrance and Draco opened the door leading to the back gardens, but stopped short when he saw that a large number of guests had invaded the grounds. Draco hadn't realised they were outside because of the December chill, but it seemed the ballroom wasn't big enough to hold everyone. His mother had put up red arches outside and even decorated the fountain with lights that twinkled in the night. Draco and Pansy both winced as they saw their space occupied.

"Shit." he blurted out.

He looked at the guests outside and recognised none of them.

He didn't know any of these people.

He thought of Granger, sharing a scanty meal at a dingy table surrounded by lots of redheads, Harry Potter, a mad serial killer and a werewolf, and that she must be much happier than he was at the moment. She didn't have to wear a corset to look good. She didn't have to worry about how she looked to project an image; she was herself, in a house that didn't have to look expensive, but had to be much warmer than this one. Draco was spending his Christmas with strangers in his Manor, which he hadn't considered his home for a long time.

"So where are we going?" asked Pansy, scanning the people in front of her. "Your room?"

"No." Draco said, grabbing her hand to turn her around. "We're going to Blaise's."

"Blaise's?" repeated Pansy, her eyes wide.

"Yes. I don't want to spend Christmas here, I want to spend Christmas with my real family." Draco decided.

He expected Pansy to stop him, to try and reason with him, to remind him that their parents were there and they had no right. But somehow, she followed him without the slightest protest.

He didn't bother to check where his parents were. Lucius and Pansy's father would surely be locked up in the study all night and Narcissa would spend her evening, as she did every year, making sure everyone was having a good time. Draco was probably the least of her worries.

He and Pansy passed through the large doors without being stopped. They walked as fast as Pansy's heels would carry them and found themselves in the village lane leading to Blaise's Manor. It was pitch dark, but Draco knew the way by heart, so he didn't need a light to navigate.

"So?" asked Pansy once they were far enough away that Draco's Manor was out of sight. "What happened with Theo's father?"

Draco told her the story, his skin burning with anger that had not yet subsided. Pansy flinched when he told her he said he didn't have a son, but she became indignant when he told her about the threat he'd made to Theo:

"What do you think that means? Does he want Theo back?"

"I don't know, maybe he said it without meaning to, he was drunk as a skunk." Draco said, but that didn't reassure Pansy.

"We still need to secure Blaise's Manor in case he tries to get in. It wouldn't take him long to find out he lives there, he knows he's friends with Blaise..."

"Pans, he won't do anything." Draco said. He moved closer to her to stroke her arm in reassurance.

"You don't know that." she said softly. "We can't take this man's threats lightly, Draco. He's dangerous, much more so than you can imagine."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. He didn't know much about the man, but Theo's stories were enough to give him enough of a picture to pin him down.

"He'll do anything to get his way and he's a Death Eater." Pansy continued in a hoarse voice.

Draco turned his head sharply towards her, even though he could barely make out her outline in the night.

"My father is a Death Eater." he said defensively.

Pansy continued to stare down the path in front of her.

"Exactly."

Draco's indignation died on his tongue. She was right, of course. Lucius' example wasn't the best when it came to being a father. Theo's was far worse, but that didn't mean that Lucius was any less a follower of the Dark Lord and had committed atrocities, surely even killed people, to reach that rank.

They remained silent until they arrived at Blaise Manor. Draco thought about what Pansy had just said about their fathers. Pansy's was not a Death Eater, but they both knew he shared their ideas. Draco vaguely remembered him working in a dodgy potions shop in Knockturn Alley, where he gave lectures on the twisted principles of Purebloods. Pansy had once told him that he had written texts on the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and that he played an important role in the Pureblood Unions. Draco had no idea of the extent of his crimes. He didn't know if being a Death Eater necessarily meant being worse than others. For him, it simply meant believing in the values of a more powerful wizard.

Cooky seemed surprised to see them on the landing when he opened the door, but he quickly wiped away his astonishment and greeted them with an exaggerated curtsy.

"Mr Draco, Miss Pansy." he said as he let them pass. "My master and Mr Theo are in the third floor sitting room."

"Thank you, Cooky." Draco said reflexively, receiving a confused look from Pansy.

They went to the indicated place. Blaise Manor was so huge that Draco could easily get lost. There were many wings, corridors and staircases, and huge rooms that Draco often discovered for the first time. The third floor was really just for Blaise. There were two sitting rooms, a kitchen, six bathrooms, five bedrooms, a room to display his broom collection, an office and a library, but Draco rarely saw him in this part of the Manor. Whenever he came, Blaise was either outside or on the first floor.

They found Theo and Blaise sitting on the floor, despite the dozens of sofas occupying the room, playing a game of Exploding Snap.

"Merlin, what the hell are you doing here?" asked Blaise when he saw them in the doorway.

He stood up and approached them, as if to check they were really there.

"We'd had enough of the party." explained Pansy.

"It wasn't as good without you." added Draco.

Theo grinned at them and put his stack of cards back on the table.

"What? But, what about your parents?" asked Blaise, astonished.

Pansy shrugged:

"They won't notice a thing, they've never noticed us disappearing into Draco's room every time."

Blaise moved his hand closer to them, as if he wanted to hug them, but held back and smiled instead. They weren't very good at showing affection like that, physically, but Draco knew he was grateful.

"Merlin, I can't believe you're here." he said happily. "Cooky!"

The elf materialized between them in a second.

"Bring us hot chocolates and cookies." Blaise ordered.

The elf nodded and Apparated. When he returned, he was carrying a huge tray of cookies and large glasses of chocolates dripping down the edges, which he placed on the dining table where Blaise and Theo were playing cards.

"Where's...?" asked Pansy with some impatience in her voice.

"He's asleep in his room." replied Blaise before she could even finish her question.

Pansy walked back down the corridor to one of Blaise's guest rooms, which Pansy had renamed "Eris's room." There were four different kinds of baskets on the floor, but Eris wasn't occupying any of them: he was lying full length in the huge bed, as white as the sheet, occupying such a small portion of the mattress that it was almost ridiculous.

"Oh, Eris!" cried Pansy when she saw him.

She ran over to him and the dog opened one eye, alerted by his mistress's voice. As soon as she approached him, he sat up and barked happily. She took him in her arms and hugged him with all her might, and he replied by licking her nose.

"Oh, Eris, I've missed you so much!"

She held him as if he were the most delicate object in the world. There were plenty of white hairs on her beautiful green dress but she didn't care, she only had eyes for Eris. Draco watched her cradle him with a tender smile on his lips. The dog had obviously missed Pansy too, he was wagging his tail in all directions, so happy was he to see her again.

After about ten minutes of reunion cuddles, everyone returned to the living room and sat down on the sofas. There were no Christmas decorations in the room. In fact, there were no decorations in the whole Manor, not even a Christmas tree. And yet Draco felt the warmth of Christmas much more here than in his ballroom, which was decorated all over. He sipped his hot chocolate, laughing, with three of the people he loved most in the world by his side.

Draco was always amazed at how easy it was for them to talk, even though they'd been together every day for five years. They always found something to talk about and could talk for hours without the slightest sign of fatigue. They were the only people Draco could tolerate talking to for that long.

With Granger, of course.

But when the conversation turned to the guests at the ball, Draco's fingers tightened on his chocolate glass. Pansy glanced at him, then at Theo, who noted his concern with a puzzled frown:

"What?" he asked, darting his eyes from one to the other.

"What, what?" asked Pansy innocently.

"You're hiding something." Theo said suspiciously. "I know that look, it's the one you get when you want to say something but are afraid of my reaction. So tell me."

A dark shadow fell over Blaise's face and Draco knew he'd understood even before he started to explain. He did so reluctantly:

"Your father was there."

Granger would have spoken this truth with much more restraint, rounding the edges so it didn't sound too blunt, but Draco wasn't like that. There was no point in embellishing the facts for him, it didn't change the problem: his father was there, period. Nothing could have prevented the colour from draining from Theo's cheeks.

He carefully placed the glass back on the table and Draco saw that the hand holding it was shaking.

"He... He was invited?" he asked in a small, trembling voice.

"By my father, yes. My mother wasn't happy about him being there either." Draco explained.

He felt compelled to defend his mother, partly because he didn't want to lump her in with Lucius, and partly because he didn't want Theo to get the impression that she didn't support him. She did, in her own way. By sending him boxes of chocolates in Draco's parcels and asking about him in every letter.

Theo seemed reassured by this prospect. Blaise, on the other hand, was enraged.

"What the fuck was he doing there?"

"I don't know, it drove me mad." Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "My father gets on well with him. They locked themselves in his office tonight, along with Pansy's father and some other men I didn't recognise."

Blaise sighed in exasperation. Pansy distractedly stroked her dog without joining the conversation, her eyes fixed on Theo to gauge his reaction to the news.

"I told him you weren't here." Draco continued. Theo jumped and met his gaze.

"What did he say?" he asked, and Draco thought he detected hope in his tone.

"That he didn't have a son." he replied.

Theo's face fell and Pansy rose to stand beside him. She gave him an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder and he broke into a pale smile.

"Rather predictable." Theo said. "He said that in his letter when he disowned me."

"Yeah, well, that pissed me off." spat Draco as he ran a hand through his hair again, probably staining it with chocolate. "I told him he'd never see you again, or hurt you. And I... I called him a psychopathic piece of shit."

Draco thought Theo would frown, but to his surprise, he burst out laughing.

"Sorry, it's nervous." he said, covering his mouth.

Blaise gave him an amused look:

"Don't apologise. He deserved it." He turned back to Draco with a flicker of concern. "He took it badly, I imagine?"

"Not really." Draco replied. "He laughed. He reeked of alcohol. He said "we'll see about that", then my mother arrived and he disappeared into the crowd."

"We won't see anything." growled Blaise, his voice so threatening that Theo and Pansy shrank back into the sofa in reflex. "He'll never come here, and if he tries, I'll kill him with my own hands."

Blaise wasn't even of age, he was struggling to cast Accio in Charms and he'd never been in a real duel, but that didn't stop Pansy, Theo and Draco from believing him instantly.

He turned to a livid Theo:

"You have nothing to fear here, no one can get to you. The perimeter of the Manor is protected by spells, and no one but the three of you has access to it. Nothing will happen to you, I'll see to that myself."

"Thanks, mate." Theo replied. Draco got the impression that this wasn't the first time Blaise had reassured him on this subject.

"It's normal." Blaise said matter-of-factly. "You're my brother. That goes for both of you. You're my family, I'll always protect you."

He raised his hand like an oath and Draco felt his heart clench with gratitude for his best friend.

They changed the subject, not wanting to talk about Theo's father any further, but Theo remained a little reserved for the rest of the evening, despite Eris jumping on him.

When they'd finished all the cookies, and Draco felt like his stomach was going to explode from eating so much, Blaise suggested they go to his room to show them the latest collector's broom his father-in-law had sent him that morning as a Christmas present.

Draco had rarely been in Blaise's room because he spent very little time there, only to sleep. It was a huge room, as big as Draco's ballroom. There were armchairs, a huge fireplace, a piano, bookshelves, a desk and a dressing room. But perhaps the most impressive object in the room was the bed. It took up all the space at the back of the room and could easily accommodate a dozen people. Pillows were scattered everywhere. Seeing the size of the bed, Draco could understand why Blaise moved around so much in his sleep.

The only personal touch in the room were the framed photographs on the walls. Most of them were of him as a child, always accompanied by his mother. She was radiant in every picture, a broad smile on her lips. Blaise, whether he was a baby, a child or at Hogwarts, always had the same features and was always smiling. There were photos of him blowing out enchanted birthday candles, others of him travelling to many countries around the world, some accompanied by his various stepfathers. The photos moved slightly in their frames, the only movement in a room that seemed frozen in time.

"There it is!" exclaimed Blaise as he approached the bed. "A Turbolenza, straight from the Italian racing broom factory! Trafigge il vento!"

When Blaise spoke Italian, it meant he'd gone beyond the normal stage of joy. He picked up the broom and showed it off, although Draco was the only one interested in this new acquisition: Theo barely looked at it and Pansy was busy rocking Eris.

The broom was more curved than the ones they were used to, a true racing broom. It was polished to perfection, so that no twig could hinder its progress. Draco opened his mouth in astonishment as he analysed it; he'd rarely seen a broom so beautiful.

"Merlin, it's beautiful."

"Isn't it?" said Blaise proudly.

"Are you going to test it?"

He made an indignant face.

"Are you mad? I'm going to frame it. I'm too scared of damaging it."

Draco was about to protest when Pansy dropped Eris on the bed and he tried to bite the bristles of the broom. Blaise snatched it from his grasp and went to put it in his collection room.

They ended up chatting in Blaise's bed, which was big enough for them to stretch their legs without touching. Eris fell asleep in the middle and Theo ate an entire box of chocolates Blaise had given him for Christmas in less than an hour, which Draco found impressive, considering the amount of cookies they'd eaten.

"I have to go." Pansy said as the three boys were half asleep. "My father will be looking for me soon, and if he doesn't find me, I'll be in trouble."

"Do you want me to walk you home?" asked Draco, half straightening against his pillow.

"No, don't bother." she said.

"Ask Cooky to make you appear at the Manor." Blaise offered, his eyes closed.

"No, I was going to smoke on the way. Good night."

They replied, but Pansy wasn't talking to them, she was talking to Eris, whom she kissed gently on the head before discreetly leaving the room. Theo mumbled something the other two didn't hear, too tired to understand.

"What time is it?" asked Blaise in a sleepy voice.

"No idea. 2 or 3 am," Draco replied.

"Are you sleeping here?" he asked, although the answer was obvious from Draco's position.

"Yes. I guess if my mother noticed I was gone, she would have guessed I was here. If I didn't get a letter, that means I'm safe."

"Hmm." Blaise's voice replied from somewhere to his left, already asleep.

Draco half-opened one eye to look ahead. Theo was fast asleep, his head resting on a mountain of pillows, his face covered by his curly hair sticking out in all directions, his mouth slightly open. Draco knew he had a room here, but none of the three seemed inclined to get out of such a comfortable bed.

Draco fell asleep without the slightest difficulty, unlike at home where he could toss and turn for hours without getting any sleep.

Draco dreamt that he was running around the fountain in his garden, followed by the peacocks. He was alone and laughed without stopping, though he didn't know why. It was a beautiful day, and he could almost feel the sun's rays on his skin. But he knew it was a dream. By the time he stopped running, the fountain had been replaced by a bench.

A loud noise startled him. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. It was still pitch dark outside, and Draco could see the moonlight through the window. He blinked several times, and then he heard it.

"No, no, no, let me out, no..."

"Blaise, fuck!" yelled Theo.

Draco sat up and threw himself forward to find Blaise struggling on the bed. Theo was shaking him with all his might, but it was having no effect: Blaise was still screaming in pain.

"Fuck, he's having that nightmare again!" yelled Draco when he realised what was happening.

He reached for the bedside table where Blaise's wand was, but Theo stopped him:

"Draco, you can't! We're not allowed to use magic!"

He turned to Theo in horror.

"Do you really think I give a fuck?"

"Think about it, Draco!" shouted Theo, his voice full of panic and desperation. "If the Ministry sees you practising magic outside Hogwarts, they'll come here! Do you really want a Ministry official to see Blaise in this state?"

Draco turned his head towards Blaise, haggard. His face was contorted with pain and his whole body was shaking with violent spasms. He didn't need to theorise about what a Ministry official would do; they'd probably throw him in a cell, thinking he was insane.

"No, let me out, no, NO!" Blaise moaned in a raspy voice.

"What are we going to do then?" asked Draco.

"Go and get a glass of water from the bathroom." Theo ordered as he continued to stir Blaise, trying to bring him out of his trance.

He obeyed and slid off the bed, catching his feet in the covers and falling halfway to the floor. He groped the walls for the door, then the nearest bathroom. There was no glass on the sink. Cursing the ban on magic, Draco rifled through drawers, trying to find a container. He found a vase, threw the flowers on the floor and filled it with ice water before running back into the room.

"I've got it!" he shouted to drown out Blaise's howling, which had increased in his absence.

"Throw the water in his face!" Theo ordered.

Draco sprayed Blaise with all his might, but Blaise continued to struggle, his eyes closed and unaffected by the water.

"Shit! Blaise, wake up, you're having a nightmare!" shouted Theo as he moved closer to shake his arm.

When he touched his shoulder, he quickly withdrew his hand with a muffled complaint:

"Fuck! Draco, he's burning up!"

Draco's mind was too slow to grasp the whole situation before his eyes. It was just like last time, Blaise was struggling mightily against something neither Theo nor Draco could see, his skin was hot, he wasn't responding to their calls and he was in pain. After the first attack, Draco had thought he'd exaggerated. He'd spent days playing down Blaise's nightmare, that it was probably his semi-somnolent state that had made him imagine things.

But it was actually worse than he remembered.

Blaise's whole body was shaking violently. Draco dropped the vase, which shattered on the floor, and jumped into bed to help Theo:

"Blaise, wake up, this isn't real, you're here, in the Manor, you're not on fire!" he repeated, but Blaise seemed too far away, too deep in his dream to hear him.

"Blaise! BLAISE!" he shouted anyway, helpless, unable to find a solution in his panic. He turned to Theo, who seemed to share his distress.

Blaise suddenly threw his arm up to cover his face, hitting Theo in the jaw. Eris had woken up and was jumping around them, barking frantically. Blaise convulsed, so hard that Draco could see his muscles rolling under his skin. If this was anything like the last time, it wouldn't be long before...

Blaise's eyes snapped open. Draco knew what he was about to see, but that didn't stop him from letting out a frightened scream when he saw Blaise's eyes. Black, empty, extinguished, like empty sockets that would haunt Draco for years to come.

"No, I've got to get out of here, I've got to get out, I can't stay here, HELP!" growled Blaise, his voice getting louder and louder.

He rolled onto his side and Draco barely had time to step back as Blaise threw up on the bed. It was too dark to see, but Draco had the horrible impression that he was vomiting blood. Blaise's skin was so inflamed that his back was covered in red lacerations. Draco was gripped by the same fear as the first time he'd seen Blaise in such a nightmare. He was going to die. He was going to die in front of us and we didn't do anything to help him.

"Fuck, Draco, we've got to wake him up!" yelled Theo, who continued to shake Blaise despite the burns on his hands. He too must have been gripped by the same fear. "Cooky, COOKY! SOMEONE HELP US!" he cried desperately, his voice breaking at the last word.

Blaise was choking more and more, his words becoming unintelligible, his arms struggling to support his own weight. His breathing was so erratic that Draco feared every breath would be his last.

Draco opened his mouth to call out to the house-elf as well, when suddenly someone behind him said:

"Rennervate."

A powerful bolt of red lightning flashed across the room and struck Blaise in the back. The spell blinded Draco, who stumbled back on the bed, his heart in his throat. For a second, the sudden light prevented him from seeing the silhouettes of Theo and Blaise, but when his eyes adjusted, he saw that Blaise was lying on his back, his chest heaving with difficulty as he regained normal breathing. His skin was covered in sweat and his eyes were brown again. They were wide with confusion. He was staring at a fixed point behind Draco, frightened and relieved at the same time, and Draco turned to see who he was looking at, who had saved him.

Blaise's mother was standing in the doorway, wand in hand.

"Mamma?" Blaise called, in a voice very weak compared to the cries of pain that had just echoed through the room.

She was dressed in a long, midnight-blue travelling cloak, and her hair was covered by a white turban. As she lowered her wand, her stern expression melted and she rushed to the bed to embrace her son:

"Oh baby, I came as soon as I could..."

She was smaller than him, but it was as if she was holding him, like a child. Blaise's usually mature, composed demeanour crumbled the moment his mother took him in her arms, and Draco thought he heard muffled sobs against her cloak. He looked away, embarrassed to witness such a scene of affection.

"Mamma..." Blaise murmured, sorrow piercing his intonation.

"Hush, I'm here, baby, I'm here..."

Draco had never experienced such a demonstration of motherly love. The only contact his mother had offered him had been tentative hands on his cheeks or in his hair, occasional kisses on his forehead. She had never given him a sweet nickname like Blaise's mother had. Draco could have scoffed, but in reality, he was jealous. And judging by the look on Theo's face, so was he.

Blaise finally pulled away from his mother and sniffed several times as he wiped his cheeks.

"Did you get my letter?" he asked.

His mother shook her head.

"No, but I came as soon as I could."

Draco and Theo exchanged a confused look. How had she known to come home early if she hadn't received Blaise's parchment? Blaise didn't seem surprised by the answer. Maybe it was maternal instinct, maybe she'd sensed he needed her.

"Mamma... What's happening to me?" asked Blaise, his voice breaking.

Draco saw Mrs Zabini's face darken considerably and it sent a chill of fear down his arms.

"Let's go downstairs." she said simply, rising gracefully from the bed. "I'll make some tea."

Draco could still feel the waves of adrenaline coursing through his skin. He still hadn't recovered from what had just happened, and even the soothing voice of Blaise's mother couldn't calm his heart rate enough. With a shaking hand, he freed himself from the blanket and followed Theo, Blaise and his mother through the darkened corridors. Mrs Zabini didn't light her wand, but held Blaise with one arm, as if to support him, even though he was at least a head taller than her. Theo and Draco walked uncomfortably behind them.

Draco couldn't understand how this woman could know this place so well when she'd never set foot in it, but they reached the kitchen on the first floor. Mrs Zabini helped Blaise to the table and invited Draco and Theo to sit down as well, which they did without saying a word. Instead of lighting the torches, Blaise's mother lit all the candles on the counters, barely illuminating the small room, then lit a fire to boil water. Draco couldn't understand why she didn't call Cooky to do it, or why she didn't use magic, but his body was still too numb to dare ask her.

The silence was restful. Blaise's breathing was still panting and Theo kept giving him sideways glances. He had a bruise on his chin where Blaise had hit him during his nightmare. Mrs Zabini waited for the water to boil, then poured it into four teacups. She then took a handful of herbs from one of the jars by the sink and placed it on the surface of each tea. Immediately, a pleasant scent of lavender filled the room.

She floated the four cups to the table.

"Careful, it's hot." she said in a soft voice.

She sat down in the empty chair and removed her cape and turban, revealing an imposing afro that framed her face perfectly. She looked exactly like Blaise, with the same caramel eyes, fine features and rosy mouth. She was so beautiful that Draco suspected she had Veela blood.

"Drink your teas." she advised, pointing to the table. Her hands were covered in large gold rings. "Lavender has calming properties, it'll relax you."

Draco took a sip, more to do something with his hands, but was surprised to find she was right. He could feel the warm liquid relaxing his tense muscles. He took another sip and silently told Theo to do the same. Blaise, meanwhile, looked at his mother, still waiting for her explanation, which was taking a long time to come.

"Weren't you at your mother's Christmas Ball, Draco?" asked Mrs Zabini.

"Er... yes, I was." he replied in a choked voice. "I came here afterwards."

"Does your mother know you're here?" she asked.

"No." he admitted.

Mrs Zabini's eyes widened to show she was angry, but she smiled slightly, which was rather disconcerting.

"You should have warned her, she's probably worried." she said, getting up from her chair. "I'll send her a message..."

"MAMMA!" Blaise shouted, startling Draco and Theo. His mother stopped and looked at him blankly. "Tell me what's happening to me!"

Draco and Theo stared at the table, stunned. Blaise rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was terrifying. He stared at his mother, pleading. She held his gaze for several seconds of intense tension, then sat back quietly in her chair, her face showing no trace of surprise at her son's tone.

"It's dark magic, isn't it?" pressed Blaise, his voice rising in octaves of panic. "I've been bewitched? Am I going to die?"

Draco gripped the table tightly. He wasn't sure he was ready to hear the answer.

Blaise's mother shook her head.

"No, it's not dark magic, baby."

Blaise frowned along with Theo.

"What were you dreaming about?" she asked delicately, a glimmer of something in her eyes that Draco found hard to identify.

Blaise looked down at his hands, which were holding the hot tea. They were burned as if they'd been immersed in flames.

"I was on fire." he said, so low that Draco could barely hear him even though he was right in front of him. "I was trapped, I couldn't move, and I was surrounded by flames so high I couldn't see how far they went, and... the longer it went on, the more..."

"...the more you burned." his mother finished. "You could feel the flames on your skin, you could feel the smoke getting into your lungs, and you couldn't find a way out. Is that it?"

Blaise looked at his mother in astonishment.

"Yes. Exactly." he breathed. "How do you know, Mamma?"

She sighed and traced the outline of the cup with her finger.

"Because you're just like me, baby."

Blaise frowned uncomprehendingly. The air around them froze, the atmosphere of the room falling heavily on them. Draco stopped moving, clinging to Mrs Zabini's lips, his breathing cut off. He could feel Theo's leg tapping nervously on the floor. There was no sound in the kitchen, just this table, the waiting.

Mrs Zabini licked her lips, then raised her head to look into her son's eyes.

"Blaise, you're a Seer."