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!

86. 86 : qu'est-ce qu'on en pense?

Hello everybody! French translation at the end of the chapter. Hope you like it!

.

---

Draco

---

.

.

"A what?" asked Theo, Draco and Blaise in unison.

"A Seer." Mrs Zabini repeated seriously.

If she hadn't had that presence, that aura, Draco would have burst out laughing. Blaise couldn't be a Seer, it was absurd. Yet it sounded more real than ever in her mouth.

"What the... how?" asked Blaise, stunned by this revelation.

"You're a Seer." his mother explained calmly. "As I am, as your grandmother was, as your great-grandmother was, as your ancestors were. You have the Third Eye. Drink your tea, it's getting cold."

Blaise continued to stare at her uncomprehendingly.

"You're a Seer? Why didn't you tell me?"

He looked even more outraged by this realisation than by the fact that his mother had just told him that he was too. Mrs Zabini lowered her eyes to her tea, a slightly guilty expression on her face.

"Well, when I tried to tell you, you were too young, and then you went off to Hogwarts, and... I didn't really get the chance."

"Didn't get the chance?" grumbled Blaise. "I live here. Don't you think you could have Apparated one night to kindly inform me of this... this... this? I was fucking terrified, Mamma!"

He slammed his fist down on the table, splashing his tea into a large puddle. Draco held his breath as he heard him lose his temper like that: if he'd dared to talk to his own mother like that, he probably wouldn't be here to talk about it. But Mrs Zabini didn't seem shocked by his language.

"I know, baby." she murmured quietly. "I hesitated for a long time, believe me. But I thought I had time. The visions usually start on your twentieth birthday. You're early."

Blaise inhaled without taking his eyes off the table.

"You've been the only boy in the Zabini line for years." she continued. "I thought it was only passed from mother to daughter."

"Is that why you knew you had to be here? Even before you got my letter?" asked Blaise.

Mrs Zabini nodded slowly.

"I saw that your visions had begun. So I got on the first boat and left to join you. I couldn't Apparate that far, and the first Portkey was miles away, so by the time I got there you were already back here. I saw that you were getting a second one tonight, so I sent a letter to my contact at the Italian Wizard Embassy, asking them to give me priority on the Portkey. As soon as I Apparated here, I knew it had begun."

"How?" asked Blaise, both angry and curious.

"How what, baby?"

"How did you see?"

She understood what she wanted to talk about and gently lowered her eyes to his.

"Because I had a vision."

Blaise looked up at his mother. Draco could see that his expression had changed. Suspicion was fading more and more.

"What did you see?" he asked.

A test. To find out if she was telling the truth.

Blaise's mother didn't even blink. She spoke at once:

"You were lying in your Hogwarts bed with the curtains closed. You started to move, more than usual. Your skin itched and you suddenly found it hard to breathe. You waved your arms in the air as if trying to free yourself from a vise. When the air became unbreathable, you rolled over the edge of the bed and fell to the floor, tearing off the curtains without stopping to struggle. You began to moan, at first an indecipherable murmur, then words, almost begging. That's when Draco came running to help you.

Draco jerked back in his chair, uncomfortable at the thought of hearing this episode he would have preferred to forget forever. But Mrs Zabini was launched, her eyes locked with Blaise's as he listened with astonishment written all over his features.

"He tried to wake you up, but it was impossible, you struggled, again and again, unable to escape this fire that was closing in on you more and more, and your skin was melting under the heat..."

"OK, OK, stop!" Theo interrupted in a jerky tone. "It's fine, we get it."

He seemed to be having a panic attack. Mrs Zabini stopped her story and for the first time all evening, her gaze shifted from Blaise to Theo. In addition to their physical resemblance, Mrs Zabini and Blaise shared another trait: observation. Draco had the feeling she could see everything Theo was thinking.

"Forgive me. I didn't mean to remind you of a difficult time." she apologised gently. "Drink your tea, it'll do you good."

Theo obeyed, his face much paler than usual. Draco could feel his leg hammering nervously against the leg of the table. Draco, on the other hand, was unable to move. The mixture of sleep and adrenaline prevented him from clearly understanding what Blaise's mother was talking about.

"What does Third Eye mean?" asked Blaise, a question that proved he'd been skipping all Divination classes since the first week of third year.

"It means to possess the Sight." his mother explained, pointing to her own forehead. "It is rare and precious. Few people have it, and even fewer know how to use it. You're able to predict the future, in the form of visions."

"Does that mean I'm going to die burned alive?" asked Blaise bluntly.

Theo shivered so much that he spilled his tea.

"Not necessarily." Mrs Zabini replied, far too calmly for such a serious subject. "You're still young, so the visions are cloudy and imprecise. Having the Sight doesn't just mean being able to see the future. You have to analyse it, understand it, master it, decipher it, to be able to understand its meaning, with the help of tools such as plants, the sky, Astronomy, Divination..."

Draco didn't miss Theo's grimace at the last word.

"You saw that you were trapped in flames." Mrs Zabini summarised. "Maybe it means that you're trapped in a situation that bothers you, that you can't get out of, that you can feel the agony burning you..."

"But what if it means what it means?" Blaise cut in. "What if my "Third Eye" is trying to warn me that this is how I'm going to die? Maybe that's why my visions started earlier, maybe I'm in mortal danger right now?"

Mrs Zabini showed no sign that Blaise's questions troubled her. Still, Draco felt as if Blaise was hurling his words at him with all his might; he could feel them piercing his skin all the way to his heart.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you, baby." his mother replied. "You're too young, you wouldn't understand. I've had the Third Eye since I was twenty, and sometimes I still don't fully understand it."

"Then explain it to me." pleaded Blaise.

Mrs Zabini took a sip of tea and stared blankly at Blaise. He seemed to understand the hidden message, because he drank in turn, as if it were a counterpart to hearing the rest. Draco did the same, and the tea had the same effect as meditation, a kind of calm that washed over him and kept him from worrying.

"The future is unpredictable." Mrs Zabini explained. "No one can be sure what's going to happen, not even the Seers, because every action a person takes changes the events of the future. The visions you see are not founded, they're not written in the textbooks you read at school, they're warnings, possibilities."

"So maybe it's a false alarm?" Theo asked hopefully.

"Maybe." she replied vaguely. "Maybe some action Blaise will take, or someone close to him will take, will prevent this event from happening. Maybe the meaning is completely different. We'd have to analyse it from another angle, with herbs or stars. This is the art of Divination".

Draco tried to gather what little information he had on the subject, that is, what he had retained from what Pansy had been harping on about all day.

"I thought the Third Eye skipped three generations?" he said.

Blaise's mother turned her bright eyes towards him:

"No. That's for occidental diviners. We're not that kind of people."

Blaise laughed cheerlessly:

"You mean I'm not like Trelawney?"

Mrs Zabini waved her hands in front of her with a grimace that distorted her beautiful face as if Blaise had just uttered the name of the Dark Lord himself.

"Eurgh, I can't stand that woman. She's a fraud." (Theo grinned.) "She shouldn't be teaching the noble subject of Divination at Hogwarts. That's why I wanted you to go to Uagadou, you would have mastered the science of prophecy much earlier and much better."

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. He hadn't known that Blaise's mother had wanted him to go there, he'd never mentioned it. He turned to his best friend, but Blaise wasn't looking at him, his caramel-coloured eyes still fixed on his mother.

"What's the difference? It's the same subject." he pointed out.

"Yes, but it's not the same practice. Our Divination comes from a much more natural source, linked to nature, the earth, herbs and witchcraft. It would be closer to that of the Centaurs, if you want to make a comparison. Nothing to do with this Trelawney. Her Divination is magical, borrowed from grimoires, falsified, invented out of thin air. She's created a Third Eye. You have one naturally."

"But I don't want one." Blaise said firmly. "I don't want these visions. How can I make them go away?"

A flash of disappointment crossed Mrs Zabini's eyes.

"With this." she said reluctantly, pointing to the tea she held between her fingers. "Lavender and honey tea. If you take a cup before you go to bed, your Third Eye will close and you will have no vision."

Draco and Theo reflexively took a sip at the same time. Blaise, on the other hand, looked at it for a second, but didn't take it.

"I took a Dreamless Sleep Potion last time." he said. "Does that work too?"

Mrs Zabini pursed her lips, like Narcissa when she sees something unpleasant. She waved her wrist, the dozen gold bracelets on her arm jingling.

"Yes, it might work." she admitted. "But potions are never a good solution to a permanent problem. Your body gets used to the effects too quickly and you'll be addicted before you know it. Tea is much better. I don't really believe in potions."

Draco barely held back a protest. How could anyone in their right mind not believe in potions? It was the most rational science of all, far more so than Divination or Astronomy. Besides, there was a huge laboratory with all the ingredients in the world in the basement of this Manor. Why have one if she didn't believe in it?

"But suppressing the magic you were born with is never good, Blaise." she continued wisely. "Sooner or later, it will come out and you'll suffer even more. Denying what's inside you only makes you grow, not shrink. If you forget your tea, or if a threat gets too close, it's likely to hurt even more than the last time. You'll wish you'd listened."

Blaise ran a hand over his tired eyelids with a grunt.

"So it's a curse." he summed up.

For the first time all evening, Mrs Zabini seemed deeply offended.

"No." she replied coldly. "It's a gift."

Blaise didn't look convinced. Draco understood how he felt, he wouldn't have been able to choose either if he'd been in his position. To suffer every night to have the same vision, or to stop it, knowing that the next time it would be even more painful?

"Once you learn to live with it, it's a beautiful, useful magic." Mrs Zabini continued, regaining her gentleness. "It will become a part of you. You'll be able to use it to protect yourself and your friends."

Hearing this, Blaise's head snapped up.

"Protect my friends?" he repeated.

"Yes. Now that I can control my visions, they're sharper than before. I don't have to sleep to See. Sometimes a flash, an image, a smell, an emotion comes through me and I understand it as if my brain had put it in front of my eyes for me to read. I've been Seeing you since you were born. I See the dangers around you and act when they get too close. Once you learn to overcome fear, you'll be able to grasp your visions and refine and expand them as you see fit, so that you can See the future of Theodore, Draco or Pansy.

Draco thought this sounded a lot like Occlumency. A kind of mental magic to be perfected to total mastery. But Blaise's looked much more painful than Occlumency. He could still see the red burns on his palms.

"It won't hurt anymore?" asked Blaise, pointing at his hands as if he had read Draco's mind. "I thought I was going to die both times it happened to me, and each time someone managed to wake me up. Will I be in pain with every vision?"

Blaise's mother's mouth twitched in pity.

"You can't die from a vision." she said carefully. "But you'll always feel like you're in it. The only way to avoid the pain is to perfect your Third Eye."

Blaise's expression hardened.

"And you're saying I have to take this to avoid having any?" he asked, pointing at the tea.

"Yes, that's right." she replied.

"Good." he said, rising abruptly, the chair creaking against the tiled floor. "Ask Cooky to make me a dozen boxes. I'm going to bed."

He crossed the room and disappeared into the darkness, presumably to return to his room. Theo, who had watched the exchange with wide, startled eyes, lowered his head to his cup. Draco was in an indescribable state, feeling like he was in an extremely detailed dream.

Blaise's mother's rings tinkled against her cup as she took a sip.

"He'll get over it." she promised into the leaden silence of the kitchen. "It was a lot to take in. It'll take a few days, but he'll accept the truth."

"Can you See it?" asked Draco, hoping his question wasn't too indiscreet.

She smiled tenderly.

"Yes and no. It's hard to See when it comes to emotions. I can See actions, I can See his decisions, but I can't See what he thinks or feels. But I know him. He'll need a few days to digest all this, then he'll come back to me with questions, and I'll explain until he's ready to accept his nature."

"Are you sure he will?" asked Theo in a small, frightened voice.

"Yes." she said, without the slightest hesitation. "He has to. It's in his blood. To deny it would only be dangerous."

For a minute, the table fell into thoughtful silence. Draco replayed everything he'd heard in less than an hour. His heart still hadn't found a normal beat since Blaise had woken him up. There were still a lot of loose ends, a lot of questions to ask, but he was too exhausted to think of a single one.

Blaise's mother slowly got up from her chair.

"I'll send your mother an owl, Draco. I would hate for her to worry while you're here."

"All right." he replied in a blank voice, unable to think of anything but not falling asleep on this very table. "Thank you."

She left the room and Theo and Draco looked at each other, clearly unable to formulate their thoughts. After a long moment, Theo chuckled softly:

"Fuck. Pansy's going to be pissed she missed this."

.

There were thirty-two rooms in all at Zabini Manor, yet, Draco and Theo returned to sleep in Blaise's bed.

The latter was asleep, probably exhausted from everything that had just happened: his nightmare and the revelation that he was a Seer. Draco hadn't had time to ask him if he believed it, because when he came back into the room, he was already asleep. Probably drugged with a Dreamless Sleep potion that Theo had prepared in the laboratory that afternoon.

Draco lay down where he'd been an hour earlier, but it turned out he couldn't fall asleep. He listened carefully to Blaise's breathing, afraid it would start again in a second and that he'd hear his moans of terror if he closed his eyes.

He Occluded to drown out his fear and gazed absently at the moon through the window. The hours passed slowly and he was convinced that Theo was asleep.

Until he broke his meditative bubble by asking in French:

"Qu'est-ce qu'on en pense?"

The question surprised Draco and took him back to a time when it had been Pansy who had asked him that question, three years earlier, in a completely different context, when they'd realised that Theo was reading Muggle books. She'd asked him that in bed, at night, in a low voice, "what do we think?" It seemed strangely distant. It was hard for him to realise that there had been a time in his life when his only problems were "Nott" books and the latest broom his father was planning to buy him.

"Je n'en sais rien." he replied frankly. "Je suis perdu."

"Moi aussi." Theo admitted.

"Attendons de voir ce que Pansy en pense." he said. "Elle saura quoi dire. Quoi faire."

He had no idea why they were talking in French when Blaise was asleep and no one could hear them. Maybe Theo thought that speaking another language would make more sense of this bizarre situation. But it didn't.

Draco suddenly felt a surge of uncontrollable energy, he couldn't stand still, oppressed by this room, oppressed by this too-big bed, oppressed by Theo's maybes and fears and whispers. He stood up suddenly and saw Theo's eyes following him into the darkness.

"Where are you going?" he asked in surprise.

"I don't know, I need to stretch my legs, calm down, I... I don't know, I'm going to have some more of that tea over there, calm down a bit." Draco replied in a slightly panicked whisper.

"All right." Theo replied, not surprised by this impulsive decision. It had to be typical behaviour on his part.

"Can you... you know, for..."

Draco pointed at Blaise's sleeping figure with a vague gesture, and Theo nodded immediately:

"Yes, of course. I'll stay."

Draco nodded and headed out into the corridor.

It took him a good quarter of an hour to find the stairs again, and another half hour to find the kitchen. There were no portraits on the walls. The only traces of the Zabini ancestors were on the marble statues decorating the fireplaces, which turned their heads as soon as Draco passed in front of them.

The water was still lukewarm when he arrived, so he poured himself another cup and tried to find the jar of herbs, but he couldn't remember which one Blaise's mother had used: chamomile? Vanilla? Lavender? Jasmine? He was too tired to remember.

"Lavender." a voice behind him said.

He gasped and bumped into the sink. Blaise's mother was behind him, hands folded in front of her, still wearing her long blue dress despite the hour.

"I wrote to your mother." she informed him, as if only a few minutes had passed between their last conversation and this one. "She told me she suspected you might be here. I don't think Narcissa will be happy that you left her Ball so quickly and without warning."

Draco couldn't care less, he had no regrets about being here after what had just happened. He nodded.

"Help yourself." she said, pointing to the jar of lavender. "You're at home here, you know."

"Thank you, Mrs Zabini." he replied.

"Agate, please." she corrected.

Draco didn't hide his surprise. It was the first time a Pureblood had asked him to call her by her first name, or any adult for that matter. He took the jar and added a few herbs to the water, but it didn't smell the same. He wondered if Mrs Zabini wanted any.

"No, thank you." she replied behind his back. "The first one was enough for me."

Her reply made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he turned in horror.

"Are you using Legilimency on me?" he asked in shock.

She half-smiled.

"No. I'm not familiar with that kind of practice. I simply guessed your question. Sit down."

Draco did so with some embarrassment. He was completely confused by this woman. In a way, he always had been. She was very impressive, in every sense of the word, and he knew what she did to her husbands. He Occluded so she wouldn't understand what he was thinking and blew on his tea to relieve the tension.

"I want to thank you, Draco." she said after a moment.

He looked up, not understanding. She had the same calm expression on her face as his son. He wondered if she'd ever been angry. During his childhood, he remembered his parents yelling a lot, either at him or at each other. Blaise's mother had never shouted. Never even raised her voice. When Blaise had done something stupid, she had simply ignored him, and that had always been enough for him to apologise. He'd always obeyed her with his fingertips, without her feeling the least bit authoritative. Draco had never understood this bond, but perhaps it was his bond with his parents that was strange.

"Why?" he asked.

She sighed, suddenly looking more exhausted than ever from her journey.

"You are there for Blaise when he needs you. It's a strong bond you share, unbreakable. I know I'm often absent, that I sometimes seem far away, but I know him and I know he needs you, Theodore and Pansy. So thank you for being there for him. I don't think you realise how much he loves you."

Draco was about to disagree, because it wasn't like that, it was the other way around. It was Blaise who had brought them together, it was Blaise who had integrated Theo into the group, Blaise who remained calm despite everything he had to endure because of their mistakes, especially his own. He was the one who always stood by them, no matter what the cost. Draco couldn't think of a tenth of the friendship he deserved from him.

"You know this from your visions?" he asked instead.

She chuckled:

"No need for such a suspicious tone."

"Sorry." he said, not sure if he really was. "I just... can't quite believe it."

"That's normal." Mrs Zabini replied with a gleam of amusement in her caramel-coloured eyes. "You don't have a Third Eye, so you can't understand how far my powers extend. It's a gift that's misunderstood and that's what makes it so beautiful, if everyone had it, it would be useless".

"But Blaise does." Draco said, needing her to confirm a second time that he wasn't in the middle of a dream, that he wasn't going to wake up with cookie indigestion and a vague memory of this imaginary conversation.

"Yes." she pronounced clearly. "Yes, he does."

"Fuck." Draco blurted out without meaning to.

She laughed.

"Yes, as you say."

Draco sipped his tea and took in what Mrs Zabini, Agate, was saying. Blaise was a Seer. He could See the future. These weren't just nightmares, these were predictions.

And she had them. She could control them. For the first time since she'd announced what Blaise was suffering from, Draco realised the extent of the powers the woman in front of him possessed.

"Mrs Zabini..."

"Agate." she corrected a second time in a reproachful tone. "You make me feel old when you call me that."

"Sorry, Agate." he said, the name strange in his mouth. "If what you say is true, and you can See the future... you can See... the outcome of the war?"

She immediately shook her head, as if expecting him to ask that question.

"I only see flashes, nothing that could give me a precise answer. Everything changes. Every decision the people involved make changes the course of time. It would be impossible for me to know who will be spared, and who will be defeated."

Draco sighed in disappointment.

"Why are you asking me this?" she asked. "Are you afraid your side will lose?"

"I don't even know whose side I'm on." he confessed.

He realised that sentence was far too revealing. He had spoken too quickly, too comfortably in this kitchen with this woman with her calm voice and her soothing tea. He took another sip to hide his discomfort at having said that out loud.

"Your side is where your heart is." Agate stated.

That was the problem. His heart was divided three ways.

His parents.

Blaise, Theo and Pansy.

And... the other side.

"Ah, I see." she said, even though he hadn't said anything.

Draco tapped his fingers on the edge of the cup to keep from looking at her.

"You're not just worried about your friends." she guessed. "You're worried about someone else."

Draco froze. His blood ran cold, as it did every time someone referred to her. Snape, Pansy, Fred Weasley. He'd spent hours hiding them in his own mind when everyone could read her on his face.

But how could it be otherwise? She was imprinted on him, guiding his every move, controlling his thoughts, helping him to breathe.

Blaise's mother slid her hand along the table and caught Draco's, squeezing it against hers. He could feel her warm skin against his knuckles. He couldn't remember being touched so gently by his own mother in his life.

"I'm going to tell you something I've told Blaise all his life, Draco." she whispered, as if confiding a secret. "To fall in love is to destroy yourself bit by bit."

Draco couldn't speak. His tongue was stuck, his throat so tight he thought she'd cast a nonverbal Silence spell on him.

"It is a happiness that always turns into misery. It's a plague that clings to you, draining you of everything, your energy, your confidence, your thoughts, until you're nothing but an empty shell. It's the most destructive disease of all, for wizards and Muggles alike. You must never fall in love, Draco. Never."

But it's too late, the voice in his head screamed. I can't stop loving her. She's already infected me, she's in my blood, in my head, in my every heartbeat, all the time, every day.

He must have sent back a pleading look, because Blaise's mother shook her head sadly.

"I can't See her future." she said in an apologetic tone. "But it seems to me that she's chosen her side. Forget her, Draco. For your sake as well as hers."

Draco had repeated that sentence to himself so many times since his first year that it didn't even have any flavour to it anymore. Agate's advice went through him like a fist against a ghost, because he could not forget her.

"Is she going to die?" he asked, even though he knew she wouldn't have a concrete answer, just to hear those words out loud, the ones that were trapped somewhere in his gut and that he refused to think about for a single second.

Agate sighed, a long sigh, the kind you give when you're talking to someone very stubborn.

"Worry about yourself first, Draco."

"I don't give a shit about me." he replied immediately. "I only care about her."

She frowned delicately.

"If you don't care about yourself, you should care about Blaise."

That stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn't care if he died if it meant she lived. But Blaise... Blaise, he couldn't bear. He couldn't imagine a world without Blaise. He couldn't even stay at a Christmas ball if he wasn't there. How could he survive if he wasn't there at all?

"Can't I have both?" whispered Draco.

A question worthy of a child. A whim. Because he couldn't have both, he knew that. He couldn't be on both sides of the war. He had to choose and he couldn't. Granger or his family.

Agate smiled sadly and wrapped her fingers around his.

"I hope you do, Draco." she said softly. "I hope you do."

.

.

---

Hermione

---

.

.

The Square Grimmauld library was Hermione's favourite room in the gloomy house. It wasn't as grand as one might have expected, and it was rather dark, but whenever Hermione walked through the door, she always felt that calm, that serenity she associated with libraries. The smell of old books was a powerful antidote to stress, she believed.

The two opposite walls were lined with shelves filled with old volumes. Hermione recognised some of them from Hogwarts, others had titles too frightening for her to dare open. Opposite the front door was a velvet sofa with a huge gold-framed mirror above it, and in the centre of the room was a large wooden table surrounded by several chairs. Hermione tried to picture a young Sirius studying here, but the image didn't come. The Sirius she knew, who danced in the kitchen while making breakfast and had a laugh that sounded like a bark, bore no resemblance to this house and its strict traditions.

Hermione spent much of the rest of her holiday in this room. In her panic after McGonagall's wake-up call, she'd forgotten half her textbooks and hadn't been able to study her O.W.L. to her heart's content. She was so far behind in her study schedule that the mere thought of the mountain of work she had to do made her feel nauseous. She didn't dare imagine the howls her schedule would make when she got back to Hogwarts, it would be worse than a Howler.

She'd asked Sirius if he had any Hogwarts textbooks left so that she could re-read some of the lessons, and he'd offered to check them out in the library without conviction. Hermione hadn't spent much time in the room over the summer, too intimidated by the portraits of the Black ancestors who hissed or muttered insults as she passed. But the sight of the books made her forget everything else. She couldn't find any textbooks, but as she rummaged around she came across some interesting books that Madam Pince didn't own.

Hermione spent the week after Christmas immersed in books on telepathic links between wizards, trying to find a logical explanation for Harry's visions, but to no avail. It had to be said that the case of Harry and Voldemort was unique; no wizard had managed to escape death, and the aftermath was completely unknown. Hermione found nothing of interest, but one subject did come up a lot: Occlumency. The science of hiding one's thoughts in one's mind that Draco had told her about.

She ended up researching the subject, both because it seemed useful and because it interested her so much. And apparently she wasn't the only one, for the Blacks had an impressive collection of books on Occlumency and Legilimency. Hermione read them all, and although the magic itself gave her the creeps, she had to admit that it was one of the only ways Harry could protect himself from Voldemort's invasions. If he could master Occlumency completely, he'd be completely impervious.

In all the books dealing with these two subjects, the authors were formal: Occlumency was a difficult, abstract magic to be perfected over many years. Yet Draco had told her he could close his mind and capture his memories already. He'd only started in February, and he'd reached the absolute level the books spoke of. And he'd done it for her. To protect her. The more she read about the intricacies of the science, the more she realised the magnitude of the proof of love it represented.

Hermione had tried meditating during the holidays when she was alone (which was rarely.) Occasionally she would do it before bed, but she couldn't concentrate long enough to meditate properly. Her mind would wander in all directions and she would be plunged into silence, which she hated. She preferred to fall asleep with Ginny's breathing lulling her to sleep. So instead of practising, Hermione preferred to read everything she could about it, to understand the basics before taking the plunge.

One evening, Hermione put away the books she'd read during the day and traded them with others, ignoring the nasty remarks of the portraits around her. She took The Other's Approach to the Mind, Fortifying the Mind to Fend Off Intruder Attacks and The Revealing but Barbaric Science that Legilimency Can Be, then went back downstairs to leaf through a few more before going to sleep. The whole house was asleep, so she descended the stairs as inconspicuously as possible, and came to the corridor, which was even more terrifying at night.

One of the doors was open. Hermione had cleaned much of the house over the summer, but she'd never been in this room. Driven by curiosity, she stepped inside.

It was a long rectangular room with two dirty windows facing the street. The street lamps were bright enough for Hermione to make out a desk and a harp hidden by a sheet. The room itself was empty and covered with enough dust to sting Hermione's eyes as soon as she entered. But the wall to her left caught her eye. It was a huge green tapestry covered with faces. Hermione thought they were portraits, like the ones in the library, but as she got closer she realised they weren't moving. In fact, they were woven into the canvas.

As she looked at the huge tapestry, her eyes were drawn to a boy with a pale face and blond hair. When she read the name underneath, her heart leapt.

Draco Lucius Malfoy, 1980-

Even there, on a tapestry, his eyes were as grey and piercing as in real life. His features were more youthful and rugged than those she knew. Perhaps that was how he was when he was at home. Cold and cruel, just like his parents.

Hermione was transfixed for a moment by the vision of the woven Draco. It was strange to see him here, in this house. They belonged to two opposing camps outside Hogwarts. Seeing him here was a shock, as if he didn't belong. It reminded Hermione of the time he'd turned up unannounced in London. Without realising it, she absentmindedly ran her fingers over the fabric. Draco's portrait was embroidered on a branch, and Hermione finally understood that this was in fact the Black family tree. Above Draco were Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, their expressions as snarling as in real life. The tapestry went back a long way, probably to the Middle Ages, with worn portraits that were hard to recognise with unpronounceable names.

"Kreacher?" called Sirius's voice from the corridor. "Kreacher, is that you?"

Hermione gasped, pulling her fingers away from the wall. Sirius pushed the door open and peered into the room.

"Oh, Hermione, it's you." he said when he saw her. "Sorry, I thought it was Kreacher. Have you seen him, by any chance? He hasn't been seen since yesterday."

"No, sorry, I haven't seen him." Hermione replied. "Have you looked in his den, under the sink?"

But Sirius was no longer paying attention to her, his eyes had fallen on the tapestry and he suddenly looked much darker than before.

"Ah. I see you've found my blasted family."

Hermione took a step back, uncomfortable.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, the door was open and..."

Sirius held up his hand to cut her off and came over to stand beside her:

"It's all right, you have every right to snoop around here. Never apologise for being curious Hermione, it's a great quality."

Hermione almost smiled as she thought of what Draco would say if he heard such advice.

"So let me introduce you to my deranged family." Sirius announced with a dramatic sigh.

He pointed at the tapestry and Hermione felt as if all the portraits were glaring at him.

"Are all the Pureblood families related?" she asked, looking at the intertwined branches.

"Yes, more or less. Since they encourage intermarriage, that narrows it down quite a bit." Sirius said mockingly.

"Where are you?" asked Hermione, looking for his name.

"There."

He pointed to a burnt hole.

"Oh."

"My mother erased me from the tree when I left home." explained Sirius, who didn't seem particularly affected.

Hermione's eyes followed Sirius' branch and saw the portraits of his parents, Walburga and Orion Black, both of whom had been dead for about ten years. Sirius had once said that his parents were as musty as the walls of this house, and Hermione could only agree by looking at their faces, both equally unappealing.

Sirius's portrait was tied to a branch, and at the end of the branch was a portrait of a boy. He looked so much like Sirius that it was disturbing, except that he looked very young and had shorter hair.

Regulus Arcturus Black, 1961-1979

Hermione realised that it was his brother, and after a quick calculation, she estimated that he had died at 17. She didn't dare ask Sirius for more information for fear of upsetting him.

Hermione followed the branches with her eyes and came across a certain Cygnus Black, a Druella Rosier who was so terrifying that Hermione had to look away from her portrait. They had had three children. The first, Narcissa Black, later married Lucius Malfoy. The second child had the same burn as Sirius, making it impossible to read their name. Hermione tapped on it with her finger:

"Who's that?"

Sirius, who was looking at another portrait with a disgusted pout, focused on the blackened mark she was pointing to.

"Andromeda Black, now Tonks." he announced, and Hermione was surprised to see him smile. "My favourite cousin. She was disowned after she married Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born."

"So Tonks is your cousin?" Hermione gasped.

"Yes, but she's not in the tapestry." Sirius explained. "Good for her. Can you imagine her pink hair on it?"

Hermione gave a small laugh and her eyes turned to the third child. She had a face as frightening as her mother's, but retaining the strange beauty of the Black: big grey eyes, curly black hair and sunken cheeks, like a painting. As Hermione's eyes fell on the name she bore, her heart dropped abruptly into her stomach.

"Bellatrix Black?" she read, powerless to stop the horror her name brought to her voice. "Bellatrix Lestrange, is that her?"

"Yes, that's her." Sirius said in a tone far from his usual playfulness. If his eyes could cast spells, Bellatrix's portrait would be charred on the spot. "She's in Azkaban paying for her crimes, but personally I think she deserves much more. The woman is a monster."

"Bellatrix Lestrange is your cousin?" asked Hermione, struggling to come to terms with the idea.

"Unfortunately." he said in a resentful tone. "But I haven't thought of them as my family, not for a long time. My family is Remus, James, Harry, all of you. I feel much closer to the Weasleys than anyone else on this tree."

He fell silent and looked thoughtfully at his parents. Hermione didn't ask him any more questions, although she desperately wanted to know more. She fixed her gaze on Bellatrix Black and shuddered. Then, she made the connection.

Bellatrix Black was the sister of Narcissa Black.

Narcissa Malfoy was Draco's mother.

Hermione followed the branches that separated them with a gripping nausea.

Bellatrix was Draco's aunt.

"What are you reading?" asked Sirius suddenly, pulling Hermione out of her macabre thoughts.

"Oh, um..."

She suddenly remembered that she was carrying books. She clutched them reflexively.

"Books I found in the library." Hermione replied.

"For class?" asked Sirius, trying to read the titles.

"No, not really... I'm interested in Occlumency."

Hearing this, Sirius' grey eyes widened slightly. She wasn't sure if it was because of the connection she had just made on the family tree, but she suddenly found that his eyes looked a lot like Draco's.

"Yuck." he said, wrinkling his nose.

"You don't believe in Occlumency?" asked Hermione, not understanding.

"Oh yes, believe me, I've had the misfortune to experience Occlumency in many ways." he said bitterly.

Hermione frowned, and for all answer he tapped on the portrait of his mother, Walburga Black.

"My mother was an adept of Legilimency. She used it on us, my brother and me, whenever she thought we were lying to her. She would get into our heads and force information out of us. We had no privacy."

Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. She had understood that Occlumency and Legillimency were derived from dark magic, but she hadn't imagined how someone with malicious intent could have used them.

"That's terrible." Hermione raged, her eyes filled with disgust.

"Then you understand better why I ran away." Sirius said sadly.

"Didn't you ever want to learn how to defend yourself?" asked Hermione. "By learning Occlumency?"

Sirius shrugged.

"I never had the time. It's complicated, and you need to have a certain kind of magic that few people have, like a gift that's passed down from generation to generation." Sirius explained. "It would have taken me years to get her out of my head."

He looked around sullenly:

"Although, now I have all the time in the world in this house. I'll be bored without you. When you're at Hogwarts and I'm left here alone."

He lowered his eyes to the wooden floor, and Hermione felt a pang of pity for him that made her stomach twinge.

"You'll have Lupin and the other members of the Order to keep you company." she offered. "Besides, Hogwarts isn't exactly fun, with Umbridge imposing rules every day and the rivalry between the Houses turning into open warfare."

"Remus is always on a mission, I hardly ever see him, and the others are always talking about plans I'm never involved in. It's frustrating. At least you are at the centre of things, at Hogwarts. "Sirius counters, his eyes still lowered to the ground. "But I think I miss it, mostly. Hogwarts, the Marauders... It's hard to be here without them. I used to be able to take refuge at James', but now..."

His voice grew high and he fell silent. Hermione moved closer to rub his arm affectionately, and he patted the back of her hand in silent thanks. He took one last look at his own portrait on the tapestry, then turned to Hermione:

"Would you like to go and have a cup of tea?" he suggested, trying to smile, but she could see the nostalgia still clinging to each of his features. "Have a chat with old Sirius? I can assure you that the transition between your brilliant mind and conversations with Kreacher will be brutal."

He chuckled. Hermione's eyes swept over the edges of the books she was planning to read in the living room. Sirius intercepted her and took a step back towards the door:

"Ah, you're busy. Don't worry, I'll see you tomorrow." he said. "Good night, Hermione."

And he disappeared through the door. Hermione's heart felt like it weighed three tons. Without thinking, she put the stack of books on the desk and hurried down the corridor.

"Sirius, wait!"

He was just under the stairs, his eyebrows drooping in a sad, unrecognisable expression.

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't mind a cup of tea." Hermione said confidently. "I'll have plenty of time to read later."

"Hermione, I don't want you to..."

"Lupin told me how you made the Marauder's Map together, I'd like to hear your side of the story." she continued.

Hearing this, Sirius' eyes sparkled and a broad smile appeared on his lips.

"Really? He didn't dare tell you that he only contributed, did he? He's the mastermind behind it all, he's the one who created the Map from scratch."

"He said you were all in on it, that he'd just put your ideas together by inventing a spell..."

Sirius rolled his eyes, still smiling, and quickly crossed the corridor to the kitchen:

"Ah, bloody Moony! Always the humble one... You'll see, the real story is much funnier... Is green tea all right?"

"Perfect." Hermione said as she followed him, eager to hear more about the exciting history of the Marauders.

.
.

On the last day of the holidays, Hermione was knitting with Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley patiently explained the spell she needed to cast to knit faster, and Hermione tried to memorise it perfectly. She practised without her wand, praying that she'd be able to do it again when she got back to Hogwarts. The hats she'd been knitting were all used up, and she desperately wanted to have some left over for the elves who hadn't been released yet.

They were in the living room of Grimmauld Place, on one of the sofas, which was so damaged it was about to collapse under their weight. Ginny was beside her, but she wasn't interested in knitting, preferring to read the Quidditch magazine George had bought her.

Hermione was working on her third bonnet of the day. This one was much prettier than the previous two, thanks to Molly's advice.

"Like this with your needle, or your stitch will split." Mrs Weasley warned, showing her the knot she'd just made.

Hermione nodded and repeated the gesture. The bonnet she'd spread out on her lap was beginning to take shape, it was orange and white, and if she had enough yarn left at the end she could even add a pompom to it.

Ron entered the room just then.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Teaching Hermione how to knit." Mrs Weasley replied without looking at him.

Ron approached and Hermione saw him studying the hat.

"Who's it for?" he asked without a trace of mockery in his voice.

Hermione's cheeks flushed and she lowered her eyes to her needles to avoid meeting his:

"For you, actually." she said in what she hoped was a casual tone.

Ron grinned broadly. Hermione wasn't sure why, but he seemed deeply touched by the attention. Maybe it was because knitted gifts reminded him of his mother, or maybe it was because this one was much more personal than the homework planner he'd definitely not liked.

He sat down on one of the cushions on the floor.

"What about you, Mum?" he asked.

"I'm making a nightcap for your father." she said, showing him her handiwork, much nicer than Hermione's hat.

"Mione, when you've finished Ron's, can you make me a long knitted dress, pink and pale yellow, you know, like Ira Shellwood?" asked Ginny.

Hermione chuckled.

"Firstly, I haven't the faintest idea who Ira Shellwood is, and secondly, do you really think I'm capable of making a dress?"

She showed her the misshapen bonnet and Ginny grimaced:

"Yeah, never mind."

"You send me a picture of that dress, I can try to make something." Molly said.

Ginny shook her head:

"No, because you'll make it longer again, like last time."

Mrs Weasley put her needles on her lap and looked at her daughter in despair:

"Ginevra Weasley, if you honestly expect me to make you a dress up to your thighs, like the one you made last time, the answer is no."

"But Mum!" wailed Ginny in a whiny, plaintive voice, the kind she used when she wanted something.

But Molly was ruthless.

"No. End of discussion."

Ginny shrank back against the file with a sulky pout, and Hermione hurried over to Mrs Weasley to break up the heated conversation:

"Do I have to go through the mesh here?"

Mrs Weasley's face immediately relaxed.

"Yes, dear." she said gently.

Hermione resumed her knitting carefully. She could hear Mrs. Weasley's needles clicking rapidly beside her. When Hermione turned her head, she saw that she was drinking tea and that her knitting was continuing on its own.

"Where's Harry anyway?" asked Ron suddenly, looking around.

"In the kitchen, chatting with Sirius and Professor Snape." his mother replied calmly.

Hermione, Ron and Ginny turned to her with a start:

"Who?" asked Ron in a voice that said he hoped he had misheard.

"Sirius and Professor Snape." Mrs Weasley repeated, as if having a conversation with Snape in Grimmauld Square was perfectly normal.

"Is Snape here? With Harry?" asked Ginny in disbelief.

"Yes." Molly replied.

"What the hell is he doing here?" asked Ron impulsively.

His mother smacked him on the back of the head with her nightcap:

"Ronald, your language!" she scolded. "Professor Snape has every right to be here, I told you, he's a member of the Order..."

"But why is he with Harry?" asked Hermione.

"I don't know. He just told me that Dumbledore sent him and that he needed to speak to Harry urgently." she said. "And anyway, this is between Harry, Dumbledore and Professor Snape. You won't interfere in their affairs."

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look full of meaning. They knew Harry would tell them everything, Harry always told them everything. Molly reached for her wand and tapped on her needles, which began to knit again on their own.

Ron stood up and Hermione imitated him in a second.

"May I ask where you two are going?" asked Mrs Weasley impetuously.

"To the kitchen. Harry probably needs us." snapped Ron, who was already crossing the living room to reach the hall.

"Certainly not!" cried Mrs Weasley. "Ronald, these are private matters..."

"Mum!" Ron cut in aggressively. "Do you realise what could happen? Snape hates Harry so much he could kill him right now!"

Hermione knew he was exaggerating: Snape would never be able to do such a thing, but she saw a flash of fear in Molly's eyes as she heard him say it. Ginny stiffened in her chair, then rose to join her brother.

"Ginevra, Ronald, come back here!" their mother shouted, a little less confident than before.

Ignoring her, they left the room. Hermione followed. Ron reached the kitchen in three long strides, flanked by Ginny and Hermione. He opened the door without knocking and Hermione let out a gasp of surprise when she saw what was happening in the kitchen.

Snape and Sirius were facing each other, their wands pointed at each other's faces. Harry was between them, both arms outstretched, trying to put as much distance as possible between the two men. It was Sirius' face that struck Hermione the most. It was very strange to see his eyes, usually soft and full of humour, so cold and hateful. He looked like the icy faces of his family on the tapestry. His mouth was twisted in an expression of loathing for the man before him.

Snape, on the other hand, was nothing but a wall. He showed no more contempt than usual, but the tension in the room was strong enough to understand that Sirius's hatred for Snape was mutual. Hermione had no doubt that if Harry hadn't been there, they would have been in the middle of a fierce duel by now.

"Sirius!" cried Mrs Weasley in a panicked voice from behind Hermione.

Her voice seemed to bring Sirius to his senses. He turned to her and all the anger on his face melted away at once. He lowered his wand, looked at Harry and then took a few steps back. Snape did the same, more slowly, as if still reluctant to start the fight.

"What's going on?" asked Molly as she entered the kitchen, her fists on her hips.

No one answered her. Harry was out of breath and looked alternately at his godfather and his teacher. The latter cast one last sullen glance at Sirius, then looked down at Harry, his mask of indifference back in place on his features.

"Monday night, 6:00, Potter." he announced in his guttural voice, the one that sent shivers down Hermione's spine even when they were far from the Potions classroom.

With that, he turned, his black cape billowing behind him, and left the room before their bewildered gazes. When the door to the house slammed, they turned to Sirius, a little panting and the wand dangling from the end of his arm.

"What happened?" asked Mrs Weasley again, her voice impatient.

"Nothing." Sirius replied with dignity. "Just a friendly chat between old school friends, nothing more."

He turned to Ron, Hermione and Ginny, who were still standing at the entrance to the kitchen, and offered them a wide, almost convincing smile.

"So, what would you like for dinner?" he asked cheerfully. "Ginny, will you come and help me peel the potatoes?"

They ate in a strange atmosphere where Sirius forced himself to laugh too hard and ignored all questions about Snape. Hermione didn't ask any, knowing that Harry was waiting for the right moment to explain, and she just had to be patient. He spent the meal watching his godfather with wide eyes, but they didn't exchange a word during the meal.

At bedtime, Hermione slipped into the boys' room. Harry and Ron were packing for the next day, both dressed in the same plaid pyjamas. Hermione closed the door discreetly and approached Harry's bed:

"Well? What did he want with you, Snape?" asked Ron, obviously as eager as Hermione to find out what had happened in the kitchen.

Harry sighed deeply.

"He came to tell me that Dumbledore wants me to take Occlumency lessons." he said, looking disgusted.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her palms grew sweaty. She hated it when Harry or Ron said something that made her think of Draco; she felt like she was betraying them just by thinking of him in front of them. "Have you ever heard of Occlumency, Granger?"

"What's that?" asked Ron, wrinkling his nose.

"It's the science of closing one's mind to mental intrusion." Hermione replied matter-of-factly, echoing the words Draco had spoken a few days earlier.

Harry turned to her in annoyance:

"How do you know everything?"

"I read about it in a book." she lied. "I actually did some research here over the holidays, there are lots of books about it in the library."

Harry had gone a little pale. He sat down on Ron's bed and let out another tired sigh.

"And do you think that's a good idea?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione swallowed painfully. She was genuinely touched that Harry would value her opinion so highly. He asked her that when the house was full of adults, wizards far more talented than she was.

She remembered that Harry had been the first person she'd thought of when she'd heard Draco explain what Occlumency was. No one really understood the connection between Harry and Voldemort, but Occlumency could surely help barricade her mind from his intrusions. If Harry's mind was as hermetic as Draco's, he would no longer suffer from his terrible visions.

But Hermione knew Harry. She probably knew him better than anyone else. She knew that behind all that suffering, he didn't want to lose that connection. His visions had made him feel useful. They had helped him to save Arthur. No one had access to Voldemort's mind. If he could do that, why risk losing it with Occlumency?

"Yes, I think it can help protect your mind from Voldemort's attacks." she whispered, afraid the walls of this haunted house might hear her.

Harry nodded, but Hermione knew he wasn't completely convinced. She understood that Harry wanted to feel useful to the Order, but she didn't want him to be in danger because of this connection they knew nothing about. She hated that Voldemort could invade her best friend's mind like a parasite. It reminded her of the Dementor's kiss, and she feared it would suck Harry's soul deeper and deeper, leaving only an empty shell.

"Who's going to teach this lesson?" asked Ron in a worried tone.

Harry turned to him, his jaw clenching nervously.

"Snape." he said in a bitter voice.

Ron made a sound of revulsion but Hermione remained silent. She wasn't surprised. It was Snape who had been tutoring Draco in Occlumency since February, he must have been an expert at it, that must be why Dumbledore had asked him to teach it to Harry. Hermione wondered if Dumbledore knew that Draco was also taking lessons. Draco had often told her of the Headmaster's disinterest in the Slytherins. Maybe he didn't care. Maybe Harry was his only concern.

They said good night and Hermione went back to her room. Ginny was already asleep, her eyebrows furrowed with sleep. Hermione lay there for hours, unable to sleep, her head buzzing with questions, as usual. She went downstairs to make herself a cup of tea and wasn't surprised to find Harry in the living room, his eyes vacant, reddened by tears she didn't comment on. They didn't talk about Snape, or Occlumency, or Voldemort, or Cedric. They drank tea in silence, Hermione read the Odyssey, and he fell asleep against the arm of the sofa.

.

.

---

Draco

---

.

.

Cooky prepared a dozen pots of lavender and honey tea, but Blaise didn't drink a single cup. Despite his mother's warnings, he insisted on taking Dreamless Sleep potions. Theo prepared potions for him every day, and Blaise spent many nights without visions. He refused to talk about it for several days, just as his mother had predicted. He acted as if everything was normal, as if it had been appropriate to play Exploding Snap when he'd found out he was a Seer.

Draco and Theo didn't bring it up. It was the first time they'd been so hesitant about their best friend. If Draco could read Granger, Pansy and Theo's emotions at a glance, Blaise was indecipherable. He didn't know what he was feeling, whether he was angry with his mother, despairing at the news, or simply overwhelmed by an overload of information he could barely digest. So they pretended. They played Exploding Snap with him, they studied their O.W.L., they played Quidditch in the freezing cold as if everything was normal, to give Blaise time to digest and fully understand what was happening to him.

Draco had known Blaise since birth. He'd practically lived in this house as much as in his own. And in all that time, this was the first time he'd seen Blaise's mother stay home for so long.

It was strange to see her there, Draco was almost more used to seeing Theo than Mrs Zabini in this house. Now that Draco knew the special nature of this woman, he wondered how he hadn't seen it before. She was beautiful, admittedly, enough to turn the heads of every man she met and marry some of them off in order to kill them and collect their fortunes one by one. She was beautiful, but not just that. She was mesmerising, hypnotic, enchanting, in a way that only Veela possess. Perhaps she was; the Zabini family were rich in both money and inheritance, and Blaise was so handsome that he might well have Veela blood in his veins. But there was something else that made her so mysterious. A kind of aura she wore like a garment, impossible to resist but impossible to describe.

At last Draco had the answer to his questions. This was the Third Eye. That was what was so fascinating about Mrs Zabini. It was her magic, her power. A magic that surpassed them all. When Draco stood next to her, he could almost feel it curling around him, and it frightened him as much as it fascinated him.

So he avoided her, and all the better because Blaise was doing the same, for other reasons. Theo had told Draco in French that he was probably in denial. Draco understood, as he himself was having trouble coming to terms with the idea that Blaise could be a Seer.

Pansy had spent the days after Christmas locked away in her Manor because her father had noticed that she had disappeared during the Ball and wanted to make sure she wasn't going to the dogs by keeping an eye on her. She'd sent them a little letter to let them know about this forced confinement, and Draco couldn't help but burst out laughing when he read about her father's concerns. Pansy was probably the most unreasonable person he knew, and had been that way since her first year at Hogwarts. Her father really knew nothing about her.

She didn't reappear until the 31st of December. They could hear her coming from a distance as she stomped furiously on the stairs to show her displeasure. They were in one of the Manor's drawing rooms, Draco and Blaise studying for their Transfiguration lesson and Theo reading a novel in one of the armchairs, in his favourite position: legs resting on one armrest, back pressed against the other. On the table beside them, a cauldron quivered, the latest batch of Dreamless Sleep potions Theo had been brewing since the start of term, its cottony vapours sending them gently to sleep.

Pansy flung open the door and entered the room, an angry expression etched into her marbled features. She slammed the door behind her and sat down on the nearest sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. Even though he was on the opposite side of the room, Draco could smell the cigarette on her clothes, proof that she had been smoking continuously on the way here.

"I've had a terrible week." she explained with an annoyed click of her tongue. "My father wouldn't let me out of his sight, I thought I was going to kill him."

Theo raised an amused eyebrow when he heard her talking like that. Eris ran into the room at that moment, no doubt because he'd recognised his mistress's voice, and rushed at her with over-excited squeals. It was hard to tell who made the most noise when they saw each other. As soon as Pansy held her dog, her bad mood vanished.

"Oh, my darling, I've missed you so much!"

Draco didn't even bother to roll his eyes. He'd gotten used to the heartbreaking reunion between Pansy and Eris every time they got together. Blaise, Theo and Draco waited at least five minutes for it to end, then Eris curled up into a ball on Pansy's lap and she picked up a comb to brush him lovingly.

"I went to the fountain yesterday, but I didn't see you." she said, addressing Draco. "Did you sleep here?"

Draco nodded.

"Actually, I've only slept at my Manor once since Christmas." he realised aloud.

The few days after Christmas had been a blur because of their sleepless night. Draco had woken up without knowing the time or even the date. He'd returned to the Manor in a pitiful state, a mixture of exhaustion and stress, still wearing his too-small suit from the Ball. Narcissa had found him like this, half slumped against the wall, too tired to push open the front door. He'd slept a whole day and had received a remarkable scolding from his mother for his behaviour. She'd taken it very badly that he'd run away from his Ball after all that time preparing for it, and he'd let her yell at him because he kinda understood her.

"Lucky you." Pansy replied sulkily. "My father hasn't let me go since. He sends the elf to watch me all day, I haven't even been able to smoke!"

"And how did you get out today?" asked Theo, without taking his eyes off his novel.

"My father went to a "meeting"." she said, imitating the quotation marks with her manicured hands. "And I threatened my house-elf with burning his ears off if he dared to follow me here."

Draco smiled as he imagined the disgusted look on Granger's face if she'd heard that.

"So? What did I miss?" Pansy asked as she continued to comb Eris.

Draco and Theo exchanged uncomfortable looks. Silence fell over the room. Pansy lifted her head, waiting for an answer, her eyes moving from Draco to Theo to Blaise.

"What?" she asked, noticing the sudden silence.

Blaise sighed and finally looked up from his Transfiguration scroll.

"I've had a new one." he said, and it was the first time he'd mentioned his vision since Christmas Eve.

Pansy's eyes widened a little. Her hand holding the comb stopped.

"When?" she asked.

"Christmas Eve. Sometime after you left."

Nothing in Blaise's tone conveyed the panic they'd experienced that evening. It was as if he was quoting the gifts he'd received. But Draco could hear the fear in his voice behind the nonchalance.

"So?" Pansy pressed, growing increasingly concerned. "What happened?"

Her charcoal eyes darted to Draco for a second, then back to Blaise.

"My mother woke me." he said.

Pansy's eyes widened further.

"Your mother?" she repeated. "Was she there? Did she get here in time?"

"Just in time." he confirmed in a voice that was too mechanical.

"And what did she say?"

Blaise lowered his head back down to his paper. Theo and Draco avoided looking at each other. Draco didn't know if Blaise wanted him to speak. He didn't know what Blaise was going to tell Pansy, he didn't know if he wanted him to say it for him or if he never wanted to hear about it again. Apparently Theo was hesitating too, because he didn't speak either. Since Christmas, whenever the subject had come up, Blaise had either shut down completely or pretended not to have heard. But here, in the huge living room, with Pansy's dark eyes on him, it was inevitable.

Draco was about to open his mouth when Blaise raised his head and met his best friend's gaze:

"She told me I was a Seer." he explained.

Draco knew Pansy by heart. He could mentally draw the look on her face when she heard such news, her face stretched, her mouth parted in astonishment, her eyes widening even more. He could imagine her hand pressed to her lips and her muffled cry of shock.

But it was he who was shocked.

Because Pansy didn't do any of that. She kept her face practically unchanged. No shock, no surprise.

"Oh." she replied simply.

Draco made the same face he'd unintentionally imagined for her. He sat up at the same time as Theo, who swung his legs back to the floor.

"Just "oh"?" said Blaise in equal astonishment.

She said nothing, but her lips curled slightly. Blaise suddenly leaned forward with a gasp of surprise:

"Did you know?"

Pansy didn't shake her head, but she didn't nod either. Her eyes were still on Blaise, sympathetically, and she resumed combing Eris's white fur.

Theo let out a sound of pure indignation from the back of his throat.

"WHAT? You knew?!" He turned to Draco, his eyes wide: "Fuck, I swear on Merlin's grave, if you tell me you knew too and I'm the last one to know a secret again, I'll never speak to you again."

"No, I didn't know." Pansy cut in, still looking at Blaise. "I guessed."

The three boys opened their mouths wide in shock.

"Guessed?! How could you guess something like that?" asked Draco.

He noticed Theo staring at Pansy with a hint of disappointment. Draco was sure he'd been waiting for the moment when they'd eagerly tell her, just so he'd know something before she did. Failed.

Pansy kept her eyes on Blaise as she replied:

"When I saw you have that... seizure." Pansy explained in a low voice. "It was exactly what was described in my Divination manual about opening the Third Eye."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Blaise, his eyebrows furrowed, but no reproach in his voice.

"Usually the first attacks don't happen until you're twenty, and they're not described as being so violent, so I still had my doubts. I didn't want to worry you." she explained.

Draco wondered if she hadn't dared share her theory because she was afraid they would laugh at her. Theo would have been more than capable of that.

"My mother is one too. A Seer." Blaise explained reluctantly.

"Really?" said Pansy, her worried eyes quickly changing to a gleam of interest.

"Yeah. She hasn't left the house since she saw me do my vision." Blaise said with a sigh. "She explained to me that she was a Seer and that I had to be too."

"What else did she tell you?" asked Pansy hungrily.

Draco was sure she was preparing a hundred questions to ask her.

Blaise told him in a few words about the night's conversation with Mrs Zabini. Draco saw Theo raise his eyebrows several times when he heard his account, because it wasn't quite what had happened. He set aside his reaction to the news. He didn't want to tell Pansy how he had denied what his mother had told him. Pansy listened intently, indifferent to Theo's confusion.

"Pans, I don't know what to believe." Blaise said after a long, thoughtful silence.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.

"I mean... Did you... If you guessed it, it must be true, right? Do I really have it, you think? That Third Eye thing?"

Draco didn't really understand why he was asking her, knowing that his mother was in the house and had far more knowledge than Pansy, being a Seer herself and having predicted his visions even before he had them. But Blaise was asking Pansy. As if her opinion was more valuable than his own mother's, as if hearing it from her would make it real. This annoyed Draco a little. Pansy was his best friend, and he didn't like the idea of anyone else asking her for advice.

Their eyes locked, and for a whole minute, neither of them said a word. Pansy seemed to be deep in thought, and Blaise was waiting for her answer, pleading, attentive, and Draco had the strange impression of being an intruder. As if he shouldn't be there, as if he was disturbing them, as if he had no right to witness such an intimate exchange in front of him when they weren't even speaking. He wondered if Theo felt the same way when Draco spoke to Pansy. If they were using a coded language that no one but them understood, based on looks, nods and winks that were more understanding than any words.

"Yes." Pansy finally replied. "Yes, I think you're a Seer."

Blaise's shoulders slumped and he looked down at his fists clenched against his thighs.

"But I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing, even if it looks that way." she continued in a soft voice. "It's painful and terrifying, but it's also so... you?"

He lifted his head at the last word:

"Me?" Blaise repeated without understanding.

"Yes, you. You always managed to read us, more than anyone else." Pansy explained, pointing at Draco, Theo and herself. "You always had this ability to understand how we felt and give us advice to guide our decisions."

Blaise chuckled bitterly:

"It's just that I know you by heart." he defended himself.

Pansy's black lips curled into a half-smile.

"No, it's more than that. Maybe, without knowing it, you already had that eye, and you pointed it at us."

Blaise looked at these words with unflinching seriousness. Draco could see that he was finally beginning to give in. To accept.

"Perhaps." he murmured in a distant voice.

He looked at the opposite wall without seeing it. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times, clearly immersed in a complicated inner dilemma.

"So... it's official then?" Theo tried shyly. "You're a Seer?"

Blaise sighed and turned his head towards him.

"I suppose so." he murmured.

Theo threw his book on the chair beside him and clapped his hands:

"Very well then, Pansy, give me all the books you have on Divination."

Pansy's pupils lit up instantly.

..
.

At 5pm, a large light grey owl brought Draco a letter.

Will we have the honour of seeing you before the end of the year? You haven't been home for days, and I think I've forgotten what your face looks like.

Your father and I are expecting you for dinner tonight.

Draco rolled his eyes and tore up the parchment.

"I have to go. My mother wants me home." he said, more of a grunt than a real sentence.

Blaise and Theo were playing chess to make up for the crushing defeat against Pansy that Theo had just suffered.

"Are you coming back tomorrow?" asked Blaise.

"I'm just going over for dinner, if you want I can sneak out and come back and sleep here." Draco offered, knowing how scared Blaise was of his own visions, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

But Blaise dismissed the idea with a vague wave of his hand:

"No, no, there's no need, my mother and Theo are here if needed. I don't want your mother to find out and punish you or something."

Draco couldn't say he didn't agree. If Narcissa found out that he'd run away in the middle of the night to return to Blaise, she could inform the Minister of Magic in person. And he didn't dare imagine what life would be like if he found himself grounded, condemned to stay in his Manor until the holidays were over.

Pansy returned home at the same time as him, in case her father returned early from his "meeting". She smoked on the way home, and when she offered Draco a cigarette, he politely declined, claiming to have a sore throat, though all he could think of was Granger's disgust when she'd asked him if he smoked often.

He walked her to his doorstep in one of their silences, the kind of comfortable silence Draco loved.

"Fountain tonight?" she offered as she opened his front door.

He nodded, though it was a rhetorical question. They always met at the fountain.

Draco dragged himself home. His mother made no comment when she saw him, but her puckered lips and the scrutinising gaze that moved slowly over his clothes told him two things: one, she was angry with him, and two, he was unkempt and needed to change before dinner.

So he showered and changed into clothes that were far too sophisticated for a simple family dinner, and made his way back down to the dining room, trying not to think about the fact that Blaise's dinners consisted of hot chocolate and sweets, and that Agate never made any comments, even when they were eating on the sofas and making stains.

His parents were already sitting on either side of the table. Draco avoided their glances as he sat down and Occluded.

"Chubby!" cried Narcissa.

The elf Apparated with a "pop!" and snapped his fingers. Immediately, a mountain of food appeared on the table, a variety of warm starters that gave off a delicious smell reminiscent of winter. Chubby snapped his fingers a second time, this time to light all the candlesticks that illuminated the table.

Nobody said thank you, as usual. He Apparated with another "pop!" and left the room in an icy silence, far more awkward than the one with Pansy. Draco heard his father to his right pick up his spoon to start the meal with the first bite. Draco waited for him to finish before helping himself, taking from the first dish he saw: a warm chestnut velouté.

"So, Draco..." his father said suddenly. "I hear you caused your mother a lot of grief by skipping her Christmas Ball."

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck usually stood up when his father spoke to him. Especially when he reproached him for something. But not this time. That evening, Draco was exhausted. Probably a combination of tiredness from the last few sleepless nights and the constant fear of seeing Blaise's black, empty eyes again.

In any case, he was in a bad enough mood to answer without thinking:

"And you, Father, where have you been?"

Draco could hear his mother hiccuping to his left at his affronted reply. Lucius lifted his eyes from his plate to look at him. Draco had analysed his father enough to read his moods on his features. He wasn't surprised or indignant or offended like Narcissa, but rather angry that his son could ask him that question without fear of reprisal.

Lucius took his napkin in an excruciatingly slow gesture and tapped it against his lips, then replied in a falsely calm voice:

"Well, if you must know, I've been called away on important business."

Draco said nothing. He suspected he was going to use this excuse to justify his absence. He always did.

The meal continued without anyone continuing the conversation. Starters became main courses, but none of the three ate with much appetite. His mother pretended to swallow the meagre portions on her fork, his father drank more wine than he actually ate, and Draco absentmindedly shoved the morsels onto his plate, eagerly awaiting the moment when he could leave the table.

He didn't really understand why his mother had insisted that he come back tonight. The meal would have been the same if he hadn't been there.

The dishes disappeared, only to be replaced by a dozen different desserts. Draco took a scoop of mint ice cream and his mother a tiny slice of chestnut pudding. His father poured himself his sixth glass of wine.

"Where have you been?" Lucius asked Draco as if there hadn't been twenty minutes between his two sentences. "Your mother told me you haven't slept here since Christmas."

Draco stopped himself from giving his mother an accusing look. He thought they'd made a tacit agreement not to tell Lucius such things. That it was a secret. Apparently it was just a one-way thing.

"You're still spending all your time with the Zabinis, aren't you?" he asked when Draco was slow to formulate an answer.

"Yes." he replied curtly.

Lucius let out an uncomfortable laugh that was almost a sigh.

"I don't like it much. His mother will fill your head with nonsense, a horrible, hateful woman. I don't know how you ever befriended her, Narcissa." he said in a drawl.

Draco didn't miss the dark look Narcissa gave him at the mention of Agate. So Lucius didn't know they were still friends. Draco was sure his mother was keeping it from Lucius.

"What can you do there that you can't do here?" Lucius asked Draco condescendingly. "If it's just Quidditch, I can build you a pitch in the garden. Think of it as a Christmas present. There's no point in maintaining a friendly relationship with Zabini just to enjoy his. It's pointless and degrading to your status."

Something in Draco's chest tightened painfully as he heard his father say those words. Building a Quidditch pitch in the garden had always been one of his fondest dreams. How many times had he wished for it when he'd seen a shooting star with Pansy? How many times had he prayed that his father would finally agree? He'd asked hundreds of times, every birthday, every Christmas, but he'd always refused. And now that he was enjoying it at Blaise's, he was giving it to him, on a silver platter.

It would be a lie to say that Draco hadn't considered the offer. He imagined himself playing whenever he wanted. He could fly to clear his head, maybe even Occlude down there. No more boredom.

But Draco wasn't as euphoric about the prospect as he once had been. Because the best thing about Blaise Manor wasn't the life-size Quidditch pitch in the garden.

It was Blaise.

It was summer lunches in the garden. It was Pansy and Theo's constant bickering in the background, it was chess games by the fire, it was afternoons in the air with Blaise laughing and Theo reading on the ground, legs crossed and the sun reddening his nose. It was Cooky's ice creams in July and his hot chocolates in December. It was the warmth of the Manor compared to the coldness of his own. It was the fact that he hadn't had the slightest nightmare in Blaise's bed, whereas he woke with a start every night in his own. He didn't feel spied on by portraits of his ancestors when he walked in. He wasn't afraid when he was over there, not afraid that his father would appear out of nowhere, because his father had never set foot in this house, which Draco still considered more his home than the real one.

"No, thank you." Draco replied in a surprisingly calm voice. "I'd rather go over there."

Lucius gave him a hard look and picked up his glass to take a sip of wine.

"Well." he muttered. "That awful woman must be proud to have raised a son capable of manipulating you like that."

Narcissa banged her spoon violently against her bowl, but Lucius ignored her. He sipped his wine and Draco felt anger boil in his veins at hearing such an accusation. He must have really been on edge, or just outraged that his father could insult the woman who had saved his best friend's life, because he replied with Olympian calm:

"Actually, I don't go there just for Blaise. I also spend my days with Theodore Nott."

This time, his father's mask of gentleness cracked and Draco finally caught a glimpse of the anger he was feeling, and felt a vicious satisfaction at the idea of having been able to get to him. To have hurt him, to have shocked him, to have made him feel something other than indifference. He saw him inhale in anger. He saw him put down his wine glass with difficulty. He saw him swallow, as if to contain the words that threatened to escape too quickly. Then he looked into his eyes, a cold, hateful grey, and Draco wondered if this was what Granger saw every time he was angry with her? Was that what she called Malfoy?

"I beg your pardon?" Lucius hissed, though he'd heard perfectly well.

"Theodore Nott." Draco repeated. "My best friend."

Lucius' irises flashed with anger and he swept his hand across the table. It took Draco too long to realise that he wasn't reaching for his napkin, but for his wand right next to it. In a flash, Lucius grabbed it and pointed it straight at him. And Draco had no time to react, to dodge, or even to understand what he was doing. He felt Lucius' spell hit him in the face, hard, like a slap. His head snapped to the side, Draco yelped in surprise and brought an automatic hand to where the curse had struck him. He could feel his skin splitting.

"LUCIUS!" screamed Narcissa, jumping out of her chair.

When Draco pulled his hand back, there was blood on his fingers.

He had a cut just below his eye.

It was the first time in his life that his father had raised his wand at him. It was the first time he'd used violence to punish him. Draco had never thought he could do such a thing. He could feel his heart pounding where his father had cut him.

He looked up. He half expected to see him humiliated, sorry. But Lucius was nothing of the sort. His eyes were still filled with the same anger and Draco was pierced by it. Suddenly he was eleven again, silently begging his father not to punish him too harshly. His Occlumency exploded into a thousand pieces at the back of his head.

"Theodore Nott Jr is a traitor to his blood, an impure boy, and insolent." Lucius spoke slowly, his voice echoing in the great dining hall. "He has dared to confront his father, denying all the values his pure blood has imposed upon him. He has an unhealthy curiosity about Muggles and defies his father on the issue of blood statues. He has been disowned by the Nott's and prefers to live underground rather than follow the regime into which he was born".

"That's not true!" interjected Draco, unable to keep quiet when he heard such accusations against Theo. His Theo.

He saw his father clench his fingers around his wand and thought he heard a cry of protest from his mother somewhere to his right, but his vision was blurred by tears and the pounding of his heart against his eardrums prevented him from hearing properly.

"Yes, it is." Lucius replied coldly. He looked at Draco in disgust. "His father told me everything. And I warned you that I didn't want you to be friends with him anymore."

"He's not like that, he's his father, he's..." began Draco, his voice cracking.

"SILENCE!" shouted Lucius, so loud that it startled Draco. "NARCISSA, SIT DOWN."

He pointed his wand at his mother's chair. Draco gave his mother a long, pleading look, silently begging her to defend Theo, but she did nothing. Her eyes were clouded by Occlumency. She sat down reluctantly, her hands folded wisely in her lap and her mouth drawn in an expression of hostility.

Draco couldn't believe she didn't retort. He thought of the way she'd shouted at Lucius when Draco had come home from the World Cup. Why was she scared now? Why didn't she say anything? Was she afraid he was going to hurt her, like he'd just done to her son?

Lucius put down his wand with a shaking hand. His left eye twitched a few times. He took a sip of wine, a red trickle running from his lips. He put the glass down abruptly and looked at Narcissa and Draco one after the other.

"I'm doing this to protect you." he said, his voice so low that Draco could barely hear it. "By siding with the Dark Lord, I'm protecting you. I spend my days pleasing him as best I can so that we, our family, will be on the right side when war comes. I kill myself, little by little, to rise in his esteem and to make up for my past mistakes, because I couldn't live if anything happened to you because of me."

Draco held his breath. He'd never heard his father speak like that. To confess so openly on such a serious subject. He forced himself to Occlude, despite the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to break his concentration. He didn't want his father to see the slightest change in his face.

Lucius took a deep breath and continued in a whisper:

"The only thing I ask in return is that you help me. And being friends with a traitor of your own blood DOESN'T HELP ME, DRACO."

He'd shouted the end of his sentence, but his voice lacked his usual anger. It was almost chilling.

"You think I enjoy going on suicide missions, do you? Do you think I enjoy having to hold meetings in my own house, on my own grounds, during my wife's Ball?"

"Lucius, that's enough." Narcissa growled, and miraculously Lucius was instantly silenced. "You've had too much to drink. You should go to sleep."

They looked at each other for long seconds, exchanging a dialogue that Draco didn't understand. He didn't speak their language.

When his father turned to him one last time, Draco saw him staring at the cut he'd just made under his eye, as if he'd only just noticed it. He didn't apologise. Instead, he pointed an accusing finger in his direction.

"That's the last I hear of Theodore Nott Jr. under my roof." he threatened in a hiss. "Is that clear, Draco?"

Draco nodded. He could promise never to mention it to him again. To stop being friends with him was another matter. Lucius could slash his cheek a hundred times, it would never change his friendship with Theo. It never would.

He got up without asking permission and headed for the door leading to the Manor's back garden. He heard Chubby Apparating behind him, then his father's shouting. Just before he crossed the threshold, he heard hurried footsteps behind him. He turned to see his mother running towards him.

She was still Occluding, but Draco was sure that if she hadn't been, she'd be crying right now.

"Draco." she called, taking his hand.

Her skin was cold against his. Draco felt like he was boiling with rage. He almost yanked her hand away, but he had a feeling it wasn't a gesture she was making to reassure him.

"Why didn't you say something?" he spat, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Narcissa locked her eyes with his. Grey against grey.

"Upsetting your father is not a good idea right now." she murmured.

Draco rolled his eyes. Upsetting his father had never been a good idea, period. She was kidding herself and she knew it.

"It's Theo, Mother. He was talking about Theo. How can you not say anything?"

She rested her cool fingers against his cheek, close to the cut.

"Because I'm keeping him a secret, as you should be." she breathed.

Draco didn't know how to take that sentence. He didn't know if she meant Occlumency. Draco was good at this, at keeping his emotions hidden, at not revealing anything, but how could he not react when Lucius insulted one of the people he cared about most?

"Let me heal you." she said, reaching for the wand hidden in her robe.

Draco brushed her hand away from his cheek:

"No." he blurted out, not even bothering to lower his voice. Let him hear. "I want to keep it so that every time he sees it, he'll remember what he just did."

Narcissa's lower lip quivered slightly.

"Draco..."

"No! Don't defend him, not now."

And he turned before she could answer. He opened the door and crossed the garden in long strides. He was relieved when he didn't hear his mother following him. He needed to be alone, and no one but Pansy was allowed to join him at the foutain.

He lay down on the grass and concentrated on his breathing. To his surprise, he didn't feel the wave of panic hit him all at once. He wasn't overcome by fear. He looked up at the vastness of the sky and allowed his heart to calm, his breathing to even out. He stopped Occluding. The anger vanished and his muscles numbed with the surrounding cold, anaesthetising his brain. He was appeased in less than an hour.

Draco wasn't afraid. Which was strange after what had just happened. He should have been tetanised. He'd spent so much time fearing his father, imagining the worst-case scenarios if he found out anything negative about him. And now that it had happened, Draco realised that it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. Lucius wasn't the horrible monster that populated his nightmares. Not anymore.

Lucius had always had a hold on him, preventing him from relaxing completely. He would jump at the sound of his footsteps in the corridor, or at hearing his first name on his lips. But by cutting him off like that, Draco had just realised that Lucius was nothing but a man, tortured, submissive, unable to deal with his own fear. He passed it on to others to make himself feel powerful.

Draco took a deep breath that froze his throat. Suddenly he felt free of a grip that had suffocated him since childhood.

He heard Pansy's footsteps behind him.

"Sorry, my father kept me in... Fuck, Draco!"

She lay hastily beside him, grabbing his jaw to turn his face towards her.

"What happened to your cheek?!" she screamed.

"My father." Draco replied simply.

He saw fear flood his best friend's face and her fingers tighten against his chin.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious." he said calmly.

"Nothing serious?" she repeated in horror. "Draco, your face is scarred and covered in blood!"

"Yes." he said with a small smile. "But I'm not afraid anymore."

Pansy obviously had trouble following his thoughts.

"Afraid of what?"

"Of him." Draco said. "He insulted Theo and I retaliated. I didn't back down like I would have before. I defended his honour."

"And he cast a spell on you for that?" asked Pansy, still horrified.

"Yeah. And I realised that what I'd been afraid of all these years wasn't worth it."

He saw a sudden flash of pride in Pansy's charcoal eyes. She released her jaw and muttered:

"You sound like a real Gryffindor."

But he knew it was a compliment.

She lay down next to him without saying a word. There were hardly any stars in the sky that evening, hidden by thick, heavy clouds. Draco looked up at the grey sky, and suddenly a new fear came over him as he remembered his conversation with his father.

"Pans?" he called. "I think... earlier, when I was angry with Lucius, I think I said something I shouldn't have."

Pansy turned her head towards him, frowning. Her nose was red from the cold.

"What did you say?"

"I implied that Theo was staying with Blaise." he confessed. "Do you think he's in danger? That Lucius might tell his father and he might go and..."

He didn't finish his sentence at the risk of shuddering. Pansy thought for a few seconds, her face devoid of the fear he would have expected to see.

"No, I don't think so." she said finally. "The defences of Blaise Manor are too strong and I don't think his father would be able to force the magical barriers and risk running into Mrs. Zabini."

Draco nodded, trying to convince himself that she was right. He couldn't ignore the voice of Theo's father in the back of his mind. "We'll see about that."

They stared up at the empty sky until their clothes were soaked by the icy water on the ground and their fingers were numb from the cold. Draco loved the feeling. His body was frozen in a kind of serenity, the burning anger forgotten.

They stayed like that for a long time. They could have talked about many things: the revelation that Blaise was a Seer, the argument with Lucius, the threat from Theo's father, the possible marriage that Pansy's father wanted to impose, his feelings towards Granger. But they did none of that. They talked about nothing, and that was what Draco liked best about Pansy: they could think about things side by side without feeling the need to communicate their worries.

They heard a distant sound and turned their heads at the same time. There were flashes of colour in the sky. Fireworks, over the Muggle village, miles from where they lay. Pansy muttered:

"Happy New Year, Draco."

"Happy New Year, Pans'." he replied.

He thought back to what Granger had said in the broom cupboard just before she'd kissed him. "I'm not afraid of your father. I'm not afraid of anyone who thinks my blood is more impure than yours."

And, at midnight, Draco promised himself he would never be afraid of his father again.

.

.

---

Translation :

"Qu'est-ce qu'on en pense?" : "What do we think?"

"Je n'en sais rien. Je suis perdu." : "I have no idea. I'm lost."

"Moi aussi." : "So I am."

"Attendons de voir ce que Pansy en pense. Elle saura quoi dire. Quoi faire." : "Let's wait and see what Pansy thinks. She'll know what to say. What to do."