Draco stood a few paces away from his bed, glaring daggers at the wand lying atop the rumpled sheets. His open hand, stretched toward the wand, trembled from the effort.
The wand didn't move.
He squeezed his eyes shut and willed it to fly into his palm once again.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. His palm remained frustratingly empty.
With a half-grunt, half-sigh, he opened his eyes and glanced out the window. Several wooden panels were floating around Ruth, but there was no wand in sight.
Draco's teeth clenched. Just what in Salazar's name was happening here?
He'd thought the accident in the barn was just that—an accident. Yet, over the past week, Ruth had been slowly but surely getting the hang of levitating and summoning objects around the house. Despite occasional hiccups, her progress was undeniable. All while his countless attempts continued to fail.
Draco grabbed his wand—a little harder than necessary—and charged out of the house, heading toward the spot where Ruth was practicing. As he approached, she turned to him, positively beaming. Two of the wooden boards slid aside to let him into the circle. He glowered at them as he passed.
Forgoing the pleasantries, Draco decided to cut to the chase.
"What's your trick?"
"What?" Her smile faltered.
"You heard me. Don't play dumb. I know you've been tricking me. You struggle for weeks with the simplest of spells, then go at it without a wand and get it perfectly the first time? Am I supposed to believe that?" As he stepped closer to her, the panels around him wavered. "If you've got any sense, you will tell me," he said, his voice a menacing whisper, "what. the. hell. is. it?"
The surprised expression on her face turned into subtle apprehension and then faded into thoughtfulness.
"I... don't know," Ruth said after a pause. "Somehow, it's easier for me without a wand."
He peered at her in disbelief.
"I spent weeks studying theory, practicing for hours every single day, visualizing that damn rock floating—even dreaming about it. I exhausted myself for the tiniest bit of progress. But this," she said, raising a panel higher, "this is easy. Natural, even. All this time, I was trying to channel my magic through a wand that resisted me at every turn. All this time... trying to draw magic through a clogged straw, when it was possible to tap into it directly."
Was she telling the truth? It sure seemed like it. Could it be possible that, due to her late discovery of her witchhood, coupled with years of accidental magical outbursts, her magic had developed in a slightly different way, making her more prone to wandless magic?
Draco didn't say that out loud. What he said was, "Why is everything so backwards with you? Were your parents house-elves or something?"
Ruth shot him a withering look.
"How? Just how?" He was beyond exasperated. "What are you doing that hundreds of other wizards are not?"
"I've actually thought about it, and I have a theory." She bit her lower lip. "It'll probably sound silly to you."
Draco crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly.
"Well," she said, "what I do daily that other people might not do is—I meditate. Back when Raymond and I were on the run, the only thing that could give us away—apart from our faces—was my magic. Obviously, we didn't know it was magic; to us, they were just some mysterious spikes of energy that happened whenever I got too angry or too excited. Usually the former. Almost always the former. Raymond had me meditate because he thought it would teach me to control my impulses and thus keep these outbursts at bay. But what if meditation can help you do more than that? Not just restrain your powers but control them. And what if physical training can help you direct them?"
Draco frowned. Meditation as a tool for learning wandless magic? He was ready to dismiss the idea as incredibly stupid, but it sounded... surprisingly reasonable. He himself had to meditate in preparation for learning Occlumency. The summer before his sixth year, every morning began with an hour of meditation, followed by two hours of Bellatrix assaulting his mind.
It hit him then. Occlumency was a form of wandless magic, too! Why had he never considered that meditation could have broader applications beyond just Occlumency training?
It was obvious. It was so bloody obvious.
Draco had never subscribed to the ridiculous theory that magic could be stolen, or that muggleborns were mere muggles with pilfered wands. Of course not. Wizards themselves were the source of magic, not their wooden sticks. He'd always known that, but never before had the deeper implications of this fact occurred to him.
Wands didn't produce magic; they simply channelled the force within, focusing it and bending it to a wizard's will. Without a wand, it only made sense that one would have to use their mind to achieve the same effect. But weak, unfocused minds could never manipulate the forces of nature. No, for that, one needed to be disciplined, determined, and highly concentrated.
To think, for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, wizards had relied solely on wandless magic. The invention of wands revolutionized the world, with the majority of people selecting them as the standard option. Why wouldn't they? Wands offered greater control and precision, enabling more sophisticated and flexible uses of magic.
Wandless magic, by comparison, came to be universally regarded as unnecessarily difficult and crude. Though, come to think of it, no, not universally. It was still widely practiced in places like Uagadou, where it was part of the school curriculum. This meant wandless magic wasn't reserved for the world's most powerful wizards. How could it be when any African child was required to study it? Europeans, on the other hand, were simply lazy and complacent, valuing convenience above all, preferring to learn spells quickly and easily rather than investing time in mastering wandless magic.
Draco could master it, and maybe it didn't have to be all that difficult. As of late, his mind had been in disarray, which likely caused his previous failures. He hadn't meditated in ages, nor had he recently used his Occlumency shields.
"Perhaps, there's some truth to it," he finally conceded, though it pained him to do so. Ruth, unknowingly, had come up with a hypothesis that turned out to be a solid, verifiable theory. Could her second assumption also be correct? Could physical training actually enhance magical precision?
She shook her head and chuckled. "You are exhausting, do you know that, Draco Malfoy?"
"If I'm exhausting, what does that make you?"
"Someone with an angelic patience and a heart of gold?"
He gave her a sceptical look. "Right."
From that day forward, Draco's daily shooting practice was preceded by hours of meditation and followed by hours of physical exercise. Ever so slowly, as grass withered away and the air grew colder, he began making progress.
At night, before bed, Draco would step outside to gaze at the stars. He'd search for the constellation his parents had named him after and wait for a falling star to make his wish.
Let no harm come to my parents.
Let them be safe.
Let me save them.
He'd close his eyes and repeat these words again and again, allowing the zephyrs of early autumn to envelop him in a cool hug and ease his worries.
Let me save them.
Ever since his trip to Knockturn Alley, a plan had been brewing in his mind. The question was: who could he trust? Theo? Blaise? Pansy? Most importantly, Snape? The man who'd fooled Dumbledore, the man who advised the Dark Lord himself, the man who'd made the Unbreakable Vow to Draco's mother—could Draco trust this man?
The answer was important.
It was with a great deal of reluctance that Draco returned to his Nietzschean endeavour. Ruth's recent progress had shown him that the problem lay not with the witch but with the wands. Not only hadn't they chosen her, but they were also still loyal to her enemies. No wonder they fought her every time she tried to cast a spell.
Perhaps her magical powers weren't necessarily weaker than those of a regular pureblood, and if given a fitting wand and a better teacher, she would learn much faster. Draco resolved to take the tutoring more seriously from now on. In the meantime, though... Did the rest of his arguments still hold? Were there other great wizards whose blood was less than pure? Had he been too quick to dismiss the Granger phenomenon?
The jumble of question marks and ellipses gave him a headache, so he decided to skip the second step altogether—for now, anyway.
Next was the assessment of muggle intelligence. For that, Draco needed to understand more about their way of living. After all, their ignorance of magic was just one argument, which could be countered by saying that wizards simply covered their tracks too well, and when, on rare occasions, they failed to do so, a small fraction of muggles did notice and acted accordingly.
In the time not consumed by training, Draco had Ruth introduce him to basic muggle appliances used in daily life. The incongruous contraptions he'd seen so far finally began to take on names: refrigerators, kettles, computers, fans, televisions...
The purpose behind these objects was more or less clear. What Draco didn't understand was the underlying principle that made them work in the first place. If not magic, then what? After Ruth's fifth failed attempt to coherently explain the concept of "electricity", she got him a textbook on muggle science.
Setting Nietzsche aside, Draco spent several evenings puzzling over this new book. Hands down, it was the most bizarre reading experience of his entire life.
The textbook was divided into three sections: biology, chemistry, and physics. Ruth had pointed him to the physics section right away, saying he'd find a methodical explanation of electricity there. However, he first needed to get through a chapter on... energy? Muggles used this word to describe something entirely different. They claimed to be able to measure it in units called "joules". The book brimmed with similarly peculiar theories and unfamiliar terms. Did muggles make it sound incomprehensible on purpose in order to appear smart? Or was it possible that it all actually made some twisted kind of sense?
Draco read on.
Soon, they'd run out of money, and since Ruth hadn't yet mastered the subtle art of the Confundus Charm, Draco had to accompany her on her next grocery trip.
"That is why you need to keep practicing wanded magic," he told her. "Some basic spells, sure, but there are many things you simply cannot do without a wand. Wandless Apparition, for instance, is virtually impossible."
"Can I learn to duel wandlessly?" she asked.
"The basic stuff, yes."
"Then what do I need a wand for?"
"No, you've got it all wrong. Wandless magic should be your secret weapon, just like the gun. The wand, however, must be your go-to."
"Why? Why would I deliberately limit myself to the most challenging option?"
Draco gave her a condescending smile. "Only a fool reveals the true extent of their powers."
With an exasperated huff, Ruth told him they didn't have all day and stormed off to get ready. He smirked and followed suit.
Twenty minutes later, Draco stood in front of his wardrobe mirror, still unsure of what to change about his appearance this time. After another sigh, he came to terms with the fact that any new look would likely be worse. Try as you might, you cannot alter perfection without introducing flaws. So he shook his head, raised his wand, and watched his luscious silver hair turn black and curly. Draco wrinkled his nose at his new reflection for a good minute before exiting the room.
Ruth was already waiting in the hallway. She looked him over and raised an eyebrow.
"If you feel like swapping hairstyles, you might as well finish the job."
Rolling his eyes, Draco tapped her dark, shoulder-length strands with his wand, turning them lighter and straighter, but not all the way; instead, he left her with gentle blond waves that gave her an almost angelic look. Almost.
"It suits you," he said flatly.
It wasn't meant as a compliment and wasn't taken as one. She regarded his appearance with a half-suppressed snort. "Wish I could say the same about you."
"Trust me, I know."
Glamoured beyond recognition, they left the farm. The walk to the nearby town took about half an hour. Once there, they quickly reached the store where Ruth usually picked up the groceries (mostly due to its cheap prices and the lack of security cameras). After she'd filled a plastic bag with food, Draco effortlessly Confunded the muggle cashier, and they exited the store without incident. Outside, he turned to head back the way they'd come, but Ruth moved in the opposite direction.
"There's one more place I want to show you," she said.
The place she led him to was a muggle library. There was nothing special about it, though Draco felt rather awkward walking between the shelves while carrying the plastic bag in his hands. Ruth did not stop to browse; instead, she headed straight for a woman behind a desk. With her stern expression and hideous clothes, the woman couldn't have been more reminiscent of Madam Pince. All librarians, magical or muggle, seemed to look the same.
The two had a quiet exchange, after which Ruth gestured for Draco to follow.
They walked up to a desk that held an odd box, with dozens of cords snaking out of it. In front of it was a board with lots of little buttons, each marked with a different letter or symbol.
"Is that—"
"Yes," she said. "That's a computer."
They settled into chairs behind the desk, and Draco squinted at the muggle device, his posture stiff. Ruth leaned forward, pressing a few buttons, and the screen flickered to life with a soft hum.
For the next hour, Draco grew more and more bewildered as he watched Ruth ask the machine all kinds of questions and immediately receive answers to each one. The screen displayed maps, news articles, and many, many images—both static and moving. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get weirder, Ruth opened another "website", and a quiet, upbeat tune began to play.
"What on earth is that?"
"Not what, who!" The corner of her lips quirked upward.
The big, tasteless letters in the middle read "Sonic the Hedgehog". Draco must have looked terribly confused, for Ruth took pity on him and proceeded to explain the rules of the game. He stared at the computer without blinking, watching her play. The image of a blue creature with spiky hair raced across the colourful screen.
His eyebrows crept higher as the so-called hedgehog fell into what appeared to be volcanic lava.
"Did he just die?"
"Mhmm."
Ruth shifted her chair to the side and cocked her head. There was mischief in her eyes. It took Draco a moment to realize she was inviting him to give it a try.
"What? Me?" He snorted.
"I dare you."
"Do I look like a sodding Gryffindor to you?"
"Why not? Afraid you'd enjoy a muggle game?"
"Enjoy?" He cast a doubtful look at the computer screen. "What could possibly be so entertaining about that?"
Before long, Draco Malfoy lost track of time, fully immersed in the absurd task of collecting rings and defeating funny-looking wasps.
"Watch out, watch out!"
"Oh Merlin, what is it now?"
They were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. The librarian was heading their way.
"I'll have you know," she said, her voice rising as she neared, "that chatting and giggling are not tolerated in this library."
Draco was mortified. They were not giggling.
Ruth turned off the game sounds, but it was too late. The woman's eyes widened, and she dashed towards them and behind their backs, her gaze darting to the screen.
"What's this?" Her voice rose in a whispery screech. "Are you playing games on a library property?"
Ruth turned to her with an apologetic look. "We're sorry, madam—"
"Get. Out."
The woman looked like she was ready to eat them. Draco could have sworn there was something Nagini-like about her. Without another word, they bolted from their seats and ran away like a pair of naughty children, nearly forgetting their grocery bag.
Later that evening, Draco walked in circles around the farmhouse, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets. He was frowning at the ground and kicking pebbles out of the way with little regard for his expensive shoes. The moon was beginning to rise, and its pale glow illuminated the path he trod.
He had originally planned to dedicate the rest of the day to trying his hand at conjuring wandless shields. However, as the hours slipped by, it became clear that not only would he fail to acquire any new skills tonight, but he was also unable to perform wandless levitation or summoning, with which he'd already made hesitant headway before.
No matter how hard he tried, his mind refused to function as a magic conduit, not now, when his thoughts spiralled into a chaotic mess in a vain attempt to reconcile his old vision of the world with these bizarre new concepts of technology and science. How was it all even possible?
If the elaborate ideas in the science book weren't just made-up gibberish, but actual discoveries that powered muggle technology, did that mean muggles weren't as brainless as he'd once thought? It had to, right?
Lost in thought, Draco didn't hear the front door open or his name being called, so he was startled when Ruth appeared behind him.
"Dinner's ready," she told him. "Better hurry up, or it'll get cold."
"I am perfectly capable of heating up food, thank you."
He expected her to go back to the house but found himself—inexplicably—almost glad when she didn't, falling into step beside him instead. They walked in silence for some time.
Unable to rid his mind of the thoughts that had plagued him all day, Draco stopped fighting it and gave in to his curiosity.
"Do muggles study physics at school?" he asked. "At what age?"
"I dropped out of school a long time ago, so I'm not entirely sure," she replied. "But the textbook I gave you is meant for children aged eleven to fourteen."
His eyebrows shot up. "Eleven?!"
"Well, they're introduced to it at that age and can usually choose to study it more intensively from fourteen."
Eleven years old? Draco had wrecked his brain trying to understand half of it, and muggles were expected to learn this as children?
"Kids here in England typically start school at five," Ruth clarified. "So, by the time they start learning physics, they've already got a basic foundation in related subjects."
Oh, that made more sense. Of course Draco struggled with it—he'd only been introduced to technology and science a few days ago.
Then it struck him.
Prior to receiving their Hogwarts letters, muggleborns knew nothing about magic. Purebloods and halfbloods, on the other hand, had the advantage of eleven years spent in the wizarding world, so it was reasonable they should get better grades. Was it really as simple as that? Did blood play no role at all?
It felt like the world was spinning. Draco stopped abruptly and slumped onto the grass. In the moonlight, the gleam of gold caught his eye, and he clutched his mother's bracelet.
Ruth halted as well, turning back to where he sat. She looked as if she wanted to ask him something—if he was okay, probably—but thought better of it. As she joined him on the grass, her gaze flickered to his hands.
"Why do you wear that?" she asked instead. "It looks... damaged."
Draco tightened his grip on the bracelet.
"It was you, actually. You damaged it. That night when—"
Understanding dawned on her face.
"I'm sorry," she said, averting her eyes.
What for, he wondered. Was she sorry about the bracelet, or about the fact she'd almost killed him? Or did she regret not killing him?
"My mother gave me that bracelet," Draco found himself saying.
She glanced up at him.
"It's her area of interest. Healing spells. Protective magic. That sort of thing. My father was rather sceptical at first, but it turned out she has a knack for it."
He leaned back, looking up at the night sky, and let out a chuckle. "She's always calling it her 'independent studies'. Just a hobby, she'd say, as if we didn't know why she started it."
His smile turned bitter.
"And why was that?"
"To protect me and Father, of course. It's all she could do. She knew, long before any of us, that we were screwed. She felt it the moment the Dark Lord came back."
"You keep calling him the Dark Lord. What's his real name?"
"Oh no. You're not supposed to say his name. The moment you say it, they'll come for you. And don't ask me to write it down for you. I won't."
Ruth pursed her lips. Draco thought she'd press him for the name, but she simply asked another question. "Screwed? Why?"
He sighed, his breath a white cloud in the cold air.
"You see, my family had long lost its devotion to the Dark Lord. My father did nothing to find him after his disappearance and had no choice but to follow him upon his return. He was already on thin ice. Then the Dark Lord entrusted him with an important mission. My father failed. Was thrown into Azkaban. After that... after that, it was my turn." His words trailed off into a whisper.
The cold made him shiver, and chill bumps prickled his skin. Draco drew out his wand and cast a Warming Charm on himself. After a brief hesitation, he extended the charm to Ruth as well.
"Thanks," she muttered, giving him an odd look.
They said nothing for a while, savouring the warmth on this cold autumn night.
After a pause, she asked, "Did you do better than your father?"
Draco snorted.
"No, I wouldn't say that. I also failed. But the man I was tasked to kill died anyway. That's why I'm still alive."
"Oh."
For a while, he fiddled with his wand, twirling it between his fingers. Then he spoke again. "You can guess what happened afterwards. Our standing in the Dark Lord's ranks plummeted. They took our home from us and spat upon its floors. All we could do was endure—the disrespect, the threats, the torture."
Ruth's brows knitted together. "So, that's why you defected?"
"Defected? Is that what you think I did?" Draco gave a humourless laugh. "If I'd gone back that night and told them that those three Death Eaters—who were way more valuable than me, by the way—if I'd brought the news of their deaths... he would've killed me."
"But you didn't do anything, you—"
"It wouldn't have mattered."
Thick clouds hid the moon, and the night grew darker.
Draco's voice was hollow when he continued speaking. "No, I never planned to leave. But now that I have, I need to find a way to get my parents out."
Ruth tilted her head to the side, inspecting his face in the darkness. "You... you care about them." The statement sounded more like a question.
Draco fixed her with a look. "They are the only people in the world who'd be glad to know I'm still alive." The words came out rigid and sharp.
As the black clouds passed, Ruth slowly nodded. "All right then. I can make an exception for your parents."
"What?"
"I did tell you I'd kill all the Death Eaters," she said slowly. "Well, you should now consider your parents... excluded from that list."
Draco stared at her for some time, utterly bewildered. Then he burst out laughing.
"The—the noble house of Malfoy," he gasped between breaths, "tha-thanks you for your graciousness."
The offended, owl-like look on Ruth's face only sent him into another fit of laughter. He knew he shouldn't be laughing like that—not only was it unbefitting, but it also went against his self-preservation instincts (making fun of a girl who owned a gun and was becoming increasingly adept at magic was hardly the smartest idea). He knew that, but he just couldn't stop himself.
"You are such a prat," she said. But her lips were twitching, and her eyes were crinkling at the corners.
Catching his breath at last, he replied, "Well, that was one ridiculously generous offer."
"Then let me double down. Do you want to add anyone else to my list of exceptions? A girlfriend, maybe?"
Draco shook his head. "Just my parents. You can have everyone else, they all hate me anyway," he said jovially. "Somehow, I've managed to piss off the entire wizarding community. They'd all want me dead if they knew I wasn't: Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, every gawker on the street, every gossiper at the Ministry, every student at Hogwarts—"
One sideways glance at Ruth was enough to cut him off. She was looking at him in a way she never had before. The lightness Draco had felt only a moment ago vanished without a trace. His jaw tightened. He would not be pitied by her. She opened her mouth, and the wand he was holding threatened to snap in his tight grip. Salazar, if she said she felt sorry for him, he would hex her head off.
But that wasn't what left her lips.
"How funny," she mused. "Never would've guessed we had this much in common."
"What do you mean?"
Ruth gave him a sad smile. "We are misfits, you and I. Forced to flee our homes, forever drifting across hostile, stormy seas, never to find a harbour that will welcome us."
A cool breeze washed over them, no longer deterred by the fading Warming Charm. The rigidity left Draco's features, and his hands fell onto the grass beside him. He offered no objection because there wasn't one. But in what mad world did a Malfoy find himself as much an outcast as a nameless, orphaned muggleborn? This one, apparently. This world was going mad.
And it was this very madness that allowed Draco Malfoy—in his right mind and of his own volition, no less—to sit here, on a meadow of a weathered muggle farm, and confide in a muggleborn witch... and have her genuinely smile at him. Of all the unimaginable changes this new reality had thrust upon him, Draco realized he didn't particularly mind this one. Not at all.