O N E M O N T H L A T E R

D R A C O ' S P. O. V.

~

Belly and I both stay at home after Easter, rather than returning to school. Hogwarts has become so bad that at this stage I don't know which is worse, the school or my house, but my parents don't give me an option. While my mother speaks through tears about how dangerous the wizarding world has become – how she can't bear to go another day with me out of her sight, my father rants on about how much more use I will be at home than at "that school"; how lucky they were that I was home for Easter holidays exactly when Harry Potter was caught, and all that. I think he might really be on the same page as my mother on this one. He just won't say it.

Belly's mother had been furious when she returned home after being here for more than a week. Alternating between sobbing and screaming, saying how much she needed her after her father died, and when Belly disappeared, she thought she had lost her as well. Belly says she doesn't regret coming here, but has never felt so much guilt in her life.

We don't see each other much; we both have our own homes, our own responsibilities. She writes me letters, well-worded and overflowing with love and concern. They're nothing compared to having her beside me, but keep me going until the magical moments I see her again. A couple of years ago, my parents might have cared if Belly came over, in all her fierceness and courage, but in the chaos that is today, they don't appear to give her much thought. My father barely sleeps and my mother has bitten her nails to stubs, but as far as love goes, my happiness on my terms isn't something they want to reject. For once.

That said, Belly coming here isn't always ideal. Not only is it unsafe, but the Death Eaters that come in and out of the house are often bored out of their minds, and consider the opportunity of picking on a pretty seventeen-year-old girl a treat.

I've just pulled her away from Yaxley, who had the nerve to actually play with her hair, and taken her outside to climb up the fountain in the middle of the garden. The Death Eaters barely come outside, but even if they did, the garden is huge and they would never find us all the way up here. I climb up after her, watching as she dangles her legs over the edge of the tall stone fountain wall, craning her neck to see if she can still spot Yaxley through the house's large glass windows. Thankfully, the sun is setting, and we can only see each other.

Her brown eyes flash, wonderfully dark against her fair hair. "He's quite a creep."

I grunt in response as I sit down beside her, still fighting the urge to go back and punch him.

"No offense," says Belly. "But the people here are pretty scary. They almost make me miss Snape." She pauses, then adds, "Not the Carrows, though. They're still the worst."

I nod slowly. "Snape's not actually as bad as you might think, you know."

"After being terrorized by him for nearly six years straight, I find that hard to believe."

"He's bad," I concede. "But he's not awful." When Belly doesn't reply; waits patiently for clarification, I sigh. "Snape, um." I shrug awkwardly. "I made a deal with him at the start of the year. If I helped him – just with random stuff – he would, well. Protect you, I guess."

Belly stares at me. "That's why you were always skulking around his office-"

"I wouldn't call it skulking."

"And that's why you came into my detention, when Snape needed Filch for something."

I nod. "In my defence, I didn't know that you were the wayward pupil in detention."

"I thought you hated me," she says quietly. "But all the while, you were... Bargaining for my safety. You didn't need to do that."

"I certainly helped you out," I say pleasantly. Belly grimaces and I restrain a grin. "If I hadn't made that deal, Snape wouldn't have let you off so easily all the time. He wouldn't have cared if the Carrows used you as a punching bag."

Belly is quiet, and I hope I haven't upset her. The sun has dipped past the horizon now, and dozens of shades of pink and orange blur into each other in the sky above us.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" she whispers.

I plant a swift kiss on her soft cheek. "When did you begin to love me?"

Belly looks up at me, amusement sparkling in her eyes. "You are so cheesy," she says, kicking her heels against the wall. "If everyone only knew how cheesy you were-"

"Then my icy reputation would be ruined forever." I nudge her. "Answer the question."

"Okay." She wraps a tiny hand in mine. "There was no one moment for me, you know? It happened over time. There was no exact time or realisation. You were just... always there."

I smirk. "You big softie."

"Shut up. Your go."

I pause, looking at the sky again. Then, after long moments, I say, "That night at the Christmas party. When we sat on the roof for hours. Just the two of us, even though you hated me. I didn't want to fall in love with you, but the longer we sat there, I just did. The more you spoke, the more I loved you."

A bright pink blush rises over Belly's cheeks. "I bet you say that to all the girls you bring on top of your fountains," she says, and I can't help but grin.

"Only the ones I really like."

She smiles. A slight breeze picks up around us and I squeeze her hand, hoping she's not cold.

"Did it hurt?" she asks suddenly. I follow her gaze to my forearm, realising with a twinge of shame that the hand she's holding is my left one.

"It... prickled," I say slowly. "When I first got it. It wasn't sore." I pause. "Got it at a pretty inconvenient time though, didn't I?"

"What do you mean?"

"I got the mark only months after you and I became... You and I. If I had gotten it sooner, you could have avoided all of this. Your life would be completely different."

Belly entwines her hand tighter in mine. She gives me a small smile. "In that case, I think you mean you got it at the right time."

My heart swells. "Maybe," I mumble, when all I want to say is, I love you. She puts her head on my shoulder, and I sigh into her hair.

I don't tell her how it really felt.

That I loved it at first, revelled in it, but soon, my Dark Mark began to feel like a death sentence. That it made me like a robot, a machine; that it was draining me from the inside out. That when Harry Potter attacked me in the bathroom, I had felt ready to die for months already. The way the Cruciatus curse felt toxic on my lips, the first time I was forced to utter it. The way Dumbledore's body looked like a ragdoll as it fell off the Astronomy Tower: the way I haven't gone a night since then without seeing it.

I don't tell Belly that in the midst of all that chaos and darkness, even the thought of her was like a breath of fresh air. This beautiful, cheerful and charming ray of sunshine who was the complete opposite of anything I'd ever known; I don't tell her how afraid I was – and am – of ruining her. Every time she left me, I tried to take it, tried to restrain myself from begging her to come back. I knew my presence was a curse on her life, but I was too weak to stay away. Every time she let me fall back into her arms, I did so without a second thought.

She'd probably laugh, I realise, watching as she absently brushes a curl of hair from her face. Tell me I'm being ridiculous. Maybe I am.

I don't tell her. I can't.

Because while all of that happened, Belly's father had died. He was killed – by people I know, people who have slept under my roof, people who have eaten breakfast in my kitchen. And she not only had to cope with losing him, but with the pain of trying to fix her mother's broken heart.

I'll tell her one day, I think, as she turns her face against the wind; eyes closed. The waves of her hair blow softly backwards. This is the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with, and when I do, there will be plenty of time to say all the words I haven't said.

-

Hours later, I have bid Belly goodnight and have stepped back into the real world. "Goodnight, I love you," she had said, eyelids fluttering, stretching her body against the silk sheets of her bed and dozing off before I had even shut the door behind me. Later, like every other blissful night she has spent here, I will sneak into that bedroom instead of my own, will wake hours later to only her face, all big eyes and thick lashes and freckles like constellations – no broken world, only her. Good morning, I love you.

I've barely stepped away from the room when I feel it.

A raw, burning sensation on my left forearm. The last time that happened was when Potter was here, but this is different. I pull back my sleeve and stare at the mark. Something is urgent.

I sprint down the stairs, peering through doors in the hall until I finally find my parents in the kitchen, which is scattered with people I don't recognise – people that definitely weren't in this house five minutes ago – chattering excitedly.

"Shut up!" yells Bellatrix over the crowd as I hurry to the table. No one appears to hear her. "Rookwood, what do you mean?"

"I just think we should wait here, at least until-"

"That's easy to say when it's not your house," interrupts my father. "If your little shack had suddenly been turned into a community centre, Rookwood-"

"If we know the boy is at Hogwarts," says Avery, "then why should we wait?"

"Because we can't just show up there," hisses Rookwood. "What if it's a mistake?"

"Hogwarts!" I turn to see Yaxley and Dolohov pushing towards us, panting. "The Dark Lord says – the boy is at Hogwarts –"

"Yes, we know he's at Hogwarts," my father interrupts again. "But do we go now?"

"Yes," says Yaxley quickly. Sweat beads on his brow; he looks like a completely different person than the man who tormented Belly a few hours ago. "He wants us there as soon as possible."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" says Bellatrix, eyes wild. I step backwards. The Death Eaters around her still, looking at each other uncertainly, but everyone else in the kitchen continues to chatter excitedly. "Shut up!" she shrieks, causing them to finally shrink back. "Go next door to the drawing room, before I actually-"

"Draco, where are you going?"

I have almost made it out of the doorway. I turn reluctantly to see my father's strangely flushed face staring into mine. "I'm going-"

"You should leave now," my father says quickly. I look behind me, trying to see if the commotion has woken Belly up. "Go ahead of everyone else – Draco, listen to me. You can get Potter. You can get into Hogwarts better than anyone else here-"

"Father, don't be ridiculous-"

"I'm not," he hisses. "It will be easy for you to get into the school. Get some of your old friends, grab Potter, bring him to the Dark Lord." He grabs my arms urgently. "Don't you know what this could do for us?"

Potter did steal my wand, I think bitterly. I can't bring him to his death – besides, Belly would never forgive me – but maybe I can just get my wand back from the twat, tell my father I tried my best. I glance back towards the kitchen and see my mother, still standing by the table. Through the excited throng of death eaters, she looks nervously at us. "I have to go," I say to my father, not quite meeting his eyes. "I have to get Isobel."

I turn before he can stop me, hurrying back up the stairs towards Belly's room. I'm panicking. I should have woken her by now. I still don't fully understand what's going on, all I know is she needs to go. She needs to get away from these people, away from me.

This is it, I realise. This is what had us walking in circles for the last year, like life was an uninterrupted loop of unhappiness. This is where it all ends.