d r a c o

Draco couldn't sit still. He had paced around his apartment for an hour, then up and down the building stairs. Then he had pulled on shorts and trainers and gone for a run - a bloody run, just to have something to do - because she was alive and energy was coursing through his entire body and he didn't know what to do with it all.

When he got from his run, he realised he'd left his apartment door wide open. Then he remembered he was hungover and got sick into the kitchen sink.

He was restless. He didn't know how he'd gotten through seeing Belly, didn't know how he had sat still for over an hour, watching her - how he'd managed to ask questions, speak and react like a normal person, because now he didn't fucking know how to cope -

It seemed too good to be true. His mind moved in circles - surely it couldn't have been her, the love of his life who he'd mourned for the past year and a half - because she had been dead but then he had started seeing her and then it had been her, actually her, and then she had sat in front of him with her dark eyes and perfect skin and thick eyelashes, and either he was going insane or some higher power had taken pity and given him a second chance. Brought her back to him, saying, be more careful, this time.

But then, he hadn't even really been careful, had he? Because if he had been careful, he would have stuck with her, protected her. If he'd been careful, he would have never let her out of his sight again.

He grabbed his trainers from where they lay discarded by the wall, and pulled them on. Then he left his apartment - made sure to close the door behind him, this time - and went for another run.

-

i s o b e l

When Isobel returned home from the Leaky Cauldron, she went immediately to her mother's room. She opened the door and stuck her head in. Her mother squinted up from her bed, grey and gaunt, and asked, "Where have you been?"

"At the shop," said Isobel. "Can I bring you anything? Water?"

Maggie nodded, and nestled back into her pillow. "Water."

In the kitchen, Isobel unwound Draco's scarf and filled a glass of water from the tap. She could still feel his fingertips on her neck, the back of her hand, and on the scar on her cheekbone. The scar was negligible, practically invisible, and he had noticed it. It was surreal. She didn't know what she had expected from him, but it hadn't been that.

She had prepared herself for a more formal conversation; an exchange of information, a shaking of hands. But when he had seen her in that nightclub - all tears and entwined fingers and alcohol and heartbreak - only then had it begun to occur to her how broken he really was. How shattered. Over her.

And - she had known they had dated. But to feel his eyes on her like that, barely leaving her face, to feel the way his arms had wrapped around her back and clung to her. . . She had known he'd liked her, but not that much. She had known he was upset, but not like she'd just seen. She had known he was afflicted, sure. But she hadn't expected him to mirror her own treacherous storm of emotions.

She wet a washcloth, then closed the tap and went back to her mother's room.

Maggie's - deterioration, as she had phrased it - was more than physical. Sometimes when Isobel walked into Maggie's bedroom, her mother would look at her with wild eyes, as if she didn't recognise her. As if she were waiting for someone to sneak in and attack her. Minutes later, she would be lying back against her pillows, sleeping soundly.

Sometimes, she would grab Isobel's wrist, sit up in her bed and say in a hoarse voice, "You know about the Malfoy boy?"

"Not much," Isobel would say, gently pushing her mother back down to her pillows. "I don't know much."

"You won't go near him?"

"No, Mum. I won't go near him."

But other times, Maggie was fine. Coherent and calm. And when Isobel creaked open the bedroom door, and placed the washcloth and water on Maggie's bedside table, her mother looked back at her, clear-eyed. "Are you wearing your necklace?"

Isobel sat down on the wooden floor, cross-legged. "Yes, of course I am."

"Do you ever take it off?"

"No, Mum. You told me not to."

Maggie lay on her side, so that their faces were level. "What about night-time? When you're sleeping?"

Isobel sighed. "I never take it off."

Maggie nodded, apparently content with these answers. "It protects you, still," she said. "No one can harm you, as long as you wear it."

A thought occurred to Isobel. "Mum, if the way I was attacked at the battle is what's made you sick now -" She broke off. "What if I were attacked again? Would that hurt you even more? Make you sicker?"

"No," said Maggie. "It wouldn't."

"Are you sure?" asked Isobel. "Because if it would, I'm taking it off right now."

"Don't you dare," said Maggie, fear crossing her face. "It wouldn't make me sicker, I promise."

"Where did I get the necklace from, before you enchanted it?" asked Isobel. "Did someone give it to me?"

Maggie held her gaze. Then said, "I gave it to you."

Isobel said nothing. She knew it was a lie, she just didn't know why. What was so bad about admitting Draco might have loved her? Might have treated her well? It was almost laughable, she thought, that she felt better inclined to believe a boy she had met the previous night in a club, than her own mother. But her mother lay there, sick as a consequence of sacrificing her life for her daughter's, and Isobel found it difficult to be angry. She stood, kissed her mother's sunken cheek, and left the room.

In her own bedroom, she pulled off her jumper. She laid Draco's scarf on her bed, pulled the remaining piece of his letter from her pocket, and fiddled absently with her necklace. All three possessions were different now; had taken on new meaning, in the light of meeting a boy who seemed to know her better than she knew herself.

On her wall hung a small, frameless mirror: she walked hesitantly towards it. She looked at herself, trying to see what Draco Malfoy saw. Dark eyes, freckled cheeks. . . He had loved this face, once. She didn't know why that was so difficult to fathom.

A part of her felt silly for ever having questioned whether or not he would still like her, that they would get on. She felt a twinge of embarrassment, remembering what she had said to him. I don't doubt what we had, but I can't force anything. A stupid thing to say, for the first time he saw her: untactful and harsh, sprung from a mixture of fear and confusion. But it hadn't seemed to deter him. Hadn't seemed to shake the bewildering affection that he seemed to have for her.

That night, as Isobel lay on her bed and relayed their conversation over and over, a loud crack sounded from the driveway. She pulled her curtains aside and saw Draco standing on the tarmac, hands pushed into his pockets; looking around him. His eyes lit up as he saw her.

She pushed open the window, overwhelmed by a wave of shyness, not sure how to even greet him -

"Fuck," he said. He had moved to her window: they stood on either side, looking at each other. "You're real. I didn't dream it."

She smiled. The warm light of her bedroom shone out over his face, adding a tinge of yellow to his white-blond hair.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head. "I couldn't stay away any longer. The longest six hours of my life, and then I started questioning if it ever even happened, and I had to talk to you again."

"It's okay," said Isobel. She kept her voice low, aware of her mother, asleep in her own bedroom. "How did you find me?"

"I messaged the Weasley girl again," he said. "I've had to communicate with your friends so much, you wouldn't believe it -" He broke off. "I hope it's okay I'm here," he said, eyes on her. "I really have nothing to say, I just wanted to see you."

She nodded, nervous. "I wanted to see you too."

She heard him exhale, his breath shaky.

"Can we speak outside?" asked Isobel, and he nodded. "Sorry - it's just, if my mum hears you she'll go mental -" She cast around for her slippers, slid them on hastily, aware of his eyes on her.

He silently held out a hand for her to climb through her window. She took it, feeling breathless, put one foot on the windowsill and climbed through, leaning on his hand, then leant her other hand on his arm -

She jumped onto the tarmac and dropped his hand. She felt her cheeks begin to warm. How a single touch could fluster her like that - she didn't know.

They moved down the driveway, out through the eerie, curling trees, where she was sure her mother wouldn't hear them. The thought of Maggie finding Ginny in Isobel's room was one thing; finding Draco was out of the question. Isobel turned and looked back at the house: only her bedroom light was on.

"How long have you been here?" asked Draco. "In this house?"

"A year and a half," Isobel answered. The air was chilly: she pulled at her jumper sleeves. "I woke up here a few days after the battle. I never even got to say goodbye to my old house. I know that's trivial, but. . ." She sighed. "But still." She looked up at him. "Were you ever at my old house?"

"Once or twice," he said. "The Manor was bigger, so had more space for us to hide away from everyone."

"The Manor?" she repeated. "I went to your home?"

Draco blew out a breath: it fogged in the cold air. "Yeah," he said. "You were there quite a lot, actually." He paused, glanced back at Isobel's house. "Do you like it here?"

"No," she answered automatically, and hastened to add, "It's lonely. It's a nice house, but I don't know anyone."

"No neighbours?"

"None that I've spoken to for more than five minutes."

"So no local muggle boy has caught your eye yet?" he asked. A smile tugged at his lips - sarcastic and well-rehearsed - but his eyes did not meet it. They stayed on her, tense and nervous.

Isobel shook her head. "No one."

The way they stood in the middle of her driveway should have been awkward, she thought. Just facing each other, not moving, not touching. It should have been uncomfortable. But it wasn't, and she wanted him to stay; towering over her with his intense, grey-eyed gaze. She wanted to speak to him for hours.

"I met your neighbour -"

"I heard," he said. "Emily. I believe she said you were -" the corner of his mouth twitched - "Eager to see me."

Isobel felt herself blush. "I tried to knock on your door, one time when I was feeling brave. You weren't home, but she heard me, so I spoke to her -"

He raised a fair eyebrow. "I heard Daphne spoke to her."

"Well," she said. "I couldn't have your neighbour tell you that an Isobel was looking for you."

"Yeah," he said, in agreement. "I probably wouldn't have taken that very well. How did you find my apartment?"

Isobel felt her heart drop. "Oh," she said. "Well. I followed you."

He broke into a delectable smirk. "Say that again?"

"I followed you one time, to your apartment," she said. She felt her heart speed up, said reluctantly, "There's this street corner, and I could see your apartment from there. I'm sorry - I know that's probably horrible to hear. But I didn't know you. All I knew was your family history and that I'd apparently dated you - and I was so afraid to meet you, because I didn't know anything about you - so I kind of, watched you for a while -"

"You watched me," he said, smirk growing, "through my window?"

"I'm sorry," she said nervously. "I understand how weird that is. But I hadn't spoken to anybody in a year except for my mum, and no one knew I was alive - and I was so confused by the idea that I might have dated you - and I didn't trust you. I suppose I wanted to learn to trust you, at least a little bit, before I spoke to you." She wasn't sure how to explain it. How to explain the deep, paralysing fear that her mother had instilled in her of other people; the certainty that everyone in the world was somehow an enemy.

Draco's smirk had faded, listening to her speak. "But you trust me now?"

She nodded. "My mum would be so angry if she found out -" she gave him a small smile - "but yes, I trust you."

She watched him relax; saw his shoulders untense. "I hope it was all good things," he said. "That you saw."

"Just a lot of tea drinking," said Isobel. "An alarming amount, actually."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah."

"And," she said carefully. "Some visitors."

His face fell. "Visitors?"

"I saw her one time," said Isobel. "Astoria. I heard about the marriage." She took a breath. "I suppose me showing up like this isn't exactly ideal for it."

He was shaking his head. "Forget about that," he said, looking distressed. "I'm not going to marry her, no one can force me to. I'll tell my parents you're alive, they'll understand."

Isobel watched him. "I don't think you should do that, Draco," she said quietly. "I met your dad one time, near your apartment. He wasn't happy to see me."

His eyes hardened. "What did he say to you?"

"He just told me to stay away," she said. "It's fine, really -"

Draco looked livid. "He knew? He knows you're alive?"

"Only since he saw me," said Isobel. "That was only a few weeks ago."

"A few weeks," repeated Draco, scathingly. He shoved his hands back into his pockets and glared at the tarmac. "I've seen him since then."

"I just think it would be best," said Isobel, "if you didn't tell him for a while, that you know I'm here."

"Why not?" he asked. "I don't care what he thinks."

Isobel looked at him. "Do you trust your father, Draco?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't. And you're right. We'll hold off for a while." Isobel nodded, and he went on; "Do you think. . ." He broke off, looking pained. He scuffed his shoe against the ground. "I don't think it's entirely impossible that my father had something to do with your memories."

"I don't think so," said Isobel. "He seemed surprised to see me, really, Draco. He hasn't known that I'm alive all this time. I assume he'd just prefer that you marry Astoria because it would restore your family's reputation. I mean - no offence -"

"I don't give a shit about my family's reputation," he said flatly. "But you're right, that's why they want me to marry her. I don't love her, by the way," he said, meeting her eyes again. "And I certainly don't intend to marry her."

She stepped closer to him, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself, her eyes glued to his. She was unnerved by how quickly everything was happening, how quickly he had accepted that she was alive and was here now, offering her everything - how quickly she herself was softening to him -

Then, faintly from the house, sounded her mother's voice. "Isobel?"

If either of them had looked up, they would have seen a heavenly navy sky, scattered with pinprick stars. But still their eyes were on one another's -

"Isobel," came Maggie's voice again.

"You should go," said Isobel, to Draco. "But I really - I don't think we should tell our parents yet. I don't know what could happen if we do."

He nodded. "Okay. We'll wait."

She gave him a small, shy smile. "Thank you for coming here."

He raised a hand to her elbow; she felt him pick at the sleeve of her jumper. "When can I see you again?"

She let out a shaky breath; it fogged up in the air between them. "Is tomorrow too soon?" she asked. "Tomorrow night?"

Another nod. "Tomorrow is good."

She exhaled again. More foggy air. "Alright."

"Alright," he repeated. "I'll go now."

But for long moments he stared at her, and she stared at him; looked into his grey eyes and wished he didn't have to leave.