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

i s o b e l

Isobel stood in a small, dark room on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's hospital. In front of her was a large metal basin, swimming with the silvery light of Draco's memories.

For a month, she had battled with her own fear. She knew that watching his memories would intensify everything she was already feeling; would only cause her to feel larger waves of sadness and regret. She had feared that watching their whole story - finally witnessing all of the moments she had once known - would cause her to miss him unbearably.

As it turned out, she already missed him unbearably. She didn't need to watch the things that had happened in a previous life in order to miss him so much that it hurt.

She had worked up the courage to Apparate to St. Mungo's. She had tracked down the Healer who had cared for her mother and asked to use a Pensieve. And she was here now, and there was no going back.

She had watched her mother's memories first, immediately. She told you everything she knew, Draco's letter had said. There will be no surprises. Still, Isobel's chest had felt tight with nerves and her fingers had shaken as she emptied the vial into the Pensieve.

Her mother's vial had included short segments of the life they had shared. Snippets of Isobel's childhood, where both of her parents were happy and healthy, where they had laughed and danced together and everything was good. Isobel watched her tiny eleven-year-old receive her Hogwarts letter as her parents looked on, watched herself hug her mother and father and step onto the Hogwarts Express; watched her mother wipe away tears as the doors slid closed and the train rolled away.

These were moments that Isobel remembered herself, of course, but it was strange to consider them from her mother's perspective. It was strange to think about her relationship with her mother from her mother's side rather than her own, and it was when she watched her mother get the news of Isobel's father's death - was when she saw her mother hold her breath as she waited for Isobel to return from Hogwarts - that Isobel began to cry, too.

The scene dissolved, and Isobel stood in the living room of their old house. She saw own body lying on the couch, a star-shaped burn on her throat. Her mother knelt beside her, sobbing over the daughter she had almost just lost.

She watched as Lucius Malfoy burst in, watched her mother scream and stand her ground as he threatened her. She watched as Maggie made a rash decision that would impact the course of their entire lives. Maggie packed their belongings, erased her daughter's memories under Lucius' eagle-eyed gaze, and as instructed, erased Lucius and Narcissa's memories, too. She moved Isobel into their new home and several days later, Isobel regained consciousness.

The scene dissolved and Isobel found herself in her mother's bedroom. Maggie was standing by her window, opening an envelope. She slid out two separate pieces of parchment.

The first letter was signed by Narcissa Malfoy. It said only:

I am sorry for the loss of your daughter.

I found this letter in Draco's room, and thought you might like to have it. Even if they were never right for one another, they truly were in love.

The second letter had been Draco's. Isobel watched as her mother studied the letter, watched tears form in Maggie's eyes as she began to understand the depth of Draco's heartbreak. Maggie folded the parchment and placed it on the top shelf of her wardrobe, held down by a jar of Floo powder. The scene faded once more.

Isobel watched Maggie sit in their kitchen late at night with her head in her hands. She tried desperately to read her mother's thoughts, to scrutinize her expressions. If Maggie had really wanted to keep Isobel away from Draco, she would have destroyed the letter and moved them out of the country. But Maggie didn't appear to be able to bring herself that far. Instead she continued with the unsound, backwards plan of waiting it out and deflecting Isobel's questions in the hopes of keeping Isobel at home for as long as she could.

Isobel had surfaced from the Pensieve with her entire body shaking. Yes, there had been no surprises, but now she finally understood that her mother had never whole-heartedly tried to keep her away from Draco. She had kept Isobel inside as long as she could; had scorned the Malfoy name and attempted to instil fear of Death Eaters deep in Isobel's heart. But Maggie had been dying since the first day that Isobel's necklace had saved her. Maggie had never expected to control Isobel forever.

And now Isobel stood, staring into the silver strands of Draco's memories, feeling very afraid indeed. Because she had expected her mother's memories to be easy - and if the more difficult bit was yet to come. . .

She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to work up the courage.

Ginny had offered to accompany her today but Isobel had declined her offer, had said she wanted to do it alone. Which was true, of course - while she appreciated Ginny's support, this moment was surely too personal to share with a friend. The thing was, every part of Isobel wished that she could share it with Draco.

The light of the memories reflected on the ceiling of the room, a reiteration of the stars in his bedroom. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and tried to imagine what he would say to her now, if he were here.

His voice echoed softly in her mind. The phrase that she had repeated over and over to herself - but she had only recently understood where it had come from, from whom she had learnt it -

Be brave, Gryffindor.

Isobel opened her eyes, dipped her hand into the Pensieve, and was sucked into the first memory.

A thick blanket of snow materialized. Metres away from her, a younger Draco - fourteen or fifteen, maybe - leant against a wall. He looked down at a clearing of snow, his pale face pulled into the slightest frown. Isobel followed his gaze and recognised herself and Ron in the clearing, laughing and yelling in the snow. Isobel - the younger Isobel, bundled in layers of wool - broke away from Ron, ran through the woods, over the bridge and straight into Draco. Isobel watched, breaking into a fond smile as she and Draco tossed reckless, half-hearted insults at one another.

While Isobel did not recall the moment, she saw straight through her younger self's actions. She knew she was supposed to hate Draco, knew that he came from a world of people that sided against her own. She was acting on what she had learnt, trying to hide what she actually felt.

The scene dissolved and her surroundings transformed into a city rooftop at night-time. She saw herself and Draco on a brick wall, talking, sitting awfully close for two people who were meant to be enemies. She watched as each of them tried to focus on the view of the city, but their gazes kept flitting back to one another.

She watched as they glared at each other across library tables. She watched as he teased her, tantalized her, insisted on calling her a nickname that she swore she hated. She watched as they kissed in a deserted school corridor.

On and on it went. Each memory formed and dissolved around her, and she stood, captivated, watching them pass by like scenes in a film. She watched herself fall in love with Draco Malfoy, and watched him try to ward her off as the world grew darker. She watched as Draco - barely seventeen - stood on top of the Astronomy tower, pointing an unsteady wand at Albus Dumbledore's heart.

She watched her own heart break as she discovered that he had become a Death Eater. She watched their seventh year pass; saw how, despite their differences, they found their way back to one another. As they always somehow did.

She watched as they lay by the lake and he drew circles on her arm and she tucked a snowdrop behind his ear. She watched as they snuck through the Manor hand in hand, avoiding rooms of Death Eaters; running to sit on top of a fountain in his garden and ignore the crumbling world.

Isobel stood, surrounded by Draco's memories, her chest and gut and heart all feeling twisted with pain - and when the Battle of Hogwarts passed she thought that that was it, she thought it would end there -

But it didn't. And she watched, paralysed by emotion, as Draco stood alone in his London apartment, as he stared at a picture of her and held their snowdrop in his palm. She watched him lie on his bed, awake for hours, with all of his windows open and all of the lights turned on.

She watched him block out his family and friends, and let his grief swallow him whole. Just as she was doing, now.

When she surfaced from the Pensieve, her face wet with tears, she collected his memories and Apparated straight home from that room.

-

That night as she lay in her mother's bed, everything she had seen replayed in her mind on a loop. The way they hadn't been able to stay away from one another despite the world being pitted against them - the mesmerized way she had seen herself look at him - his softening expression when he looked at her -

What haunted her most of all - the image her mind sprung back to, over and over - was that of Draco standing alone in his apartment. Nothing affirmed his love for her more than the year he had spent, alone and miserable, allowing his grief to absorb him. He could speak every lovely word to her, could give her every extravagant gift - but nothing compared to his utter devastation at losing her.

She held each of his letters, one in each hand. She read them over and over again, until she fell asleep in the light of dawn.

In another life he lay beside her, holding her tight.

-

Grief felt like drowning. It was all around her, clawing at her heart and pulling her down - darkness enveloping her every time she made a ragged gasp for air.

It came in waves. Huge, powerful, suffocating waves that emerged from nowhere and knocked her over; took her breath. But after a while, the waves became smaller. And after a while, she moved from her mother's room and began to sleep in her own bed again.

Days passed slowly but months passed fast, and all at once the air had warmed and ice had melted. Buds appeared on bare branches, and flowers began to bloom again, and before she knew it, winter had faded.

Ginny visited regularly. She made conversation out of everything and nothing, trying to divert Isobel's attention from her misery. She insisted that she needed help with every element of planning her June wedding, and asked Isobel to be her maid of honour.

And some time later, when the curling trees and tarmac road and tiny garden became overbearing, when the pillowcases and duvet covers that lay on her mother's bed had started to collect dust; when she still missed Draco so much that thinking of him physically hurt -

When Isobel could no longer stand to spend another minute in the countryside house, she came to a decision. She locked the doors, and Apparated.

She could feel the salty air on her cheeks before she opened her eyes.

-

She rebuilt the walls. The cottage had been abandoned long before Draco had come across it. It was not in good condition, but she didn't mind one bit. She restored the rooms with gentle waves of her wand, fixed what furniture she could salvage and transfigured the rest into sand to sweep out to the beach.

Then she turned to the shattered, grimy window that overlooked the sea. With several waves of her wand - with mending, transfiguring and cleaning spells, she fixed that, too. And all at once the window was shiny and new, and the view of the dark blue sea was crystal clear, as if the window was not even present.

She cleaned and repaired every other window in the cottage, mended the broken bench and fixed up the fallen door frame. She did it all alone.

When night had long fallen, she Apparated back to her house. She lay in her bed with an involuntary smile pulling at her lips, feeling happier than she had in months.

The next day she packed up everything that she and her mother had owned, and left. She would never return to the countryside house again.

She visited the nearest town to the cottage to buy the furniture and other things that she still needed - most importantly, blankets and cushions for the window seat -

And when it was finished - tidied and furnished - she walked down the stone steps to the beach. She turned on the sand, looked up at the cottage and smiled.

It was just as they had imagined it.

-

Isobel adjusted easily to life at the cottage. It was everything she had ever wanted from a home - beside the sea, cozy; modest in size but large enough that she could have friends over. Ginny, Neville, Luna and Hermione all visited, every now and then, and the rest of the time she spent alone.

And it was good.

She began to go out more regularly - began to explore nearby towns and to visit her friends. As Harry and Ginny's wedding drew nearer, she went frequently to help them with the organisation.

She did not think of her mother or of Draco any less than she had before. She did not feel any less sad, the pain of losing them did not subside. But very slowly, she began to learn to live with the sadness.

If anything, she thought of Draco more than she had before moving here. She felt closer to him here, knowing that this was the place he had chosen for them.

And she knew that in another life, he sat beside her here, by the window. He would read and she would write, and they would be the only people for miles.

-

On the morning of Harry and Ginny's wedding, she woke early to get dressed. She was to get ready before she arrived at the Burrow, where she, Hermione and Ginny's sister-in-law, Fleur, would help Ginny into her wedding dress. The ceremony would be held in the Weasleys' garden.

Isobel's bridesmaid dress was a soft, pale pink. It had embroidered flowers across the bodice and a floaty skirt that fell to her ankles. From her time spent outside on the beach, Isobel had built up a tan. Her hair was longer than it had ever been, and today her curls hung soft and loose around her shoulders.

She opened the drawer of her dressing table. She picked out Draco's star necklace, fine and silver; desperately delicate. Untouched for months. She clasped it around her neck.

Then she Apparated to the Burrow.

-

The bridesmaids fussed over Ginny for hours, fixing her hair and lacing her dress into place. Outside, Isobel could hear guests arriving, gathering in the garden and filing into the large tent that had been set up for the ceremony. But her focus was only on Ginny, and her dress and veil and flowers, and making sure not one hair was out of place.

When the congregation were all seated inside the tent, and Harry was standing in place and Ginny was ready, the girls walked to the edge of the tent, and prepared for their entrance.

Ginny, radiant in her silky white gown, took Isobel's hand in her own. "Thank you for coming," she whispered. "It means a lot to me that you did."

"Of course," said Isobel, smiling. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Ginny's eyes flicked between her own. She nodded and turned away, to her father. Fleur, looking on, took this her queue to begin the ceremony. She peeled back the entrance of the tent and walked in. Music drifted out from the tent, and Hermione stepped forward to enter next.

"Iz," said Ginny sharply, breaking away from her father. "Will you check my veil again?"

Isobel was quite certain that Ginny's veil was perfect. But she complied, and walked behind Ginny to straighten the veil once more. "It's lovely, Gin."

Hermione had disappeared, and it was Isobel's turn to go in. She squeezed Ginny's hand and moved to walk away, but Ginny pulled her back.

Isobel rubbed at her hand, where Ginny's nails had dug into her skin. "Everything okay?"

"I have something to tell you."

Isobel frowned. "Ginny, I have to walk in now."

"I just think that you should know," said Ginny, her voice hurried but calm, "that I invited Malfoy to both the ceremony and the reception. And Zabini, and Astoria. And they're all sitting in there, right now."

Isobel gasped. Sweat sprung to her palms, and her heart began to race.

Ginny smoothed down the skirts of her bridal gown, looking entirely nonchalant. "Go on then," she said. "I'll see you inside."

"No," said Isobel shakily. "No, they can't be in there -"

"We're friends now, kind of," said Ginny. "It was only polite to invite them."

"That's - that's not why you invited them -"

Ginny raised a shoulder. "No," she said. "You're right, it's not. But I wanted to invite Malfoy, because I think you have some unfinished business with him. And given that he doesn't have the faintest idea who you are at the moment, it would have been strange to invite him alone."

"Unfinished business," Isobel echoed. She could barely choke out the words, could barely comprehend what was happening - "Ginny, it's over between us. He doesn't remember me, there's nothing left to say -"

"It's my wedding," said Ginny, "I can do what I want." She nodded at the opening of the tent. "Go on."

"But I can't -"

Ginny combed Isobel's hair behind her shoulders. "Darling," she said, "if you don't walk in right now, you'll make me late to my own wedding." She gave her a warm smile. "And you can. You'll be perfectly fine."

Isobel was not sure that she was breathing. But she turned away, towards the tent. She clasped her flowers in one trembling hand and with the other, peeled back the entrance.

She shot one final, terrified glance back at Ginny. Then she stepped inside.