i s o b e l

She felt utterly empty. When Draco enfolded her in his arms and Apparated, and the curling trees and countryside house materialized in front of them like dust collecting, she felt as though she were merely an empty body. Numb and hollow and all out of tears, she stood, looking at the house built on love and lies.

It was bitterly cold. The air was dry and still, and the sun glowed brightly on the horizon. But the cold crept over her skin like frost, biting at her cheeks, her nose, the tips of her fingers -

It all felt like a dream. A film playing out in front of her, unendingly. There was no way of going back – of reversing choices she had made and taking another path so that things might be different, now. There was no way of undoing what was done. And Isobel could not believe her mother was gone, and this was it now, and that there was no option of experiencing life any differently than this.

She whispered a summoning spell under her breath, and watched as her silver necklace lifted from the ground and glided towards her. She handed it to Draco wordlessly, then sat on the cold porch step.

Draco sank down beside her, pushing the necklace into the pocket of his jeans. "Belly," he said quietly, "it's freezing. Let's go inside."

Isobel could hardly hear him. She looked back to the sunrise, vibrant and golden against the clear sky. It was too beautiful. It was not right.

She felt the weight of Draco's gaze on her face. She allowed her eyes to flutter shut, and silently tried to construct sentences from her feelings. Tried to unravel the knot of words that tangled in her heart.

She felt his fingers thread into hers, felt him raise her hand and press a kiss against it. "I'm sorry," he said, his breath soft and warm against her cold skin.

She looked at their entwined fingers. She had once felt that their hands melded together perfectly; that they fit together like two halves of a whole. Now she wondered what his hand would look like wrapped into Astoria's, instead of her own.

"You're not going to like what I have to say," she said, finally.

Draco blew out a low, even sigh. "Go on."

"I think that my mother and your parents were right," said Isobel. She felt unexpectedly composed. "I think they've been right this entire time. I don't think they went about what they did in a good way, and I don't think they should ever have interfered with our relationship to the extent that they did. But when they said that our relationship does more harm than it does good - they were right."

Draco's hand had tightened over hers. "You're in shock," he said, gruffly. "You're not thinking straight, Bel."

She shook her head. "I am. I know that they were right. And I think you know it, too."

"I understand that you're angry at me for putting the necklace on you," said Draco. "I don't expect you to forgive me for that."

She paused. Her eyes traced his slender fingers, the way they curved over hers. "That's not what this is about."

"I'm sorry that your mother is gone, I really am," he said. His voice was unsteady. "And I'll be here for you – I'll do whatever you need from me -"

She raised her gaze to meet his, and her bottom lip trembled with the first glimmer of emotion she had shown since arriving home. "Look at us," she whispered. "We're miserable. So much has gone wrong in our lives, and it's all been a consequence of our relationship."

"But it's been other people that have messed it up; it's been our parents -"

"I know," she replied. "But I think what we haven't been understanding - what we've been getting wrong this whole time - is that it's not just us, in this situation. Other people are inherently involved in this and will continue to get involved, whether or not we want them to."

Draco frowned. "You're serious."

"Yes."

"You think we're better off apart?"

She hesitated. Then said, in a small voice, "Yes."

"But," he said, his frown deepening, "that time I spent after the war, thinking you were gone - that was the worst time of my life. This - nothing compares to that."

"I know." Tears pricked at her eyes, blurred her vision. "But things will keep going wrong, as long as we're together. We'll both keep getting hurt. And I just -" she took a shaky breath, swiped at escaped tears – "I just want it all to stop hurting so much."

Draco shook his head adamantly, his mouth set in a hard line. "No," he said. "No, I – I cannot deal with the pain of losing you again, Belly, I -" He broke off, looking at her. His fair eyebrows knit together, and her heart ached.

Isobel took a breath, summoned all of the strength she had left in her, and pulled herself into Draco's lap, there on the cold porch. He leant his forehead in the curve of her neck, and she threaded her fingers into the back of his hair, and held him. "You won't have to," she whispered. "You won't have to deal with it." She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, but tears escaped still; slid hot over her cheeks and down her face.

The last time that Isobel had seen Lucius Malfoy, he had threatened to remove any recollection Draco had of her. And should Draco go back now, after everything he and Isobel had done; that threat was set in stone, she knew. Lucius would not only remove every good memory that Draco had of Isobel, he would remove every memory. Draco would not remember her at all.

Draco would feel that there was an aching, maddening void in his mind – a blur that Isobel of all people could empathize with. But he would have a life carved out for him. A clear-cut path to follow. And maybe he could be happy, there.

She kissed his temple, and stood. After long seconds, he followed suit.

He grazed the tip of his thumb along the scar on her cheekbone, one final time. "Is this really what you want?"

Draco's grey eyes were so full of anguish and misery that it pained her to look into them. Isobel turned away, feeling deeply ashamed that she could not face him, and nodded.

Draco's fingers traced down, over the edge of her jawline. His thumb brushed a stray tear from her cheek.

Then his hand dropped, and the crack of Apparition sounded. And he was gone.

She was left staring at the space he had vacated, shivering in the cold.

A small part of Isobel had been expecting to walk inside and see her mother there, waiting in the living room to greet her, or sitting at the kitchen table. But of course the house was empty; oppressive in its silence. Her every footstep echoed as she walked down the hallway to her mother's room.

Isobel climbed into Maggie's bed and lay there. She did not close her eyes; did not delude herself that there was a possibility she could sleep. Instead she curled her fingers into the cool sheets, pressed her face into her mother's pillow, and let time pass by as she lay there.

-

d r a c o

The blood that had spattered the gravel outside the Manor had vanished, had evaporated without leaving a single drop in its wake. The window that Draco had broken was fixed, too; looked shiny and untouched. Everything was pristine, as it always was.

"Draco," called his mother, the moment he stepped inside the house. She swept past him from the living room, still refusing to meet his eyes. "You have a visitor."

"I don't want to see anyone," he replied, but his mother was already out of sight.

He suppressed the urge to ignore what she had said, to stalk upstairs to his bedroom and wait for his father to track him down. When he entered the living room, he found Astoria, sitting on the couch with her hands clasped anxiously in her lap.

She rose to meet him. "I didn't tell your mum why I was here," she said. Her eyes darted to the doorway behind him, and Draco let the door swing shut. "She didn't know where you were. I assumed you were with Isobel, so I said I'd just wait until you were home."

Draco didn't respond, and Astoria's expression grew more nervous. "I wanted you to know," she said, "that I haven't told anyone about Isobel. I know my family will be over for dinner later, but I wanted to talk to you now, to tell you that. Merry Christmas, by the way."

Draco ran a hand over the back of his neck, where Belly's fingers had rested minutes before. He could not believe Belly did not want to see him again. He could not believe that she truthfully thought a life together was, by the sum of its parts, worse than one where they were separate.

"I also came to say I'm sorry," said Astoria. "For getting angry the way I did - for blowing up and not giving you both a chance to explain yourselves. I still wish you would have told me sooner, but I understand why you didn't." She took a breath. "And I'm willing to keep your secret if that will help you. Whatever that means for me."

At that, Draco gave a hollow laugh. He felt exhausted. And angry, and half-delirious, and it was, somehow, comical that Astoria was now offering to protect a relationship that Belly had just ended.

Confusion crossed Astoria's face, but she pressed on. "I was angry, because I took it all personally. I thought the way that you acted was something to do with me, but it all makes sense now. Of course, it messes up my plans completely, but I'm happy for you, I really am. I can tell how much you like Isobel -"

"Don't," said Draco, looking away. His smile faded quickly. "Things aren't going to work, between Isobel and I."

"I don't understand."

"She doesn't think we should be together," he said. "She thinks we'll be miserable."

Astoria's expression grew sympathetic. "And what do you think?"

"That doesn't matter. I couldn't convince her."

"Even so," said Astoria, slowly. "Truthfully, what do you believe?"

Draco's entire body felt heavy with sorrow. "I think a life spent with her would be a thousand times less miserable than a life without her," he said. He hesitated, remembering her tear-stricken face. I just want it all to stop hurting so much. Never before had he seen her so devoid of hope.

What perhaps hurt most of all was the terrifying feeling that Belly might have been right. Maybe they were better off apart, in their own separate worlds. But if that idea rang true for them now, then it also applied to the day they had spoken in the Leaky Cauldron, and the night at the club, to every interaction they had had at school and to the Christmas party. They were safer apart than they were together, and perhaps if they had never been together, their lives wouldn't look quite so disastrous as they did now.

Her mother would still be alive, if he had never dated her. He knew that for sure.

"I'm sorry," said Astoria. "Maybe she just needs some time."

He shook his head. "We don't have time."

"Of course you do, Draco," said Astoria. Her smile was small and sad. "Just – perhaps things won't unfold exactly the way you want them to. Maybe now is just not the right moment."

Draco could not understand what she was saying. There had been two options: a life where he and Belly were together, and a life where they were not. And Belly had just made that decision for them.

"That's how I felt about me and you, you know," said Astoria. "On a much lesser scale, of course. I thought we'd be happier together than apart."

"It's not the same," he replied. His eyes cut to Astoria's, grey to blue. "You wanted to be with me for a sense of security. I want to be with her because I love her."

"Yes," Astoria acknowledged. "But either way, the feeling needs to be mutual. Neither relationship would work if it were one-sided."

"No," said Draco flatly. "No, you're right."

Astoria lay a consoling hand on his arm. "If you love her," she said, "and if she loves you, you'll find your way back to one another, eventually."

Though he did not fully believe her, Draco nodded. His focus drifted to thoughts of Belly, to the broken necklace in his pocket.

"I'll see you later," said Astoria, and he nodded again.

When she left, he made his way up to his bedroom.

He stayed there for no more than an hour. Then he left his room and walked straight to his father's office.

"You win," said Draco, walking into the office. He held out his arms, feeling sick and tired and nauseous. "It's over. You can take my memories, and do what you want with them."

Lucius stood behind his desk. He balanced his wand between his fingers, and considered his son for a long, drawn-out moment. "What changed your mind?"

"I don't want to discuss it, Father."

"Hmm." Lucius tilted his head, ever-calm. "Your mother wouldn't let me go after you yesterday, you know. She said you had to come to your senses on your own, that I was no longer allowed to intervene."

"Well you can tell Mother," said Draco stiffly, "that I give my full permission for you to do this. I've come to my senses. Now take them away."

Lucius' thin smile had spread across his face as he walked closer. "Did the girl tell you to do this?" he asked. "Did she end your little romance?"

Draco gritted his teeth. He felt his jaw set into a hard line as he glared at his father. "Yes," he said, truthfully. There was no use in lying anymore. "And I cannot handle loving her without having her. I'm ready to do things your way, now."

"Very good, Draco."

Draco closed his eyes. His mouth felt entirely dry, his throat was closing up with emotion.

All he wanted was for this pain to leave him. The increasingly excruciating pain of living without her. He couldn't do it. Not again.

When he spoke again, his voice broke. "Do it, Father," he said. "Take them."

Lucius flicked his wand, and did exactly that.

Every memory that Draco had of Isobel Young disappeared in the blink of an eye. Every conversation and interaction, from the first time he had met her to the moments outside her house that very day - it all was stolen from his mind with that movement of Lucius' wand.

They vanished like evaporating moisture, there one moment and undetectable the next.

-

Hours later, the Malfoy and the Greengrass families ate Christmas dinner together, under the guise of utter normalcy.  They discussed Draco and Astoria's engagement plans, the meal, and the weather outside, as if there was nothing else to turn their minds to.

That night, when the plates were stacked and bottles of wine lay empty on the counter, the two families made their way to the living room, where a fire burned bright in the hearth. Astoria's father questioned why the engagement had not yet been finalised, and Draco's father seconded his uncertainty, and soon the conversation veered from indirect plans to excitement and candid encouragement.

Draco stood with his cheeks warm from the fire and his senses numb from the wine. He himself was entirely unsure why the engagement hadn't been finalised, as it seemed they had planned it for such a long time. It was a mutually beneficial proposition, and for him, there really seemed no path more secure for his life to take.

An hour later, Draco knelt on one knee, took Astoria's hand in his and asked her to marry him.