hi my loves,

this story hit 2 million reads this week! thank you so, so, so much, i am so grateful for every read, vote and comment. i love you, thank you <3

chapter thirty-four will be up around this time next week but again, check my instagram closer to the time if you would like to know the exact date :)

ok bye ily

-

i s o b e l

It was already night-time when the crack of Apparition finally sounded from the driveway.

Isobel turned in her place on the couch to look at Draco, as he walked in the cold towards the house. Streetlights bounced off his light hair, the curling trees created serpentine shadows across his face.

She pulled open the front door, unable to contain her smile. "Hi."

"Hi," echoed Draco. He smiled back, but she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. "Sorry I'm so late, I couldn't get away."

"Evening, Malfoy," said Ginny, from behind her. "Am I excused, now?"

Draco gave her a short nod. "Thank you," he said curtly. "Weasley."

Ginny's eyes widened. "Did Draco Malfoy just thank me?" she asked. "Well, I never -"

Isobel bit back her smile. "Now, now."

She looked at Draco. His eyes were tired, the tip of his nose was pink from the cold. As the hours of the day had passed, she had begun to worry that something had happened. That Astoria hadn't kept her word, or worse, that Lucius had somehow found out. But Draco seemed to be alright.

"As much as I'd love to stay," said Ginny, edging past them, "I'll leave you to it." She wrapped an arm around Isobel's waist and gave her a squeeze. "Merry Christmas, you two."

"Merry Christmas, Gin," said Isobel. "Thanks for everything."

The door shut behind Ginny, and Isobel reached for Draco's hand. His fingers were ice-cold; she clasped them in hers, trying to warm him up. "You're here," she said. "Astoria didn't. . ."

"No," he said. His eyes dropped momentarily to her hands - his fingers between hers - and then they were back on her. Tired, but focused. Intent. "She hasn't done anything yet."

Isobel breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good."

"She was so angry," said Draco. "I've seen her angry before, but not like that. I was positive that she would go straight to her parents."

"Maybe she's not as untrustworthy as you think."

"Maybe." He looked away. "I don't know," he said, "how the Greengrasses will visit us for a whole day, without Astoria saying something. Our parents will discuss the wedding, and everything else, and Astoria will just have to sit there and take it. I can't see that happening."

"I trust her," said Isobel. "And I think you should try to, as well. For now, I suppose all we can do is hope."

Draco looked back at her. His brief moment of nervousness was gone, vanished from his expression and replaced by a wry, half-smile. He closed his hand around hers, and lowered their hands between them. "I suppose you're right."

Isobel's heart fluttered. She wondered if this was normal for him - if he was used to holding her hand as if it were an extension of himself, or did he feel as flustered by her touch as she did by his. Because all she could concentrate on was his skin, cool beneath her palm.

She led him through the house into the living room, their hands entwined between them. As they sat on the couch, he nodded at the piano. "When will you play for me?"

Isobel groaned. "Not now."

"Then when?"

"After Christmas," she said. "Maybe."

"I hope so," he replied.

His voice was light but Isobel understood the undertone of his words. God willing, Astoria would keep her word, and Draco would return safely after Christmas, and everything would be fine.

"Oh," said Draco. He sat up, and reached into his back pocket. "I got you something."

"A Christmas present? I didn't get you anything -"

The side of Draco's mouth curved. "It's nothing big, relax."

He opened his palm to reveal two loose silver keys, side by side. "The key to my apartment building," he said, "and the key to my apartment. As discussed."

Isobel paused, looking at the keys. She didn't need them to enter his apartment, she could just use her wand. They had spoken about this, had thrown the idea around, but the act of him actually giving them felt significant. It felt like a promise.

"Thank you," she said. "I hope they don't have any funny enchantments on them."

"Keep them away from Maggie," said Draco, "and they'll remain magic-free."

He turned his hand to tip the keys into her palm. Rested it there a second, then pulled away. "You should stay here though, over Christmas. My father doesn't know you live here."

"I will." Isobel sighed. "I hate this house," she said. "It's even worse when my mother isn't here. It's so quiet."

"Did you visit her today?"

"No." She shook her head. It had been the first day since her mother had been taken into hospital that she hadn't visited. She hadn't been able to bring herself to face her, after everything.

"I'll go tomorrow," she said. "Or maybe on Christmas day."

"I'm sure she'd like that."

She grimaced. "I haven't forgiven her yet."

Draco's hand crept back into hers. "I know."

She leaned forward to place the keys on the coffee table. Then she turned so that she faced him fully, and threaded her fingers through his.

"I suppose I still can't convince you to put on the necklace," he said.

"No," she said, firmly. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

He rolled his eyes. "Worth a try."

"In your letter" she said slowly, "you said the night before you gave the necklace to me was the night you fell in love with me. The Christmas party."

He gave her a single nod. "Yes."

"That was four years ago, now."

He nodded again, his eyes on hers.

For a moment they watched each other in silence, both studying one another's features, their expressions. Finally, she asked, "What was our first kiss like?"

Draco's grey-eyed gaze remained steady, unwavering. "It was in a corridor at school. You kissed me."

Isobel felt her lips part in shock. "I did?"

"Yeah," said Draco, his half-smile reappearing. "Why is that surprising?"

"I don't know." She blew out a breath. "It just seems. . . brave."

"It was."

With the tip of his thumb, Draco traced a line over the side of her hand, down the fleshy part of her own thumb. Isobel said, quietly, "I kissed you first this time, too."

He grinned. "Yeah. You took your time doing it this time, as well."

"Why didn't you just kiss me?" she asked. "Why did you wait for me to do it first?"

"You weren't ready," said Draco. He drew circles across the flesh of her thumb. They traced down, down, to the veins on her wrist. His touch feather light, her pulse speeding. "You didn't know me at all. I had to wait."

Isobel took a single, shaky breath. "I think I know you now," she whispered.

This time, it was Draco who leaned in first. He kissed her lightly, gently, his fingers still curled around her wrist.

He touched her as if she was a thing he was afraid would break. As if she was made of glass, so fragile and delicate that she might shatter with a single gust of wind.

Isobel threaded her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck, and leaned into the kiss. She pulled herself closer, up against his chest. And she understood.

All this time, she had been afraid of getting hurt. Of rushing into things quicker than she was capable of doing. She had been waiting until she felt ready - Draco had been waiting until she was ready -

But it was not Isobel who would be hurt the most, if everything went wrong now. It was him.

The kiss subsided, and she pulled back. With one hand still resting on the back of his neck, she looked into his eyes, and saw the tense, nervous expression that he was no longer bothering to hide. She saw a boy, ready to jump from the edge of a cliff, not knowing whether he would fall or fly.

She didn't know what to say. So she leaned back in, and gave him one more kiss, and hoped that that was sufficient.

"I should go," he said. His voice was low, almost hoarse.

Isobel closed her eyes. She wanted, desperately, to tell him not to leave. But he had to.

It was the cottage, or this. Together or apart. And she had chosen apart.

When she opened her eyes again, he was still looking at her, his expression anguished. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "I'll be right here, whenever you come back."

Draco nodded. He didn't say anything more.

He gave her one, final kiss, soft and warm on her lips. And then he was gone.

-

Christmas Eve passed slowly. Isobel trailed from her bedroom to her mother's, to the living room and back. To the kitchen, where she had sat with Draco, with Ginny, with her mother. . . So many hours had been spent here, going over everything. Trying to make a plan.

Trying to figure out how to evade Lucius Malfoy.

She didn't think that Lucius would remove her from Draco's mind without provocation. She didn't think that Narcissa would allow that.

Besides, as far as Draco was aware, Lucius was still bargaining to stay out of Azkaban. Isobel supposed that Lucius needed a good enough reason to attack her - or rather, to risk being caught attacking her. He needed to be certain that Isobel was in contact with Draco, before using magic on either of them.

That, she assumed, was the one thing Lucius Malfoy feared more than his son falling in love with a Gryffindor blood traitor. Being sent to Azkaban.

Their entire fate seemed to depend on whether or not Astoria would tell anyone what she knew. And of that, Isobel wasn't sure. She didn't know Astoria at all; wasn't sure that she was the kind of person to keep secrets for people she didn't like.

All she knew was the anger in Astoria's eyes. Her foot one step behind her, ready to run. Ready to flee to her parents, who would in turn tell the Malfoys.

Still. Astoria had given her word. Even if Draco didn't trust her. . . For her own peace of mind, Isobel had to.

She looked at the kitchen clock. It was nine o'clock: the end of the St. Mungo's visiting hours.

Yesterday had been the first time she had not visited Maggie in the hospital. And today - Christmas Eve - she had again ignored the visit. Disregarded the opportunity to make amends with her mother.

She pushed away the sickly feeling in her gut. Her mother was the one that should be feeling guilt right now, not her. Even after everything - even after she had spoken to Draco, Maggie had maintained her position that they shouldn't be in one another's lives.

Isobel would visit Maggie tomorrow, on Christmas Day. Of course she would - she had to - but she couldn't bring herself to visit today. After all, she had visited every day since bringing her mother to the hospital the night that she had fallen ill.

She wasn't sure how many nights ago that had been. At least a week, surely. Lucius had attacked her in the alleyway and left her in a park somewhere, and she had Apparated home and found Maggie, feverish and weak in their hallway. . .

Her stomach twisted at the memory. How terrifying it had been to see her mother so sick and feeble. Her only thoughts, at the time, had been getting her to safety. Restoring her health, as soon as possible.

She had heaved her mother's arm over her shoulders, brought her to the fireplace and ran to her room for Floo Powder. . .

She frowned. That hadn't been all.

She had also written a note that night, addressed to Draco. Explaining where she was, in case he came looking.

She stood from the kitchen table. In her hurry to get her mother to the hospital, she had forgotten about that note. And she hadn't seen it since.

In her room, Isobel pulled her duvet from her bed. Then, in a panic, she stripped the sheets, too.

It wasn't there.

Fingers trembling, she pulled her wand from her waistband. She held it up, gave it a feeble flick, and cast a summoning charm.

But the note didn't appear. It wasn't in the room.

She sat on the bed. There was no reason to panic, there were plenty of explanations for this. Her mother had been at the hospital since Isobel wrote the note, but both Draco and Ginny had been here since. Maybe, somehow, one of them had picked it up. By mistake.

Maybe.

Isobel did not need to think. She headed to the hallway and pulled on her coat. Then she closed her eyes and Apparated.

When she opened her eyes again, she was standing in the dark alleyway, in the very spot that Lucius had cornered her.

She walked out onto the empty road. All of the lights were off in Draco's apartment. Isobel hadn't seen it like that before, ever.

She pulled her hood over her head and with the key Draco had given her, unlocked the door of the building.

She curled the key into her clammy fist. Legs trembling, she walked up the flights of stairs, further and further until she was standing at the door of his apartment.

She slid the key in the lock.

Best case scenario, she thought, Draco would be home. She could ask him about the note, they would figure it out together, and say goodbye again for the Christmas holiday.

Worst case scenario. . . She squeezed her eyes shut. Then, she unlocked the door.

She pushed the door open. And she felt, quite suddenly, that the whole earth was crumbling. Disintegrating beneath her feet.

Because every one of Draco's possessions - every trace that Draco Malfoy had once lived in this apartment - was gone. Every piece of furniture: the weathered black couch, the coffee table, his grey blanket, had all vanished. What had once been the living room was now an empty expanse of space.

With heavy, numb steps, Isobel walked towards his bedroom. She flicked on the overhead light.

The room was entirely empty. Draco's bed, bedside tables and lamps were all gone, seemingly vanished from existence.

All that was left in the apartment were the small plastic stars, glowing green and dim from the bedroom walls and ceiling.