i s o b e l

Isobel slammed an elbow backwards, straight into the stomach of her attacker. She wrenched a heavy hand from her eyes and staggered forward, her head reeling.

She felt rough fingers curl into the neck of her coat, hauling her back into the alleyway. The man shoved her past him, and she glimpsed a sheet of white hair.

She stumbled forwards, off-balance. When she turned back around, Lucius Malfoy was advancing towards her with his wand pointed directly at her heart. His eyes were livid; his pale face was pulled into a sneer. "Back again, are we?"

Isobel walked backwards until she hit the wall at the end of the alleyway. She flattened herself against it.

Lucius followed her. "Do you know who I am, Miss Young?"

Her heart thundered. She looked back at him, assessing him. Calculating. Then, slowly, she nodded.

To her relief, this didn't appear to dissatisfy him. He loomed over her in the alleyway, ice-white hair and moon-pale face so like Draco's but so radically different in the way he carried himself. In the way he regarded her - which in Lucius' case, was with pure and unfiltered hatred.

When he reached her, he pressed his wand into her chest, hard. "Do you know who my son is?"

Her breath caught. "Yes."

He narrowed his eyes. Pressed his wand harder. "Tell me everything you know about my son."

Isobel's heart sped fast and her palms were damp with sweat. But she glared right back at Lucius. Be brave, Gryffindor.

She knew Draco's grey eyes on hers, his intense concern. She knew the way he gripped mugs of tea, even when they were fresh and hot enough to scald his hands. She knew the way his slender fingers traced over her cheekbone, the way his gaze had dropped to the pendant at her neck.

The pendant, which was now red-hot: the shape of a star searing itself into her flesh.

She knew that he was waiting for her now, in his apartment. That he was expecting her to arrive any minute now.

She lifted her chin. "He's a Death Eater," she replied, her voice icy. "He tried to kill Albus Dumbledore. He bullied my friends and I in school. I hate him." She watched Lucius, refusing to be the one to break eye contact first. "And I hate you, too."

His mouth curled into a thin smile. "Very good," he said. "And do you know where you are, right now?"

She knitted her eyebrows together. "No, I don't."

This appeared to content him. "Very good," he said again. "Then let me leave you with a warning. If you ever attempt to go near my son again, there will be repercussions. I will find you and your mother, and I will punish you both for your thoughtless actions." He finally dropped his wand. "And I will make Draco forget ever laying eyes on you."

Isobel kept her gaze steady. "Why would I go near your son?"

He smiled maliciously; raised two fair eyebrows. "I have no idea."

Then he clamped a hand around her arm again. There was a loud crack, and she felt herself pulled into dark spirals.

Seconds later, she slammed to the ground. She dropped to her hands and knees, found herself on icy grass.

She sat back on her heels, breathing fast; digging her fingertips into the cold ground. She looked around her at an expanse of grass and trees, poorly lit by sparse streetlights. Lucius Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Her hand sprung to the necklace, which was still burning hot, as if it had been pulled from a fire. She tugged at the clasp, pulled it off and dropped it into the pocket of her coat. She pressed her hands to her neck, which was stinging with pain.

He had tried to take her memories. Had tried to make her forget Draco, again. But the necklace had protected her.

She cursed softly and stood, feeling wobbly on her feet. She was in some park that she didn't recognise, but it was entirely deserted - probably closed to muggles for the night, locked from the outside. The air was cold and still, as though paused in a moment.

It was possible that Draco was wondering where she was by now - perhaps even realizing that something was wrong - but she couldn't go to him. What if Lucius was there again? Standing in the alleyway, waiting to see if she returned? What if he was in Draco's apartment now, and Draco had no way of warning her to stay away? Then Lucius would know that she had resisted his enchantment. And then. . . She didn't know what he would do then. And she wasn't willing to find out.

So, she Apparated back home, greeted by the curling trees of her driveway.

She took her shoes off before she reached the front door. She held them in one hand, nudged the handle gently down with the other, and slid inside. She placed her shoes quietly on the shoe rack and pulled off her coat; her every intention to tiptoe down the hallway and find a way to contact Draco in the morning.

She flicked her wand and whispered, "Lumos." Light flared from its tip, illuminating the length of the hallway.

At the end of it sat Maggie, with her arms curled tightly around herself and her hair covering her face.

For a moment Isobel stood, frozen in place. "Mum."

Then her mother rocked forward and emitted a slow, croaky groan. As if she were in terrible, terrible pain.

Isobel rushed forwards and knelt beside her. "Mum, can you hear me?"

Twelve hours before, Maggie had sat before her at the kitchen table, had spoken to her easily, with a sound mind. Now she looked up at Isobel through tangled, sweat-dampened hair, her eyes misty. She moved her mouth, but no words came out. Isobel pressed a wrist to her forehead: it was very hot.

She understood all too quickly. She had been right about the pendant, and her mother had lied. Every time that Isobel was protected by the enchantment on the necklace, Maggie's health would take a blow, in Isobel's place.

Tears pricked at Isobel's eyes. "Shit," she said. "Okay. Okay, come on, Mum, I'm taking you to St. Mungo's."

If Maggie opposed this decision, she did nothing to show it. Her body was limp as Isobel heaved one arm over her shoulders and set off down the corridor.

She did not trust herself to Apparate with her mother in this condition. Maggie was barely conscious: Isobel could not bear to think what might happen if one of them got splinched.

It took them long, painful minutes to reach the living room. Isobel allowed her mother to gently drop onto the mantelpiece. She knelt before her, pushed Maggie's hair out of her face. "If you can hear me," she said, "I'm going to get Floo Powder. I'll be right back."

She didn't think her mother could hear her. But if she did, she didn't show any recognition or irritation at the fact that Isobel knew where to find Floo Powder when she supposedly barely left the house.

Isobel raced back to her bedroom. She tugged the powder from her loose floorboard, ran to her desk and quickly scribbled out a letter. Just in case.

Dear Draco,

My mum is very ill. I've taken her to hospital.

She left the letter on her bed and ran back to the living room. There, she shot flames from her wand into the fireplace, and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. She hoisted her mother's arm over her shoulder, stepped into the fire with her, and called out, "St. Mungo's."

-

The next morning, she woke in a wooden chair beside her mother's hospital bed.

They were in a four-person ward; Isobel and Maggie were right by the door. Pale sunlight filtered in through the shuttered blinds. Isobel stared at it, bleary-eyed, trying to figure out the time.

Beside her, Maggie slept peacefully, hooked to a drip and snoring softly. The nurses had seen to her immediately last night, when Isobel had arrived with Maggie's head slumped against her shoulder. Maggie was to stay here for at least a week. Better here than in their house, Isobel understood now - better under the practiced care of the nurses than the scant help of Isobel's washcloths and glasses of water.

She hadn't had to explain much, to her relief, though she didn't think she had gotten away with anything, necessarily. The nurse who had taken Maggie in had asked few questions, but shot suspicious looks Isobel's way. Isobel would answer questions if asked - anything to help them restore her mother to good health - but would remain silent until then. Maggie had done wrong, by locking her daughter at home for a year, but Isobel didn't want her to get in trouble for it. Her mother was suffering more than enough already.

On the table by the other side of Maggie's bed was a large jug that hadn't been there when Isobel had finally dozed off, well after midnight. Isobel recognised the swirling turquoise liquid from Snape's potions class. Draught of Peace. She looked around at the other patients in the ward - they too all had their own jugs of the potion.

The ward door opened and a kind-faced nurse in lime-green robes poked her head in, looking straight at Isobel and Maggie. "Oh good," she said to Isobel, speaking quietly. "You're up."

She held a tray of toast, yoghurt and fruit, which she carried towards Maggie's bedside table, and nudged in beside the Draught of Peace. Isobel bit her lip, wondering if she should mention that Maggie usually couldn't keep down anything other than toast.

The nurse moved around to Isobel and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You should go home, love," she said. "We'll take care of her."

"Oh," said Isobel. "Thank you, but I think I should stay with her." She glanced at Maggie. "I don't think she would like it if I left."

The nurse squeezed her shoulder. "Strictly, darling," she said, "you shouldn't even have stayed last night. Visiting hours are seven to nine. She'll be in safe hands until you're back, I promise."

Isobel's heart sank. "Sorry, I didn't realize."

The nurse gave her a warm smile. "She'll be here when you come back, same ward. So you'll know where to find her."

Isobel stood and dusted herself off. Her back ached, stiff from her sleep in the wooden chair.

"Feel free to take some Draught of Peace," said the nurse, motioning to the turquoise potion. "For your journey home. Do you live far?"

"Not too far," said Isobel politely. Maggie would be furious if she told someone where they lived. "And I'm fine, but thank you."

A new plan was slowly formulating. A plan for which she'd her mind to be clear; unfogged by Draught of Peace.

She kissed her sleeping mother's cheek and turned to go. As she did, the nurse said to her, "She really was one of our best Healers, you know. Clever, selfless. Good with charms."

Isobel nodded. "I know," she said, looking back at Maggie. Her mother's selflessness was, after all, what had put her in this hospital bed. She smiled at the nurse. "Thank you again."

-

She walked the entire way to Draco's apartment, too afraid of the alleyway, now. It was too hidden away, too shadowed. Too out of sight of his apartment.

It was barely dawn, and the air was cold and grey. Grumpy muggles in business suits sped past her, for their last week of work before the Christmas holidays. When she pulled her wand from the waist of her jeans to unlock his building door, not one person gave her a second glance.

Draco didn't answer his door for long minutes after her first knock. Isobel felt herself grow nervous all over again; felt fear creep back over her like a winter breeze. Felt Lucius' fingers on the back of her neck again, callous and violent.

She knocked again, softly, and finally the door pulled back to reveal Draco. His brow creased as he took her in. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly. "Sorry I wasn't here last night. I -" She broke off, looking at him. His eyes were sleepy, his hair was rumpled. He had on a well-worn black t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms. Isobel took a breath. "I have a lot to explain."

He stared at her, then held the door out a little wider. "Come in."