i s o b e l

Isobel watched Draco walk away from her, back to his apartment. The twinkling, coloured Christmas lights that hung around the St. Mungo's reception trailed him, moving over his hair as he left her.

"See you tomorrow," he had said, one shoulder against the reception wall; hands hidden in the pockets of his jeans.

Her breath had caught; a hundred suggestions on the tip of her tongue; come with me, wait for me, let me sleep on your couch tonight, rather than alone in my quiet, comfortless house -

But she hadn't said it, and neither had he. And then seven o'clock had come, and she'd had to go. See you tomorrow, Draco.

Never before had that sentence carried so much weight. She wanted a hundred tomorrows with him, but there wasn't even the certainty of one.

When Isobel arrived at Maggie's ward, Maggie was sleeping. This was no surprise, but still she felt a twinge of disappointment. She sat, watching the steady rise and fall of her mother's chest, the fragile, greying skin of her face. Her mind was in the cottage on the beach.

She had not told Draco how perfect it had been, how incredible - what a dream it was to sit by a window that looked out over the sea.

It had been derelict, yes, but how easy it might be to rebuild the walls, to mend the furniture and source new what couldn't be fixed; to clean and repair the glass of the window with the flick of a wand. How thoroughly it fit with everything she wanted from a home.

But then, he probably knew that already. He knew her.

She sat beside her mother for the full two hours, but Maggie did not wake. She slept peacefully and barely stirred.

At nine, Isobel stood to leave, arranged the flowers on her mother's bedside table and placed a kiss on her cheek, when her mother's thin hand curled around her wrist. "I can't do it."

Isobel paused. "What's that, Mum?"

But her mother mumbled something incoherent, turned her face away, and Isobel stared at her; can't do what -

She placed a hand on her mother's cheek and instantly, Maggie recoiled from her touch, flung her head backwards and opened her eyes and stared at Isobel; "Don't hurt her."

The door of the ward opened, and a nurse's voice rang out. "Visiting hours are over."

"Wait," said Isobel, turning to the nurse. "Wait, she's telling me something -"

The man gave her an impatient look, but stepped away, and Isobel turned back to her mother -

"Lucius."

Isobel froze. "What? Mum, what did Lucius do?"

Again, Maggie showed no indication of hearing her daughter. Isobel's mind raced.

She stepped forward again, tentatively placing a hand on her mother's shoulder. "Mum?"

"They can never be happy together," whispered Maggie. Then her eyes rolled back, and her body began to convulse.

Isobel stumbled back. "Help!" she yelled, looking desperately around her for the nurse. "Somebody help, please!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, nurses flooded the ward. Isobel was pushed from her mother's bedside, which was quickly crowded by men and women in lime-green robes, pressing her mother down and shouting orders, and Isobel's eyes had flooded with tears -

After minutes, a kind, round face was suddenly in front of hers, and she recognised the nurse from earlier that day.

"She's had a fit, darling. She'll be fine, but we're going to have to move her to a private ward."

The nurse led her from the room, out into the corridor. Isobel stood on her tiptoes, trying to see back into the ward, but the door swung shut. She brushed tears from her cheeks; turned to face the nurse. "Is that normal?" she asked. "She seemed so healthy this morning."

But she immediately regretted her question, for the troubled look on the nurse's expression did nothing to affirm what she wanted to hear. "It was definitely unexpected," said the nurse, warm eyes full of pity. "We're going to run some tests."

"Can I stay? Please?"

The nurse shook her head, and Isobel felt ready to burst into tears again. "We'll be in immediate contact if anything goes wrong."

Isobel wandered around the building for half an hour after leaving, mulling over the possible ways of sneaking back in. But people in lime-green robes crowded the lobby, and she saw no path to slip inconspicuously past them. She didn't have any idea where her mother's new ward was, anyway.

A small crowd of drunken carol-singers swarmed past her, pulling her out of her thoughts.

She focused on a flickering streetlight, thinking of Draco. She could go to his apartment, but she had seen the exhaustion in his eyes; knew he was probably sound asleep by now. And he wouldn't mind if she woke him, she knew that. But in the past three days, she had put him through enough.

So, she Apparated back to her house. She willed the tears from her eyes as she took off her coat; her limbs heavy with fatigue. How she wanted to be anywhere but here. The freezing cottage on the beach would have provided more comfort than this desolate house.

She walked to the living room, sank into the spot where hours earlier, Draco had sat; long limbs and white-blond hair. Where he had looked at her and said, "If I'm honest Belly, I don't really want to leave you alone."

She picked up a cushion; held it to her face to see if it had picked up his smell. But there was nothing there.

She found herself overcome by exhaustion. She curled up where she sat, and fell asleep there.

-

She woke late the next morning, still in her clothes from the day before but much better rested. She changed her clothes quickly, then used the Floo network to travel to Diagon Alley. There, she kept her head down as she moved through thick crowds; through hundreds of last-minute Christmas shoppers. If she were, by atrocious chance, to bump into Lucius Malfoy, at least he couldn't do anything about it here. At least she would have some time to react; to prepare herself for whatever his next move might be.

On her walk to Draco's apartment, her mind reeled with the sheer unfairness of it all. How her mother was sick and there was nothing Isobel could do about it; how there was no comfort she could provide except company. How exhausted Draco had seemed; how tumultuous it all must be for him, how entirely unfair it was to mourn a person for a year and a half, only to find out they'd been alive all that time, only two hundred miles away.

How she couldn't give him what he wanted, yet; how she just needed time. But time was exactly the thing that was in short supply.

The words her mother had whispered in the hospital had haunted her all night long, and plagued her now still. Lucius. They can never be happy together. Was Lucius in contact with her mother? If so, how did he know that Isobel had tracked down Draco, but Maggie didn't? It bothered her, because she didn't know if the words were merely incoherent, nonsensical mumblings; symptoms of her mother being sick and heavily medicated, or if there was some meaning to them. Something she should be trying to make sense of.

The sight of Draco's apartment building brought some comfort. She ascended the stairs to the building and pulled her wand from the waist of her jeans. As she had twice before, she flicked an "Alohamora" at the large glass door and raised a hand to pull it open.

But a pale hand appeared from behind her; pressed long fingers against the door so that she couldn't open it. "Watching me through a window wasn't enough?" came Draco's voice. "Breaking and entering now, are we?"

She turned to face him. He was in shorts and a long-sleeve running shirt. Sweat gleamed at his temples, in the roots of his hair, and there was the slightest hint of colour in his cheeks. He raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for a response.

"I couldn't figure out the doorbell system."

"Ah. I can't help you there," said Draco, hand still on the door behind her.

"I didn't know how else to get in."

"In muggle residences," he said, "we use keys."

"I don't have a key."

"I'll give you one."

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his legs; long and lean. "Aren't you cold?"

He smiled. "No. You?"

"A little," she said. She was wearing her coat and scarf - his scarf - but felt chilly, still. She couldn't understand how he walked around in shorts and showed no sign of discomfort, yet cold water and wet sand had freaked him out so much.

"I can't swim," he said, as if he had read her mind. "Never learnt. Let's go inside."

She followed him in; watched his t-shirt cling to his back as he climbed the stairs. "Your parents never taught you?"

He let out a low laugh. "They didn't have time for that kind of thing."

A thousand thoughts ran through Isobel's mind; the primary one being that he had been content to live at the beach when he couldn't swim. "Did I know that? Before I lost my memories?"

Draco glanced back at her as they reached his apartment, a thin smile pulling at his mouth. "Oh, yes. You made sure to make fun of me for it."

She couldn't help but widen her eyes. "Sorry."

He snorted. "Oh, I had enough to make fun of you for. Like the fact that you're afraid of clowns."

"You know that?"

"Of course I know that." He shoved his door open with a shoulder. "Clowns. Bloody ridiculous."

A window was wide open in Draco's apartment, but he appeared not even to notice. She knelt on the couch and watched him over the back of it, as he filled a glass of water from the sink. Muscles moved in his throat as he drained the glass.

He raised a hand to the back of his neck. "I need to take a shower. I'll be quick."

"Okay."

Draco gave her a nod, his expression stoic and unreadable as ever. Then he crossed the room, to his bedroom. He pulled off his shirt as he went - one swift movement - and she rested her chin on her hands; watched muscles ripple across his back.

"If you want tea -" he turned around, and caught her eye. The faintest smirk twitched at his lips. "If you want tea, I am well-stocked."

She dug her chin into her hands. There were plenty of smart responses to make to that, but she found herself speechless. Again, her eyes dropped involuntarily; this time to his chest.

Draco said nothing, but his smirk grew. He disappeared around the corner and moments later, she heard the shower click on.

She stood, cursing her own awkwardness; moved to the kitchen and opened a cupboard simply to have something to do with her herself. The sight of a stack of camomile tea boxes in the cupboard - and nothing else - made her smile.

She walked to the open window. From here, she could see the end of the alleyway where Lucius Malfoy had attacked her. She had yet to tell Draco what her mother had mumbled in St. Mungo's. The fact that her mother had been, or perhaps still was, in contact with Lucius, could potentially be very important.

A knock sounded at the door and a split-second later, it slammed open.

She spun, heart in her throat, hand at her waist to pull her wand from her side - but stopped when she saw Blaise Zabini standing in the doorway. His head was tilted and he was staring at her with a curious expression. "Well," he said. "That confirms it, I guess."

Isobel let out a sigh of relief. "Hi, Blaise."

Blaise stood there for a long few moments, giving her the same perplexed look she had seen several times before, in the faces of Ginny and her other friends when they had first seen her again. "Theo and I saw you with him on Friday night," he said, closing the door, "but we haven't been sure."

"Draco didn't tell you?"

Blaise laughed shortly. He unzipped his coat, threw it over the back of the couch. "Malfoy tells me nothing. Drilling information out of him is rather a chore for everyone. Except, I presume, for you."

"I don't remember him," said Isobel, hastily. "I don't remember dating him. And I don't remember much about his friends either." She cringed as she said it, and it occurred to her all at once that there was no way it could have been only Draco that she'd forgotten. It was his whole world; all of his friends, or at least her interactions with them.

She sat with Blaise on Draco's couch and explained everything to him, from start to finish; from the enchanted necklace to living in isolation for a year, to finding the letter, to Lucius and his hostilities, to her mother being in hospital now.

When she was finished, Blaise looked troubled; stared at Draco's wall with a heavy crease between his eyebrows. "Lucius Malfoy is a dickhead," he muttered.

"Quite," said Isobel. "I used to think that the only thing that could possibly fix all of this was if I got my memories back - but now, with Lucius obsessing over Draco like he does. . ." She sighed. "Even if I were to remember everything about Draco today, I could forget it all again tomorrow."

Blaise nodded in agreement. "Still," he said, "I think trying to get them back is a good place to start."

"If only I knew how to do it, though," she said. She thought of her mother, weak in a hospital bed. What could Maggie possibly do, if Isobel told her the truth about everything? At worst, she would be angry at Isobel. At best, she would tell her the truth, in return.

Isobel blew out a long breath. Finding out that she and Draco had dated had turned her life on its head, but she was well aware that she had done the exact same thing to him. That returning to him had complicated everything. For him, for his family. For the girl he was supposed to marry.

"Does Astoria know that I'm alive?"

"I don't think so."

"We should tell her," said Isobel. "I feel awful about that. I don't think Draco wants to marry her anymore."

Blaise looked weary. "I don't think Malfoy ever wanted to marry her."

"But they planned to. Even if he didn't want it."

"I don't even know if he ever agreed to anything," said Blaise. "I think it was more so his parents getting ahead of themselves with the whole wedding thing."

"They have a date for it, though," said Isobel, guilt twisting in her stomach. "That's pretty serious." She thought of Astoria picking out a dress, making wedding preparations. Even if Draco had no intentions to go ahead with the wedding, that was bad enough. She wondered what Astoria thought of Draco. "What's she like?"

"She's nice," he said. "She and Draco get on, or did for a while. I think his only real problem with her was that she isn't you."

Isobel felt her cheeks warm at that, but guilt gnawed at her, still. She was disturbing arrangements for not only a wedding, but for a marriage; for entire lives.

She pushed the thought away. "And how are all of you? I met Pansy on Friday night. She thought I was a ghost." She studied Blaise, but like Draco, his expression was unreadable. His smile was charming, but too bright; too well-practiced. "I'm sure the aftermath of the war isn't easy for you guys, either."

Blaise waved a hand, dismissive. "Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. We have for a year been trying to find ways to make Malfoy happy again, so I guess you've fixed that a little. He used to have your perfume -" he furrowed his eyebrows, looking vaguely disgusted - "and would spray it all over his room. It was pathetic."

Isobel raised a hand to cover her smile. Just last night she had pressed her nose into a cushion, trying to find the familiarity of his smell.

"What was pathetic?"

Blaise's smile grew, and Isobel turned to see Draco in the doorway of his bedroom - his hair damp on his forehead, a soft, white towel slung around his neck.

Draco's eyes flicked back and forth between Isobel and Blaise. "What have you told her?"

"There are only good things to tell, Malfoy," said Blaise, rising from the couch and clapping Draco on the back.

Draco's eyes found Isobel's, and she gave him a small smile.

"I'm here to extend an invitation, Malfoy," Blaise said, grinning again. "Before we all go to our family homes for Christmas, we're going out tonight. Isobel is welcome to join as well, of course."

Draco was already shaking his head. "Maybe next time, Zabini."

Blaise's face fell, so Isobel said, "You should go, Draco."

"I'm not -" Draco paused. "I can't leave you alone here." He shot a scowl at Blaise, as if daring him to mock him for that. But Blaise shrugged.

"Maybe I should go along."

Draco stiffened. "You can't. . . No. You can't. People can't know you're alive."

"I don't see why not," said Isobel. "As long as your dad doesn't find out -"

"He could find out, and that's bad enough."

"Who's going to tell him?"

"Well," said Blaise carefully, picking up his coat from the couch and lying it over an arm. "I'm just going to go -"

"No, don't go," said Isobel, standing up. "Blaise - you guys will keep the secret, right? You and Theo won't tell anyone?"

"The thing is," said Blaise, keenly avoiding Draco's glare, "it won't just be Theo and I. There'll be a few more people there."

"So you can't go," Draco said to her, his voice hard. "And I won't be there either. So thanks Zabini, that'll be all."

"Malfoy," Blaise sighed, "You really can't keep it a secret for much longer. I mean - we can try. But even if you don't go tonight, Pansy's going to find out any day now. Theo can't keep it from her that long. And once Pansy finds out, she'll tell Daphne -"

"So tell Nott not to be a blabbermouth," said Draco angrily. "You shouldn't even know, Zabini. You shouldn't even be here."

"Malfoy -"

"I won't go," said Isobel, and they both looked at her. "I'm sorry, that was a stupid suggestion." She glared at the ground. "I'm just sick of all of this. But you should go, Draco. I'll be fine."

Draco shook his head, grey eyes on her. "I'm not going."

"Go," she said. She forced a smile. "I need to visit my mother anyway."

His jawline hardened once more. He nodded shortly at Blaise. "See you later then, Zabini."

Blaise appeared all too happy to leave the tension. "See you later," he said, opening Draco's apartment door. He shot Isobel another warm smile, then closed the door; leaving them alone in the drafty apartment.