✼¹

     So it was established. Ronnie was dating Edward Tonks — a strikingly handsome boy with hazel eyes and a shock of auburn-blond hair. Hufflepuff. Muggle-born.

     At the time, the only thing worse than advocating for Squib and Muggle-born rights was to date one. And so the mob's attention was shifted from Bas and I to them. Ronnie told me she didn't mind it much because she was happy and everyone else could go to hell.

     Inwardly, I felt somewhat relieved, because this granted Bas and I the tiniest modicum of peace at last. If anything, the ordeal cemented the certitude that Bas and I were meant to be together. It was like we saw nothing — and nobody — but each other.

     One day, I worked up the courage to approach Emily Selwyn and ask her about her love affair with Amos Diggory. Emily had always been a proud and aloof witch, but I suppose she had been secretly in search of a kindred spirit, just as I was. After a night of chatting and a little too much elf wine, she told me everything; that she would give up her name and family to be with Amos. She asked me if I would do the same, and I hesitated. I hesitated for a very long time.

     "It's not the same thing", I told her. "Bas is a Malfoy, a pure-blood. I wouldn't have to give up my family for him. Not entirely."

     "But Andromeda would have to do it," she said, "if she wants to be with Ted."

     "Ronnie wouldn't give me up," I argued. Emily only laughed. "People do crazy things when they're in love. What would you do for love, Ronnie?"

✧

     What would I do for love?

     I thought about that question for weeks, fiddling with it like a thousand-faceted puzzle cube. The only person I'd wanted to discuss it with was spending most of his time on the Quidditch pitch.

     In preparation for Quidditch season, practices were held every other day. Bas had been reinstalled as Seeker on the Slytherin Team and could not shirk practices anymore. On days where there were none, he spent his time recuperating from practice and doing homework, and the midst of a Potions essay was hardly the right time to hold a heartfelt conversation about the empowerment of love.

     And so I was left to ponder the fathomless question alone, one that was one too profound for the experiences of a girl of sixteen to comprehend. 

     Love. 

     A notion that bore the greatest sailors and singers and poets since time immortal. People lusted it, breathed it, lapped it up like emaciated beasts of burden to a stream of fresh water. A force so powerful people fell for it poison and dagger.  

     Who was I to put a meaning adequate enough to that?  

     I would soon find out the burden of proof would not be on me, but someone else. 

     Lucius found me alone on the banks of the Black Lake on a damp March day. The umbrella of the willow tree provided much-needed respite from the noise and bustling of the castle, and perched on a large root that snaked high above the ground still soggy from the last of the winter snow was where I found solace in the works of William Shakespeare.

     "Hey," he said. I looked up from my book in surprise. It was the first time he'd spoken to me since the Christmas holiday fiasco. 

     "Reading?"

     "Evidently." I hadn't wanted to forgive him for turning his back against us, but I couldn't help but return his smile. 

     He asked if he could sit. "I'm not the police of tree root chairs," I said in an attempt to sound hostile, but this only made him laugh. The sound seemed to transform him into a completely different person. His lips pulled back in such a manner that it crinkled the skin around his eyes, and his eyes twinkled like a pair of polished quartz stones. It was a glimpse of the Lucius I used to know.

     "Come here to gloat, have you?" I asked as he lowered himself onto the ground beside me.

     "Gloat about what?"

     "I dunno— everything— the posters, detention. Bas being too busy for me and whatnot."

     "Why would I gloat about that?" Lucius looked genuinely confused.

     "Thought you'd say it serves us right."

     "It does serve you right."

     I rolled my eyes, slammed my book shut and stood. "I just want you to be happy, Cissy," he said after me.

     "And what makes you think I'm not?"

     He rose to his feet. "I don't mean now," he said. "I mean in the future. All this talk about riots and Squibs and Mudbloods, they're just passing fancies for Bas. Something fun for him to do."

     "At least he shows that he cares," I said. "That's more than I can say about you."

     "By putting up posters and handing out flyers?"

     "Doing something's better than just sitting on your arse all day long!"

     "Let me ask you something, Cissy. What does disobeying the professors and vandalising school property achieve, exactly? What's Bertha Jorkins or little Frank Longbottom going to do with a flimsy piece of paper?"

     I would have liked to say I came up with a witty answer that razed his argument to the ground, but there was none and I could only hope my furious glare would make up for it.

    There was an irritating smirk of triumph on his face, but his eyes were mellow and patient as he took a step closer to me. "Do you want to know what would really make a change, Cissy?" he said. "Something that the Squibs and Mudblood really need?" He gripped my shoulders, and I nearly shrank back at the sensation of his cold fingers through my knitted jumper. "Money. Not damned posters or flyers or pamphlets. They need money for their marches and campaigns. Money."

     I frowned. "What are you suggesting?"

     "I'm saying we're going to collect funds. From everyone who's willing to give. And we're not going to do it with a big grand show, either — nobody likes that. We'll start with our friends first, talk to them about it, get them acquainted with the cause on a personal level, and then get them to tell their friends. That's how you get the word around; that's how you entice people to listen."

     "Seems like you know a lot about extorting money," I said snidely. Lucius broke into another grin. "Look, I just think there's a more effective and efficient way of going about it, that's all. If we do it right, we'll have a pretty sizable amount of funds to donate."

     "We?"

     "Yes, we," he asserted. "And that way you won't get yourself landed in detention and miss your boyfriend's matches, either."

     I thought about it for a while. "Okay," I finally agreed.

     It was probable Lucius smiled more that day than he had in the entire time I knew him.

✧

      Lucius recommended I start with Emily Selwyn. It was easy since our private chambers were just next to each other. Easier than I expected. She was only too eager to respond any way she could to the plight of her star-crossed lover. In fact, she handed me the entirety of her yearly allowance — or what was left of it: a whole sixty-four Galleons and sixteen Sickles.

     It was an enormous amount of money at the time, even for the wealthier children. I tried to give her back half of it —you won't have any money for Hogsmeade!— but she insisted very firmly that I take it all. "It's not like I need Butterbeer or sweets," she'd responded.

     That was what Emily Selwyn was willing to do for love.

     And then I discovered what other people were willing to do for love. Claudia McCoy gave five Galleons — her sister was a Squib. Ten Galleons from Michael Fawley, a Fifth Year pure-blood who was madly in love with his Squib childhood friend. Isabelle Buchanan, whose parents had been arrested during the marches, surrendered ten Sickles. It was all the money they had.

     Word spread fast. Galleons and Sickles trickled in, passed around in envelopes during lunchtime. Twenty Galleons. Five. Another ten. People stopped betting on Quidditch matches, choosing to give their money to me instead. During the weekends, the Great Hall, common rooms, and library began to see more people than the pubs at Hogsmeade.

     Across the Slytherin table, Lucius would catch my eye and wink. On the weekends when Bas had to go for extra practices, we would sit in my room, spread the money on the floor, and count them. It suddenly felt like old times again, before the troubles of the outside world had torn apart our friendship.

     Bas hadn't minded Lucius's frequent visits. He was elated at his brother's sudden change of heart. "You've done something to him," he teased as he bit kisses down my neck. "'Cause he certainly hadn't listened to me when I tried. What have you done to bewitch him, hmm?" My tongue would shut him up before he could say more.

     At the end of the month, Lucius and I poured the last of our collections once more to do a final count. "Four hundred Galleons!" I squealed, underlining the number on my notebook with my quill.

     "That can't be right."

     "What do you mean?"

     "It should be one thousand four hundred."

     I squinted at my calculations, then at the rusty columns of coins. "Don't be ridiculous, Lucius. There's no way the money here could amount to—"

     Lucius was holding out a black envelope to me. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat as I felt the unmistakable protrusion of a piece of folded paper within. "What is this?" 

     "Open it."

     I broke the rose-stamped wax seal and pulled out the slip of paper. It was a cheque for one thousand Galleons.

     "Lucius, you can't be serious!" I breathed. The winter sun lit up his hair like a brilliant headdress of pure silver as he said, "When am I ever not?"

     "No, this is too much money! I can't possibly accept this!"

     "It's not for you," he said. "It's for the Squibs, isn't it?"

     Such an overwhelming feeling of joy, hope, and gratefulness washed over me that I couldn't help but throw my arms around him. "Thank you!" I cried. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

     "It's nothing," he chuckled, bundling me into his warm knitted jumper. "If it's important to you, it's important to me too."

     His face was inches from mine. The depths of his midnight pupils made my head swim, and I could smell the heady fragrance of sage, tobacco, and soap that rose from the heat of his skin. The room seemed to glow alight from the fires that burned within us: mine a giddy anticipation of the success of our philanthropic cause, and his of... something else.

     The room became very still. A moment passed: a tick of the second hand, a beat of a hummingbird's wings, an infinitesimal speck in the tapestry of time. It hung in the air between us before evaporating into a vacuum.

     And then Lucius kissed me.