I wake up to a bag of crystallised pineapples on my bedside table.

     "It was on the floor by the common room entrance," Hannah informs me through chesty pants, marigold hair matted with sweat.

     "What?" I squint at her through half-lidded eyes. "It's- what- seven AM! Are you sure it's for me?"

     "It was there when I left for my run." She swipes an arm across her slick forehead. "Was addressed to you, had a little note and everything. Your name is Ainsley, isn't it?"

     A sudden realisation comes over me and I spring up. "It must be Monty! We went to The Three Broomsticks on Sunday and he disappeared for a bit. He must've popped by Honeydukes to surprise me with this! Wonder why he didn't just give it to me earlier."

     "Oh, just shut up and eat it," Hannah tosses her school robes over her shoulder. "Be considerate to the less fortunate of us who don't have a wonderful, dreamy boyfriend like Monty."

     I chuck a pillow at her. She flings it right back. I boomerang it to Susan's sleeping figure in the next bed and she shrieks awake.

     "Fucking 'ell, it's Saturday!" grumbles Susan from under the sheets. "Why are you two even awake?"

     "Health."

     "Interviews."

     Susan only answers with another loud, dramatic groan and burrows her head further into the ocean of pillows.

     "I thought your interviews were scheduled for afternoons," Hannah says as I clamber out of bed.

     "Yeah, but I want to get some homework done so I can spend the weekends on the transcriptions."

     Hannah makes a throaty sound of disbelief and rolls her eyes. "Look at you go, Little Miss Journalist!" she taunts. "Never seen you so diligent before."

     "Well, I, for one, care about my grades, unlike you! Skiving off classes to shag Merlin-knows-who at Merlin-knows-where!"

     "Shut up. You're not the only one who can snag a hot, broody Slytherin lad."

     "Oh? Who's the unlucky guy?"

     Hannah's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, um- nobody," she fumbles. "Nobody important. Nobody worth mentioning."

     I gather my things and start for the bathroom. "Alright," I smirk. "Shag Nobody all you want, but don't forget to turn in your Transfiguration essay. You know how McGonagall gets."

     "Thanks, Mum. And don't worry, I won't forget to have him use a condom as well!" She slings the towel against my bottom as I pass her, earning a loud squeal from me and laughing as I give her the finger.

༻❁༺

     The library is quiet as I had expected on a Saturday morning. No one in their right mind would get up this early save for Hannah and me.

     Madam Pince winces a 'good morning' at me, and I begin my stroll down the aisles. Columns of books tower over me like tree trunks as I pass, baring rows upon rows of jewel-coloured teeth; endless knowledge and unexplored new worlds.

     Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration, Theories of Transubstantial Transfiguration. I try saying that five times fast in my head. T, T, T.

     It is in between shelves O and P that a figure in black almost makes me jump and scream in fright.

     "Draco!" I press my hand to my chest to slow the skittering patter of my heart. "What- what on earth are you doing here?"

     He looks just as startled as I am and hurriedly shoves the book he had been holding back into its slot. "Are you not going back to the Manor today?" I ask. 

     His face contorts into a frown, as if surprised I could still bear to speak to him. "I go back after breakfast."

     "I see. What are you reading?" I probe, peering at the title he had hastily stuffed away.

     "Nothing."

     He has the same look Hannah had earlier, and I grin mischievously. Before he can stop me, my hand has lunged out and pinched the book down.

THE COMPLETE POEMS OF EDGAR ALLEN POE

     I read and re-read the title again, certain I'm seeing it wrong. "This... this is a Muggle book," I look up to him in surprise.

     Draco stands there dumbfounded, slightly red in the face, lips still parted from the lie that had died on its way out.

     I burst into a violent grin. "I didn't know you liked poetry! Which is your favourite?" I push the book into his hands expectantly. Not knowing what else to do, he helplessly flips the pages before landing on the one.  

ALONE¹

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were -- I have not seen
As others saw -- I could not bring
My passions from a common spring --
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow -- I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone --
And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --
Then -- in my childhood -- in the dawn
Of a most stormy life -- was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still --
From the torrent, or the fountain --
From the red cliff of the mountain --
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold --
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --

     My heart drops like a stone, clattering at my feet so loudly I was sure it would have summoned Pince. The words clawed at me with such melancholic vulnerability that I cannot find an immediate response. What does this mean? Does Draco truly feel this way? Or is he simply drawn to the beauty of Poe's flawless wordsmithing, as any bibliophile? 

     I pin a smile back on my face and return the book to him. "It's a beautiful poem," I say. "I love it."

     Draco snatches it from me and returns it to its dusty cavity. "You don't have to pretend to be my friend, Ainsley," he growls. "I'll have to do your fucking interviews either way."

     "I'm glad!" I chirp, casting aside his malice with willful indifference. "See you later, then!"

     I'm prepared for the force of his shoulder this time, and return the resistance as he pushes past me. In his absence, I suck my teeth and sigh to myself in acquiescence. Another weekend, another battle with the ironclad Malfoys.

     I suddenly can't wait for this project to be over.

༻❁༺

     A cheeky cube of pineapple finds its way into my mouth as I stride up the driveway of the Manor. The wrought iron gate squints at me as I dust my fingers on the skirt of my dress and mumble my business through chews. 

     This time, I find myself in what used to be a reception hall, three times the size of the library and twice as dim. The windows are double-glazed, muting the white glare of the afternoon sun, but its rays somehow still manage to find Narcissa's flowing blonde hair, as if the tendrils are absorbing life from the distant star itself.

     There's a fairy ring of teacups around the recorder again, my microphone preceding over them like some sort of gleaming moon king. Does Narcissa offer tea only when it is her turn?

     Her dark robes are stark against the image of the vivacious young girl Lucius painted last week. I try to imagine the solemn figure in front of me laughing, the salty wind breaking against her sheet of golden hair, stinging her blue eyes raw with ecstasy as her lithe limbs pump  through the soggy soil of the Lake. I simply cannot.

     I take a polite sip. "How are you today, Mrs. Malfoy?"

     "Fine, thank you," she says.

     She's not fine. Her family is in ruins.

     "I heard about Bas," I say. "And the rose he gave you by the Black Lake."

     Her hands fly to the top of her chest, a stifled smile. "Lucius told you about that. Yes. It was in my Third Year, their Fourth. Just a silly thing, a trifle."

     "It hardly sounds like a trifle. Did you like him back?"

     Her fingers pinch around the pendant, its teardrop shape straining through the fabric of her dress. "As a matter of fact, I did. Very much so. You see, Bas had this- sort of- openness about him. At the time, pure-blood favouritism was much more accepted, normal, almost, and even though Bas was a Malfoy, he always remained so... intelligent. And kind. Free-spirited." Unlike his brother.

     "Like yourself?"

     "Once," she ponders wryly, cyan eyes looking at some memory behind my shoulder. "Once."

     "And now?"

     "Sometimes it's more difficult to be happy."

     "More difficult than what?"

     My question snaps her out of her trance, all trace of reminiscing dissipating into thin air. "You'll understand when you're older," she says bluntly. And that is that.

     "So what became of it all - Lucius, Bas and yourself?" 

     A resigned breath. "Ms. Ainsley, this story you're about to hear... doesn't go anywhere good- it doesn't exactly... paint my husband and I in a positive light. I don't see how it would help us."

     "I understand, Mrs. Malfoy," I say. "But am I correct to presume that all this leads up to the coercion of your family into participating in the war?"

     She squeezes the pendant as if it would send the correct answer to her brain. "In a manner."

     "Well, then I can assure you every bit matters," I say. "I believe a story is a sum of its parts. It isn't just about the ending or the beginning, but the details in between that matter. As is with most things in life, isn't it?"

     I don't really know what I'm saying, but something tells me it is what she needs to hear. Merlin, I should seriously consider teaching Muggle Philosophy.

     Narcissa buys into it fully. "I suppose you're quite right," she smiles, and I can't help thinking how a simple twitching of mouth corners can turn each Malfoy from languid ghost to resplendent child of the sun.

     But I had accomplished my goal. And now that my subject is assured, I hit the 'record' button. "Tell me what happened after Bas gave you the flower by the lake."