My love will be in you
If you be the one to cut me
I will bleed forever
- Ghost Love Score by Nightwish
by Eilime
It was supposed to be all right.
It was supposed to make everything better.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
But, apparently, nothing is what it’s supposed to be…
I was on my way to the library where I often spend these grey afternoons, when something caught my eye; the rim of a black robe billowed as it disappeared behind a corner. Curious, I snuck over to the corner and peaked around it. The cloaked figure was walking swiftly down the corridor, vanishing into the darkness of the long hallway.
I followed soundlessly, curiosity burning inside me. The cloaked person was fast disappearing into the darkness of the end of the hall, as it had no windows down there. As it suddenly disappeared from my view, my pace quickened in order to not to lose the person completely.
Darkness consumed me as I reached the end of the corridor, and I realised, to my dismay, that I had lost sight of my prey. I could hear my own breathing and that alone.
I began to walk back down the corridor when the light from a wand suddenly sprang into life in front of me.
“Why are you following me?” the conjurer asked darkly.
I knew the voice even though his face was somewhat shrouded by the hood of his cloak.
“I wasn’t following you,” I lied.
“Sure,” he replied, unconvinced. “Leave me alone, Granger.”
“I’d be happy to, Malfoy,” I replied as I walked past him and continued down the corridor towards the light. I heard him mutter ‘Nox’ behind me, and as I looked over my shoulder towards him, the corridor was again covered in darkness and he was nowhere to be seen.
I tried not to take notice of it at the breakfast table.
I tried not to take notice of it in class.
But somehow Draco Malfoy’s appearance puzzled me. He looked more tired than ever, sporting dark circles under his eyes, his skin more pale than usual, and his attention in class at bottom level. There was something wrong, and I felt dumbfounded that I was the only one in school who noticed it.
It annoyed me, to say the least, that none of his Slytherin friends had noticed, had tried to get him to join in on the conversation at meals, for he always sat in the midst of all the commotion the Slytherin table always created, yet it was as though he sat beneath a dome, either oblivious or indifferent to what was happening around him.
Harry, though, had noticed. But where it bothered me, it merely pleased him. Harry was normally interested in anything concerning Malfoy, for the simple fact that he could be prepared for any sinister scheme, but when Malfoy’s demeanour was as it was now, Harry wandered in the happiness of receiving no clever remarks from the other boy. That was another thing that puzzled me; Malfoy hadn’t thrown any mean words my way for some time, he hadn’t criticised Hagrid in front of us, nor shot at Ron with his usual crude observations of poverty.
So, Malfoy was left alone, which was, quite frankly, what I initially would have thought he should have been, the nasty imp that he was, but something about his despondent demeanour made me want to know the reason for this sudden change of attitude.
One day, when I walked into the library, my heart set on finding some useful information for my transfiguration essay, I spotted Malfoy sitting alone at a table in a far corner, reading a book. Cursing myself for my curiosity, I took a fortuitous book from the transfiguration section and sat down at a table close to his. I flipped through my book, not really looking at the text written in it but chancing glances in his direction whenever I could.
He wasn’t really doing anything wrong or suspicious in any way. He was just reading a book, a fairly large and dusty one, but without taking notes on a piece of parchment.
Without knowing how it was possible, my eyes fell upon the information I had been looking for for my transfiguration essay. Amazed that the book I had carelessly chosen had been the one I needed, I engrossed myself in its pages. When I looked up to find my quill and start taking notes, I noticed that Malfoy had gone.
I left my chair to peek around the aisles of bookcases and found him in the Dark Arts section, replacing the large, dusty book he had been reading in. I hurriedly took a book from the bookcase beside me to hide behind and not seem like I was sniffing around. He passed me without even noticing me. Another change his grey appearance had brought with it; he didn’t take a stab at me, curse me, or purposefully bump into me even though I was alone.
He left the library and I took the opportunity to go look for the book he had been reading in. I found the place he had replaced it, took the book and went back to my table. I opened the book, pressed the tip of my wand to the yellowing pages and whispered,
“Oh, how careless I have been
To close you way too fast
So here I stand, oh so keen
On knowing which page that I read last.”
The book flopped for a moment, and then flipped to page 423. It was a piece about the Dark Mark.
I couldn’t exactly say I was surprised; Draco Malfoy, reading about the Dark Mark? He was probably going to get it himself soon, and had decided to go read a bit about this impending joy.
It was the next day, and I was sitting once again in the library, trying to finish an Arithmancy essay before the library would close. Torches were lit around the darkening walls and only Madam Pince could be found replacing mislaid books in the otherwise depopulated room.
Madam Pince scurried over to my table and told me it was nine o’clock and time to go. I gathered up my things and went to put my books back. As I walked into the Arithmancy aisle, I saw Malfoy sitting at the round table at the end, his head propped up on a book on the table, a quill resting in his relaxed hand, the ink on its tip dried.
I frowned slightly at the sight, put my book into the right space in the bookshelf and headed towards his table. He had apparently been writing an essay before he fell asleep. I put the lid on his inkbottle and bit my lip, not knowing what to do next.
I prodded him lightly on the shoulder, hurriedly withdrawing my hand again, lest he should wake up and rip it off. He didn’t, however, wake up, and I reluctantly prodded him again, this time twice and a bit harder. He didn’t wake up. I sighed exasperatedly, and shook his shoulder, muttering, “Malfoy.”
He made a grumbling noise, and the quill fell out of his hand as he moved to sit up. His eyes drooped a little, but then he noticed me. He tried to look angry, but I couldn’t help but discern the embarrassment in his eyes that “ I presumed “ was because I had been the one to find him.
“The library is closing,” I told him uneasily into the awkward silence.
He didn’t respond but started gathering his things. Deciding my work there was done, I, gratefully, walked back down the aisle towards the exit.
It still continued. Me being the only one to notice. Him being paler and quieter than ever.
The day after I had found him asleep in the library, he, apparently, overslept since he bustled into our Transfiguration lesson, mumbling an indifferent sorry.
“I’ll have to take five points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall replied. “Take your seat.”
He didn’t even seem to listen in class. He was just there, making an appearance, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere.
I was becoming more and more curious, but when telling Harry and Ron at lunch that day, I found neither answers nor shared interest in my observations. Neither cared much about Draco’s grey appearance; as long as he kept his mouth shut, he could look as white as the school ghosts for all they cared.
And so, with the indifference of Harry and Ron in mind, I stopped thinking about Malfoy’s odd demeanour.
That Friday, however, I couldn’t help but notice that I didn’t see Malfoy once during the whole day.
My curiosity vexed me greatly, but there it was; my mind came up with a long list of his possible whereabouts and none of them had a positive outcome.
Somehow, I did manage to put him out of my mind for some time as I wrote a letter to my parents with a quotidian update on how things were going. Once folded, sealed and addressed, I headed with the finished letter to the Owlery.
I opened the door to find Malfoy seeing off an eagle owl, which soared out of the glassless window.
He turned around, glanced at me, then walked past me and out, sullen faced and quiet.
I found myself itching to stop him and ask what was going on, though knowing I would never get an answer.
So, instead, I began to mull over what contents his newly sent letter might have contained. I didn’t get far though “ it could be anything “ so I found a suitable owl and sent off my letter.
Walking down from the Owlery, I was stopped by Malfoy who stepped out from an alcove in the hallway.
“Stop following me,” he said darkly.
“I wasn’t following you,” I replied earnestly. “Honest.”
He seemed to doubt me, but nevertheless turned around and walked out of sight.
I made a mental note to let Malfoy’s odd behaviour to himself and headed for Gryffindor Tower.
That night, I walked up to the North Tower. To mull, to relax… I didn’t really know why, I just felt like going.
I was standing by the stone railing as the door opened behind me. I turned around, afraid it might be a teacher “ I didn’t really know if I was allowed up there, and it was nearing curfew “ and saw Malfoy closing the creaking door behind him. He noticed me at once and asked sharply, “What are you doing here?” Before I could answer, however, he continued, “Get away from here.”
“I was here first,” I replied indignantly.
“I don’t care,” he replied. “Just go.” There was an edge to his tone that I couldn’t quite percept. His eyes were darting around the sky before they came to rest on me again, as he ordered, “Now, Granger.”
The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, yet I didn’t understand.
Even though I wouldn’t normally just give in like this, I felt oddly uneasy at his insistent behaviour, so I walked past him and out through the door.
However, reaching the last steps coming down from the North Tower, I hesitated. He was up to something. And I wanted to know what. I walked back up the stairs, intending to listen at the door, when I heard it open still several metres further up the staircase. I stopped in my tracks, knowing that he must be coming down now. I hurried down the stairs as soundlessly as possible, and once out into the torch-lit corridor, I ducked behind a suit of amour.
I could hear his footsteps, as he descended the staircase. They sounded heavy and slow, and I waited for him to be visible from my hiding spot, curious as to what he had wanted up on the North Tower for so short a time.
And then, slowly, he came into view. He seemed to be dragging himself, a hand holding on to the stone wall beside him. His head was bowed, so I couldn’t see his facial expression, but what I did see was a piece of parchment clutched in his other hand.
He was moving very slowly, as though tired of a long journey. He seemed weak, somehow. With a pang of horror, I concluded that someone must have been up there on the tower with him, and that they must have done something to him. But then again, no one went up there after him, otherwise I would have noticed. They must have been there beforehand. But that meant that they had been there while I was standing there alone, too. But still… It didn’t look as though he was physically hurt; he just seemed… drained.
As Malfoy continued languidly down the hallway away from me, I remained still, waiting to see if someone descended the tower stairs. When Malfoy was about to turn the corner at the end of the corridor “ a journey that had taken an unusually long time “ no one had come down from the tower, and I, though puzzled, stepped out from my hiding place and followed Malfoy down the hallway and turned left as he had done, keeping a fair distance between us.
I followed him anxiously for some time, debating on whether or not I should help him or get a teacher. He didn’t seem to notice me. Once, though, he turned around to look behind him, but because his every move seemed to be on slow motion, I managed to hide in an alcove that I, conveniently enough, was passing at the time.
Then, halfway down the third corridor we walked along, he stopped. He was leaning against the wall, presumably resting.
I was utterly dumbfounded. Something was indeed wrong. And I’d had enough of following his crumbled form; I resumed walking and reached his side a moment later.
He looked up, surprised to see me, of course, and tried to stand up straighter by holding on tighter to the stone wall.
“Malfoy, what’s wrong?” I asked, now desperate to know.
“Go away,” he mumbled, resuming walking down the corridor.
“No,” I replied simply, following him. “Something’s going on. I don’t expect you to tell me “ I know you won’t “ but at least let me--”
“What’s this?” a syrupy sweet voice asked from above them.
Hermione looked around and up to find Peeves the poltergeist hovering there with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Oooh, one thinks that just because one is in seventh year one can do what one wants,” Peeves tutted. “But guess what?” Peeves asked, mock-serious. “STUDENTS OUT OF BED! DUMBY-DOR! ICKLE STUDENTS DENYING CURFEW!”
I looked around quickly at Malfoy who looked almost frightened. As Peeves bobbed along the corridor, yelling for a teacher to come and catch them past curfew, I said nervously, “Maybe it’s good that Peeves finds a teacher. They’ll be able to help y--”
“No!” Malfoy croaked. “I… Just get away!” He began half-running, half-dragging himself down the corridor.
Pity of some inexplicable kind overcame me, and I hurried towards him and seized his arm. He tried to yank it away from my grasp but I held on and muttered, “Come. In here.” I led him down the corridor, around a corner, and into a deserted classroom. Locking the door behind me, I turned around to see Malfoy falling jadedly into a chair.
I listened at the door for a moment, but, hearing nothing, turned back to look at Malfoy. For a moment we just looked at each other; him, trying to maintain some hate towards me, yet he seemed too tired to uphold it; me, pondering how and why this “ whatever it was “ was happening to him.
“What’s going on?” I asked silently.
He narrowed his eyes at me and said nothing.
“Who’s doing this to you?” I pressed on nervously.
He averted his gaze, his hand tightening around the piece of parchment.
“What’s that?” I asked. “A letter?”
“Look, Granger, this is none of your business!” he growled.
“But, Malfoy, something’s obviously wrong,” I continued somewhat exasperatedly.
“Just butt out, will you?” he replied irritably.
I kept silent. He crumbled up the piece of parchment and pocketed it, his eyes never looking in my direction.
And then I heard something. Footsteps were echoing through the outside hallway, and Malfoy looked quickly up at me. His eyes searched mine as though trying to tell me something without actually saying anything.
“Don’t worry,” I said gently, though not knowing if I was about to do the right thing, “I won’t let them find you.”
I turned around, opened the door, and stepped out into the corridor, closing the door swiftly behind me. The footsteps were coming closer, and I stood there, waiting. Then, around the corner from the Charms corridor, McGonagall came into view, her robes billowing as she scurried along the hallway.
“Miss Granger?” she exclaimed in a strict way, though I could hear she was surprised that it was me. She stopped in front of me. “What are you doing out this late at night?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” I replied quietly. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”
“And what were you doing wandering about the castle?” McGonagall asked. “Are you alone?”
“Yes, alone,” I lied. “I was just walking around a bit and lost track of time.”
“Well,” McGonagall uttered, her nostrils flaring. “Ten points from Gryffindor. And I’m going to accompany you back to Gryffindor Tower. Off we go.”
The next day was Saturday and I awoke later than usual on weekends, but I hadn’t been able to sleep the previous night once McGonagall had returned me to the common room. Malfoy’s despondent demeanour last night was still on my mind when I sat down for breakfast in the Great Hall with Harry and Ron.
I chanced a look at the Slytherin table and saw Malfoy eating normally, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle on either side. Though he was still sporting dark circles under his eyes “ a trait that had been normalcy for some time now “ he didn’t look as jaded as the night before.
Suddenly he looked up and saw me watching. Though I didn’t know why, I kept looking at him. I knew that if I hurriedly looked down he’d known I’d been looking at him and felt embarrassed by it. Upholding the eye contact, however, meant that I wasn’t afraid, even though I was a bit scared deep down, now that he knew that I had taken notice of his change.
Malfoy didn’t sneer or scowl, but locked eyes with me for a moment or two, and then returned to his breakfast in silence.
Harry and Ron left my side before I’d finished breakfast to go out to the Quidditch field for bit of flying in the fresh air. Not feeling up to sitting in the stands, looking at two dots flying about in the skies, I told them I was okay without them.
Intend upon finishing my Transfiguration essay, I left the Great Hall and headed for Gryffindor Tower. My journey, however, was to be interrupted.
“Granger,” someone, whose identity I didn’t doubt, growled from behind me.
I turned around and saw Malfoy standing with his hands in his pockets, a pensive look on his face.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice breaking slightly.
“Forget what you saw last night, all right?” he ordered grumpily.
I debated whether or not I should just say ‘All right’ even though I knew only Obliviate could really make me forget. I didn’t say anything, though, and Malfoy narrowed his eyes a bit.
“I heard you through the door last night, you know,” Malfoy went on. “You lied to McGonagall.”
“Yes,” I replied. “I told you I wasn’t going to let them find you.”
Malfoy seemed to be angry that I had lied for him, but it didn’t really surprise me. Something was going on behind his eyes and then he took in a large breath and, his jaw set, he nodded and walked away.
I didn’t expect a thank you; a nod was fine with me.
Days passed, nights went by in silence. And still I couldn’t help but look over at the Slytherin table each day, the same picture reaching my eyes; a pale, fading boy sitting unnoticed, undisturbed in his own thoughts.
Then, a little more than a week since our last encounter, our paths crossed again.
We both stopped in the middle of the hallway, facing each other with looks of contemplation.
He didn’t say anything, and nor did I. But then the meddling side of me triumphed over all others, and I stated quietly, “You’re not looking any better.”
Luckily, he didn’t take it as an insult to his looks, but more as a reminder of his present state.
He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then continued to walk towards me, then past me, and then further down the corridor.
“Malfoy,” I said after him. “If you’re not going to tell me “ which I know you’re not “ at least tell someone else.”
Whether he heard me or not, I didn’t know, because he continued walking down the hallway without looking back, and disappeared around a corner.
Four days later, I was getting annoyed. Still no one seemed to have noticed. Malfoy withered inexplicably in front of everyone, yet nobody seemed to care.
It was insufferable, was what it was. And I was getting restless.
So, a Sunday evening in mid-November I saw Malfoy walking solitarily towards an unknown destination, his hands in his pockets, expressionless and mute. I, fed up with everyone’s indifference, followed.
Twice he almost noticed me tailing after him. He apparently sensed someone and looked around his shoulder, and both times I miraculously managed to hide.
A third time he wheeled around and I hurriedly hid behind a suit of armour. I waited to hear his footsteps resume walking, but shrieked when a wand suddenly was pointing right between my eyes.
“You are getting on my nerves,” Malfoy sneered, backing me up against the wall.
I had, apparently, not hid that well this third time and Malfoy was fuming.
“Leave “ me “ alone,” he uttered very clearly in a hushed voice.
“No, Malfoy,” I said stubbornly, hiding the shaking in my voice. “Something’s happening to you and I can’t just let it --”
“Yes, you can,” he cut in firmly.
I looked at him for a short moment, and then decided not to yield. “If you’d just--”
“Drop it,” he interrupted.
“But surely you can--”
“Drop it.”
I sighed exasperatedly. “Lower your wand,” I said calmly.
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, but he obeyed.
“Fine,” I said reluctantly. “But when you’re tired of looking like a resuscitated mummy, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help.”
He looked a bit taken aback by my remark, but I left him short after before he could retaliate.
Even though I didn’t know how I did it, I managed to leave Malfoy to himself and concentrated on my school studies. I stopped checking that he joined everyone at breakfast, willing my eyes to remain on my food or on Harry or Ron. And I succeeded.
Five days after our last encounter, however, something unusual happened.
I was walking along the corridor from which you can take the stairs up to the North Tower. I had passed the staircase when I heard a thump behind me. I whipped around and saw Malfoy lying at the end of the staircase, face down, clutching a piece of parchment. Eyes bulging slightly, I went to see if he was all right, but stopped in my tracks. He had wanted to be left alone. And alone he should be.
A groan escaped his lying form and he lifted up his head from the floor and saw me.
My jaw set, I turned around and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction.
A soft ‘Granger’ could be heard from behind me, and though some parts of me forbade it, I turned around a walked back to him. I knelt down beside him and helped him up into a sitting position. He closed his eyes, his head resting against the stone wall.
I sat there in front of him, contemplating him. “Am I allowed to help you now?” I asked.
He opened his eyes slowly, looked at me for a second, then closed them again and sighed, “You can’t.”
His stubbornness was annoying me. Fed up once more, and this time I meant it, I got up and walked determined down the corridor away from him.
“Wait…” I heard him mutter from behind.
I kept walking, willing myself to block him out.
“Stop…” he croaked.
I kept walking, though my pace was slowing down. Infuriated with myself, I stopped in my tracks and turned around to see him still sitting there, tiredly looking at me.
Inwardly cursing my kind heart, I walked back to him. I stopped in front of him, my hands on my hips and waited for him to speak.
“It’s…” he began quietly. “It’s complicated.”
I contemplated him for a while, then crouched down in front of him. It was a start, I supposed. I sighed and said, “You need some rest. Come on.” I held on to one of his arms and heaved him off the floor. He staggered a bit, but let me lead him through the corridor and onwards. Only when we reached the lower storeys, where we might run into people, I let go of him and we headed our separate ways.
It was one of my late nights in the library. I sat engrossed in a Charms book Professor Flitwick had recommended even though I knew that the library was about to close. As I turned a yellowing page, someone muttered, “Hey.”
I looked up and saw him standing before me, looking remarkably out of place.
“Hi,” I said quietly. “How… How are you feeling?”
Malfoy didn’t answer straight away; he looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else but there. I could imagine why.
“Fine,” he answered somewhat half-heartedly.
I waited for him to say something, sit down, or take a book out and start reading. He remained silent, though, and looked around himself. His eyes then landed on me again and he asked, “What are you reading?”
Inwardly smiling slightly, I answered, “A Charms book called Charm the Charmed.”
Malfoy nodded uninterestedly and looked around himself again at nothing in a particular it seemed.
I frowned slightly, not knowing what to do or say. “Would you like to sit down?” I tried timidly.
He seemed to hesitate. Then, slowly, and clearly somewhat reluctantly, he sat down at my table. I chanced a weak smile which he didn’t return, he merely looked away again.
“Did you want something?” I prompted quietly.
He didn’t say anything at first, but then he muttered, “Not really…”
I furrowed my eyebrows at his taciturn demeanour. Surely he had wanted to say something when it was he who had come to me? I knew I couldn’t allow myself to get annoyed, though, because that would make him turn away again, which was out of the question now that I had got one step closer, however infinitesimal a step it might have been.
“So, how was your day?” I asked awkwardly.
“Drop the small talk,” was the answer I got.
“Excuse me, but you aren’t exactly garrulous,” I replied indignantly.
“And you think that’s strange?”
“No, but that’s why it tried to… well, do something,” I responded somewhat irritably.
“Well, don’t waste your time on me,” he said suddenly, looking down at the table as he ran a finger across a cut in it.
I frowned. “I wouldn’t consider it wasting my time if you would just tell me something about what’s going on,” I replied despairingly.
“I can’t,” he said. “You know I can’t.”
“No,” I responded. “I don’t.”
He looked up at me abruptly and withheld his gaze determinedly. “I told you,” he said, “it’s complicated.”
“You’ve got to start somewhere…”
“I haven’t got to do anything,” he responded irritably.
“Then why have you come?” I asked, now not caring about showing my annoyance.
“Because!” he let out in a growl. “Because--”
“The library’s closing now, you two,” Madam Pince exclaimed, brandishing her feather duster at us. “Out.”
I gathered up my things and put them haphazardly into my bag. I got up and followed Malfoy out of the library, Madam Pince following close behind with her feather duster. Once outside the door, she shut it, locked it, and scurried down the corridor and out of sight.
I turned around to face Malfoy, but he had gone.
I started to walk towards Gryffindor Tower, my mood incredibly low. Why couldn’t he just tell me what was going on? I didn’t finish the chapter in Charm the Charmed that I had set out to do. Why had he come if he didn’t want to talk? I sighed, as I suspected I knew the answer.
He probably just liked the company.
A week passed. Malfoy didn’t come to see me. I didn’t press the matter.
Then, one day at the breakfast table, I looked over at his table to find him looking at me already. I was about to return to my breakfast when his eyes darted towards the door and back. I frowned. He did it again; looking from me to the door, from me to the door.
Did he really want me to go out of the Great Hall? And what?
I simply nodded, and seconds later, he arose from his seat and left through the open doors. I finished my pumpkin juice, told Harry and Ron I’d be in the library, and headed out of the Great Hall. As I stepped out into the Entrance Hall, I looked around for him. Then I found him walking down one of the corridors. I followed him and found him waiting for me as I turned a corner.
I waited a while; he didn’t say anything. “Hi,” I said uncertainly.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Malfoy said, and I just nodded for him to continue. “I have to go up to the North Tower tonight and--”
“No, Malfoy,” I interrupted. “You can’t. I don’t know what happens up there, but you can’t do this to yourself.”
“I have to go,” he responded tiredly.
“You don’t have to do anything,” I corrected somewhat anxiously. “Just don’t go up there.”
“You don’t understand…”
“Of course I don’t,” I replied hotly. “Because you won’t tell me anything.”
“Do you really expect me to?” he asked.
“Well… no,” I answered uncomfortably. “But still, don’t go.”
“I have to,” he repeated, sighing.
“Who’s making you?” I asked incredulously.
“It’s complicated…”
“Yes, I’ve got that,” I replied irritably.
“Granger…” he sighed. “Will you just listen to what I have to ask you?”
Jaw set, I muttered, “Fine.”
“As I said, I’m going to the North Tower tonight and I wanted to know if you’d…” he hesitated, “if you’d be there when I come down…”
“When you come down?” I repeated acrimoniously. “You mean to help you? Help you when you come down from Lord knows what, crumbling, weak and pale? To keep this sickening behaviour a secret? Tell me who’s up there, Malfoy!”
He looked stunned for a moment, then sighed. “I… can’t.”
“Then I can’t help you,” I replied and walked away.
For some inexplicable reason, my morals weren’t going to let me do nothing. So, I found myself standing by the staircase leading to the North Tower that night.
I didn’t know whether or not Malfoy was already up there. I kept glancing down the hallway in both directions. Maybe I should go up to the tower door and wait? It couldn’t hurt to press my ear slightly against the door, could it? No one need know…
I crept up the staircase, ears alert for any sounds. Reaching the wooden door, I pressed my ear against it, though only able to hear my own breathing. No sound came from the other side of the door. Apparently, Malfoy hadn’t even come yet.
Maybe I could go out there and wait for Malfoy to turn up; in which case I could, if I hid strategically, see for myself what happened to him.
I opened to door, cursing its creak, and stepped outside.
There, clinging on to the stone railing, was Malfoy, a piece of parchment clutched in his hand, a look of pain on his face. Apparently, whoever had been there, had already gone. Malfoy glided weakly down the railing and slumped onto the ground.
I walked hastily over to him, and he lifted his face up to meet mine. He closed his eyes warily and muttered, “Thank you.”
I hadn’t exactly done anything yet. But, I supposed, just turning up was appreciated.
I crouched down in front of him and said gently, “Let me help you towards your Common Room, then.
As I took his arm to heave him up, however, he sighed, “Can’t we just stay here for a minute?”
“Erm, sure,” I replied and let go of his arm, sitting down next to him, my back resting against the railing. I stretched out my legs in front of me and crossed my ankles, looking awkwardly around. I could hear his heavy breathing from beside me.
Neither of us spoke for about ten minutes. Then, quite unexpectedly, Malfoy was the one who broke the silence.
“Granger…” I looked sideways at him and found him still sitting with his eyes closed. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t seem to be elaborating just yet.
“Yes?” I prompted softly, sensing he needed to know that I was still there and wanted to know what he had to say.
“Just try to understand,” he began slowly, “that I simply can’t tell you.”
Instead of using my former tactics of ‘Of course you can’, I decided to ask, “Is it because someone has hexed you to be unable to say?”
“No,” Malfoy answered quietly, “not precisely.”
“Then what?”
“Can we talk about something else?” he asked.
I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of him, so I sighed and asked, “What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything…”
“Erm, all right,” I responded, thinking of something. “Let’s see. I… I don’t like strawberry marmalade. Even though I like strawberries.”
A drowsy chuckle escaped Malfoy, yet he still hadn’t opened his eyes. “Well… I don’t like strawberries full stop.”
“I don’t like cherries full stop,” I retaliated with a shrug.
“I don’t like apricots,” he said.
“Scandalous!” I replied, mock-offended.
He opened his eyes and turned to face me. “Rebellious, aren’t I?”
“Indisputably.”
He smiled slightly. A sight that made me want to pinch my arm.
“We’d better get going,” I said quietly.
Malfoy nodded and I got up to help him stand, and we walked, him clinging on to me, down the stone steps from the North Tower.
To be continued...