be a warrior like a lion
or you’ll end up like a pet
tucked away in a stable
It was the last summer of peace. This was obvious to Cybele and her friends. Some of them were close enough to Harry Potter to know for sure.
Voldemort was back. He was back and for some twisted reason, he was allowing them all one last summer of peace. Nothing was happening.
The summer was exceptionally hot. To Cybele, it was strangely sweet and easy, considering the dangers at large.
She had spent a fortnight with Caroline in Muggle London. She would spend the rest of the summer with her surrogate family, the Jordans, but she had also accepted an invitation from her new friend Neville to spend a week at the Longbottom Manor.
The first days at Neville’s had passed in a whirl of Herbology experiments. Longbottom Manor actually held a large, run down greenhouse on the edge of the grounds. Neville had spent summer after summer bringing the place back to life.
One heavily hot afternoon, Neville took Cybele to a remote, under kept part of the domain. In a raised part of the ground, several rows of ancient, modest-sized greenhouses were still standing.
‘Wow!’ Cybele exclaimed. ‘Herbology does run in your family!’
Neville smiled. They were walking on shattered pieces of glass, polished by time into smooth and hardly translucent stones.
‘One day, I would like to make a giant research lab out of this place,’ he said with determination.
Cybele smiled, too.
‘I don’t think my grandmother would like that, though’ he added.
‘Why wouldn’t she?’
‘Um, my parents were Aurors,’ Neville reminded her.
‘Oh, all right. But why would she want you to do the same? I mean, you’re not the fighting type, are you? I could see you better in a lab.’
Neville mumbled something inaudible.
Cybele didn’t ask him to repeat, though; she knew his story.
‘You don’t have to avenge your parents. Avenging is not a purpose!’ she said heatedly.
‘He’s back,’ Neville reminded simply. ‘Shouldn’t I be fighting?’
‘Of course you should. We will all have to fight. It’s war. But when peace comes back, you should put this place together,’ she said with conviction.
She grabbed a smooth polished glass stone from her feet and examined it dreamily, as if it held the promise of a better tomorrow.
‘Aren’t you afraid?’ Neville asked.
‘I’m afraid of a lot of things,’ Cybele answered calmly. ‘War is just one of them.’
Neville chuckled weakly.
‘I know what you mean.’
‘Sometimes I’m afraid of who I am,’ Cybele continued.
Neville gave her a curious look. Cybele caught his eyes, pocketed the glass stone and just like that, told him everything about her Magian self.
The last night of her visit found Cybele working late with Neville in the manor’s greenhouse. They were disrupted by an owl from Mrs. Longbottom reminding them to get dressed for a formal dinner, as they had guests.
‘You still have that glass stone from the old greenhouses?’ Neville asked before they left.
Cybele took it out from her pocket and handed it wordlessly to Neville. He placed it on a shelf nearby his work station and gave a small smile.
‘To always remember my projects,’ he said.
Cybele beamed.
‘Would you work with me?’ he asked unexpectedly as they were closing the greenhouse door behind them.
‘In a Herbology lab?’ Cybele asked, more to feel how it sounded than anything else.
‘Yeah, as you’re better at Potions than I am.’
Cybele remained silent for a while. She had never considered what she could do later. What were Magi supposed to do? Neville now knew she was a Magian; did he think Magian should get a regular job like everyone else? Would people let her get away with that? Wouldn’t they employ her for other things? She tried to say all this to Neville.
‘I don’t think people can employ you as they see fit, Cybele. The wizarding community doesn’t own you just because they welcomed you to Hogwarts. You should just do what you are good at or what you enjoy, like the rest of us. Isn’t that what you said to me?’
Cybele felt grateful for the idea, but it sounded lavishly optimistic to her. She smiled.
‘I would love to work in a lab. I would love to work with a friend,’ she said simply. ‘But I cannot imagine settling to something like that before I’ve found out where I came from.’
‘Then find out soon,’ Neville answered kindly.
The dinner party consisted of an addition of four. A cousin of Neville’s parent had come with her husband, their son and a friend of the latest. Neville and Cybele came down just in time, the mud of the greenhouse freshly showered away, the two of them smartly dressed. Mrs. Longbottom was very old fashioned when it came to social events – and an awful lot of other things.
The de Lioncourts were living in France. Mrs. de Lioncourt’s husband was a French Muggle and the two boys had attended Muggle schooling before entering Beauxbatons, making them louder and bolder compared to Cybele and Neville. The lively lot was, however, agreeable enough company for a family dinner.
Mrs. de Lioncourt kept teasing Neville about his shyness and clumsiness, a family joke apparently. Cybele wasn’t finding it too amusing; neither did Neville, by the look of it.
They had coffee in a sitting room and Mr. de Lioncourt sat at the piano, playing some lively Chopin number. The party was gay and as Mrs. de Lioncourt was engrossed in conversation with Mrs Longbottom, Neville was left free to fight his shyness and participate into the conversation between Cybele and the boys.
‘Shall I play a dance?’ offered cheerfully Mr. de Lioncourt from behind the piano.
The invitation was to his wife, who took the hint with delight. She started waltzing graciously with her son, obviously a family tradition in this noble family.
Cybele invited Neville. They had learnt simple waltz for the Yule Ball and had never thought that they would have an occasion to revive their performance. They happily found that they could remember the steps quite well and enjoyed themselves as Mrs. Verdelan gapped with awe at her so-called clumsy nephew revolving gracefully in the room. As for young de Lioncourt’s friend, he seemed to be baffled to be the only teenager in the room not up for a waltz.
Someone peering through the window at this time would have seen a very nice – though oddly old-fashioned – scene. They would have seen a party of smartly dressed people. They would have noticed at first, maybe, as the piano was near the window, an enthusiastic piano player smiling joyfully to the rest. They would have catch, then, the fond glances they exchanged with his wife while she danced. Brushing over the dancers, they would have rested their eyes on the touching scene of a young man talking lively to an elderly woman on the sofa at the other end of the sitting room. They would have eventually indulged in the contemplation of the two graceful couples dancing casually in the middle, an elegant mother with her son, a pretty young girl in a little black dress, laughing with her head tilted back.
Would they have suspected that they were looking at people waiting for a war to begin?
September first came and the wizarding world still lived in blissful ignorance of Voldemort’s return.
The young sorcerers sitting together in the last compartment weren’t, though. Lee, Caroline, Cybele and the twins were exchanging points of view on the situation, all looking much more concerned than they usually would on a Hogwarts Express trip.
‘We’ve let the food trolley pass,’ Caroline noticed after a silence.
‘I’ll get it,’ Cybele offered and she exited the compartment without waiting for an answer. The corridor was deserted. She headed to the end of the wagon, hoping to find the lady and her trolley in the next one.
She found herself face to face with Malfoy almost as soon as she left her wagon. He was exiting another compartment after spiting something hostile to its occupants, which Cybele couldn’t catch. He was wearing a particularly malevolent sneer.
His expression softened as he saw Cybele but the look he gave her was hard. They had not talked since the Yule Ball. Life had gone on surprisingly smoothly among Cybele’s friends after she and George had decided to go back to being friends. Before both of them could overcome their sadness however, dramatic events had closed the Hogwarts term, Cedric’s death putting all other matters into perspective.
Cybele looked at Malfoy. He was still the same boy. Ever taller, it seemed, ever cuter, too, she noticed, resigned to be, as she had been for years, sensitive to the beauty of even the slightest golden flicker of her friend’s hair. He had a shiny Prefect badge on his robes and a cool expression on his face now as he watched her, ordering her silently to speak first.
Who were they, now? Cybele wondered, as the silent staring contest settled between them. War was there; it was not open yet but it was; and Cybele knew well all that Malfoy belonged to: his House, his family; both were supporting evil. And yet he was standing here in front of her, an old friend. However one put it, an old friend.
He was still waiting for Cybele to speak. He had a right to, Cybele thought. He had written her sincere words of apology and she had never answered. Draco’s silent and determined glance now was his request for her belated answer.
She didn’t know what to answer or how. Her hands reached her watch by their own accord – or so it seemed to her. She opened it and extracted the small scroll which had been there since that night when George had handed it back to her.
She locked eyes with Draco. His expression was difficult to read.
‘I have received your note,’ she started. Draco gave her a smart look. Right, stating the obvious, she thought. But it was difficult to get to the next step.
‘It’s all right,’ she said very quietly. She knew she had not really forgiven Draco. But she had, too. She had forgiven him for not inviting her to the ball, for getting drunk and embracing her in a dark corner when he was intoxicated. After reading his note, she really had. But she had never, she would never, forgive him for the way she had felt when he had touched her, for the way it had almost hurt, for how she couldn’t forget it, for how she couldn’t understand how it could be.
Draco gave a quick glance around, before replying.
‘I’m sorry, Cybele, I just acted like a total prat,’ he said.
‘You were drunk,’ Cybele said.
‘I was furious that you ended up going with the hopeless Longbottom.’
‘He can dance,’ Cybele stated unexpectedly. ‘Can you?’ she added, as Draco hadn’t found an answer to her last.
‘Er, a bit,’ he answered, taken aback.
‘Then you did me a favour not inviting me. I went with the best dance partner in Hogwarts!’ she replied, savouring the modest revenge.
Draco gave a soft snort, rolling his eyes. They then locked eyes again and gave each other a corky smile. They would hug each other, just as they had back in their second year. Except, everything had changed: They both looked around nervously, neither wanting to be seen hugging the other. Then they realized what they were both doing and looked at each other awkwardly. Then a glimpse of determination passed in their eyes and both made a move to hug.
‘We were looking for you, Draco,’ came a loud voice from the end of the corridor. They stopped in their move abruptly. Draco looked ahead.
‘Well, I’m here,’ he answered in an exasperated voice.
‘Are you coming, then?’ Goyle asked.
‘Obviously,’ he answered, taking a step toward Cybele to pass in front of her. The train gave a shake at this moment and he had to stop himself from falling on her by placing his hands on the wall on both side of her head. In this close position, they held each other’s hard look for a second, or maybe an hour, Cybele couldn’t tell.
Then Draco was gone and Cybele was finding her way back to her compartment, collapsing in her seat like a sleepwalker.
‘You didn’t find her?’ Caroline asked.
Cybele looked at her blankly. She had quite forgotten about the trolley.
‘No,’ she said with a shudder.
Draco led Goyle back to their compartment. No way was he going to spend the rest of the journey stuck in the Prefect compartment with bushy-haired Mudblood. But he had lost interest in testing the bullying possibilities of his new badge… for now.
How could she have the friends she has? he reflected, unnerved. Why couldn’t Cybele be seated with him, laughing with him at Crabbe and Goyle’s idiocy, saving him from Blaise and Pansy’s dull conversation? Why wasn’t she a Slytherin to start with? She was spending half of her leisure time in his head of House’s office, was she not? If she were a Slytherin, she would have avoided making all those inappropriate friends.
I mean, even if he really can, who cares that Longbottom can dance he marvelled silently. And she had definitely snogged whichever Weasley twin! The thought made Draco’s stomach lurch. Disgusting blood traitors, he thought, interpreting spectacularly wrongly his stomach’s signal. My fault, though he couldn’t help thinking, still hating himself for not inviting her to the ball. And then again, as always, Why do I even care?
He never tried to answer this question. He knew. He had known all the while. The only time he had faced it had been before Cybele’s accident, when Blaise had threatened to separate them. He simply knew he needed her in his life, somehow, if he wanted to make it through. But he was not going to admit this to himself now.
He so badly wanted Cybele to see the errors in her ways. He so badly wanted her to open her eyes and abandon her Squibs, Mudbloods, Elves and Blood Traitor friends and thank him for not giving up on her. But he also loved her because she didn’t just buy his speeches. He loved her because around her, like if she was of some other species, all these things that seemed to matter so much back home or in the Slytherin common room simply didn’t seem to exist at all and it felt blissful. He loved her because she had given him a chance from the first day, despite their differences and she was this unintended exception, for he had given her a chance too, despite her doubtful blood status, her outrageous friends and her way of opposing his deepest convictions.
He loved her. And he knew why. But he couldn’t see the meaning of it all in his life; what was wrong with him?
Cybele let the twins go find the trolley and Caroline and Lee catch up on each other’s holidays, oblivious enough of her.
So she was on speaking terms with Draco again. Where would that lead? Her heart gave a painful answer to the innocent question. I’m afraid of my friends’ reaction, she thought, interpreting her heart’s signal spectacularly wrong.
Then why did she have to forgive him? Why did she want to hug him back? Why did she so desperately want to be his friend like back in good old times? I miss him, she admitted to herself. Why? a small voice in her mind questioned immediately.
Yeah, why do I even care? she questioned angrily, thinking of Malfoy’s disgusting behaviour to the House-Elves, his hopelessly hating speeches on all matters, his obvious bullying even now that he was a Prefect.
He had always been here, since her first weeks in Hogwarts. He had always cared. He had always shown her his best face. Maybe his best face had not been much, but compared to the face he was showing to the rest of the world, it meant a lot. She had been important to him.
There was the softest touch of his silky hair, there was the gentle way he flew with her on his broom, there was the easiness and tolerance he showed with her and nobody else, there was the strong will and self-confidence, there was the fun and cunning she loved in his character. She also loved him because he was the only person to have given her what she seemed not to be able to help giving to all: his unconditional friendship in all circumstances even when their lives and views opposed in the most violent manner.
She loved him; for many reasons. And she could name them all. But then what was that love in the face of his intolerable views and behaviour?
‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘I was about to ask you that.’ Cybele jumped at Fred’s voice and blushed. She had spoken the last sentence out loud. She realized the twins were back and sharing the food with them all. She had not noticed them return.
‘What happened to you, Cybele? Seen a ghost in the corridor?’ Lee asked
‘Yes.’