Chapter Thirty-Five

1996

Draco

Mother had been attentive, fussing over me until I'd told her to let me rest. I slept late and did not leave my quarters until lunch the following day. My body ached, and my healing injury burned as if a flame had been lit beneath my very flesh.

Lunch was simple, a garden vegetable soup with shredded chicken. It seemed mother thought I was incapable of eating. Secretly, I was glad she cared, but I soon found it was short lived. I jolted at the slam of the Daily Profit landing beside me, the main headline on the front page leaping out at me: Mass Werewolf Attack! The photo below the heading took up most of the page. It was of Scarlett and I, upon entering St Mungo's. I was holding her, having just left the floo hearth, calling out for help. The photograph was black and white, but it was obvious our faces were ghostly pale, and the dark stains on our skin and torn garments, blood. My stomach dropped. There had been so much blood. My photo-self called out again, staggering forward towards the camera, wherever it had been.

"I'm waiting, Draco." I tore my eyes from the page, staring up at my mother.

"Pardon?" I spluttered.

"I asked what this is?" Her clipped voice dripped with annoyance.

"It's a photograph of what happened last night." I bit out.

"I can see that. Why does it state you saved that blood-traitor's life, might I ask?"

"Because I did." An entirely different unease eclipsed the feeling of seeing the photograph; the blood, Scar so injured, dying in my arms. She had been dying in my arms. I held in a shudder, lest my mother saw it. Mother snatched the paper, ripping it to the next page, shoving it back under my nose. I was in a lot of trouble. Everything was public. Who had blabbed all this to the press? I needed to think of a way out of this fast.

"Do you know how this looks." Mother hissed. "How your father will see it, how-" She drew in a sharp breath. "How the Dark Lord will see this?" I swallowed hard. The Dark Lord, I hadn't thought of him…

"He wanted me to get close to her." I shot back, my only defence. "Besides, after that article in the Quibbler about father, don't you think our family name needs a little good press?" I added, thinking on my feet. She glared at me, her resolve faltering. I remembered something that Auror had said to me. "By me being in that theatre, and saving the Ashwood witch, I've essentially thrown the trail off father's or the Dark Lord's involvement in the Werewolf attack all together." Slowly she nodded, a brief pain clouding her gaze.

"If I'd known there would be an attack on the theatre, I would never have signed for you to go." I only nodded, dropping my head to read the article, wondering again why a theatre of predominantly purebloods was targeted? There were photos of the theatre guests arriving, including a shot of Scarlett and I ascending the stairs together, Daphne just ahead of us. The rest of the photos were of the chaos which ensued. The theatre on fire, fleeing patrons, injured individuals, and werewolves who had been slain; their large forms sending chills curling down my spine. The one which had attacked Scarlett was not among the pictured dead.

Thankfully, nowhere in the article mentioned I sustained my injuries while rescuing Scarlett. If my mother knew that, I was sure she would hex me, or worse. There was also no sign of the fact I'd spent hours in Scarlett's hospital room, only leaving when Scarlett's own medi-witch, who had let me stay, advised me her father was about to arrive. At least I knew her assigned medi-witch had not blabbed to the papers.

There was a small mention of Scarlett's father, Charles Ashwood, and the close link to his wife's murder and the attack Scarlett was caught up in as a child. "Why did you call him Charlie?" I looked across the table to my mother. She stared at me, taken aback by my unbidden question. "Scarlett Ashwood's father, why did you call him Charlie? It was not formal." Mother looked decidedly uncomfortable before she sighed and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"I briefly knew Charles through various social events when we were children, and later when he married, Rose Greengrass." I raised a brow, waiting for her to explain.

"Rose Greengrass and I were once close friends before, well before the war."

"Before she picked a side." I stated. Mother nodded.

"She chose the other side, aligning herself with Muggleborns and the likes. Her expression took on a sneer. "It no longer matters, it is the past, and her choice cost her life." I opened my mouth to argue but closed it. Perhaps it had? I didn't know. All I knew was those werewolves last night were sent by him to destroy, and they didn't differentiate between Muggleborn or Pureblood. We were all fair game to them. Did that mean we were all fair game to the Dark Lord? The clock struck one, and mother snapped her gaze to its large face.

"You need to get back to school now." She rose abruptly, calling for her House Elf, who promptly cleared the table, including my half-eaten soup.

"Now? Why?"

"Because, I told Snape, I would floo you back between one and one-thirty. His floo at Hogwarts is open, awaiting your return." I rose, wincing when my insides burned. "Hurry, let's go."

"Mother, it has only gone one—"

"Draco, you need to go now." She insisted, glancing out the window, down to the gardens below, as if searching. She was afraid of something.

"Whose here, who's coming?" I demanded, refusing to move, although her fear was seeping into me, setting my every nerve on edge.

"Your father is back, but he has… guests." She finished, staring out the windows overlooking the main entrance. Understanding dawned on me, and I nodded. Relieved, she ushered me out of the dining hall, and towards the main floo hearth in the receiving room. Before I could ask who father's guests were, although I undoubtably knew they were Deatheaters or perhaps the Dark Lord himself, I was stumbling out of an unfamiliar hearth, to come face to face with Snape.

"Have you devised a cover story for this mess?" Snape asked my mother in way of greeting, pointing at the paper rolled up in his hand.

"Draco has, he'll explain. I need to go." Snape nodded, and before I could say goodbye or anything, mother had vanished within the green flames.

"What's going on, why have I been dumped back at school?" I demanded, feeling completely out of sorts.

"Because, unless you wish for the Dark Lord to extract the night's events as depicted in this paper from your mind, which will excruciating at best, you are safer here until your mother can relay exactly why you were stupid enough to publicly save the Ashwood girl." I closed my mouth so quickly my jaw made an audible click. "Now, what is your excuse?" Snape's eyes bored into mine and I swallowed. No wonder mother had all but thrown me out of the Manor.

"It will look good for the Malfoy name, saving a blood-traitor."

"To the Dark Lord?"

"N—no. To everyone else. Everyone believes my father is a Deatheater after Potter's interview in that pathetic Quibbler. By me saving Scarlett, the daughter of an Auror and a known resister of the Dark Lord, it will throw off people's assumptions, including the assumption the Werewolf attack was on the Dark Lord's orders. He wants to still go unnoticed as he recruits, does he not?" The last part I was purely guessing, but my answers seemed to appease Snape, his deep lined frown softening.

"Very well." He drawled out. "I believe we can work with that." I nodded, letting out a silent breath of relief. "I suggest you lie low, you are still healing, yes?" I nodded again, turning to leave the chamber.

"Draco, I need to see what happened last night. I froze, dread sweeping through me.

"At the theatre?" I whispered.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I think you are hiding something."

"I'm not." I whirled, staring at him. Snape stared back, contemplative.

"I won't use Legilimens on you. I have no interest in experiencing the testosterone-fuelled thoughts of a teenage wizard." Well, bloody hell. Did he know? Surely not. I swallowed.

"Then what?" I retorted, feigning defiance.

"If you will allow me to extract a copy of your memories of last night, I will view them in a pensive."

"Will he see them?"

"No, but if he should ask, I can provide him my own memories of viewing yours in the pensive." I continued staring at him, every muscle so tense they ached. "If I see something the Dark Lord will not approve, I will alter my memories, and subsequently save you from a very painful interrogation or worse."

"All right, take them." I muttered, forcing myself to hold still as he approached, wand out. The tip touched my temple, and it felt as if a headache was building at the point where his wand pressed against my skin, the pain sharpening before it vanished to nothing. There was a silver strand of, well it was my memory, and Snape carried it carefully to the far wall where he placed it in a vial, corking it.

"You may go now." I couldn't leave fast enough, dreading what Snape would see, yet trusting he wouldn't oust me to, him. I made it to the door before another thought occurred.

"Will you show my father?" I bit down on the inside of my cheek, waiting, breath held.

"No, Draco." Relief rushed through me. There would be no punishment or dangerous trips to Muggle London. "However, you need to be more careful." I nodded, making to leave, hand on the door only to turn back once more.

"Why did he organise an attack on a venue filled with Purebloods?" The question was burning me from the inside out. I needed to know, because I couldn't understand. Snape regarded me, a mixture of curiosity and repulsion playing on his usually stoic features.

"A show of power for those who remain indecisive to the Dark Lord's ideals. The Werewolves, since the last war, have been under control by the Ministry. The attack shows the Ministry is weak, their control is slipping." I nodded, holding back a shudder. His show of power had almost killed me and Scarlett. People had died. The Prophet had stated there was a death toll of eleven, and sixty-seven witches and wizards had been bitten, including Professor Flume. I didn't know what else to say, so left Snape's office.

I ended up in my dorm, glad the Dungeons were relatively empty. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise were nowhere to be found, but Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, as if he had been waiting.

"Are you all right?" He stood, his expression strained, worried.

"I'll live." I shrugged, kicking off my shoes and sitting on my bed. My entire body was a heavy ache. The Healer said I'd tired and sore for a few days.

"Only just, it seems." Theo scoffed. "What in Merlin's name happened?" With a grimace, I briefly explained what had befallen the theatre patrons, including the attack on Flume, and how I had been injured. I didn't tell him why I had been injured. The last thing I needed was Theo berating me.

"You saved her." He stated when I had finished, arms folded. Well, seemed I would still get the berating.

"Yes, and for good reason." He raised an overly sceptical brow, waiting. "It looks good to the public, a Malfoy saving the daughter of an Auror, especially one known to be against the Dark Lord. After Potter's bloody interview, the Malfoy name needed redemption." Theo stared hard at me a moment, brow slowly lowering.

"How thoughtful of you to run to the rescue of a blood traitorous witch, and all for the cause of the Malfoy name." He drawled out. I glowered. "Draco, if he finds out..."

"There is nothing to find out." I snapped. Why couldn't he leave it alone?

"We both know that isn't true." He muttered under his breath, but I heard him. I ignored it. Hopefully, he would drop it. Ignoring the pain to my middle, I leant towards my bedside drawers. Surely a couple chocolate frogs would shut him up.

...

It seemed my presence at the theatre that night and saving Scarlett, had thrown the school into disarray. My involvement had caused those who had read Potter's interview to falter in their belief my father was a Death Eater, or that it was the Dark Lord behind the attack. I guess those who knew he was back in the Pureblood circles were not so deluded. Theo had not seemed surprised, nor had Goyle and the New Zealand transfer in sixth year. Theo had been disgusted although he had tried to hide it. Like me, I don't think he could understand why the Dark Lord would kill other Purebloods. Wouldn't eradicating Muggles and Mudbloods send a better message he meant business in how he would change our future?

Speaking of Mudbloods, I'd come across Granger in the library just moments earlier. She had stopped, frozen really, and stared at me. Her face, it had been priceless, her mind clearly in overdrive trying to process why I had saved her Muggle-sympathising, Gryffindor friend. That was none of her damn business. I'd told her to peel her muddy eyes from my posterior, which had garnered an indignant huff and flounce of that ridiculous hair as she stalked from the library, leaving me in peace.

Monday, I missed lessons in favour of resting in bed. Tuesday, I graced my teachers with my presence. I was still sore and tired, still healing, but a visit to Madame Pomphrey deemed I could attend classes. It wasn't until Herbology at the end of the day, The Ravenclaw, Felicity, approached while I was fertilizing Mandrakes.

"Yes?" I drawled out, continuing my task.

"Umm, hi." She paused, and I peered at her, raising a brow.

"Scar, was she all right when you last saw her?" The anxious tone to her hushed words surprised me.

"You haven't heard from her?" Felicity shook her head.

"No, and I don't think she's home."

"Why do you say that?" I held back the frown which wanted to replace my nonchalance. If Scarlett wasn't home, where was she? Was she all right? Had she been bitten in the end? My mind swum with all the horrible possibilities.

"My owl returned with the letter I sent her this morning." I shrugged.

"She was fine last time I saw her, leaving St Mungos in fact." I replied, turning away to continue feeding the young, squirming Mandrakes.

"I just hope she's okay." Felicity murmured. "And Draco? Thanks for saving her." I turned back, but she was hurrying away. Shaking my head, I tried pushing Scarlett from my thoughts, but one filtered through, unbidden. I'd left St Mungos before her. What if she was still there?

Scarlett

I'd spent most of the week hidden away at Grimauld Place while the Order Investigated the attack on the theatre. Since learning of the Werewolf's interest in me, dad had freaked, wanting to make sure it was a once off attack, and I wasn't being targeted by him. The entire ordeal and the waiting had left me feeling even worse. I'd spent days and nights locked up in this dreadful house, re-living the night at the theatre. The nightmares were the worst, a horrible combination of the ones I had as a child after my mother was murdered, what happened at the theatre, and what could have happened if Draco hadn't been there. Some were of Draco reaching me, only to be ripped apart like my mother had. I felt sick every time I thought of it.

"Scar, stop." I looked up, my hand stilling. I'd been doing it again, rubbing at my neck. No matter how many times I'd scrubbed it raw, the crawling feeling beneath my skin wouldn't go away. The same crawling feeling when that Werewolf had put his mouth there, pressing his sharp teeth against my throat. Tonks watched on in worry as I dropped my hands into my lap at the table.

We'd finished dinner, well Tonks and Sirius had. I'd picked at the roasted veggies on my plate, but I just wasn't hungry.

"Want desert, Scar? There's leftover butterscotch pudding from this morning's meeting." Tonks enticed. I shook my head.

"No, thanks."

"Sirius?" She asked.

"Might head out for a bit." Was his soft reply before his chair scraped back. "Let me out?" He looked towards me. I pushed my chair back, greeted by a shaggy black dog at my side a moment later. The first time I'd seen him change into his animagus form, I'd freaked out, but he became a big friendly black dog, not a terrifying wolf out for blood.

Sirius padded silently down the hall and stairs until we reached the front door. I opened it a crack and received a nod of his shaggy head in thanks before he slipped out into the evening shadows.

I returned to the kitchen, intent on helping Tonks clean up, but she'd already tidied the small mess from cooking, and the dishes were washing and drying themselves at the sink. I found her in the main living area, setting up a game of exploding snap.

"Want to have a game?" I nodded, sitting across from her on the rug before the glowing hearth.

"Brilliant." She grinned, letting me go first.

I tried to enjoy it, I really did, but exploding snap reminded me of the time I'd played it with Draco. Those thoughts let to wondering how he was. How everyone else was, which made me think of the theatre. I just wanted to stop thinking!

"So, guess Draco will be glad to see you back at school." I snapped my head up from the cards, staring at Tonks.

"Uh, I guess, I mean for Potions he might. We are partners in Potions." I hurried out, trying to act normal. Talking about a Deatheater's son at Headquarters had to be voodoo, surely!

"He's my cousin, never met him before I had to question him the other night." Tonks shrugged, but her sharp eyes were on me, watching and waiting for a reaction. "Harry's always saying he's a stuck up, slimy, cruel git." I swallowed. I knew exactly what Harry, and the others thought of him. "I can see the stuck-up side, and a bit of the git yeah, but he sure was worried about you." I shrugged, hoping she'd drop it.

"It's, um, your turn." I gestured to the cards, but Tonks ignored them.

"Scar, is there something going on between you and Draco?" I shook my head, mortified. "It's all right if there is. I won't say anything, scouts honour." I glanced up, confused.

"What's scouts honour mean?" I forced a laugh, but it came out as fake as it felt.

"Some Muggle saying my dad says." She smiled. "What I mean is, you have my word, I won't say anything." I gazed at her honest, friendly face. Could I tell her a little of it? I'd had no one else to talk to, and Draco finding me and staying with me in the hospital, it left me confused on top of everything else. I picked up some cards, shuffling them between my hands.

"There's nothing going on, not anymore." I relented, staring hard at the cards.

"But there was before?" I shrugged.

"I don't really know. We both studied hard together leading up to the mock OWL test, which is why we both did so well. Plus, music practice for the Ministry Ball. We talked a bit, got closer I guess, but we aren't friends or anything..." I trailed off, peering up at her a moment, unsure if I could confide any more of it. Tonks nodded for me to continue.

"At—at the ball, he accidently activated my necklace and port keyed us back to Ashwood Manor. We didn't go straight back to the ball, we uh..." I swallowed, unsure if this would get my dad in trouble. "We watched some of a movie on the television I got for Yule." Tonks blinked at me. "You know what a television is?" She nodded slowly, a grin spreading across her face.

"Oh yeah, I'm just picturing Lucius Malfoy's brain imploding at the very fact his son has been in proximity to a television." I couldn't stop my own conspiring grin from forming.

"He liked the movie, but it had a dragon in it." She nodded, chuckling.

"So, then what?"

"Well, we went back to the ball, and uh right before I had to leave, he uh kissed me." Tonks said nothing. "It was just that one time, and that was it really, he's gone back to being a prat. He said he was only using me to get top grades." I shrugged. "I've been avoiding him since, and he's been avoiding me." The cards I'd still been holding, I placed in a neat stack before my crossed legs. Tonks remained silent for a moment before neatening up her own stack of cards.

"Maybe things will be different now."

"Maybe." I echoed, unsure what exactly I wanted to be different. All I knew was, I needed to see him, if only to reassure myself my nightmares were not real.

...

I was eager to go back to Hogwarts, to hide all the thoughts and dreams under lessons, homework and Quidditch. However, the moment Tonks led me to the entrance hearth in Grimauld Place, early Friday morning, my entire body went light with nerves; my fingers weak and tingling when I picked up my bag.

"Wotcher, Scar?" Tonks asked, a dark brow raised in worry. I shrugged; throat suddenly dry.

"Does, does everyone know?"

"Don't worry, Dumbledore asked all students not to harass those involved about what happened." I nodded, swallowing the lump caught in my throat, but another seemed to form in its place. "In you go now, we'll floo directly to McGonagall's office." Taking in a shaky breath, I stepped into the hearth, Tonks calling out our destination.

The green flames had barely cleared when someone launched towards me. Before I could jump back, arms wrapped tightly about me. "Oh Scarlett, I'm so glad you're all right!" It was Fi, followed by Hermione.

"Hey." I choked out weakly, ribs constricting.

"Sorry!" Fi apologised, pulling back.

"It's all right." I forced a smile. I'd nearly pulled my wand on her. "I'm glad to be back."

"Now, everyone is finishing up breakfast, so if you like we can go to the Great Hall, or we can just head to Charms?" Hermione said, gazing at me in an appraising sort of way.

"I think I just want to go straight to lesson." I turned to Tonks, who shot me an encouraging smile.

"You'll be right, Scar."

"Thanks, Tonks." I forced another smile, hoping she understood just how grateful I was to her friendship over the past few days.

"Anytime. Now off you go, or you'll be late for class."

"We can't be late!" Hermione practically cried out, and a laugh burst from me, which caused Tonks to grin, before she disappeared within the hearth.

Outside the door, a small group was waiting. Harry, Ron, Fred and George, Ginny, Neville, and Max.

"Scar!" Neville was the first to speak. "Are you all right?" I nodded, meeting Max's gaze. He looked both worried and relieved. I remembered now how we had parted ways. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"Hey." His voice was low, eyes searching mine.

"Hey." I repeated, unsure what else to say.

"We're your bodyguards." George piped up from behind him. "So, no one bothers you."

"Oh, um, thanks but you don't have to-"

"We do." Harry ground out; his green eyes boring into mine. "Hogwart's might be safe, but not from gossip."

"Yeah, the bloody Prophet's had a field day with this." Ron rolled his eyes. I looked to Neville.

"So, you've been getting bugged?" He shrugged.

"A little at first, but I was all right, along with the others. You were injured, and well I think someone leaked a lot of information to the media and they've just run with it I guess."

"Let's get to class." Hermione ordered before I could ask what Neville meant.

I could feel eyes on me the moment we entered a main corridor. Conversations stopped, followed by whispers. So much for everyone still being at breakfast

"Hey Ashwood, is it true a Werewolf bit you?" A Hufflepuff boy called out and was advised to shut up by Max. I stared at the floor ahead, sticking close to Max's side after that. Fi kept to my right. I wanted to forget. Why couldn't everyone stop whispering about it! They didn't stop, and it was a struggle to force my feet to keep moving forward, and not turn and run back to McGonagall's office and beg to be sent back to the quiet of Grimauld Place.

"Ugh, she could be carrying anything, after being in contact with those beasts." A shrill voice rang out from a tight group of Slytherin girls.

"Shut it, Parkinson!" Ginny snapped, and I noticed her wand was at her side, her fingers twitching, as if daring someone to give her reason to use it.

"Although, with the crowd she hangs with, Ashwood's probably already got lice." Pansy went on, receiving a couple sniggers from the other Slytherin's

Fred tilted his head towards me as we walked. "She's just dark her dog snout didn't end up on the front of the Profit." He said loud enough to carry to the group as we passed them.

"How dare you!" Pansy shrilled, but he ignored her. I caught Daphne watching me, but she said nothing save for a small tilt of her head. I looked away, remembering Flume's blood covering her hands and the front of her dress robes.

"She seems fine?" Another voice from yet another group whispered, this time a group of younger Hufflepuff witches and wizards.

"I still can't believe it was Draco Malfoy who saved her."

"Do you think the Profit was wrong?" Another asked.

"We could ask her, you go—"

"Right you lot, yes, Scar's fine. No, she wasn't bitten. Yes, the ferret did save her. And yes, Parkinson resembles a pug. Now all of you shove off and get to class or Ginny here will hex the lot of you." George gestured to Ginny, who twirled her wand in a menacing way, as if itching to use it. To my relief, the whispering stopped, and everyone moved on as the bell tolled.

We finally reached Charms, and I saw him. He already sat at his usual desk. For a short moment, his eyes locked onto mine through the doorway. His face held no emotion, but I was sure there was something in his brief gaze, relief perhaps, before he turned to the book set out before him, picking up his quill.

"Right, Scar?" Fred peered down at me. Swallowing the sudden lump in my throat at the sight of Draco, I nodded.

"Yeah, thanks, all of you."

"Any time." The twins grinned, striding away down the corridor with Ginny in tow. Max remained.

"We'll save your seat." Hermione said, ushering the others into the classroom with her, leaving me alone with Max.

"I'm glad you are back, that you're okay." He said in a low voice. "I'll meet you here after class?" There was such sincerity in his hazel gaze, I nodded, a warm, reassuring feeling settling over me. He smiled before turning to follow the twins down the corridor. Drawing in a breath, I stepped into the classroom, keeping my head down, and slid into my usual seat. There was whispering amongst Pansy and her friends, and I felt the curious gazes from Lavender and Paige.

Thankfully, Hermione drew my attention; recapping everything I had missed in class, before Professor Flitwick entered, and the entire class settled. As I set to charming my textbook to read itself out loud, I still felt someone watching me, causing the hairs at the nape of my neck to prickle. I forced myself not to look back at Draco, although I desperately wanted to talk to him, to see if he was all right. Our next lesson was Finer Arts, but without Professor Flume, would it really be the same? No. It wouldn't. We'd all been at the Theatre that horrible night. The textbook let out a wail, and I jolted back to the present. My thoughts had wandered back to what had happened. To those cruel, glinting yellow-green eyes which I saw every time I closed my own, as if they were watching, waiting.

"Scar, are you all right?" Harry watched me with creased brows barely visible beneath his unruly hair. I nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good." I doubled my efforts on my textbook until it read a full chapter fluently back to me. By then, the bell was tolling again, signalling a break. Gathering my belongings, I followed Hermione and Neville out, Harry and Ron trailing behind us Somehow, despite sitting at the opposite end of the classroom, Draco had reached the door first, and by the time I exited the room, I lost him in the corridor milling students.

"Learn anything interesting?" Max appeared at my side, gently tugging at my bag.

"It's okay, I can carry it." I murmured as he fell into step at my side. "I kind of like having it to hold on to." His gaze drifted down to where I'd wrapped my fingers about the base of the strap.

"Okay. So, what did you learn?" I gazed up at him, taking in his curious expression.

"How to charm my textbook to read to me." Max grinned.

"I like that one, sure made cramming for JARVEY easier when I was too tired to read."

"JARVEY?" His grin broadened.

"Ilvermorny's equivalent to OWLs."

"Isn't that for sixth years?" Hermione chimed in, turning back to gauge Max with a raised brow.

"Yeah, I was taking a couple sixth year classes while I was a fifth year." Hermione nodded with a pleased smile, turning back to listen to something Neville was telling her.

"Which lessons?" I asked, once again feeling eyes on me, but determined to block out the whispers.

"Charms, Potions, and Ghoul Studies as an elective." Despite everything, I laughed.

"What?" Max was still grinning, and his shoulder bumped mine.

"You just, I can't picture you studying Ghouls and Ghosts and such!" I shook my head, smiling.

"True, I'm far too tanned." Max really was, with sun-kissed skin to rival my lingering colour from the Australian sun. My laughter rang out down the hall, and it felt—good. Normal.

"Thank you." I said once we'd reached the courtyard. "For being here and walking with me." He smiled then with such warmth; the sun felt cold on my back.

"Any time, Scar."

…

I walked with Neville to Finer Arts, my heart rate picking up with each step, until I stood frozen in the doorway. On the walk up, Neville had explained we had no replacement for Professor Flume and were basically just going to class to practice. The chamber resonated with a pianist's temper, and I watched as Draco flew through a tumultuous song, only to slam down on multiple keys, before shoving his stool back and stalking towards us. I stood rooted to the spot, heart slamming against my ribs as he stalked straight past us, staring ahead.

Physically shaken by Draco's reaction, with no true understanding of it, I made my way to my piano, opened the lid and set out my music book. I began running through a warmup, but every single time I hit the E note followed by F minor, I remembered the eerie tune of the play right before the Werewolves had attacked. Suddenly, the chamber seemed too warm, too small. My mind buzzed as I stood.

"Scarlett?" Neville called out.

"I just need some air." I gasped, hurrying out the door into the hall. Leaning my forehead against a stone pillar, I drew in deep breaths, trying to calm down. Trying to push the eerie tune out of my mind. My throat felt tight, and I rubbed at it, trying to remove the feeling of a hand that wasn't there, of teeth…

Footsteps echoed towards me, and I turned, grasping my wand in my pocket. Grey eyes found mine and looked away, their owner stiffly making to walk past me to the stairs.

"Draco?" His step faltered, but he continued past me. "Draco, please." He ignored me, robes swishing behind him as he continued down the corridor. What had happened to him?

If you have any thoughts, questions, or just want to say hi, drop a review.

Hey wonderful peeps! It's a bit of a mad world right now! Please tell me I'm not the only one making HP parallels to what is going on right now. I mean, I feel like a muggleborn shutting myself in hiding from Voldemort and his supporters! So many governments around the world first treated it just like The Ministry of Magic treated Voldemort's return, while Harry / Dumbledore (the doctors), were screaming at them to take it seriously. And when they did start taking it seriously, it was like boom, states and countries going into lock-down like the great shield going up to protect Hogwarts!

So, how are we all doing? I'm happily locked in, somehow finding more time to write and to update everything on FF, to give you guys a bit more to read, because I'm not the only one who defaults back to reading fics during times of stress!

Soo, Max has made his presence known again in Scar's life... What are we, team Max, or team Draco?

Also, if anyone wants to point me in the direction of their fav dramione fics, I'm having a binge on fics atm between reading Crescent City!

Stay safe everyone, and wishing you all a lovely, albeit quiet Easter!

A xx