Distance // Draco Malfoy

Chapter 57

R.I.P ALAN RICKMAN

Currently, we are sitting alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Harry double checks that the door is firmly shut, then sits down once again and faces us. 'So what was Draco doing with that weird-looking cabinet, and who were all those people?' I shut my book and look between my three best friends. 'Don't you see?' Harry looks between all of us, and I fold my arms, already sure of his implication. 'It was a ceremony, an initiation.'
'Stop it, Harry. I know where you're going with this.' Hermione shakes her head and chances a glance at me. 'It's happened. He's one of them.'
'Harry!' I hiss, beyond angry at his conjecture.

'One of what?' Ron asks.
'Harry is under the impression that Draco Malfoy is now a Death Eater.' Hermione explains to Ron. 'You're barking. What would you-know-who want with a sod like Malfoy?'
'Let's just stop right there.' I snap, glaring between each of them.
'It's not like he would tell you if he was, would he? No matter how long you've been seeing him.'
'I have full confidence in my boyfriend that he is not a Death Eater, Harry. I know Draco well enough to know that whilst his father might be one, he isn't.'
'Did you not notice him acting different over the summer?'
'No.'
'Come on, something. There must have been a hint there.'
'Harry, drop it.' I snap, then, think aloud, 'Although, there was that one night -'
'What?'
'Let me finish! There was one night where he wouldn't let me take his jacket off -'

'Dark Mark!' Harry exclaims suddenly. 'He'll have a Dark Mark. There's your proof!'
'That's no proof.' I reply, vexed.
'Why in fuck's name were you going to take his jacket off?' Ron asks. I look down and feel myself flushing. 'Oh, no. You didn't. Disgusting!'
'Shut up! Besides, I'm of age to do so, and it's not like I've never slept with him before, is it?' I drawl sarcastically, seeing the faces around me, 'I've only been seeing him for three-ish years -'
'On and off.' Ron sniggers.
'He's better than you could probably do!'
'Stop, stop! Bloody hell, didn't need to know!'
'You're the one who fucking well asked.' I snap at Ron angrily. 'Besides, that doesn't mean anything. He won't have a goddamn Dark Mark, Harry.'
'I need some air.' Harry says quickly, leaving the compartment momentarily.

I sit sulking for a good ten minutes, not speaking. 'How can he get "air" on a bloody train?' I ask suddenly, still fuming at Harry's obloquy.
'If it's bothering you that much, go and ask him.'
'That's going to be a brilliant conversation, isn't it? "Hey, babe. I was just wondering if you've been up to anything Death Eater related since we last spoke?"'
'Whatever.' Ron huffs, looking out the window.
'Caffeine.' I mutter, pulling a bottle of Coca-Cola from inside my bag. Hermione gives me a sympathetic look as I stand and leave the compartment, noticing her round on Ron the second the door is shut. I walk along the compartments, peering in each one, until I reach the more open carriage further down the train. When I see the blonde hair, I immediately make my way over.

'Hi.' I whisper, smiling weakly at Draco.
'Oh, hey.' He moves over a little, allowing me to sit. He doesn't look at me. 'Feeling better?'
'Mostly.' I reply, unscrewing the lid of my drink as it issues a loud fizz.
'The fuck is that?' Draco spits, glaring at the bottle.
'This is Coca-Cola. Muggles drink it. One hundred per cent caffeine and two hundred per cent sugar.' I shrug, taking a sip. Draco looks out of the window, and I notice Pansy and Blaise glaring, looks which I return with equal distaste. 'I'm really sorry about your dad.' I whisper, looking up.
'Yeah, well, he won't be in there long.'
'Sweetie, I thought he got a life sentence -'
'Yeah, but shit changes, Alyssia.' Draco growls, and I feel taken aback. I look down and bite my bottom lip nervously. 'Shit happens, okay?'
'I know.' I mutter, nodding my head. There's a silence. 'I managed to -'

'Now's not a good time to talk. I - I think you should get back to your mates, I'll speak to you tomorrow. I'm busy.'
'Is - is everything okay?' I ask, now beginning to get worried. Even when Draco snaps at me, he is never, ever, this blunt. 'Nothing is okay nowadays, Alyssia, is it?' He mumbles, glaring at my reflection in the window glass. 'Now go.' I'm stock still and feel like someone has knocked all the air out of me. Was he really that blunt? 'Okay. Holler when you get over it.' I mutter, slipping from the booth and dashing out of the compartment, racing along the train, back to Hermione and Ron.

I pull my robes over my head when I realise that our arrival is soon. 'What happened? You're all pale.' Hermione looks closely at me.
'I'll tell you when Harry gets back. Where is he, anyway?'
'Don't know, hasn't got back yet. Did you not see him on the way back?'
'No, now that you mention it. No sign. I thought he might have bumped into Ginny or something, but I'm not so sure.'

When the train pulls up at the station and we get off, Harry still isn't with us. We search for him on the platform, but there is no sign, and, when we are waiting for the carriages, Ron, being the tallest, also scours the crowd. Suddenly, I feel taken aback when I see a great, black, skeletal horse pulling our carriage, with misted over eyes and a sharp-looking beak. 'Harry wasn't lying about those things pulling the carriage, guys. Hermione, it's a thestral.' I mutter, mounting the carriage slowly.
'A thestral, really?'
'Yeah. Of course, that makes sense. Only people who have seen death can see them. I saw Sirius -' I trail off, shaking my head as the carriage starts up the track, and look around nervously for Harry. At school, we have to state our names, oddly, and are completely searched - ourselves and possessions - by an Auror, before we are allowed to proceed to the castle.

By the time of dessert, Harry is still nowhere to be found, and me and Hermione are beyond worried, so much so we can hardly eat. 'Will - you - stop - eating?' Hermione scolds Ron, whacking him several times with a book. 'Your best friend is missing!'
'Ow! Look behind you, you lunatic!' Ron exclaims, and I turn to see Luna and Harry approaching their tables. When Harry sits down next to me, I give him an awed look. His robes are covered with scarlet blood, and he is holding tissue soaked through with the scarlet liquid to his face. 'Where have you been? What happened to your face?' Hermione whispers.
'Later.' He mutters, making vague eye contact with all of us. I already know where this is going.

-*-

Once the common room is truly deserted, Harry starts, 'I had my cloak with me and I was eavesdropping on Malfoy.'
'What did he say?' Ron asks eagerly as I huff with sufficient vehemence.
'He said Hogwarts was a pathetic excuse for a school, he'd rather "piss himself off the astronomy tower" than come here, and then, when Zabini started sniggering, he said "we'll see just who's laughing in the end".'
'That doesn't mean he's a Death Eater -'
'It's just a bit odd. I heard him blow you off, too, Alyssia. That was just rotten.'
'What?' Hermione looks at me. 'Was that why you were mad?' I nod in answer.

'He was awful.' Harry explains. 'Snapping, shouting, wouldn't even look at her, totally dismissed her bluntly.'
'Why do you even let him do that?' Hermione gasps.
'He was just in a bad mood.'
'He treats you like vermin.'
'He treats me fine, Ron. His temperamental days are a bit difficult, but we deal. Besides, I bet Parkinson and Zabini had their fair share of mudblood hatred, hey?' I look at Harry, and he nods. I start to laugh absent-mindedly, looking at Hermione, who looks beyond confused. I turn back to Harry, 'That still doesn't explain why you were so late.'
'Well, the train pulled in and he hung back. He must have known I was there, and then he immobilised me.'
'Why were you bleeding?'
'He - well, he stood on my nose and broke it.'

My hands fly to my face suddenly. 'Oh, God! I'll be having words.'
'Don't bother.' Harry shakes his head, waving away my reaction. 'No point. Anyways, he threw the cloak back over me, but Luna found me and fixed it.' There's a silence.
'It's strange, however. He's been acting odd all summer, pretty much. He's been . . . distant. It's like an invisible wall has been interposed between us, and he'd rather keep it that way.' I murmur, drawing flowers on my hand with my quill lazily, making a pattern with the ink. 'Sometimes, I wish he would just open up.'