familiar ; draco malfoy

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

"I've had three essays due today. Three!" moaned Daphne, head in her hands.

Ramona was poking Blaise's shoulder, urging him to get up off the table and continue with breakfast, but Blaise wasn't having it. He propped himself up, leaning his chin on his hand, and stared at Ramona through half-closed eyes.

"I can't," he uttered quietly, shaking his head.

"Eat," Ramona urged.

"You eat," he bickered, scoffing. But Ramona couldn't bring a bite to her lips, her body not awake enough to eat.

The only time Ramona had seen Blaise in worse shape than in that very moment was the morning after the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match. Hungover Blaise could easily pass for a zombie.

To her surprise, he remembered more of that night than she expected him to. Even though he wasn't particularly proud of himself, he acknowledged that Fred and George were decent blokes. And that Luna was alright.

Even though he admitted to remembering almost everything, he tried to play off as if he didn't remember their conversation in front of the dormitory.

But Blaise knew more than he initially let on and a brief conversation with his hungover self revealed that he was very aware of the circumstances of Ramona's alleged death. He had put the pieces together himself a long time ago, asking of Ramona only to fill in the gaps in his knowledge. She did so hesitantly, warning her cousin that any knowledge of that night was a dangerous thing to whoever possessed it.

The only living people that, as of that moment, knew that she once went by a different name were her parents, Blaise, her aunt and Dumbledore- who hadn't been present at the castle for some time. She desperately tried to seek his advice on matters far beyond her reach, but each time waited in vain in front of an empty office.

She'd wonder weather it was a sign that he wasn't there when she tried to talk to him. A sign that she shouldn't discuss such matters with him. The things she wanted to ask him about were perhaps things she shouldn't even be thinking about. But after all, who else could she turn to? Those thoughts weren't going anywhere and the only one who could help her was, as she saw it, Dumbledore.

McGonagall had offered her help in his place, but Ramona didn't want to risk telling her anything. Each time, she'd politely thank the professor and be on her merry way. Each time, until last time.

"Miss Xanthos," called McGonagall only a couple days prior, after another futile trip to Dumbledore's office.

"Yes?"

"I've been meaning to ask you something. Of course, if I'm not overstepping," the lady inquired, her kind face not letting Ramona be nervous of the question.

"Of course not, professor."

"I find myself worried about mister Malfoy these days. He looks positively dreadful," Minerva began, "So I've wanted to ask you if he was having some sort of trouble that I could possibly help with."

There was much more behind that question that McGonagall let on, it was evident from the way she looked Ramona as she waited for an answer. But Ramona wouldn't bite.

"I'm afraid we're not that close, professor. Though I do agree that he looks quite tired," said Ramona politely.

"You aren't close?" echoed McGonagall, the sentence sounding like a question, weather or not it was intended as such.

"No, professor." McGonagall didn't look entirely too convinced, seeing that she'd caught them in a fleeting moment of closeness some time ago. But the professor couldn't have known it was fleeting, after all. And from the look on the girl's face, she decided it was better not to ask.