╭────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╮
𝐎
August 20th, 1996
Dear Margot,
I debated with myself over which museum I would visit today. I hadn't been to the British Museum since the last time we went together – one full year that is. I had missed it a lot and after all, it was our annual ritual. In the end, the National Gallery of London won me over. Not only did I not want to miss the Van Gogh exhibition (I heard Starry Night would only stay in London for a few months) but it was also a safer choice. I hope you don't mind.
Now, thinking about it, I would be better off at the British Museum after all.
I had never expected to see someone like Draco Malfoy in a muggle museum. When I first saw him, I completely lost it.
Typically, Draco Malfoy is nothing more or less than the epitome of bullying. In the two years I have been friends with Harry, Hermione, Ron and Neville, he has never missed a chance to insult, offend, hex or curse. The only reason I ever escaped this was because of the green I wore on my back.
He was just the same today; insulting and muggle-hating – and you know I have a very low tolerance for those people. I am already regretting even the slightest effort I gave to reason with him. People like him don't feel anything when looking at Van Gogh.
I know, what you would say, Margot: Ophelia Blackthorn, why would you even try? I know, I know...
But I smelled the smoke in his breath as he said his 'hello', I noticed the red, dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. His hair was combed but somewhat not in order, his black shirt had its top buttons undone. Even as he said his insults, you could see the fatigue, the exhaustion, the desperation to connect with someone, anyone.
Again, Margot, I know what you'd think: Ophelia Blackthorn, do not believe in people. Do not think the best of them. I have lived by this rule all my life and I didn't intend to break this today just because some Malfoy seemed sad.
I fled the museum and was determined to not even think twice...
Only when I walked in the fresh, summer air and paused by the entrance for a moment, ready to put my notebook back in my bag and play some music on my cassette player for my walk around London, I noticed black-dressed Malfoy stepping outside as well.
"Don't tell me you're following me because, make no mistake, I will vomit and then summon the Aurors on you," I said quickly.
"Don't flatter yourself. I just wanted a smoke," he said.
I hated it when people evoked some kind of mushy feeling in you. That denial, that rejection, when you know you're at least one of the reasons the other person is there; it makes you feel small; as if you have the biggest idea about yourself. You can smell the lie from a mile away but you have no way of proving it, so in the end, it is you that is the lunatic.
Malfoy took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulled a cig with his mouth.
"You can't smoke here," I noted.
"It's an open space!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, but you'll have to put it out somewhere, and I won't let you do that on those beautiful columns. There is an ashtray installed on the street," I said.
And so we walked across the marble balcony and to the right staircase. A rather narrow staircase. It was the closest distance we had reached, and only now did I realize that he was a real and live person. When you see him in school, he is a distant ghost. He never touches a soul, if it's not to hit or punch. That myth was debunked when my shoulder brushed against his arm in an easy invasion of space. I should have felt uncomfortable and, knowing me, I might have even done something about it.
"Well, goodbye then," I said when we were in the open of the pavement. I would have said 'see you at school' but I had no intention of attempting any kind of communication after that day.
"Do you happen to have a lighter?" he said before I could leave, the cigarette still dangling between his lips.
"Certainly not," I answered at once.
"Okay. Cover for me for a second," he said and waved for me to come closer. He turned to the wall quickly, pulled out his hawthorn-wood wand and lit a small flame at the tip. He bowed behind my back, so as to cover the magic from muggles' eyes and lit his cigarette. I shuddered, for his hand was still on my arm, keeping me still with my back to his face.
"I can't believe you smoke," I said as I heard him inhaling behind me.
"I don't," he answered, now facing me.
"And what is this?" I said.
"I only do that rarely," he answered casually. "And last time I checked, I didn't ask for your opinion."
He exhaled deeply and almost straight to my face, but in his breath, there was something more than smoke. Was that some kind of bourbon? Maybe it was all in my mind.
As he was taking his first draws, he locked his eyes to a certain point a few feet away from us, just at the top of the grand marble staircase that led to Trafalgar Square. I followed his gaze as I was connecting my earphones to my cassette player; two thickset, tall men were waiting and watching, their eyes fixed straight to Malfoy's. They were dressed in outdated muggle clothing and their wands were showing from their pockets. Aurors.
"Those two seem to have their eye on you..." I said nosily.
"They are Aurors," he muttered.
"This much I figured on my own. Are they following you? Are you a serial killer or something?" I asked. I sensed the matter was more serious than a joke could make it seem. Malfoy dropped his eyes to the ground.
"Very funny," he said unamused. He leaned against the wall and crossed one foot over the other. "No, it's just that my Father is kept by the Ministry until further notice and until then our family has to be followed for two months for precaution measures. Thankfully I'm getting rid of them in a few days," he explained.
It was a rather sophisticated way to say his father was in Azkaban. I saw his upset, slightly embarrassed expression in his avoiding look.
"Oh, yes. It caused quite a stir in the Ministry. My father says it was havoc for a week," I said.
Malfoy kept his focus on his cigarette and refused to add anything to the conversation. Somehow my compassion for this man was rising higher and higher by the minute. It was one of these issues that you would rather not think, in fear of being too strict or too lenient. Part of me found it suitable to take strict precautions against the obvious Death Eaters, but then some other, more tolerant part of me, found it was a little excessive to have a 17-year-old boy followed around. Who would ever assume that a schoolboy such as Malfoy could be a Death Eater?
"Is that why you came to the museum? Did you want to bore them out of following you?" At first I only wanted to break the ice but when met with Malfoy's dark and warning eyes, I very soon realized that this was a place better unvisited.
"Can you, please, not stick your nose into other people's business?" he snapped.
"No need to be mean. Sometimes we all need a Vanishing Cabinet, Malfoy."
Malfoy's eyes shot up to mine, as if he was suddenly exposed to some unanticipated danger. For a few seconds, he seemed to have forgotten the cigarette that was slowly burning near the silver, snake ring on his middle finger. If you looked a finger away, you would see another silver ring, this one engraved with the letter M.
"A what?" he asked, looking coldly upon me through narrow eyes.
"A Vanishing Cabinet?" I repeated.
He shrugged, tried to hide his interested face and watched me close my ears with my earphones.
"Well, goodbye again..." I said when faced with the terrible silence. "I guess I'll see you at school."
"See you in the common room," he said. Call me crazy; it sounded like a promise to me. An unreasonably flattered cell in my heart made the whole organ pause for a split second, when I looked at him, in what I thought would be the last locked eye-contact for the day. Was it just me or was Malfoy making a poor attempt at something remotely related to flirting?
"What the hell are you putting in your ears?" he said, ignoring that we had put an end to our conversation a second ago. Oh, it was obvious now; he was just feeling lonely and in need of any kind of conversation. There was something on his face that could be read as disgust as he pointed at my earphones. I bet he was suspecting that it was a muggle artefact.
"It's earphones. Errm... You put them on and you can hear music through them," I explained.
"It's so pathetic that you know this much stuff about the muggles. I mean okay, I get it, it's like seeing a Diricawl for the first time but other than that, I don't understand your obsession." Malfoy flicked the ash off the edge of his cigarette and folded his hands.
"Obsession?"
"Yes. You know everything about them. That guy back in the museum? Van Gough?" he said.
"Van Gogh," I corrected.
"Yeah, exactly, the guy whose name sounds like it got caught in phlegm. Why would you even know that? Why would you look that up when you can learn about-"
"Van Gogh is common knowledge for muggles."
"Yes but you're not a muggle. You're disgracing our own kind by giving them so much importance. If you were a mudblood, it would have made some sense to know all this. But to know it out of pure hobby? Pathetic," Malfoy spat out.
"Can you, please, not use that demeaning term in front of me? And it's not a hobby-"
"Then how do you know all these things?" he interrupted with a snap. "You're not a mudblood," he repeated the word pointedly. "You didn't even grow up in this world."
"I grew up between both worlds, actually," I said and nodded my head proudly.
"What?" he asked, suddenly at a loss of words.
"I'm a half-blood," I said and shrugged my shoulders. "My mother is a muggle. I thought you knew..."
"You're a Slytherin," he said confused.
"By Merlin, you're dense as hell."
Malfoy's jaw stiffened, his lips perched. He sucked his teeth and looked at me with more disgust than I'd ever met in my life. He quickly put out his half-finished cigarette.
With one immediate motion, almost arranged, we both shot in different directions. I crossed the wide pavement and stepped into Trafalgar Square while he went up the stairs hastily and reentered the Gallery.
I was frustrated and confused as I walked to the fountain. When I looked back, I saw him watching from afar, leaning against the far-right column of the balcony, arms crossed and spying with eyes made of hate.
I shook my head and was determined to forget all about it and go on with my day. It wasn't until I reached Northumberland Avenue, that I realized I still had my earphones on but had neglected to hit 'play', lost in my thoughts.
...Margot, I swear, if I had a time-turner, I would go to the British Museum instead.
See you soon,
Ophelia
╰────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╯