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I felt flushed with fever. I could have easily blamed it on the alcohol but some wave of honesty had suddenly hit me; the first and last time in a while.
I watched her walk away from Trafalgar Square and was embarrassed when she noticed me.
I knew the blood status of each and every living thing in Hogwarts, yet this information had managed to escape me. I guess this girl had never kept my attention long enough for me to dive into a full report like I usually did with people. Being a Slytherin lift many suspicions off of her as well; most of the half-bloods and mudbloods usually got sorted in other houses. Although rare, we did have two 50-50 half-bloods – none of which were in our year.
She is just a half-blood. The voice jumped up. Not even a fucking mudblood. Maybe-
I stopped myself there.
A half-blood... I wasn't a fool. I always knew that most of the wizard families had some drop of mud in them nowadays. Traditionally, if you weren't a mudblood, a half-blood or a quarter-blood, you were considered a full-on pureblood. Half-bloods and quarter-bloods were nowhere near as respectful as a pureblood, but at least they were acceptable in our circles when they became full loyal servants to the Dark Lord.
But Ophelia? She was the epitome of muggle-love. She was friends with mudbloods and blood-traitors. She knew every painting in this ghastly, muggle Gallery. She admired this good-for-nothing art. She wore these wires in her ears and wrote with a muggle ballpoint pen. She was a traitor, a sleazy, good-for-nothing traitor.
If a half-blood ever had a chance to deserve any kind of appreciation, she had ruled herself out.
I cursed the few seconds that I had thought she was worthy of my time, just because she was a Slytherin. She didn't deserve my time. I looked forward to the moment I would kill Dumbledore and the Dark Lord could finally take over the world. Maybe then we would be purged of these abominations.
And now, I would forget all about her just like last time; just like in my fourth year, when she had briefly caught my eye at the Ball. I had simply learned about the people she associated herself with and forgot about her in a blink of an eye. I was caught in the same situation right now and there was no point in lying to myself; I had momentarily noticed her existence in a museum, moments before I had learned about her blood-status and general alignment. Now, just as easily as last time, I would forget.
I didn't even like her, anyway.
I walked around the medieval halls totally uninterested. It was midday now, and I knew that, if I went back to see Starry Night, the tourists would have overflown the room. However, my feet drove me almost involuntarily towards room 43. After all, the painting wasn't half bad and who knew, if it would be the last time in decades that it would be exhibited in London?
I even bought myself a notebook from the gift shop. The cover was vivid blue and yellow, three dimensional and anaglyph. Just a notebook, I thought.
Which raised the question again: what could Ophelia have been writing to that old notebook of hers?
I tried to trace my thoughts back to the moment I had heard that scribbling noise on the yellowish paper. I remembered it almost clearly now; she was writing a letter. To one of her loathsome friends, no doubt.
For all this, I had no one to blame but myself. I had let my loneliness run ahead of me. Emotion was running thick in my blood nowadays and, if I wanted this year to run smoothly, I couldn't let anything like this get in my way.
No emotions from now on, Draco. You need no soul.
I bought another Starry Night notebook from the gift shop, just in case I run out of pages, or so I told myself.
Back to normal, now, Draco, I reminded myself. I left, smoked, drunk that night, and eventually forgot.
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I spent my entire Wednesday in our library.
Bella would provocatively come and go, distracting me from my research. Mother would scoff that I had spent yet another day not talking to anyone but at least she was happy I stayed in the house instead of running off to some random city or other.
We all need a Vanishing Cabinet sometimes.
The girl had read through me like an open book. I shook my head, hoping that a physical gesture could drive the thoughts away, and kept on reading.
I considered my plan for a long while. If I wanted to make this work, I would need support after I killed Dumbledore. I thought about every aspect of it. I even wrote it on a piece of paper – and then burned it, of course. It seemed risky but somehow foolproof. It was something Dumbledore would never think to check. I wasn't anywhere near to deciding how I would eventually kill him but at least I was getting closer.
After nightfall, I knocked on my mother's door. I knew that Bella and she would have already started their light nightcap.
"Yes, Draco?" Mother was pouring herself a glass of wine.
Bella was sitting clumsily on the floor. She was slouching over her crossed feet, playing with the curls in front of her eyes. It was her reaction that I feared the most because the flawlessness of a plan showed in how many holes she could poke through it.
"I think I have a plan," I said hesitantly.
"Not the poison thing again. It's never going to work!" shouted Bella and let herself lay back on the green, Persian carpet.
"I haven't decided how I'm going to do it yet. But if we want to take over Hogwarts, we have to find a way to bring more Death Eaters in. So, I was thinking-"
"I doubt that..." scoffed Bellatrix. Mother quickly gave her a sharp look. She was getting more impatient with her constant demeaning me nowadays.
"-a Vanishing Cabinet."
Bella shot up and seemed suddenly interested, fascinated. "Oh!" she said with a hint of surprise. "And how do you suggest we bring a bloody Vanishing Cabinet in Hogwarts? Will you throw one in your backpack right next to your lunch box?"
"I can find one in the castle," I said reassuringly. "Leave that to me."
If I had learned anything during my fifth year in Hogwarts, it was how many opportunities I had lost by being oblivious of the existence of the Room of Requirement. Dumbeldore's Army might have been a humiliation to the school as much as it was a fiasco, but at least now I was sure that, if I really needed something, I could find it in the room where Potter and his friends met to conspire.
"Well done, Draco." Mother stood and walked to me. She put a hand against my cheek and finally seemed proud.
"Can we find one?" I asked.
"The Ministry broke all connections after the First War. And even if we found one, we will have to fix it," explained Mother.
"Leave everything to me. Can we find one?" I insisted.
The sisters were possibly, thankfully, taken aback by how self-assured I suddenly seemed.
"Well, I think we can arrange something with Borgin, can't we Bella?"
"You will have to bribe your way out of the Aurors before you go to Knockturn Alley and who knows how many fortunes that is going to take..." Bellatrix added condescendingly.
"The trial said we would be followed for two months. On Sunday it's the 25th. We can arrange an appointment at Borgin and Burkes for Monday evening," said Mother.
"Well, that is if he can find a Vanishing Cabinet. There are only one or two left," added Bellatrix.
"I think we can do it," continued Mother.
Bellatrix rolled her eyes. She was always anxious that I should succeed. If anyone ever put direct pressure on me during that terrible year it was her. Mother could subtly pressure me from time to time, but nothing compared to the demeaning looks Bella gave you. If someone wanted to see me kill Dumbledore, it was Bella. But at the same time, whenever I had a breakthrough, she would try to poke holes in my effort. Of course, I knew it was her deep-seated need to see you miserable.
"Finally, the boy got his brain back!" sang Bella and dived back to the carpet comfortably.
"Bella!" exclaimed Mother.
I was ready to return to my room. I had no energy to spare for another fight with Bella and I hadn't smoked all day. I wanted to go to my balcony so as to protect my room from any smells that my mother would definitely pick up and enjoy my night the only way I knew how.
"Mother..." I said before I left.
"Yes?" she said. I liked seeing her content for the first time this summer.
"What do we know about the Blackthorns?" I asked hesitantly. I contemplated asking this because asking would prove my interest. However, I couldn't help but satisfy my curiosity.
"The Hufflepuffs?" said Bella from the back of the room. "All of them blood-traitors. The most polluted blood there is, if you ask me. I remember some Blackthorn from our years in Hogwarts. Phineas used to be friends with Andromeda," she said and snored loudly. After a brief moment of annoyance, she laid back down.
"Wasn't it through Phineas that Andromeda met Tonks?"
"Ah!" Bella yelled and sat up at once. "That mudblood shit! I hoped to never hear his name again! Yes, Tonks was best friends with Phineas Blackthorn in Hufflepuff! All the traitors stick together. Of course, later, I heard that he himself married a muggle. Ugh!" Bellatrix growled. "And now I hear he has a chair in some office in the Ministry of Magic. They really do let anyone in. I'm telling you, when the Dark Lord takes the Ministry over, these traitors will be the first to go. Them and their muggle friends..."
The puzzle was forming in front of me. Phineas, the man working at the Ministry and close friends to the prodigal Black sister, was no other than Ophelia's father. It was true that the Blackthorn name had been heavily connected with the house of Hufflepuff in my mind but they were not even remotely related to some honourable branch of the families of the Sacred 28, so I never gave them much thought. They must have popped up out of nowhere through a mudblood some generations ago.
My familiarly resentful feelings were thankfully coming back quickly. Every time I thought of a mudblood I imagined the inside of their veins. The blood there ran thin and brownish or black compared to my vibrant scarlet. The next time I brought Ophelia's image to my mind, all I saw was blood as muddy as dirt after rainfall. Blood black and as thin as water.
"Okay, Bellatrix," said Mother with a bored look. She didn't seem to disagree but rather acted like she had heard this a thousand times over.
"You better hurry, Draco!" sung Bellatrix in a tune. "The quicker you kill the old man, the quicker we will get your father back, and then the quicker we will get the Ministry. We have so much work to do!"
Mother seemed to be partly ignoring her sister's rant on the purity of the Ministry and had focused on my face. When I realized that her eyes were examining me, it might have been too late; I might have already formed a miserable expression on my face.
"Why are you asking, Draco?"
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
And I was already out the door.
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The scar was burning abnormally that night. I thought I should give my new bottle of rum a try but after last night, I didn't want to push my body to the limits.
I curled my body in a ball and tried to forget about the pain. I was in desperate need to cry – I knew I would release some tension. But the more I tried to force myself, the harder it became to shed any tears.
I opened my mother's door like I did when I was a child.
When I was little, I always thought that terrible monsters were hiding in my closet. I would run into my parents' room in tears, but I was careful not to make much noise because I knew Father never tolerated tears. Mother would console me and tell me that, if any monster dared to hurt me, she would curse them until they left me alone. We always had a few minutes before Father woke up and shot me back in my room, telling me not to be such a coward. Big boys don't cry.
Now, I tiptoed just as silently. I sat beside my mother and she opened her eyes at once. One would think her instincts told her something was wrong with her child.
"Draco?"
"It hurts too much tonight..." I confessed.
Mother sat up and dragged her tired hand back and forth against my back – such a familiar feeling.
"They are having a meeting tonight," she said in a soft voice.
I hardly ever saw Mother without any paint on her face and I sometimes forgot that, as I was getting older, so was she. I could see her first wrinkles appearing. Maybe it was because of anxiety and turmoil.
"It hurts more than it did when I first got it. I thought it would go away..."
Mother didn't have the power to answer that. How could she tell her own son that it would never get better? This mark would be on me forever.
"Mother..." I started. "I'm sorry for this summer. I know I was a bit lost-" I could only imagine what she was going through herself. Her husband was in Azkaban and her son was ready to walk into a suicide mission. I felt selfish that I ever shut her away.
"Don't you apologize, sweetheart. I understand. You needed time..." she interrupted and placed me in an embrace.
"I will not disappoint you, Mother," I tried to keep my voice steady but I would break when I heard her trembling breath near my ear.
"Oh, I know, Draco." She broke the embrace and looked at me with glistening eyes. She wiped away a tear that was hanging from her eyelashes and let out a smile. Although she often showed her emotional side in front of me, I rarely ever saw my mother crying. "The idea about the Vanishing Cabinet was very smart. How did you think about that?"
"It just came up."
I let her sleep in silence but I couldn't find the strength to head back to my room. When I was a child, Father never allowed me to sleep with them, so it was too sweet of a chance to pass up. I sat on an armchair a few feet away from the bed and I think my presence soothed both of us.
I dreamt.
"She is my sister, Lucius! Please!"
Mother would shout and scream like crazy every time the two of them had a row and even though their bedroom was not even close to mine, you could hear Father's growls loud and clear.
"Don't you dare make excuses for yourself, Narcissa. You should have kicked her out the moment she knocked on our door. That useless whore had the audacity to come in here and instead of sending her back to the gutter, where she belongs, you serve her tea! And you let Draco play with that bastard kid of hers! Have you gone completely insane? Oh, by Merlin, if he is ever again allowed to-"
"Lucius, don't bring Draco into this!" Mother defended me from afar.
"Well, yes, of course! If he is half as dumb as you think he is, then you're twice as useless as a mother!" Father hissed.
"Don't-" Mother's voice was weak against the few words that could sting her.
"I know what you're trying to do, you worthless bitch! You're making him soft; you're making him a fucking wuss. I told you he would have nothing to do with these worthless low-lives! Allowing that whore within a mile from us is one thing. But letting that little half-blood shit play with our son?"
I had heard very few things about Aunt Andromeda and Nymphadora and all of them were bad.
In my short 5 years, I had no brother or sister, I had no close cousins or friends. I had made a quick attempt to befriend the house-elves but I soon realized these friendships were not worth the punishments I got when they were discovered.
So when I saw little Nymphadora, next to my forgotten, tearstained Aunt, who was desperately knocking at the door of the Manor, I was instantly overwhelmed with happiness. 'Narcissa, please. I have no one else to turn to,' said Aunt Andromeda but it was something quickly forgotten by the innocent spirit that had overcome both Nymphadora and me.
Nymphadora was a few years older and soon said she preferred being called by her last name – Tonks. At the time, I didn't understand why, but I didn't care either, because she knew how to fly a broomstick better than me and I was eager to make her my tutor. Our mothers allowed us to use some spare broomsticks while they had some 'grown-up talk to do'. Tonks showed me many tricks but I was still afraid when I flew little over 10 feet, so she didn't pressure me. I thought that we would meet more often after this but she never returned.
"And what did you expect me to do? Andromeda wouldn't have come here if it wasn't urgent. Ted is sick!" Mother's voice was weak from holding back tears – maybe she was already crying.
"Do you think that I give a damn shit about that mudblood scum?" Father raged.
"Lucius, don't be mad about it. He is my sister's husband. My niece's father! She only asked for a hundred Galleons. That was nothing for us!" I heard Mother's most begging whisper.
"You mean to say that you already gave her the money?" Father bellowed. If Father had been furious to learn his son was playing with a muggle-lover, he was now beyond insane.
Silence.
And then bang!
A slap, then a low thud against the wall or some furniture, and a muffled scream.
Even as a 5-year-old, I knew better than to run through the corridor, open their bedroom door without knocking (which was one of the most forbidden things up until then). But I couldn't help it. Some furious force was driving me to my parents' bedroom.
I saw Mother on the floor. The pale skin on her right cheek was red and swollen and now the left side of her face, from the temple to the cheekbone, was developing a red and purple colour.
Father was lost as he saw me running to her.
"Mummy!" I shouted.
"Draco," ordered Father in a cold-calm tone. "Back to your room," he said warningly.
"No!" I shouted at him. I kneed beside my mother and had the intention of comforting her.
I felt like I could have done more for her but at the time the only thing I could do was slightly touch her, hoping to transfer some strength for her to get up and somehow fight. But she couldn't even look at me. She tried to put on a strong face for me, as if nothing was happening, but all she ended up doing was hiding her face so that I wouldn't see the warm tears that were trickling down her face.
"Back to your room!" repeated Father.
With a violent pull from the collar of my shirt, Father forced me to stand on my feet.
"Lucius! Leave Dray alone!" It was now that Mother was completely awakened from her state of motionlessness. She stood up and tried to snatch me from Father's hands but with one violent push in the stomach, Mother was on the floor again and Father was freely pushing me out the door.
"Mummy!"
Father tried to bang the door shut. I spread my arm, as a last effort to reach for my mother, so the door met my forearm. Father didn't care. He mindlessly pushed the door closed once more, this time with more force, and my hand was caught again painfully. Father didn't pay much attention when I screamed in agony. He shoved my swollen arm out of the way, shut the door hastily, and locked it.
I didn't hear much after that. To this day I haven't forgiven myself for thinking more about the pain on my forearm and not that much about what was happening behind that locked door.
Mother had to conceal her bruises for a month. I thought we would leave after this, but we never did. Her spirit broke and so did my wild idea that I could ever save my poor mother from my Father's hands.
I watched Mother fall asleep. The remains of a bruise on her elbow, that I had noticed at the beginning of the summer, had now disappeared. I was wondering if there was even some small part in her, that was glad Father was in Azkaban.
I raised my right sleeve. Where there was a bruise from the closing of the door when I was 5 years old, there now were cuts.
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