CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE:
falling like the stars — james arthur
( 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 , 𝟏𝟔 )
Katie Bell had fallen from the sky on a particularly snowy day, where the wind howled like the wolves of the night and ice-white dust billowed through their hair, stinging their faces a rosy pink and turning their lips an icy blue.
It was warm inside the Three Broomsticks with candles that glowed golden lining the walls and merry laughter filling the emptiness of the space, in stark contrast to the swirling storm of snow and ice outside. Inside, it was safe. Safe from the frigid winds outside ( "Don't be so dramatic. It's barely even snowing!" )
"Oh, gimme!" Meredith clawed her way toward the cups of warm butterbeer that Harry had laid out on the table. Blaise had homework and Daphne had detention ( "I don't want to talk about it." ) so Meredith had gone along with the trio to Hogsmeade. They were always fun to be around but she suspected that they weren't talking with the usual candour they had when it was just the three of them, likely to hide something from her. She didn't mind it; she had been a abrupt and infrequent to their trio and it was nice to just live without the threat of Voldermort hanging over their heads for once.
However, although the quaint village was still bustling with Hogwarts students who had come to spend their galleons and drown themselves in butterbeer, it had lost some of its vibrant colour, feeling rather dull and gloomy instead, in wake of the official beginning of the war. The first time she had come out to visit Hogsmeade on a weekend was a day quite like this one, cold and miserable but surrounded by forgotten friends.
Her cheeks were pink and rosy with warmth once she had downed the entire mug of steaming butterbeer, absolutely content. Harry glanced over the rim of his own mug and chuckled, "I don't think I've ever seen someone down that much butterbeer at one go—" Ron, in turn, slammed his glass down onto the table and lifted his arms in the air, triumphant, "Beat that."
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, but in a more relaxed and playful manner, as she delicately took another sip from her own glass. The four of them were tucked away in a little corner of the Three Broomsticks where it seemed that the rest of the Hogwarts population had retreated to as well, to shield them from the blistering storm brewing outside. Meredith spotted Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley cozied up in another corner, seemingly in deep conversation. To be very honest, up until the couple had declared that they were dating, she had thought that Dean was already dating his fellow Gryffindor, Seamus Finnigan, and that no one had ever said a word about it since they were already so used to it.
"So, Harry. Who was that man you nearly beat up outside? Not that I didn't enjoy it, but you can't just go around threatening people." She leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he were about to share some deep dark secret. After they had bumped into Slughorn at Honeyduke, where he had pointedly ignored Ron since he was the only one not a part of the Slug Club ( "Bloody rude, that man! Why, if I had the chance—" ), Harry had suddenly confronted this dwarf of a man, dressed in raggedly clothes who's suitcase had burst open, surrounding him with some of the most exquisite Wizarding trinkets she had ever seen, in front of the local bar.
And so Harry explained everything ("Lower your voice or the whole bar is going to hear you!"); every single nitty gritty detail about who that horrid man was, the woman who had save him from a trip to Azkaban, his godfather, Sirius Black, whose voice Meredith had heard before passing out during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries ( his tone had become somber and his eyes distant at the mere mention of him ). As it turned out, the man with the briefcase ( "Mundungus Fletcher. Nasty git." Ron had frowned, mouth full of bar snacks ) had been stealing from Sirius' old house and selling them to make a quick buck.
Meredith felt odd now that she had officially entered their folds. Before all this, she had fought alongside them because it was what was expected of her, to fight the good fight. But now that she knew the intricacies of that world, it felt like she was suddenly involved in something a whole lot bigger and more complicated; if she were fighting against a tidal wave before, throwing every spell in her repertoire of fifth year spells against it, she was now meant to fight a tsunami. An all consuming tsunami that threatened to swallow all of them whole.
"I need to go to the bathroom." She announced suddenly, feeling quite unwell at the thought of having to fight in an actual war ( that, or the entire mug of butterbeer she had downed in one go ). Meredith didn't wait for a response before she pushed through the crowd of people huddled inside the Three Broomsticks for a semblance of warmth. Ginny and Dean waved to her but she could only attempt a weak smile in return.
"Oh, sorry—" She stopped in her tracks abruptly, only to give out a frustrated sigh, "Fantastic, it's you again. It's always you, isn't it?"
Draco Malfoy blocked the doorway with his tall lanky figure, arms braced on either side of the frame that led to the two respective bathrooms. His face was contorted into a haughty sneer as he had done the first day they had met on the train.
As he had been on Diagon Alley, he was dressed more finely, a sharp coat of a dull grey that hugged his body like it had been tailor made to his measurements (admittedly, it most likely was tailored to his size), sleek leather boots that would cost her a month's allowance (the Darlings may have been wealthy but the Malfoys existed in an entirely different world from them in their ivory towers). The one thing that stood out against his polished get up was a shoddy looking grey sweater under his coat—
Meredith stilled upon recognising the little green dragon sewn loosely over a hole near where his heart would be, the ambling knit work, the stunted curve of the 'D' across his chest. The black lines printed on the green body of the dragons were a little faded but she would recognise the fruit of her own labour anywhere. It must've loosened in the wash but it still hung there, clinging on by its threads, pulling onto the grey wool desperately, but still hung on.
She noted the absence of the cold pearls normally adorning her wrist, the twinkling of the crystal that was bluer than the depths of the ocean.
Her heart ached in her chest; while she had let go completely, forgotten the spark that had once blossomed there, he held on, tightly, fiercely. It wasn't fair.
"Do you hide out in women's bathrooms often? Or is that simply on the list of odd things you've been doing lately?" Is all she had managed to choke out after a beat of silence because she hadn't anything to say that wouldn't have shown off how pained she felt at their predicament; of a boy who fought for the dark and a girl who desperately tried to be good.
"Only recently." He answered curtly, but there's enough mirth in his answer to diffuse some of the tension lingering in the space between them. The sound of chattering and laughter in the bar behind her had all but silenced as she stared intensely at the pale blonde. The more she stared, the more she noticed how different he was from the last time they had properly spoken; his skin was even more pallid, dark rings under his eyes accentuating it even further, and despite the attempts at styling it, his silver hair lay limply. It was as if his recent sour mood had reflected on his outer appearance.
"A lot has changed recently." Meredith replied with a sense of remorse, not sure if she was talking about the new couch in their common room or the fact that they no longer shared a laugh over breakfast. Merlin, she was giving herself whiplash going back and forth like this; fearful yet wanting.
"I'd have thought that you were happy with the change." There's bitterness in his voice now, as if challenging Meredith to finally talk about the rift she had created between them, the rift that left them hanging on by threads, begging to finally be severed free. She could only reply with a terse, "I am. Now, would you let me use the bathroom?"
He sneered, painfully beautiful and delicate face contorting, "Go ahead." Meredith's eyes flicked up to meet his steely gaze.
Maybe that had snapped something in him, because there was no denying the venom in his voice any longer, "You're Meredith Darling aren't you? You can do whatever you bloody please without any repercussions just because you're you, angel of all good things, while the rest of us mortals suffer down here because you're just so untouchable."
He stepped closer so that they stood nearly chest to chest now, glaring down at her with such hurt as he continued spewing out a rant that he had seemed to be holding back for a long time. Maybe the hordes around them were whispering and gossiping about the scene before them, but it fell deaf to her ears as all Meredith could focus on was protecting herself against the slew of words being thrown at her. By a boy who she had hurt deeply.
"So go on," He goaded, eyes of steel grey boring into her, as he refused to budge from where he was standing, blocking the entrance to the bathroom, "Go and push me away again." Meredith winced, "For your loyalties, for your friends, for your blood-traitor and mudblood—"
There was no quite rational reason for what she had done after that but Meredith only fully realised it when she heard Draco whimper pathetically, the tip of her wand digging into the pale skin under his pointed chin.
"Don't you dare say that word again, Malfoy." She snapped, glaring up at him, blue eyes no longer soft and yearning but hard and stony. People are most definitely whispering now.
"I don't care what lousy excuse of a childhood you had," she continued, just as fired up as he was, "That just make your actions understandable. But it in no way excuses you from being a complete jerk of a person who gets off on being a," she jabbed the wand up against his pointed chin even harder, accentuating every word as she spat out, "pure-blood supremacist who thinks he's so much better than everyone simply because he was born that way."
"Guess what, Malfoy?" She laughed, but without any of the mirth she had when laughing with her friends, "It doesn't work that way. You can't continue to be this way just because 'oh, my daddy didn't love me enough as a child and taught me that I'm better than everyone else because of my blood'. Do better."
He narrowed his eyes, staring down at her but not daring to make any sudden movements for fear that she would actually hex him. His voice is goading and rough as he answered in a low tone, so that their conversation remained a mystery to the curious stares, "What are you going to do about it, Darling? Hex me? Curse me?"
"No, I don't think you'll do that." He continued, flicking an eyebrow upward at Meredith who still stonily held her ground, red blossoming on pale skin around the tip of her wand, "You can see me as this prejudiced prick, but you forget that you're exactly the same. Always wanting to fix things so that it goes your way; so that it fits into this picture perfect narrative you've painted for yourself." Meredith stilled.
"Because no matter what you may think about me and who you think you are, we're exactly the same. We will always be drawn together because of it."
There's a sort of finality in his words, as if he'd been thinking about it for a long time now.
"As it turns out, I don't need to use the bathroom after all." Her voice remained tense as she stepped away, away from his orbit that kept inexplicably drawing her back in no matter how far she drifted every time.
Her voice was small and her eyes brushed the floor as she turned on her heel and trudged back into the crowd who seemed to not have noticed the entire exchange; too caught up in their own fantasies and dreams, conversations too joyful for such a dark time, soaking in the warmth and comfort that simply being out in Hogsmeade brought. Oh, how she wanted to disappear into their deluded world, to drink from the never ending pool of oblivion. To forget the war, to forget the boy, to forget herself for a moment.
She doesn't bother when Harry and Hermione argue over something again. She doesn't bother when they step outside into the frigid cold, wind biting skin and ice piercing breaths. She doesn't bother when Katie Bell falls from the sky, hollow screams filling the silence of winter. She doesn't bother when they theorise again, once they've returned to the castle, angry and accusatory. It's Draco, Harry had said, flinging his bag down, I know it's him, I know that he's up to something.
She doesn't say anything when he glances at her, knowing that she always said something. She doesn't say anything when they bid their farewells, a frustrated Harry, an indignant Hermione, and an apologetic Ron, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the hallway where a bracing breeze blew through the arches lining then hallway. But she doesn't care anymore;
Because on that cold winter day, something had broken a little in Meredith Darling.
"We will always been drawn together because of it."
No matter what.
drama queens✨ at this point, i'm honestly at a really bad writers block for this fic so i hopefully i finish a chapter by next week xoxo❤️ but also, how are we literally almost half-way through this book? insane!! love all of you and remember to leave a vote and drink water👼🏼👅