Chapter Twelve

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songs for this chapter:
run - joji
affection - between friends

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September 10th - 11th, 1995

Tuesday, somehow, goes off without a hitch. Maybe it's the residual calm from an evening's detention together— where we didn't fight for once— or maybe it's just exhaustion from the ordeal of it all. The world may never know. All I do know is that Malfoy doesn't correct me in potions once, and he keeps himself away at mealtimes, focusing all attention on Pansy.

And so, the plot thickens. The mystery of Draco Malfoy becomes more and more complicated. Because I didn't already have enough to unravel.

"It's just... odd, that's all." I shrug, taking the long route back to the common room with Theo after dinner.

"Don't tell me you miss yelling at Malfoy?" He chuckles, that obnoxious smirk all the Slytherin boys seem to have appearing on his lips.

"No! Of course not." I scoff, shoving my shoulder against his.

"Mm, right." He hums skeptically but presses no further. "So, that Runes assignment, I'm going to need your copy..."

Wednesday in Runes seating arrangements are back to normal. Malfoy sits upfront by himself and I take the back with Theo. Every time Malfoy riddles out an answer, Theo mocks him with sly faces and a high-pitched squeak— making me have to fight to keep down my laughs. All in good fun, of course, they're actually really good mates.

I find my way to Muggle Studies in a much better mood than yesterday, taking my seat next to Hermione and wordlessly pulling out my textbook.

"Tell me more about growing up here." She says after a few minutes, abandoning her work.

"What?" I let my quill rest down on my textbook, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Well, I've only really got Ron's perspective— and I'm under the impression his upbringing is far different from yours."

I hold in a laugh. 'Far different' is an understatement. "You would be correct, yes." I give her a small, genuine smile. "What do you want to know?"

She asks me dozens of questions— where I live, what my parents do, what I did before Hogwarts. I talk about my family estate, in the River Bewl of Kent County back in England. It's a beautiful Tudor manor, built back in the 1830s for some great-great-great-great (possibly one more great) grandfather on my father's side. I promise to bring pictures next class.

I tell her about my father's work at the Ministry in the International Magical Office of Law, as well as his seat representing Great Britain on the International Confederation of Wizards. She realizes how powerful of a man he is— I wonder if she can see the fear in my eyes or hear it in my voice.

Finally, I tell stories of my childhood, filled with dance classes and cotillions. She laughs when I say my Nanny Agatha made me walk around the halls with books on my head— and I furrow my brow until she realizes I'm not joking.

"You didn't have Maths? Or English?"

"Personal tutoring, with my Governess," I say, recalling afternoons in the library or the parlor surrounded by schoolbooks. "Then we had special teachers for homely topics— sewing, table setting, manners, things like that. I had Madam Bastian, a lot of the Slytherin girls did. She was awful, but she doesn't smack you around as much as Madam Chevalier." I laugh to myself as Hermione's face pales. We don't seem to find the same things funny.

I clear my throat.

"Then I had Madam Dubois for dance lessons— ballroom, mainly. Have to perfect it for events. Narcissa would die if we couldn't do the French Waltz properly for her annual New Year's Gala."

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