i s o b e l
Isobel felt herself pulled into the spirals of Apparition, her left hand entwined with Draco's and her right grabbing at his black-knit jumper.
In the seconds that they twisted through air and space and time, his arm circled around her shoulders, pulling her close. She breathed in his smell, now familiar - fresh and clean, like peppermint and green apple.
Several months ago, she would never have dared to Apparate so far, so frequently as she did now. It was a dangerous thing, to Apparate with little sense of direction or of the place one was travelling to. She had built up the ability to Apparate long distances, but still it made her nervous to do it so often - made her even more nervous to see Draco do it, too.
Once tarmac materialized underneath their feet and trees curled over their heads, she dropped his hand. Heat rose to her cheeks.
Out of habit, she unzipped her coat as she entered the house and pulled off her shoes. Draco copied her, idly kicking off his shoes by their heels. "Oh, you don't have to -"
The corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "Maggie takes cleanliness very seriously, as I remember."
"Right," said Isobel. "You've been to my old house. Did you meet my mum, then?"
Draco nodded curtly. He didn't say anything more.
He followed her through to the kitchen; she watched him drag out a chair and sit back on it, long legs sprawling. It was immensely strange to see him here, in this setting. To see him sit in his socks in the very room her mother had countless times scorned his name. To see his grey eyes stare at her here in person, rather than from a photograph in a newspaper.
"I'll be right back," she said.
She went to the living room, where a bookshelf covered half the space of the end wall. She pulled out her mother's collection of Healer books one by one, until she had compiled a thick stack. Then she heaved them back to the kitchen where he sat. A cloud of dust rose as she dropped them onto the table. Again, Draco said nothing; his gaze stoic and unreadable.
Isobel sat across from him. "I was hoping we could find something about memory in here," she said. "Now that my mum is out of the house, I can read these without her noticing." Guilt twisted in her gut, once the words were out. As if it were convenient that her mother was in the hospital.
Draco took the book from the top of a pile; nudged it open with his long, slender fingers. "Good idea."
Isobel took a breath. She slid the next book from the pile and opened it to its index page. She traced her finger down the contents, and in the brink of her vision, Draco did the same. The table was small, and though they didn't touch, she felt his legs close to hers. She kept her feet rigid, afraid of accidentally bumping into him.
She flicked forward to her book's chapter on neuroscience, skimming past masses of information about remedial potions, healing spells, diseases and broken bones. Over the past year, since her mother had returned to work, it had frequently occurred to her that she might also like to be a Healer. Isobel had never been good at Potions, which was a requirement for most Healers, but the psychiatric department had always held her interest. Following the war, she guessed that the department was in need of workers now more than ever. But she could hardly work in the psychiatric department while a chunk of her own mind still seemed to be missing.
They sat in the cool kitchen together, with no sounds but the flipping of pages and one another's steady breathing. After an hour, Draco slouched back in his chair, stretching out his arms. His foot brushed against Isobel's and she sat up, startled. The shadow of a smile twitched at his lips. "Find anything yet?"
