the magpie // tomione

xix.

"I have always wondered
how women who carry war
inside their bones
still grow flowers
between their teeth."
— Ijeoma Umebinyuo

It was Ginny that had found the ticket, fallen underneath Hermione's bed and forgotten through the years. Draco holds it in his hand, standing at the Prizren station. The bileta transporti is yellowed and faded.

He carefully watches as the train arrives, the crowd beginning to gather at the platform. For her credit, Marion Lestrange could have easily blended into her surroundings. If Draco hadn't been specifically looking for her, scanning the crowd for anyone who stood out even remotely, he likely wouldn't have noticed her.

But he does see her, dressed in black with a round hat over her pinned curls. It isn't her fault that she stands out with her perfect posture and almost lyrical movement. Even with a pair of sunglasses obscuring her features, Draco would spot a pureblood-raised woman anywhere.

He counts the number of seats as she passes by the window before boarding the train himself. In his carefully concocted plan he would pass by her, setting up a ward and silencing charms. Then he would return again and confront her.

It almost goes to plan.

As Draco turns to make his second trip down the aisle, he feels a hand reach for his.

"Abraxas?" Marion asks quietly, a tremor in her voice betraying her hope. He turns to look at her and she stills. "I'm sorry, I thought you were..."

He stands frozen as he watches her think through her next actions. Her brow furrows in a decidedly Hermione-esque way, and he bites his cheek.

"Miss Lestrange, do you have a moment to speak?"

She bristles, eyes darting around the crowded train car, hand reaching for where he assumes her wand is secured.

"Follow me," she says finally, and he does.

The moment the compartment door closes her wand is pointed at him. Calmly, Draco holds up his hands, allowing her to search him. With a flick of her wrist his belongings are strewn across the seat. She keeps her wand pointed at him as she looks through the belongings, before she looks up at him with knowing eyes.

"Alphonse Rosier gave that to me," he tells her as she reaches for the time turner. "Be careful, it's old and sensitive."

"I know what it is." Marion snaps, but her wand is no longer raised. "And Alphie couldn't have given it to you because he's..."

"Dead. I know."

Marion grits her teeth before finally taking a seat. She gives him an expectant glare.

Draco gathers his belongings back together before seating himself across from her. He clears his throat, looking at her again. Her chin is raised, shoulders squared. She does remind him of Hermione in a way, if only because the two women had been inextricably linked in his mind for the past two years.

Slowly, he leans back, crossing one long leg over another. Her eyes follow his movement, as if waiting for the inevitable.

"What is your plan after you create the phylakterion?" The question comes after a long, uneasy silence. Her eyes widen for a moment before narrowing.

"I suppose you're here to stop me." She goes through her bag, procuring a silver case and pulling out a cigarette. She lights it with a flick of her fingers, filling the compartment with smoke. Draco stifles a cough, the tobacco stinging at his eyes.