𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐄 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

Chapter 17

The belongings Draco left behind were what really drove Edward mad. An Advanced Potions book with careful annotations in the margins written in Draco's elegant script, the sweater he'd been wearing the day he'd left, discarded because of the early spring warmth before their walk to the meadow. The Magic Eight Ball.

He gathered them together and set them on the table, an absurd shrine in a room that already bore Draco's mark everywhere—in the gifts he'd given Edward, in the memories which, thanks to cursed vampire recall, would never fade. Were these the sorts of things one left behind when it was over? If they lived in the regular Muggle world, perhaps Edward would pack the items in a box and deliver them to his ex-lover with a note, or maybe no word at all. As they did not, Edward kept them, hoping one day they'd draw Draco back. They didn't, and the cabin became oppressive.

So he took to spending less and less time there and more time roaming the forest, especially the periphery, hoping to find a way into the Hogwarts grounds, knowing one day very soon, Draco would undertake the task he'd been assigned. On occasion, students would approach closely enough for Edward to hear their thoughts. He drank them in like a starving man, listening for any indication that something horrible had happened at the school, but the thoughts were always banal—about summer holidays, classes, crushes, and friends. So Draco was still safe, for now. There was no way of knowing whether or not he'd be successful, and even if he was, what would happen to him. Edward knew enough of evil men to understand they weren't held by any moral obligation to keep promises. Whether or not he wanted to admit it, Voldemort could decide to expend Draco's life even after he'd fulfilled his duty. The realization crept over him with a chilling horror, and he wondered if he'd made the right decision after all.

The days had grown warm and pleasant, the nights cool and softly rainy. Some of the creatures in the Forbidden Forest were undergoing the mating rites of spring, and some had already had their young. He watched with awe as a week old Hippogriff took to the sky with its mother, its first few fumbling wing flaps awkward, the forest echoing their call and response. He found himself smiling and vowed he would never harm one of the beasts; like the unicorns, they were too special, too magical to ever become a meal. Soon, the little one got its bearings and disappeared over the canopy of trees, followed by its proud parent, leaving silence once again.

Vampires could go mad at the death of a mate—Rose had very nearly been lost to her bereavement when Emmett had been killed—but Draco had never really been his mate. Not really. He'd made the decision easily enough to leave, and seemed to have no regrets. Alice had certainly been wrong about the two of them, so why was Edward staying around, hoping for a reunion that would never come?

"Edward," Alice said, her voice betraying her worry, "I'm so glad you've finally called."

He was back at the general store in the little town, getting the same stares and hearing the same thoughts from the customers as he had the last time.

"Yeah, well." He didn't know what to say.

"He's gone."

"Yes."

"Edward, I'm so sorry. I thought . . ."

"You thought wrong, obviously," Edward said. It was very difficult not to crush the phone in his hand, but that would only draw more attention to him. Not that it really mattered anymore. Edward was starting to think he might welcome the Volturi's wrath at this point. If he was discovered, the guard would exercise their right to eradicate the problem—namely him—thus ensuring humans remained ignorant of the existence of their kind. He shook his head, clearing it of the dark thoughts. Not while Draco was still alive. Perhaps, if he was killed . . .

"Don't you dare do that," Alice whispered. "Don't you dare. I won't lose another one of my family."

"I don't know what to do."