Project 137.43.M.D.

XI. | PROBATIO DIABOLICA

XI.
PROBATIO DIABOLICA
(devil's proof)

Granger stood in the centre of the living room as if it were her flat and not his, the sleeves of her blouse casually rolled up.

Gods, she had some nerve just deciding that he would unpack the rest of his moving boxes in her presence. Draco wasn't sure why he had been shying away from the task for the last few days, but for some reason he had wanted to avoid confronting his old life for a little longer. To start doing so now, of all times, and under Granger's watchful eye, was awkward to say the least. On the way back from St Mungo's, he had tried to dissuade her from her oh-so-great idea several times, but she hadn't brooked any objections.

Now she simply waited stoically for him to raise his wand. Which he eventually did. Only because he was secretly itching to do magic, of course, and certainly not because she had asked him to.

"Accio," he said confidently.

He pointed his wand at one of the boxes labelled with the word 'BOOKS' in thick print. In his mind, he had manifested the clear image of a Quidditch tome, which he had spotted at the top of one of the piles when he had opened the box.

To Draco's annoyance, absolutely nothing happened. Neither the book nor any other object near it moved.

"Accio book," he repeated firmly, devoting all his concentration to casting the spell.

He could feel his magic pulsing through his body (it was weak, but it was there) and therefore didn't understand why it just wouldn't work.

"This isn't unusual, Malfoy. Don't be discouraged."

Granger's voice, now coming from directly behind him, sounded sympathetic.

Well, she could shove her pity up her arse.

Draco chose to ignore her. He simply cast the spell once more, flicking his wand so violently that the book actually bounced upwards. But instead of hurtling towards him as he demanded, it merely tumbled over the edge of the moving box and, with a thud, landed on the dark parquet floor.

"I knew this was a stupid idea," Draco muttered, exasperated.

Squinting, he peered into the box, raised his hand and tried again — this time with a different book. The result was the same. After a few more frustrating attempts, he gave up.

"Do you feel your magic in your arm?" Granger asked, to which he nodded.

"Yeah, I do, but it feels like I can't access it. Like it's desperate to get out, but neither of us knows how. And definitely weaker than I'm used to."

Surprisingly, when he turned to face her, Granger didn't look as pitying as he had expected. (Not that he would've bought it.) Instead, she stared blankly at the box, slowly nodding to herself.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," she murmured, seemingly lost in thought. "It'll get better. Just don't give up."

She started to move, pushing past him, and before Draco knew what was happening to him, she had lifted a hand and squeezed his shoulder. She, for her part, didn't even seem to realise what she had done. Still strangely absent-minded, she picked up the Quidditch tome, smoothed out the crumpled pages and carefully placed it back in the moving box.

A sneaking suspicion washed over Draco.

"Sounds like you know what you're talking about," he said slyly.

The question was also an excellent distraction from the spot on his shoulder where she had touched him. The skin there was tingling unpleasantly.

At his words, Granger reflexively raised her head and looked at him. And once again it happened: when their eyes met, she visibly cringed and her pupils widened. But before Draco had a chance to scan her face for an explanation, she broke eye contact and put on a dismissive expression.