PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

60

My first few full day in hiding is rotten. Draco left me early on July 31st, shortly after I arrived, and I spent the beginning of the day getting used to the surroundings. All of the furniture, from the sofa, the love seat, the kitchen table to the bookshelf, the dresser and the bed, are all made from transfigured materials. Draco is fine at transfiguration, but the bed isn't comfortable. I suspect it was made from a plank of wood leftover.

The house was clearly in need of being gutted. There are bugs I see crawling over the halls.

"It was built before the war," the woman who Draco has paid to watch over me says. "I mean, the muggle one."

It's some distant cousin of his. A half-blood of the Blacks, disowned a long time ago. She is old enough that I imagine she remembers World War II, if that is the kind of thing a witch like her might have noticed. Terry would know. I haven't thought about him in weeks. Before Dumbledore died, it had been months where he had barely crossed my mind.

"I'll come by twice a week to check and see if you need groceries," the woman explains. "Draco has given me a budget for your expenses. I suppose I can get you things if you like. Books."

She gestures to the bookshelf. I hadn't even unpacked when she came with groceries, shortly before noon. It's empty now, and the books I have won't fill it. I'm not sure how many I could shove onto it. Likely twenty a shelf, by five shelves. A hundred books. I certainly hope I don't have to fill it.

I don't think I've quite yet understood there will be a war. I understand so much, but this seems far away. As if it's been submerged in the black lake, and I can't even properly see its shadow.

It is hard to cook myself lunch. Well, I don't know how to cook all that well, but it is exceptionally hard given the smell of the place.

"It was abandoned in the seventies," Helena, that's the woman's name, explained. "I actually live a town over. This is all very inconvenient."

"Yes," I had agreed. "I'm painfully aware."

Just as I am painfully aware of the putrid smell.

Before dinner, I have put some things in places. The books, mostly. I haven't unpacked my clothes. It's like a vacation. At a hotel, you live out of your suitcase. I don't leave my toothbrush in the bathroom.

Draco told me not to go outside. I don't that night. I wake up early though, thrown off from not sleeping much the night before. Then, I take a walk outside. All of the Death Eaters were probably acting under the cover of darkness. They aren't going to be active in the morning. So, I walk about on August first, acutely aware that the ministry is going to be overthrown, and equally certain that I am not going to do anything about it. I walk and walk until my feet ache terribly. I do not see a body of water no matter where I go. Draco, obviously, didn't leave me a map. I know I am close enough to him that he can apparate to me, and I know that we apparated here from my house. It must be partway between us.

I just would like to look at my own reflection in a pond, rather than the rusted, cracked window above the sink.

Within the first day, I already finish a book. I brought my oil pastels, but I can't make myself draw. This place is terrible. I spray myself with perfume after showering just to hide the other smells. I do magic, practicing my skills. Maybe I'll go back to Hogwarts. If I had offered to join Dumbledore, maybe the war wouldn't be happening at all. I'm not foolish enough to think I could have stopped it. Well, maybe I am.

No one stopped me from my near petrification though. It's cynical, but why would I save a world that couldn't be bothered to save me? If I cannot save myself, how can I expect to be alive? I'm smart enough to know that it is foolhardy to fight in a war and expect to live on the other side.