Diffraction Patterns (I Don't Know How to Forget You)

Chapter 2: Intra-Action

Draco's mother had tricked him again—Wednesday morning, her eagle owl swept across the Slytherin table, dropping a roll of parchment neatly on his lap. He could not have imagined a worst way to sour his already miserable mood. The nightmares that had haunted him over the summer were back with a vengeance: dark, shifting rooms, bright flashes of green light, and painfully cold fingers trailing across his cheeks. After several nights of tossing and turning, he was exhausted.

"Is everything alright?" Pansy asked, eyeing him fearfully. "Your mother always writes on Thursdays."

Draco gave a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I'm sure she's fine." Before he could tuck the parchment away into his satchel, Pansy gripped his wrist.

"Read it," she ordered. "You've been ignoring her for too long."

Draco glared, snatching his hand away. "Maybe I read her letters when I'm alone. That way people won't poke their noses into my business."

"Do you read them?"

"Sure."

"Draco," Pansy started up as he stuffed the letter away, "she's your mother. She has no one at the Manor. Imagine how lonely it must be for her. Just think how—"

"Drop it, Pansy," Blaise advised her. He was slathering jam onto a thick slice of toast, shaking his head at their bickering. "You can't tell people when to read their own post, for God's sake."

"You think it's alright, then?" Pansy said, rounding on Blaise. Sat between them, Draco was vividly reminded of the countless times during his childhood that his parents had rowed, forgetting he was there. "You don't feel sorry for Mrs. Malfoy? She's always been good to us, Blaise. Always."

When Blaise shrugged, Draco felt a surge of gratitude towards him. "It's not our business."

"Yes, it is. We've known her for ages, she—"

"And how are things with your parents, then?" Blaise interrupted her. "Your father still looking to pull you out of Hogwarts?"

Pansy snapped her mouth shut, glowering at him.

"What's this?" Draco asked, turning towards her in confusion.

"Nothing," she said, returning to her tea. "My father's just being ridiculous."

"Where are they going to send you?" Draco persisted. "Abroad?"

She gave a cold, bitter laugh. "Of course not. They want to keep an eye on me. They're very embarrassed, you see, by what I said last year. At..."

"The Battle," he finished for her. She gave a stiff nod. "Well, Potter's forgiven you, hasn't he?"

"Yes. And I've told them that. But they're still furious with me."

"And how does Blaise know this, when I don't?" When Pansy didn't answer, Draco turned to Blaise—and was startled to find a very strange, soppy look on his face that he had never seen there before. He was grinning in the direction of the Hufflepuff table.

Pansy, who hadn't noticed anything, finally said, "His mother talks to mine, that's why. And neither of them can keep anything to themselves." She took a sip of tea, and then said waspishly, "Who knows? If you opened your mother's letters, she might have told you, too."

As they finished their breakfast, Pansy said, "Let's go to the courtyard. I need to finish that Transfiguration paper."

"You're lucky you've got a free period," Blaise grumbled. "You can't imagine how dull it is to have Binns first thing in the morning."

"Yeah. Listen, Blaise." As Pansy turned to talk to the seventh year next to her, Draco lowered his voice. "I know about Kevin Whitby."

"What?" Blaise looked up at him, shocked.