every scrap of you (you left them all to me)

Chapter 5

𝄞 i should've asked you questions, i should've asked you how to be 𝄞

*

My dear brother Arcurius confided in me a matter most troubling. He professed his love for a half-blood maiden named Evelyn. Yet, he is betrothed to Mary, a pure-blood witch of noble standing. I yearn for Arcurius' happiness, yet he tells me of his fear, losing the Malfoy fortune and facing disownment from our family. He is consumed with anguish, for today he spoke of taking his own life.

In his desperation, he implored me to cast a spell, one that would dispel his love for Evelyn. I am plagued with uncertainty, for such an act carries great risk, yet I cannot bear the thought of life without him.

༺ ༻

Harry decides he's not going to let some scribbled notes in a crusty old journal from the fourteenth century destroy his optimism.

"So a Malfoy ancestor decided to cast a love-extraction spell on his brother and it manifested into a curse. None of these entries tell us how to actually cure the damn thing. This bloke spends more time whining about it than actually getting on with fixing it." Harry pushes the journal aside, ignoring the unnerving energy still pulsing from its pages.

"Magic has progressed so much since then," he states, sinking into the sofa with a much-needed mug of coffee. It's half-past eight in the morning. He peers over the rim, then pauses, brow pinching. "Why are you all here? Did we have plans?"

There's looks being shared across the room. Draco pulls the cushion close to his chest, curled up in the corner of the sofa flicking through the latest issue of Wizard's Health magazine. Pansy and Ron share a concerned glance, while Hermione sits down at Harry's side, closing his book much to Harry's disgruntled glare.

"We bought croissants," Ron says, lifting up a large brown paper bag.

It smells divine, and feels suspicious.

"You only come here with food when you want something," Harry says, glaring from Ron to Pansy to Hermione, then softens when he sees Draco—cosied up, still in his plaid pyjamas, hair in disarray.

Hermione pats Harry's knee. "Draco let us in. We need to talk."

"About?"

"Well, obviously we're just as concerned as you are about Draco's wellbeing, but... we're concerned about you, too. All this research is beginning to consume you," she gestures out towards the open books and loose parchment littered across the living room floor, "and it's becoming rather alarming."

"Saving my boyfriend is alarming now, is it?"

Hermione sighs shortly. "That's not what we're saying, Harry. You've found the exact documentation you were looking for. This ancestor witnessed the inception of the curse. They documented its effects during its early stages and have essentially answered for you that there isn't a remedy."

"So? The curse could've altered as it passed through each generation. We don't know for sure if what's inside Draco is the same curse from those journal entries. Maybe it's similar, sure, but are we going to rule everything out just because some bloke from centuries ago decided to fuck about with a bit of dangerous magic?"

Nobody answers that. The room fills with yet another uncomfortable silence which, by now, Harry is used to.

Pansy kicks her feet up onto the coffee table, crossing one fur-trimmed slipper (yes, she has her own set of slippers at everyone's house) over the other. "Have you ever stopped to ask Draco what he thinks?"