dear draco,

thirty-four

I wake short hours later to hard knocks on Draco's bedroom door.

"Draco, why aren't you coming for breakfast? I've called you so many – why is your door locked?"

Draco stirs beside me. "Coming, Mother," he says, so drowsily that I'm surprised when she retreats. He rolls over to face me, a small smirk lighting up his pale face. "Good morning."

"You need to change," I say worriedly. "When they see that you're still in last night's clothing-"

"Are you really worried for my security-" he interrupts, his smirk growing, "Or is this just an excuse to see me change?"

I blush. "I've missed this."

His eyes light up and he kisses my forehead. "Me too. I was thinking that we could go somewhere today. You know, because no one can know you're here. Maybe to the beach?" His eyes grow hopeful. "I know a deserted spot, we'd never be seen-"

"I can't." His smile fades. "I'm sorry," I say, "but I came here to save Luna, not for romantic walks on the beach."

"Fine," he says shortly, rolling out of bed. "How do you plan to commence?"

"Well I can't without your help," I reply, sitting up. "You know that. When can we go see her?"

He shrugs, turning his back to me and slipping off his shirt to put on a clean one. Muscles ripple across his bare back. Any existing tan has faded since I last saw him like this; his skin is paler than ever. I want to be there to see that tan build again, and fade, through summer and winter in the years to come.

I touch my hand to his back. "I'm sorry," I say. "A walk sounds lovely, really. But the more I put off helping Luna, the more dangerous it gets."

He looks at me for a long time, then groans. "Fine. She'll be in the cellar, like I said yesterday. It's where they've put prisoners before and I've often heard them speak about it. I haven't been there in a long time. She's a teenage girl, but I won't be surprised if they threw her in there too." He shrugs on a shirt and I shyly begin to button it up for him. "We can't go now," he continues, softer, "but we'll try find some time during the morning. There's a meeting at four that I'm not a part of. Everyone will be gone except us, so if we can't go in the morning, we'll definitely go then. I'll bring you back something from breakfast."

Only minutes after Draco has left, his door creaks open. I am about to leap off the bed and hide under it when I spot his tousled white-blonde hair, and a wave of relief washes over me.

Draco nudges the door shut behind him, smirking when he sees my crouched stance. But I am too busy staring at the vast amount of food in his arms to care. I gape as he deposits the bundle onto his bed – dozens of croissants, crumpets, and fruit of every kind rolling over his sheets. "How much do you think I eat?"

"I wanted to be prepared," says Draco casually, picking up an apple from where it has fallen onto the ground. "But it doesn't matter anymore. My mother caught me on my way back up. She knows you're here, and they want to see you."

My jaw drops. "Who is 'they'?"

"Come on." He offers me his hand, leading me out into the hallway and down the staircase. This is not going as expected. "I won't let them hurt you."

But Draco is clearly disgruntled, and his mood only worsens when we step into his kitchen.

The room is vast and lavish – every surface lined with mirrored glass or gleaming white marble, every counter scrubbed to glossy perfection. But what catches my attention are the people standing around it – a head of long, white-blond hair undoubtedly belongs to Draco's father, who glowers at me. Beside him stands his wife, Narcissa Malfoy, who I have seen before but today she looks far more... Nervous? Fearful? And standing closest to me, sunken eyes blinking sweetly through huge, tangled black hair is the famous face of Bellatrix Lestrange. She smiles.