dear draco,

thirty-five

No longer able to cope with Draco's earnest, extensive pleas, Lucius and Narcissa reluctantly give in and allow me to stay at the Manor – making it very clear that this is only a temporary arrangement. Draco might have stretched the truth somewhat, claiming that I had no other home to go to, but this manages to distract them from the real reason I'm here. Agonizing guilt and concern eats away at me, growing stronger every time I see Luna's dirty face, her sunken cheeks, but Draco isn't a bad distraction. Whenever he sneaks in here, hours past midnight, when he clambers under the silk sheets and nibbles at my neck, we manage to forget the world – if briefly.

"Isobel."

He shakes my shoulder, and I shift under my sheets, groaning. A light shines in my eyes, and I push it away. "I'm awake. What is it?"

"You need to come downstairs. My parents sent for you."

I rub my eyes. "What's this about?"

Draco stares at the ground. "They - they think they might have found Potter."

"What?"

"Yeah." Draco pauses. "They want us to say if it's him."

My stomach lurches. "He's here? He's been caught?"

"Granger and Weasley too," he says, meeting my eyes for the first time. "Snatchers. Belly, there's something wrong with Potter's face. They're not sure it's him."

"Well, is it?"

"If Granger and Weasley are here, who else would it be?"

I stare at him, trying to take this all in. "What if they find out it's him?"

He wipes the back of his hand across his brow. "They'll call the Dark Lord."

"Draco!"

Draco flinches at his aunt's voice. "We're coming," he calls, but I doubt his voice even reaches the stairs. He takes my hand. "Come on."

When we enter the drawing room, any hopes that the boy the Snatchers caught wasn't Harry fade. In the centre of the room, under the light of a huge chandelier, Harry's swollen cheeks and jaws are unidentifiable, but beyond the puffy eyelids is a familiar green gleam. It's him.

Beside and behind him, bound together with thick ropes, are Ron, Hermione, a goblin I don't recognize, and finally, Dean Thomas. He must have been caught by the Snatchers, a muggle-born on the run. I catch quick, startled expressions on my classmates' thinned, tired faces as they recognize me. I feel the same sense of guilt I had in the cellar with Luna and Olivander – I could easily be in their positions, but instead I am standing above them, almost entirely safe.

So occupied are the Malfoys and the Snatchers with their prisoners that no one looks up when Draco and I arrive. Eyes on Harry, Lucius speaks hastily; "Draco, what took you so long? We don't – never mind. Come here."

"No," says Bellatrix quickly, barely giving Draco the chance to hesitate. "The girl would know better." Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes gleam; the prospect of handing Harry Potter over to Voldemort visibly swelling in her mind. She grabs my arm and wrenches me forward. Hermione looks up at me wide-eyed, while Ron and Harry stare at the floor. My heart thuds. "Well, is it them?"

I stare into Hermione's bloodshot eyes and am suddenly overwhelmed with memories; chattering excitedly on our first ever night in Hogwarts, playing stupid games in the dorm, letting her cry on my shoulder when she fought with Ron in third year, getting ready together for the Yule ball, giggling over Krum's attempts to impress her, fighting over Draco... Draco. He is standing behind me, eyes on mine. For a moment I expect him to tell me no, to inconspicuously shake his head... But he won't. He knows that I will never, ever betray my friends, no matter how little they think of me now.