enchanted • draco malfoy

Year 7: Darkness & Dancing

Felicity's POV

We were on foot for days. Weeks. Months.

The only thing that gave me any energy anymore was the spur of adrenaline and terror I felt whenever the radio station turned on. As usual, the deep, steady male voice started with an update about the Wizarding world, before finally-

"Missing people."

That, I learned in recent weeks, was a synonym for likely dead.

"These are confirmed. Thankfully, the list is short today," the radio continued, "Jason and Allison Denbright. Bella, Jake, Charlie, and Madge Farley."

My heart panged at the thought of an entire family missing, even as my stomach clenched in fear at hearing a familiar name. Who would dare look for that family now? Who would look for anyone, with this reign of terror looming over us all?

"Joe Laurie. Eleanor Sarah Gibbs. Harry and Bronwyn Trigg. Rob and Ellie Dowson. Georgia Clarke-Day. Joshua Flexson. George Coutas."

Name after name after name.

"Gabriella and Emily Mather. Jacob and Mimi Erland. William and Brian Galleger. Toby and Olivia Gleaves. Katie and James Killick."

After name after name after name.

"Elsie Valentine Schroeder. Jennifer Winston. Tamsin and Iola Hillicker. Scarlet and Kitty Sharp."

Over the weeks, the list went on and on and on.

~*~

Another thing that gave me energy, actually, was Draco. Although it was beginning to feel like a betrayal to love him, to make excuses for him; especially as that list of names grew more and more every day, as Death Eaters raced above us in rapid clouds of black and misery.

But thinking of him, drawing him, even having those wretched dreams about him, reminded me why I was doing this. Every time I felt like giving up and giving in, I would see his face in my mind. Him and I, with Neville. Him and I, happy.

A future. That's what it was, and that's what I was fighting for.

A future where Voldemort was gone and my family and friends were all safe and alive.

Some days that future felt more attainable than others.

Like today. Harry sat on a stool, staring at nothing as Hermione cut his hair with a pair of scissors she packed. Why she deemed them necessary, I had no idea, but at least they were being used. Ron, too, was staring into space, with a decidedly more miserable look on his face than was on Harry's.

Suddenly, Hermione said, "Oh, my God," in a way that heavily implied the maximum amount of shock possible. Harry instantly snapped back into reality, his hands going to his hair. He wore an expression of utter fear and panic. "What?" he demanded, whirling to look at her. I cackled from where I sat, his anxiety a palpable thing.

Hermione leaped across the tent to her things, ignoring Harry's growing alarm. She waved him off with a dismissive hand and murmured, "I'll tell you in a minute." I could tell that she was making connections, that her brilliant mind was at work and she couldn't be bothered to soothe Harry.

"It looks fine," I assured him as we made our way over to where Mione stood. He didn't look convinced. "Maybe you could tell me now," he suggested to Hermione. She shot up from where she'd been poring over a book. "The Sword of Gryffindor," she said, as if that explained everything, "It's goblin-made."

"Good for them?" I tested out the response. She smiled, but shook her head. "No, you don't understand," she chuckled. I took the amusement as a good sign that she'd discovered something that would help us and not damn us. "Dirt and rust have no effect on the blade," she continued, turning her book the other way so Harry and I could see it, "It only takes in that which makes it stronger."