i s o b e l

She knew at once where he was going, and knew that she couldn't be seen there. Knew that if Lucius and Narcissa caught her on the grounds of the Manor that would lead to inevitable disaster, and that was not a risk she was willing to take. Being seen was not an option.

When Draco and Isobel's feet found solid ground, they stumbled. They fell together onto the gravel with their legs still tangled.

Isobel looked up, glanced at the doors and windows of the Manor. All of the lights at the front of the house were off, all of the windows were dark. She took that as a good sign. When she looked back to Draco, she found his eyes fixed on hers, panicked. He inched backwards on his elbows, away from her. "You followed me."

Her heart thudded. "You're not hurt?"

He didn't say anything, and she scanned his limbs through the dark. Blood had spilled where he had hit the ground - as it spilled over her own palms, her knees - but that appeared to be the extent of his injuries. She blew out a breath of relief. She had been sure that one of them would be splinched again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Can we go back? Or at least away from here, somewhere safer -"

Draco's eyebrows knitted. "Who are you? What's going on?"

She sat up and looked at the blood seeping through his shirt by his elbows. She refrained from reaching out to him. For all of the time she had known him, she had been the erratic, quick-tempered one; never hiding her panic, always speaking too much when she was nervous. He had been calm - whether it was in his nature or not, he had met her turbulence with composure, had offered solace in his self-assurance. Now, she realized, she had to be the calm one. He needed her to be. With her hands in her lap, she said, "Please Apparate with me back to the wedding. Please, Draco."

He looked at her for a few more seconds, then shook his head, and her heart sank. "We can find somewhere quiet," she told him. "In the Weasley's house, even. No one will bother us."

Draco's gaze clung to the star hanging at her throat. "I don't think I'm well," he said gruffly. "My mind - something isn't right. And I don't want to go back to all of those people when I'm feeling this way."

"Feeling what way?"

He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then said, "My mind doesn't feel. . . Whole. It feels wrong. I told my parents and they said it was nothing, but it's not nothing." He shook his head, still looking at her necklace. "It feels like something is missing."

"Like a blur," she offered quietly. "Like some parts of your mind - your memory - are crystal clear, but others aren't there at all."

His gaze finally landed on hers. "Yes. Like a blur. And I also -" he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the gravel - "I'm aware that Blaise and Astoria never have much time alone. I think it'll be good for them to talk, without me there." He ran his hands across his knees, and Isobel saw that he had cuts across his palms from the gravel. "Astoria is the girl I'm supposed to marry," he said. "I'm not sure if I told you her name."

"You did."

"Right," he said. "I swear I don't usually open up to strangers like that."

Isobel's throat felt dry. "I also think it'd be good for them to talk things through," she said. "I think that'd be good for all of you."

"So we can't go back to the wedding." His eyes were heavy on hers through the dim light. "But we can go somewhere else, if you want."

"Okay." She cast another glance at the Manor windows. Then she stood, and held out a hand to him. "Will you Apparate with me?"

His eyes dipped to her hand, then back to her. "Where to?"

"To my house," she answered. "I know you have no reason to trust me," she added. "But I'm asking you to."

Draco didn't move. He stared at her, eyes skating across her features - and she had felt him study her a thousand times before, but never so intensely. She dropped her hand, feeling her cheeks burn. It had been silly of her to come here, she knew that. The only good reason she had for following him was her own fear of never seeing him again. But she was here now, and of course her presence was baffling to him. Of course he wouldn't trust her, why should he?

But then, to her surprise, Draco stood. The gravel crunched as he walked towards her and, hesitantly, slipped his hand into hers. She looked up at him, a sigh of relief at the top of her lungs.

"Alright," he said, grey eyes swirling with apprehension. "I'll go with you."

"Alright," Isobel echoed. The feeling of his hand in hers was almost unbearable; the familiarity of his touch had been the safety she had learned to live without. But she wrapped her arm around him, and pulled herself close. Neither of them could afford to be splinched right now.

She spun, and he was pulled into the spirals of Apparition with her.

d r a c o

Draco did not know why he went with her. He did not know why every nerve in his body told him it was okay to follow this girl who was essentially a stranger. He knew he shouldn't trust her, but he did, and he didn't want her to leave without him. And now her arm circled protectively around his middle, and they were Apparating. And seconds later, sand was materializing underneath his shoes.

Isobel dropped her arm but stayed close. Draco looked around him. The sky was almost entirely dark, but he could just make out tall sand dunes and towering cliffs. The ocean was black, and its waves fell in a soft murmur. He swore that he had never been to this beach, that it was new to him. But somehow, he knew that at the end of the beach, on top of the highest dune, sat a small cottage that overlooked the sea.

He did not expect the cottage to stand strong. For whatever reason, he had expected it to be in ruins, untouched for decades, its walls crumbling. He hadn't expected there to be a path of stone steps that led up to the cottage, but there was. The cottage wasn't what he'd expected but somehow, it was overwhelmingly familiar.

He was very aware of the girl's gaze on him, all the way up the steps.

The girl. Isobel. She was overwhelmingly familiar, too.

She turned away from him to unlock the wooden front door. He noticed that as she slid the key into the lock, her fingers trembled.

"Muggle lock?" Draco asked. His voice was raspy, and he realised that he too was very nervous.

Isobel nodded. "I cast a few charms to protect the house from magic. Alohamora doesn't work on the windows or doors, and people can't Apparate inside the house." She shrugged, and pushed open the door. "I feel a bit safer that way."

"Do you live alone?"

She nodded again but elaborated no further, and he followed her inside. She waved her wand so that all of the lights came on in the front room, which spanned the entire length of the cottage. Its windows stretched over the wall, facing the sea.

The door led straight into the kitchen area. Navy-blue cabinets lined the walls, around a small, circular table with two Windsor chairs. At the other end of the room, a padded bench lined the window and curved around the corner. Various cushions and blankets of deep blues and greens had been strewn across the bench, alongside a thick stack of parchment and a quill. Across from the window sat an old, wooden piano.

Draco looked back to Isobel, and cleared his throat. "You have a lovely home."

Her expression brightened. "You think so?"

"It's wonderful," he said sincerely. His eyes fell to her dress, and he saw for the first time that when they had both fallen, she had torn holes by her knees. Blood seeped through there, now. "You're hurt," he said.

"It's nothing," said Isobel, but her eyes were on the sleeve of his shirt, where blood still slowly trickled. She took a breath. "Let's go clean up."

The cottage had only one tiny bathroom. Draco sat back on the closed toilet seat, but still took up half of the cramped space. Isobel gestured to his right arm, and without saying a word, he gave it to her. She rolled up his sleeve, careful not to accidentally graze his wound, and he watched as she waved her wand in slow, small circles around his elbow to clear the blood.

He didn't watch Isobel's wand, he watched her expression. Watched her dark eyes narrow in concentration, watched her bite hard on her bottom lip as she healed his wound. The curls around her hairline had sprung loose over the course of the day, and now framed her face like a halo.

When she rolled up his left sleeve, her expression did not change at the sight of his Dark Mark. She didn't even flinch, and her eyes moved across his wounds instead, her face scrunching in concern at the blood. And Draco decided that either he was dreaming, or something very, very strange was happening, because he did not understand.

He did not understand at all, but he felt safer and happier than he had felt in months.

So he dismissed his hundreds of questions and said nothing. He settled for watching Isobel move around the tiny bathroom, tending to his wounds and her own.

i s o b e l

When she could find no more cuts on Draco's arms, she leant back against the bathroom counter. The cuts on her own palms weren't deep, and they didn't take long to heal.

When she pulled back the hem of her dress to see her bloodied knees, Draco moved hesitantly forward. "Can I?"

She straightened, pulse quickening. "Sure," she said, breathlessly. She put her hands behind her, on the bathroom counter; lifted herself onto it and leant back on her hands. And if Draco felt any familiarity - if he had any sense of already having experienced healing her wounds in a bathroom, he didn't mention it.

Instead, he held a wet cloth to her grazed knee and asked, "Do you think the wedding is over yet?"

"I think so," she replied. "It's been dark for a while. If it hasn't ended yet, I think it will soon."

"Then I should go soon," he said. "Blaise and Astoria will start to wonder where I am."

Isobel sat forward, and Draco's eyes dropped to her hands in her lap. He reached out, towards the scars that crossed the backs of her hands - faint remnants of the splinch wounds he had dropped Dittany onto. He recognised them, too; she was sure of it. His fingers brushed over the scars, and her heart beat fast. She heard his breath catch, but again, he said nothing.

He placed a hand on either side of her, on the counter. Isobel's dark eyes traced his grey ones, traced across his fair lashes, the pale skin of his face, the white-blond hair that she had thought about every single day for months -

His gaze lingered on the scar on her cheekbone. Then he looked at her, and she looked back, and neither of them were physically touching the other but they were so agonizingly close. With him here like this, she could fool herself into thinking he knew her, still. Just for a moment.

"Can I see you again?" he asked. His brow twisted. "I know - I know that I'm engaged, so I don't mean to, um." He looked away, at the bathroom door. "I just think it's important that I see you again."

"I'll contact you," said Isobel, her voice soft. "I'll send you a letter."

Draco stepped back. She lifted herself off the bathroom counter, and led him to the front door. As she opened it, the sound of the waves floated into the cottage from the beach below.

Draco raked a hand through his hair, still looking at her. "What's your name?" he asked. "Your full name."

"Isobel Young," she answered.

A smile curved at his lips. "I'm glad I met you, Isobel Young."

Isobel's heart ached. She didn't want him to say goodbye, didn't want him to go at all. She was not sure she would ever see him again, face to face; just like this.

She forced a smile. "I'm glad I met you too, Draco Malfoy," she said.

From the bottom of her heart, she meant it.

-

Isobel didn't sleep at all that night. She sat wrapped in a green blanket, looking out of the window.

Because the sky was cloudy, she couldn't see much. But as the night passed and the hours faded by, the clouds began to clear and the moon became visible. And in the hours before dawn, several pinprick stars appeared.

Had she known she would see Draco today, she wasn't sure what she might have expected to happen. She might have expected the encounter to affirm that she had made the right choice. She might have expected to be bowled over with emotion at how much she missed him.

She would not have expected to be thinking about her mother. But Isobel sat for hours, and gradually she realised that seeing Draco had allowed her to understand her mother better than ever.

After the war, Maggie had made a decision in the height of her emotion. The decision had seemed like the only option at the time. It had seemed rational, but it had determined the trajectories of their lives, and those trajectories had not been good.

When her mother had died, Isobel had done the exact same thing.

She did not regret telling Draco to go, all of those months ago. Their relationship wouldn't have worked at the time. She had been grieving her mother; his marriage to Astoria had been planned; Lucius had interfered relentlessly. And back then, he had loved her more than she loved him in return. They had needed time to pass in order for things to maybe, possibly work.

She hadn't expected to see a tiny, glimmering light at the end of the tunnel. A star-shaped light in the darkness. Isobel wasn't sure that she would reach it, but she thought there might be a chance.

As dawn arrived and the sky became lighter, she went to the bedroom and found the two vials of memories. Then she took her quill and a piece of parchment from the stack that lay by the window.

And she wrote,

Dear Draco,

This is a vial of memories that have been erased from your mind. If you think you can be happy with Astoria - if you think that your marriage will make both of you happy, then please disregard this vial. But if you don't think you can be happy with Astoria. . . Well, as long as the vial is in your possession, the choice is yours.

The smaller vial contains the memories of my mother, Maggie Young. There is one memory in particular from the day after the Battle of Hogwarts, that I think you should watch. If you ever decide to bring evidence of your father's wrongdoings to the Ministry, I think this will help you.

I love you. Even if you don't remember me, my heart belongs to you.

Love, Belly.