Pandora's box closes, and I am back in the hotel bed at the Rabbit Hole. The silk sheets feel cool against my skin; something real, touchable. I grasp on to them tightly. When I look up at Draco, he is staring past the top of my head, lost in some unseen emotion. His cheeks are wet from tears, new drops tracing over old tracks, his lips slightly parted in something between pain and shock.

     "Draco, what's wrong?" 

     He doesn't respond. I reach out and thumb a fresh tear from the corner of his eye. The contact seems to stun him back to earth. He blinks out of his stupor and looks down at me as if seeing me for the first time. "You okay?" I ask again, beginning to feel worried and self-conscious. 

     He gives me a curt nod. I chew on my lower lip. "Do you... do you know me now?"

     "A little more than before," he says. Then, as if suddenly overcome with a revelation, he springs to life, scooping my face with his large hands. "Ainsley, listen. I'm going to ask you something. I will only ask it once, and if you say no, I swear I will never ask it again. But I want you to look at me when you answer. Look at me."

     I force myself to meet his piercing gaze. He takes my hand and, slowly, brings my palm to his chest. Under all the lean muscle, I can feel the dull thudding of his heart. Faint, but steady. 

     "This," he says, "is the only human thing I've felt for twenty years. Until you."

     My own pulse quickens with his, anxiety tangling with anticipation at what I think he's about to say. Beneath my palms, the thumping of his heart accelerates, fighting its cage of bones with a near-maddening force. 

     Draco takes a deep breath and adjusts himself to face me fully. "The first time we met, you made me feel so fucking stupid. Stupid and careless and ugly. Because I thought there was nothing I could offer you. I thought I would be hurting you. But the truth is I've just never met or known anyone like you. And you're annoying, and insane, and fucking impetuous, but god, I've never cared about anyone this much before." 

     He pauses again, as if the sole act of speaking winded him, before rushing on. "What I'm saying is I want to be with you, wherever that is. I want to be there when you win, and when you lose, and when you cry, and when you laugh. I want to bear witness to every single moment of your life. And I know it may be impossible, but I would never forgive myself if I didn't at least try. Ainsley—" he takes a deep breath, "is there... is there even the slightest possibility that you would be willing to stay with me?"

     His eyes are two bright flares in the darkness. There is no more fear in them, no more resentment hardened on his mouth. Even the self-pity that constantly tugs at the corners of his mouth is gone. Now, all I can see in his face is a kind of bright hope — not just for himself, but for me. And I know he isn't asking if I want to be in a relationship with him, not really. He is telling me he will take care of me, that he will not allow me to experience that kind of hurt and loss ever again.

     A thousand possibilities race through my mind. The dangerous kind that should only exist in dreams. The kind that could get the both of us killed. 

     "Draco... You know I can't risk something happening to you or your family." 

     His face falls, and he blinks in disappointment. "Why did you come back, then?" 

     "What do you mean?"

     "The night of the fire," he says. "You were supposed to run away."

     My body freezes over. "How- how did you—"

     "Mother told me." He releases me from his hold and rolls onto his back, closing his eyes. "That day, after you left, she came into my room and told me to be prepared because I'd likely never see you again."

     I gulp. "And... how did you feel, when she told you?"

     He laughs through his nose, the sound humourless and sad. "It doesn't matter what I felt. She told me it was better for you that way. At the time I didn't understand why, or how. But now... now I do. You would have accomplished everything she'd wanted to do when she was younger. You would have been able to break free from all these problems you never asked for."

     There is a tinge of bitterness in his voice, though I detect more jealousy than resentment. In the back of my mind, two voices whisper, chiming against each other like bells.

     What do you want to be when you grow up?

     Free.  

     "Yes," I say, somehow feeling like it is the wrong answer. 

     "So why did you come back?"     

     I want to say something self-congratulatory, that I had done it because the Malfoys' lives were more important than mine, and that I had given up my freedom to come to their rescue. But the truth is simpler and much more selfish: from the moment I had been crudely woken by Hannah and Ernie to the mad rush to St. Mungo's, I had been capable of thinking only one thing, one single person.

     "I came back for you." 

     Draco's eyes are still closed. In the moving half-light, he is hauntingly beautiful; all gentle rises and sharp dips, hard lines and soft textures gracefully molded into something between ghost and man. I resist the urge to touch his face. 

     "What's the point of that if you're not going to stay?"

     Offended by the question, all previous compulsion drains from me. How can he possibly think I will leave after everything that's happened, especially after learning what Pansy had done to him? But I hold back my retort, reminding myself he has the right to be upset. He isn't to blame for my own fickleness, or the fact that my life seems to be a novel the author got stuck halfway through. 

     Does she go with the cruel man she rightfully belongs to, or her heartbroken lover? 

     Of course I know the answer, but it isn't that simple. There are other things I have to consider, like finishing the book, for instance. And the Malfoy's safety. Monty's mercurial temper, and his parents' insidious ability to enact any sort of punishment they so wished upon their unlucky foe.

     But maybe — just maybe — there is a way I can still be with him, even if it is just for a little while longer.

     "Draco, do you love me?"

     His eyes fly open. He turns to me, irises like pools of dissolved starlight. "More than anything."

     "Then... will you let me go?"

     He searches my face desperately, trying to find a sign that this is some kind of test. Realising it isn't, his lips press tightly together, as if trying to contain a scream, and his throat trembles to summon the answer I dread. 

     "Yes." His lashes flutter close. "That's the thing, isn't it, Ainsley? I'll do anything for you. Even if it makes me bleed."

     The words drives a blade to my chest, gutting and twisting and leaving me breathless. With great effort, I swallow the ball of knives in my throat and force myself to speak. "I can stay until the year is over." 

     The change in his expression is night to day, his grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. But then, like day to night, it falls again. "Doesn't that mean..." 

     "It means you have to let me go with Monty when the term is over. But!" — I touch my fingertips to his lips before he can argue — "I want to. To be honest, I'm not sure how this is going to work out. You're too sad and I'm too scared. But I know I want to try." 

     He works his jaw, and I can see him battling with himself. "I'm not sure either," he finally admits. "All I know is that I'd rather have a few days of happiness with you than none at all."

     "Me too. A lifetime with Monty is worth a few months longer with you."

     "Maybe we can leave when we're done with school," he suggests hopefully. "Run away together." 

     I don't have the heart to tell him that my window of opportunity has already passed, that the closer it gets to my date of departure, the more impossible it would be. Besides, such stories of lovers eloping exists only in fairytales or tragedies. And I know my tragedies: Romeo and Juliet, The Great Gatsby, Orpheus and Eurydice² — these stories all have one thing in common. 

     Someone always ends up dead. 

     So I simply nod and smile. "Yeah, maybe." 

     Even if it makes me bleed.

༻⚜༺

     We decided that we would see each other in secret. We didn't know how the arrangement would be like — would it be better to skip classes and meet in the afternoon, when everyone would be caught up in lessons, or rendezvous somewhere in the middle of the night? — but we would do everything in our power to make it happen. 

     I could tell she was conscious of the risks, and that the thought of going behind Montague's back frightened her deeply, but we are past desperation. We have both committed to paying the price, whatever that is. 

     I know it is selfish of me to have even asked this of her. It may have been the lingering effect of the cocktails, or that having Ainsley for one more night made me greedy, but when the sober sun rose the next morning and the filtered light hit the gentle contours of her sleeping body, I knew it wasn't either of those reasons.

     For a moment the world is quiet, and the morning shows me what I missed in the blindness of night. 

     Her eyelashes rested on the highest points of her round cheeks, fluttering in a dream. Her hair was haloed around her head in swathes of gossamer, and the gentle part of her lips, like she was about to whisper to me a secret, could have turned me religious. I was convinced that this must be the heaven they keep talking about.

     Look at this, said the sun. And this, and this, and this.

     And then she opened her eyes and I find out I had been wrong.

     I was the first thing she saw. At first, her expression was addled with confusion. I waited for her to startle, wonder aloud what she had just done and declare that last night was a mistake. It didn't come.

     Instead, like the dawn, a slow recognition took over her face, clearing the fog from her eyes as she remembered. That right there, in that exact moment when she looked at me like my face was something she had expected to see all along, that is heaven. 

     She smiled, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Her hands fly to her mouth, and my heart sank. "What's wrong?" I asked.

     "I have morning breath," she mumbled through her fingers. I made a noise of disapproval and pried her hand away, tilting her chin up and kissing her firmly on the mouth. "Yeah," I said. "It's pretty terrible." 

     She grinned evilly and rolled on top of me, locking my body between her thighs as she leaned down and exhaled in my face on purpose. "Could take out a troll with it," she giggled. 

     "Maybe you should try it on Montague," I said. My regret at bringing up her boyfriend must've shown all over my face, because she effused another indulgent laugh and nuzzled her face in the crook of my neck. "I love you," she assured me. "I'm glad we're doing this." 

     I pulled her into my arms, tried not to think of when she'd leave, the rush of cold in her absence, the silence louder than crashing thunder; the shadows lying in wait for me once that train disappears from my sight, carrying away from me the one thing I have ever wanted to keep. 

     "Draco," she whispered against my ear, the sadness in her voice gentle as hummingbird wings. "Do you think I'll die from heartbreak like my dad?" 

     "No," I said, trying not to think about how selfish I was being. Her memories still lived fresh in my mind: the secret words she had spoken to her mother's gravestone, the metallic fear in her voice as she screamed at her father to wake up, all visceral and alive like snakes within her warm body.     

     "No," I said again, more firmly. "No you won't."

     But I might.

     I did not trust myself to say anything more. Instead, I tangled my fingers in her hair and guided her head back to me. Our lips met again, sending a burst of warmth rushing through my veins. My hand reflexively curled into a fist at the back of her head, catching her hair and making her grunt slightly into my mouth. I closed my eyes to the feeling of her skin; the feeling in my chest, velvet smooth and sunflower-yellow; the beat of her heart against mine, like the wings of a submerged swan.  

     I couldn't believe she was mine to have and hold, even if it was in secret. This new proximity was something that I could pretend was permanent. I don't even care if I am the one who dies at the end. I will die of love because I love her, fire and blood and everything, everything. 

༻❁༺

     With Hannah's help, I manage to sneak in through the back entrance of the castle. Monty had asked my whereabouts, of course, but she had taken the preemptive measure to tell everyone I've been confined to my room with a contagious flu, guilefully slipping it into casual conversations (of which her gossipy nature dictated she have a healthy amount of) so that the news had reached Monty before he'd even asked.  

     Hannah hadn't actually known where Draco and I had gone. But with Susan and the other girls backing her up, and because Hufflepuffs can't possibly be clever enough to lie, everyone was naturally inclined to believe her, including the ever-mistrustful Monty. I suppose that is another thing Hannah and I have in common: we're both excellent liars, even when we may not necessarily know what we are lying about.

     Alone in the dorms, the bed feels cold without Draco next to me, the room tundra-like. Despite this, I feel like I'm floating. Draco and I are together now. The thought itself is almost asphyxiating, the unknownness of it all gnaws at my consciousness in a terrifying but exhilarating way. I spend the whole day replaying every moment of last night in my head, turning every word like a ring on my finger between bouts of uneasy sleep. 

     It is sunset when my growling stomach finally forces me to venture out from the room. Reluctant to join the rest of my friends in the Great Hall for dinner, I make a beeline for the back of the common room, where there is a cupboard that stores a secret stash of food for teatime or late nights: fresh fruits, packets of biscuits, and bottles of various plant honeys. 

     As expected, the common room is empty. Perfect. I won't have to bother assuring anybody that I'm feeling fine, and that no, I don't need to lie down some more. I cross the warmed wood floors with a kind of child-like eagerness, still thinking about my little secret agreement with Draco. If we could somehow evade Monty's finding out, just for a few months, having to go to Switzerland doesn't seem as bleak. 

     I am just about to pull the handle of the cupboard when I hear the familiar clicking sound of the front door unlocking. I stiffen, and a gush of wind whistles around me as it swings open.

     Monty is standing on the other side, a plate of food in one hand and a glass of pumpkin juice in the other. "Ains!" he cries with all the enthusiasm of Professor Flitwick teaching First Years. "Missed you all day. How're you feeling?"

     My mouth forms the smile it has been programmed to. "Monty! I missed you, too. I'm feeling much better now, actually."

     He grins widely, baring his canines. "Great to hear! I brought you dinner. Steak and potatoes, and your favourite pumpkin juice."

     My stomach curdles. "Aw, Monty, you shouldn't have." I try to take the plate from him but he swings away and makes his way to the fireplace. "I thought we could have a chat. Feels like I haven't seen you in ages," he says. He sets the food down on the table and throws himself onto the couch. "Also, dad's just heard back from the Swiss Ministry this morning. Our visas and licenses are good to go. Now all we have to do is ace N.E.W.Ts and we're off!"

     I remain where I am by the entrance. "That's lovely, Monty, but do we really have to talk about it right now? I'm having a terrible headache."

     His smile leaves his eyes but not his mouth. "Fine. How's the book coming along? I haven't heard you talk about it in a while. Are you going to write about the fire?"

     "I suppose so."

     "Yeah, thought so. Best to include it in. No prominent family gets away without at least one murder or kidnapping attempt, am I right?" 

     I touch my hands to my temples. "Monty, I'm sorry. Thank you for the dinner, it was really sweet of you to bring it all the way here, but I really am feeling rather out of it. I don't think it's a good idea for us to be so close. You might catch it."

     "I thought you said you were feeling much better?"

     Maybe not so good at lying after all.

     "I was, but I was hoping to nibble on something light before having another lie down is all."

     "Fine," says Monty again. There's a long, agonising pause as I wait for him to leave. When he makes no move to get up, I clear my throat. "Okay. Goodnight, Monty."

     "Love you."

     "Love you too."

     Wrapping my arms across my waist, I cross the room toward the entrance to the dormitories, letting out a quiet breath of relief to myself and feeling anything but. I can't help but think Monty senses my guilt, his sharp feline ears twitching at my lies. 

     But no, it's impossible. If he knows, he wouldn't have brought me dinner, wouldn't have smiled the way he did, so eager to please. Wouldn't have said so kindly—

     "Send Lewis my regards, will you?"

     Ice shoots up the back of my neck. I spin around.

     He is sat like a king, arms splayed out on the back of the couch. His long legs are outstretched, feet propped on the coffee table next to the rejected food. Languid, god-like. 

     For a moment I'm rendered temporarily speechless. His gaze is locked on me, his expression flat as parchment as he waits for me to catch on. "You... you f-followed me?" I eventually manage to stutter. 

     Monty chuckles like I've just told a lukewarm joke. "A flu bug? D'you really think I've got worms for brains?" He sounds disappointed, almost pouty. "And no, I didn't follow you. I had you followed. Slight difference there. But I must say, it was very creative of you, bringing him to our place, drinking our drinks — margaritas and cosmos, was it? Though not the same room." He sucks in the air through his teeth. "Eight-three-six. If I recall correctly, ours has always been eight-four-zero."

     Bile rises in my throat, and my hands begin to tremble. Thankfully they are folded so Monty doesn't see. I bunch them into tight fists under my armpits. "You said I could choose," I squeak, hating how desperate I sound. "You told Draco I could choose whoever I wanted."

     He tilts his head back to the ceiling, a dreamy look veiling his features. "I think the exact words I said to him were 'I'll let you stick around for a while longer'. I thought it'd be good fun to see how it all played out, y'know?"

     A sudden realisation dawns on me. "It was you, wasn't it? The fire. You tried to kill the Malfoys!"

     A fleeting look of genuine shock flickers across Monty's face, then he laughs. A full-bellied laugh that shakes his shoulders. "Me?  That fire was the shittiest,