Of Choices and Regrets

Elle Est Parfait-

Draco apparated to his room in the Malfoy Manor. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the hall and stood before the warm mahogany door. He unlocked it and slowly pushed it open. Attempting to display an image of confidence and sincerity, he strode into the room.

The girl, who had been at the window, spun around apprehensively when she heard him enter. She ran to the closest corner of the room, putting the bed in between her and the stranger.

The girl seemed to be a petite doll. She had long, curly brown hair of a warm, dark shade, pale skin that accentuated her rosy cheeks, and big blue eyes full of unveiled expression. Her dress was ripped and soiled, the outfit thoroughly ruined. Crouching, she looked like a trapped animal trying to minimize their body to display less of a target.

Draco slowed his pace and stopped at the edge of the bed. "I'm not going to hurt you," Draco said.

The girl's eyes, much too old and haunted for her age, searched his. Draco tried again. "I got you out of that battle. I want to help you. You are safe here." He carefully perched precariously on the bed, barely ruffling the linens, never taking his eyes off of hers.

Confusion briefly clouded the girl's clear face. The fear vanished, but then returned stronger than before. Draco sensed that she was not afraid of him anymore; rather she was remembering the battle. She ducked her head and wrapped her arms around herself.

Draco unhurriedly held out his hand. The girl stared for a moment before slowly walking forward. She walked to Draco and hugged him.

Draco tensed for a moment. The contact was a foreign experience to him, and he was not sure how to respond. When he heard a soft sob, Draco did something that he had never imagined himself doing: he hugged the girl back. He slowly rubbed her back and tried to soothe her, but he felt clumsy and inadequate.

After a while, she quieted and tilted her tear-stained face upwards. "Where is mummy?" she asked in a restrained whisper, as though afraid of her own voice and the answer she might receive. She had a faint accent that Draco was not quite able to place.

Draco had never felt the way he did when she said those few words. He had always prided himself on self-restraint and a passive nature, the perfect shield so that emotions did not affect his judgment. Yet a little girl was able to completely shatter it without even knowing he had the screen around his heart. Draco thought about how the little girl was too young to be so reserved, to be so worried yet indifferent about the possible loss of her mother. He wished, also, that he had loved his mother as much as the girl seemed to.

Draco got lost in his thoughts as he stared at the bare opposite wall, and was surprised when the little girl tapped his leg. She looked expectantly, yet scared, to Draco for his answer.

"I don't know where she is," Draco said truthfully and slowly. He tried to sugarcoat the truth as much as possible. "She could be at home waiting for you, worrying as much as you are for her. But it is possible your mother may be lost, at least for a while."

The little girl frowned, but she did not say anything. She sat on the bed next to Draco and looked around the room. She swung her tiny feet and watched them. After a moment she asked, "Who are you? Where are we?" Still swinging her feet, she looked over at him.

Draco smiled at her. "I am Draco Malfoy, and we are in my house. In the spare room across the hall from mine, actually. And who are you?"

The girl smiled back. "I'm Natara Descartes. I am three and a half years old," she held up three fingers and bent a fourth. "I live in France, but we are here to see the daughter of my mummy's friend get married. Though I do not know why they would have the wedding here. France is more beautiful. Il serais parfait, n'est pas?"

Draco nodded at her question. Luckily his father had made sure he was fluent in the romantic language of French. Of course France would be perfect.

"You hardly have an accent," Draco observed. "You must have worked very hard, and you must be very smart."

Natara shook her head. "My mummy is English like you. We come here a lot, and my mum still likes to speak it at home. I know the English language almost as well as French." She paused for a moment. Swinging her feet again, she frowned slightly and quietly admitted, "I'm hungry."

Draco felt like an idiot, and told Natara so. Of course the little girl would be hungry. It was dinnertime, and she might not have even had lunch, seeing as though they had attacked at 1:00. He nodded, and called for the house elf. Soon, they were having a "petite pique-nique" on the floor.

Draco was pleasantly surprised how easy talking to Natara was. She was a loquacious, fascinating girl, unafraid and trusting of him. She laughed easily, and smiled often. Her eyes betrayed her every once in a while, but most of the time Natara lived in the moment, unwilling to think about the battle and her mother's absence. Draco felt awkward at first; she liked physical contact and begged for conversation. Yet soon he forgot himself in the moment, wrapped up in the feeling of youthful bliss.

Nevertheless, Draco was never able to dispel the feeling of danger and dread. He thought about what Voldemort had asked him, and he felt the weight of oppressed fear.

Draco also worried about Natara. Where was he to take her; how would she find her family? He was not supposed to leave his own house; how was he going to find hers? But above all, he worried that she would be found and killed. He regretted helping her and putting her in danger as he simultaneously mentally thanked her for her simplistic joy and distraction.

He tried to ask about her family, and how to reunite them, but she was adverse to his advances. Natara did not want to talk about her family, or the wedding. Soon, Draco was forced to give up.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he was slowly formulating a plan. If he could get her to the Order's headquarters, they might be able to protect her and locate someone to take care of her. For all Draco knew, someone at the headquarters might even be going to the same wedding. As the population of the wizarding world is relatively small, there is a good chance that someone would recognize Natara.

His cousin, Nymphadora Tonks, had been at the battle. It was more than likely that she was, in fact, another member of the Order of the Phoenix. Draco knew where she lived, if the book he had found in the Malfoy Library could be trusted.

Sighing softly, Draco made his choice. He would go to his cousin's home with Natara tomorrow.