The Girl in the Tower

The Girl in the Tower

Chapter Twenty-seven: Forever August

~

Sara sat at the table, sipping a glass of water, wondering if she should have said something more. Malfoy was now forty-five minutes late, it was clear that he wasn't coming, and Sara struggled not to cry. She had been so full of hope - as scared as she was - but the thought of seeing Draco again filled her with happiness and anticipation. Now, the reality was that he had stood her up. The disappointment was nothing compared to what it meant.

He hated her, plain and simple. He had taken his friendship away without discussion and would never forgive her. For two years, she'd wondered about this moment, not knowing how Draco would react, but she'd always believed deep down that he still loved her on some level and would be glad to see her again. She'd never expected this.

Sara wanted to get up from the table, to have him come hurrying in after being held up somehow and find her gone, but it was just such a thought that prompted her to give him a few more minutes. After all, it was Draco. He would never do something as tacky as this. He would have sent a note.

Sara leaned her head on one hand, propped up on her elbow as she straightened the silverware for the millionth time, took another sip of her fourth glass of water, and sighed. Movement caught her attention and she perked right up, her eyes scanning the room for a blond head walking toward her, but found only disappointment. Why was she waiting here? What difference was ten more minutes going to make? Except for making her feel even worse, waiting was a waste of time, really. The more she tried to force this reality on herself, the more upset she got and wasn't surprised when the sting of imminent tears burned her eyes. She choked them back in silence, though Sara was beginning to lose control of her emotions. It was so hard not to cry! Her heart ached, knowing that someone she loved, someone who'd once loved her, had abandoned their friendship. Conspicuous, Sara dabbed at her eyes, hoping no one in the crowded restaurant was watching as she tried not to cry in public. The pain of this loss raged, radiating from within until it wrapped her in a cloud of grief that darkened the shadow over her soul. The black streak grew a little bit more.

The sadness swelled in her and Sara knew she couldn't hold it off much longer so, throwing a few bills on the table, she hurried out of the restaurant.

Outside, the walk was crowded with mid-day traffic, but Sara only got halfway to the car before the sensation of being watched took hold of her and she turned to face the street. It seemed to be business as usual, cars, busses, pedestrians, limos, taxis, people riding bicycles, skateboards, and scooters. But the feeling was there and the more she accepted it, the stronger it became. At once, she was sure it was Draco and let her mind reach out to him, her eyes slipping closed in concentration.

"I know you're there," she thought. "Draco. Show yourself to me. Let me explain in person. I owe you that much."

"I can't."

It was faint, but Sara had no trouble making it out. She had no idea he had the ability to reply and the fact that he could was astounding. The talent was even scarcer than a true seer was.

Her purpose overriding the surprise, Sara let her eyes drift closed again. "You're watching me," she said. "I need to see you. I know you're angry."

No reply.

"Do you still love me at all?"

No reply.

Sara turned away and hurried to the car, her head bent to hide her eyes. She fell into the seat and pulled dangerously into traffic, doing her best to speed away. Clouds rolled across the sun, darkening the city and chilling the air before the rain came down. Thunder shook the skies and Sara weaved around traffic in a desperate attempt to outrun the confusion of cars and the commotion of the city itself. The top was down, but Sara felt right with the rain driving in on her, pooling on the leather seats and drenching her hair and clothes. Drops of it ran down her face to blend seamlessly with her tears.

Faster she drove the jaguar as the traffic thinned and the highway stretched out before her, heading east.

* * *

Harry stood back, the remote control in his hand. He held his breath and pushed power. He'd purchased the giant television earlier in the day, just to spite Sara, and smiled when it came to life. She would hate it, he knew, right there in the sitting room of the master suite but, if she could meet Draco Malfoy for lunch like her note said, then he could have a ridiculously large television.

He'd purchased four movies he knew she wouldn't like and perused the stack, dropping onto the sofa with a sigh. Why wouldn't she tell him she was going? Why sneak out with nothing more than a scribbled note that gave no specifics? It seemed wrong to Harry. She might have discussed it with him before arranging to have lunch with Malfoy, who was currently working for Voldemort and had sworn to kill her on more than one occasion. It was reckless, irresponsible, inconsiderate, and stupid and Sara should know better. Here she was, after two long years, back to her old habit of making bad decisions.

She was the same old Sara, but so many aspects of her had changed that Harry often found himself caught off guard by her fierce determination and her eyes, once doe-like and innocent, which now held a challenge. She had become passionately independent and the childlike vulnerability that brought them together so long ago had turned into something else. Something much deeper. He remembered her then, so beautiful in the moonlight of her tower rooms, frightened, her eyes wide as she looked to him for protection. What he saw in her eyes back then made him silently swear to defend her at all costs. He fell in love with Sara that night and, as they lay asleep in her bed, he'd never felt so safe.

Harry sighed again and fell back into the cushions. He didn't want to be angry with Sara and he understood why she went, but it was the way she went. Sneaking out before he woke with one of her dreaded notes by the bed. His heart seized every time he woke up to a note and he wondered if this possibility ever crossed her mind. There was nothing more terrifying than an early morning note from Sara.

And he was worried deep down. She had been gone many hours. If not for the locator, he wouldn't even know if she was alive. She could actually be hurt right now, "traveling" to St. Mungo's or running away from Malfoy and he wouldn't have a clue. The locator was no good in those situations. He could try the Orb of Arassel, but Sara always took it with her in the form of a ring, which she wore on her finger. That was one consolation. At least she had the orb to protect her.

Harry cast the movies aside and they landed on the couch beside him. Pushing himself out of the most comfortable sofa in all of England, he found himself standing in front of a shelf, staring at a golden clamshell. It had been a long time since he'd thought about it and barely remembered to bring it over from the tower at school. He'd almost forgotten it there but, somehow, Malfoy always managed to drift into his thoughts.

He had never considered going back into Draco's mini-pensieve. Once had definitely been enough. For months afterward, he'd been tortured with dreams about Sara snogging Malfoy. So... why was he considering it now?

Harry lifted the lid and looked in. Silver mist swirled and cleared, clinging to the edges to reveal a frozen night, full of stars and Harry found himself looking at Sara, smiling and tipsy, through Malfoy's eyes. He leaned in closer, and felt a pull, a gentle hand behind his neck, helping him in.

Harry stood once again before the bench, watching as Sara's head came to rest on Malfoy's shoulder and his arm snaked around her. Draco was terrified, though quite happy with this arrangement, Harry could tell. Malfoy's hand shook as it pushed back his longish white hair and Harry could swear Draco's heart was about to jump right out of his chest. It was almost comical; the way Malfoy looked so vulnerable at such a simple gesture, though Harry wasn't amused. This scene - the emotion displayed so long ago - unraveling before him now gave him an uneasy feeling. What he saw between them in this moment in time drove a steak laced with jealousy through his heart. It was clear to him as it had never been before. Sara and Draco had loved each other once. It wasn't one sided. It wasn't an 'innocent friendship'. They were friends because they had to be something.

"You're right, you know."

Harry spun around, startled by the voice. It was Sara, her eyes red, her face wet with tears. His heart softened and he restrained himself from hugging her.

"I did love Draco. What's more is, I still do." She hesitated, but he didn't respond. "Not like I love you, of course. But I do love him. As what I don't know."

"What's wrong? Sara, what did he do to you?"

He could hardly hear her whispered reply, her eyes steady on his, trembling with tears.

"He stood me up." She sniffled and wiped her eyes. "He hates me Harry, and the feeling is so..." Her hand rose to touch the Fortificus Charm. "...It's... very painful." His arms went around her and her head found his shoulder as though it had rested there every night for the last two years. "I was wrong, Harry. Killing Lucius was a mistake. One that can't be undone."

"It wasn't a mistake. And Malfoy doesn't hate you, Sara. He told me so himself."

She thought on this for a moment then, without reply, pulled away just enough to watch herself kissing Draco on the bench in their elegant finery, looking like a couple of silver-haired gems in the moonlight, they sparkled like the glitter that adorned her hair. She recalled their amusement at the fact that they had both opted to wear black silk with crushed velvet capes, lined with the finest satins. It was vain, she thought, but it had occurred to Sara that she and Draco looked quite good together. Everyone mentioned it seventh year, and to see herself with him now, more than two and a half years later, the reality came to her. They complimented each other perfectly, like two halves of a whole. Like twin spirits. He was her physical equal. Unfortunately, that's pretty much where the similarities ended. They simply had a few things in common, enough to develop a rather deep, though respectable, friendship built on emotional hardship, overwhelming problems, predispositions, respect and teen angst. Yet, she still harbored a strange sort of love for Draco, a kinship almost, and to be rejected by him after all this time was profound and devastating. She tightened her arms around Harry.

"You shouldn't be here." She looked up at him, her eyes full of concern. "This is a moment I gave to Draco. One that I never wanted you to see." Sara stepped back and took his hand. "He was in hell, Harry. He was confused and there was no one he could trust. He had no real friends except me. And he loved me.

"It was torture for him, to see us together, to know that I chose you over him. I saw it every time I touched him. I could feel his pain, and the dark aura that surrounds him would warm and brighten when we met in the halls. He loved me completely, without reserve, and I vowed to deny him forever. But how could I deny him this one moment? There was agony in his eyes when I looked at him and I thought; if one kiss would make his life better... But the reality of it is; I wanted to. That's the only thing that haunts me. The guilt, the idea that I'd betrayed you has stayed with me to this day. I wanted you to know before the wedding."

They tumbled to the floor of the master suite.

Harry sat up and adjusted his glasses. "Are you all right?"

"You landed on my foot and tripped me." Sara chuckled and took off her shoe to rub the sore spots. "Actually, I think I sprained my ankle. Know any spells?"

"I can get rid of warts." He smiled and gingerly cradled her leg in his arm. "It's already swelling. Does it hurt?" He poked a gentle finger into the just emerging bruises.

"Ouch!" she cried, then fell into a fit of giggles. "I hate you!"

"You loooove me."

"Oh shut-up! That hurt!" She laughed and he grinned.

"I don't think you should walk on it. It looks pretty bad." He lowered her leg with care and lifted her onto the couch. "I'll be right back." He hurried around the rooms collecting things.

The laughter left her voice with a sigh. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Harry."

He turned to look at the back of the couch and spoke to it. "I've seen it once before," he said. "My first Christmas alone."

Sara said nothing and he wished he could see her face. He hadn't meant for it to come out that way. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, hurrying to her side and then set about covering her with a light blanket. The rooms were cool, as if air conditioned, but it was just a spell Hermione knew. "You'll need to keep this elevated." He lifted her leg onto a pillow and turned to look at her. "I didn't mean to land on your foot. I'm sorry."

She smiled, propped up on a big fluffy pillow. "It's ok. I'll be fine."

"It's these damn shoes!" He held up a strappy sandal and then tossed it aside.

"I didn't know you could get booted out of a pensieve."

"There's only one memory in it. The bigger pensieves work differently."

They shared a meaningful glance and Harry took her hand as he sat on the floor beside the sofa. He kissed it and brushed his thumb across her fingers. "I understand about Malfoy, you know. The fact that you love me is the one thing in this world I think I've always been sure of. I had my doubts now and again, but it was in response to my desperation, not my true feelings. Neither of us is blameless." He hesitated. "I did the same thing with Ginny. It's all the same in the end."

"I've always known that you kissed Ginny. Picked it up from Ron a few weeks after. And I read your journal. It doesn't matter to me, Harry. I know who you love." She smiled and brushed the hair back from his face. "Besides, everything's different now. We're not children anymore."

Harry thought for a moment, wondering if he should explain his indiscretions with Ginny the way Sara had just explained Malfoy. Something told him to move on, that Sara already understood, for their reasons were identical. There was no use lingering on sore subjects.

"I kind of miss it." He smoothed the blanket under his hand. "The old days, student life. Of course, I don't miss the homework, Potions, or Boring Binn's class, but I miss having all my friends in one place. I miss sharing a room with Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean. Everything's so complicated now and on a much larger scale. I miss our little world."

"I know what you mean." She pulled his head to rest against her as she smoothed his hair. "I miss you sneaking to my tower after dinner. I miss the innocence we all possessed." She grinned with the memories. "I miss the swill parties."

"Me too. We were all so terrified of getting caught, but we'd blast the stereo anyway and keep the entire population of Hogsmeade awake until the early hours." Harry laughed. "I really miss getting into trouble."

"You certainly had your share of that. Ouch!"

"I'm sorry! Did I bump your ankle?"

"No, I'm... ouch!" She felt around beneath her. "I'm laying on something."

"Oh, sorry! The movies! I forgot I left them there!"

It was now that Sara noticed the big TV. "You bought a television? You were mad at me! Weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Ok, I deserved that one." Sara sighed and gave him a resigned smile. "So? What am I watching first?" She frowned as she looked at the titles. "Harry, you have the worst taste in movies."

* * *

Draco spent the next few hours searching for the cottage Harry had taken him to. He'd scoured much of the coast already but, considering its length and the size of the little house, the task was next to impossible. He regretted not meeting Sara. He'd waited so long to see her, followed her all over London hoping for just one moment alone, and even got a new outfit for their lunch together.

Only he couldn't go in when he got there. He'd had every intension to but something Voldemort had said to him made him keep his distance. And he was also afraid. It had been so long since he'd seen her last.

Voldemort's orders had come with a choice, but one he would rather not have. How could he ever make such a decision? But the answer was easy. Of his two options, one was simply unthinkable. Hope had to remain. It was the only choice.

His mind drifted over the night Voldemort opened the spell books they'd stolen from Potter and his friends. Draco had nearly laughed himself silly as Crabbe and Goyle returned through the archway sweating, each holding a tropical drink and with sand all over their trousers and shoes. Voldemort, of course, was furious. A gateway to Majorca. The whole thing was just so hilarious, after all they'd gone through to get these books, and Draco nearly doubled over in the room full of Death Eaters. Voldemort, however, was not amused. Draco had finally overstepped his bounds, but he had learned one thing. Never laugh at the dark lord.

It was several days before he left the catacombs, weak, barely able to walk and heavy of heart. His destiny sinking in with every thought of the orders he'd been given.

His cowardice had always overtaken him when it came right down to it, as it did now when faced with his task. Part of him was dead set to ignore Voldemort's command, but he feared the promised consequences of doing so. He always thought he would react differently in such a situation, but his weakness demanded he put certain things first.

Dropping his broom to the floor, he collapsed onto his bed, not bothering to undress or pull down the coverlet. His eyes fixed on a beam of moonlight that crept across the ceiling in the dark, wondering how to get out of this. He had to leave Voldemort without getting caught but, with the Dark Mark on his arm, it wasn't possible. The mark could locate him anywhere, growing cold and painful on his skin at Voldemort's whim. And that made Draco himself a puppet, though a reluctant one at that.

Death was the only way out.

Draco decided, in the morning, he would make one last attempt to find Sara. He needed to spend a few precious moments in her presence before passing forever beyond her reach.

* * *

According to Harry - who kept popping in and out - there were a good many wizards and witches accumulating in the lobby. Dumbledore was here, as was McGonagall and a few others from Hogwarts. Seamus and Neville had brought Susan and Mary, (to Sara's delight,) and half of the Weasley clan had arrived. Ron and Hermione had been there most of the week and were currently playing the hosts while Harry tended to Sara.

"No sign of her yet?" Sara sighed, asking for the sixth time if Madam Pomfrey had arrived.

"Nope." He smiled with apology as he fluffed the pillow under her leg. "I've got Ron keeping an eye out for her."

"But I have to get dressed! Harry, I still need to shower! There must be someone out there who knows how to cure a simple little sprained ankle!"

Harry grew frustrated with his lack of answers. "Well there isn't!"

"Did you bother to ask?"

"No, Sara. I read their minds."

"Are you telling me Hermione doesn't know a few spells? All I need to do is stand up!"

"She told you herself that she didn't! Did you think she was lying?"

"I just want to get dressed!"

"Well you're going to have to wait."

"Where's Severus?"

"He's not here yet. I told you last time!"

"Help me to the dressing room." Sara pushed herself up and tossed the blanket aside. "I'm not missing the party."

"Sara!" Harry leapt forward when she tried to stand and his sudden movement startled her so that she lost her balance and dropped back onto the cushions. "Sara, sit down!"

She cast a sarcastic eye on him as he examined her ankle, which she'd bumped. "I think I will, thanks."

"You're going to make your ankle worse. After all, everyone who's looked at it said it was bad."

"Then help me, Harry! Please! I could be all ready when Madam Pomfrey gets here."

Harry sighed, then lifted her in his arms, carried her to the dressing room, and set her down in a chair.

"Is this what you're wearing?" He examined a deep-blue party dress that reminded him of the sky as night falls. "I hope so."

"Yes." Sara gingerly rubbed her ankle. "That's it."

"You'll have to skip the shower. You look fine, anyway."

"It appears that I'll have to. Just getting the dress on and a little make-up is better than just lying there on the sofa while our guests enjoy themselves."

"I could always carry you around."

"I hardly think that's necessary. I have some potions I think could help."

"You shouldn't take anything. It might interfere with what Pomfrey gives you." He helped her undress. "It's best to wait."

"I guess."

Harry brought over the small collection of undergarments and accessories she'd laid out in advance, minus the high sandals, similar to the guilty pair still discarded on the floor of the sitting room. Confounded, he held something up, considered it for a moment, and then handed it to Sara, who put it on with an amused grin.

With care, he slipped the pretty blue dress over her head, then helped her up to smooth it down. He sat her back on the stool and wheeled it before the vanity. She watched in the mirror as he took to brushing her hair.

Sara thought of telling him she was capable of moving her arms, but didn't want to spoil the moment. She loved when he brushed her hair. He used to do it all the time when they lived in the tower together, each morning before school. She found the gesture so affectionate and so sensual; she could do nothing but sit in silence as gentle hands caressed her hair, watching his reflection.

* * *

Draco's eyes blinked open in the dark.

He sat bolt upright, the sheets slipping down to pool around his waist. Struck with an idea of such simplicity, he threw off the covers and hurried into the first thing he could find and stopped only to comb his hair before running out to the limo. Of course, it was deserted. He'd dismissed his driver before taking off on his broom hours ago.

He had never walked down the hill to the lights and bustle of the city before. It didn't take long in the car, but that didn't mean anything. He judged it to be around the same distance as walking from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade and made his way to the front gate with haste.

The clear, balmy night turned out to be perfect for walking and Draco found it was nice to be out without cooling charms under his proper clothes. He was comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt and glad it's what he'd left by the bed. He felt common, but he also felt anonymous, which was also nice. He blended the way that Muggles do, and his appearance on the sidewalk drew no attention. His long blond hair was tied back and a bit of it came loose to fall in his eyes. Draco pushed it aside and smiled when a car full of Muggle girls waved and called greetings to him as they passed. He raised a hand in return and crossed the street.

There was a pizza shop on the corner and the aromas that drifted out awakened his appetite and brought him to a stop. He'd brought Muggle money with him for the taxi, but he was hungry and he'd never had pizza before. The taxi was pressing, but what would it hurt? Two men a few years older than Draco wandered out of the shop, engaged in conversation as they ate a couple of slices. They barely noticed him as they continued down the walk. The idea had never occurred to him, to actually wander down the street while eating from a paper napkin and with his hands. Sitting at a table with his food was simply something he had always done.

Draco went in.

"Only got a couple slices left," the obese, thirty-ish man at the counter called out to him as he entered. "Just about to close up."

"Whatever you have is fine," he replied. "I'm in a hurry."

"Just be a minute if you want it hot."

"Is it better hot?"

The man cocked his head and gave Draco an odd look. "Most people think so."

"I'll wait."

"You want anything on it?"

"What are the choices?" Draco wondered, intrigued by this new twist. Pizza came with things on it.

"Topping list is right there." The man, covered in a flour-dusted apron pointed above his head at a lighted sign. "We're out of ham."

The list was long and several things looked good. "What do most people get?"

"Pepperoni's popular."

Draco could almost sense the guy rolling his eyes and began to feel embarrassed and ignorant. He had no idea what pepperoni was, but he ordered it.

It was heaven, plain and simple. It was so much better than anything else he'd tried that Draco couldn't believe such a delicacy had never graced the Malfoy family table. A similar entrée existed in the wizarding world, though his mother had never served it and what they were given at Hogwarts didn't even come close. Pepperoni, he found, was beyond delicious. Together with grease and cheese, an Italian sauce and some sort of bread it was fantastic.

The only problem was that he wasn't able to walk and eat at the same time. He had no choice but to duck into a doorway and ate with haste. He had no idea how far away Harry and Sara lived, the ride might take hours, and it was already after nine. He had to hurry. Stringy melted cheese left grease all over his chin and wiping it away became such an annoyance that Draco decided to just leave it there and clean it off when he was done.

"Are you going to eat the crust?"

"Huh?" Draco spun around to find a Muggle girl smiling at him. She wore old, dirty clothes, her hair was dirty and her bare, unpolished toes stuck out the side of her ratty, dirty sneakers. "What did you say?" He tried to sneer, but only managed an odd look. Under the grime, she could almost be pretty.

"I was just wondering if you were going to eat the crust. Some people don't and I'd rather get it before you toss it." She smiled again and he saw her discomfort. Some remnant of pride that would probably never leave her.

"Is the crust good?"

"Definitely. I think so anyway."

"Yes, I'm eating it. I was planning on it, anyway. I'm starving."

"Are you now?" Her smile turned soft and disappointed. "I'm sorry I bothered you. G'nite."

Draco heard her stomach erupt with hunger from at least seven or eight feet away and he hesitated as she turned to leave. He'd found the disturbance unwelcome and, up until this point, he'd only wanted the homeless waif to push on ahead and leave him and his pizza in peace. Now, however, something in her demeanor made the guilt he rarely felt loom up and seize his senses.

"Wait!" he said and stepped out of the doorway.

She stopped and spun around, her eyes hopeful.

"I have another slice. You can have it if you want."

"Please say you're not kidding." Her stomach rumbled again.

"It's got pepperoni on it. It's great, you should try it." He smiled and held out a paper plate.

She took it and dropped onto the doorstep, devouring the pizza as if she hadn't eaten in a week and he thought that maybe she hadn't. He had never been so close to what his father called The Dregs of Humanity and his mother called The Destitutes. (Unless Weasleys counted.) The girl before him, who was almost pretty, with her filthy brown hair pulled back in a piece of blue yarn, intrigued him. He wanted to be repelled, disgusted by the faint odor that clung to her, afraid of the germs she spread with her presence, but he wasn't. Not really. He wanted to know why she chose to live this way.

She was done eating before he finished his crust.

"I'm full." He gave her what remained of it. He watched as she ate, strangely affected by her obvious hunger. He smiled when the crust was gone and gave her his handkerchief. "What happened to you?" he asked, curiosity getting the best of him. "Where are your parents?"

"I ran away," she admitted with a heavy sigh. "My mom and her boyfriend are lousy drunks and they fought all the time. All night long, usually. We lived in a roach infested tenement over in Manchester. Not the nicest neighborhood, either. It was hell so I left."

"Maybe you should go home," Draco offered. "I'll have my driver take you if you'd like."

"And why would I do that? I may die on the streets of London, but its better this way." She stood. "I'm happier."

"How long have you been like this?" He gestured at her appearance. "Where do you live?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and answered as if Draco was from Scotland Yard and this was an official questioning. "I left home the day I graduated from school last spring. I waited tables after classes until I'd saved enough to rent a dumpy little flat and buy food for a couple of months with the hopes of becoming an actress. Yeah, I know, same old story. It didn't work out the way I'd planned. I got a job at the grocery, but they sacked a bunch of us back in March to cut costs, ya know? I couldn't find another job. I lost my flat and burned through the few pounds I'd saved in a couple of weeks."

"I'm sorry." He stood up straight, clasping his hands casually in front. "Though I have to say, it was a dumb idea from the start."

* * *

"You're feeling better, I take it."

"You could say that." Sara smiled as Harry danced her around the atrium.

"It doesn't hurt at all?"

"No," she lied.

The announcement of their upcoming wedding went over quite well, with one exception. Snape insisted they wait, but Dumbledore said they'd waited long enough. Besides, Snape's whole outlook changed when Sara asked him to give her away. He'd accepted and his pleasure at having been asked was obvious. Seamus and Neville agreed to be in the wedding as well, so did Susan. There was one little problem. Ginny hadn't come.

"We can talk to her about it later. We'll go to the Burrow tomorrow."

"Harry, come on! You can't still be on about having Ginny in the wedding are you? Do you even know how tacky that is? Can't I just try to make up with her and invite her to the wedding?"

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"Did you see poor Mary's face when she was the only one who wasn't asked? She gave me the most dejected smile from across the room. I thought she was going to cry or something. Besides, I don't really like Ginny. Don't ask me to be a hypocrite."

Harry sighed. "You're right, Sara. I don't know what I was thinking. Ask Mary."

She smiled with relief. "Thank you."

* * *

"Christina!" Draco yelled into the semi-quiet darkness. "Christina! I need to talk to you!"

"What is it?" he heard from above.

Draco craned his neck and stepped back into the street. There she was, leaning over the high edge of a rooftop, her warm brown eyes smiling. He smiled back.

"I need to find something. I was wondering if you could help me." He held up a bag. "I stopped at the bakery."

"I'll be right down!" she said and was gone from the edge. A few moments later, she was hurrying toward him from around the side of the building. She carried her raggedy shoes in one hand.

Draco handed her the bag of pastries and moved to sit on the step. He sat facing her, leaning back against the wall, with one leg bent to rest on the step, the other stretched out on the sidewalk. She sat looking straight ahead with both feet planted firmly on the walk, the bag in her lap. She offered it first to him.

He took one and nibbled at it as she ate three in less than a minute, then took a fourth and leaned against the wall with it, in much the same position as Draco. She smiled as she took a bite, the worst of her hunger temporarily sated.

"You said you were looking for something."

"I am. I need a phone book. Can you help me find one?"

"A phone book?" she chuckled. "You're kidding!"

"I assure you I'm not."

"There's a market two blocks down that street." She pointed across the way. "You'll find a pay phone on the wall outside. Hard to find one with a directory."

"How is the book used?"

"Are you for real? You act like you've never used the phone before."

"I haven't."

Christina eyed him with suspicion for a moment, and then her lips curled in a slight smile. "You're rich, aren't you? You're flawless. Even your fingernails."

Draco looked at his hands and gave her a smug grin. "I might be."

"Of course you are. But you're the good kind of rich. I mean, you could be anywhere, doing anything right now, yet here you sit with someone like me. You're a good person, Draco. I don't see such kindness everyday."

Draco was struck dumb by these words. No one had ever said such things to him before. And she meant it. She actually thought these things about him, that he was a good, kind person. A new avenue opened up before him in this moment, an opportunity to start anew, where no one knew his father, where no one knew what he'd been like in the past, where the name Malfoy was not feared.

"Good, it's still here." She sighed as she slid the doors open and slipped into the booth. Draco leaned in as she pulled the mammoth book onto her lap. "Whose number do you need?"

"A restaurant called The Golden Fish. It's on the channel, that's all I know."

The mousy-haired girl thumbed through the whisper-thin pages, flipped back a bit, then settled on a column of tiny print and ran a finger down it. "Here it is!" she announced and Draco leaned in closer, trying to get a glimpse of what she was looking at. "Twenty Ridge Road in Princeton Heights."

Draco committed it to memory and then tore the page out of the book, just in case. This he folded and stuck in his pocket. "I'll be off then." He smiled. "I'll return to buy you breakfast for your assistance."

He walked her back to where they'd met.

"You don't have to, you know. I mean, I would have done it, you know, anyway," she stammered and fidgeted, nervous. "Besides, I'm not usually welcome in restaurants." She brushed at her dirty jeans and attempted to straighten her ratty old t-shirt.

"My house, then. I don't know how to cook, but I have a pretty good kitchen staff."

Christina smiled as she looked for sincerity in his cold gray eyes and approved of what she found there. "I would like that."

"I'll find you," he said and hurried around the corner.

Draco nearly ran all the way up the impossibly steep hill on top of which he lived. His only goal to get to his Lightning Mach 1 and to find a little seaside town called Princeton Heights.

* * *

Lights spilled from the looming darkness that could only be the house Harry was always going on about the summer they'd stayed on the roof together. In many ways, the best summer of his life. But that was before Potter gave up on him. Turned his back and forgot that his old buddy Draco was suffering every moment of every day with a mark on his arm that made his soul want to cry out with the injustice of it all. He hated taking orders from Voldemort. He hated the other Death Eaters and the greedy, malevolent middlemen who'd feared his father so. Most of all, he hated being trapped, the immense feeling of helplessness and of desperate hope. And he hated Harry most of the time.

They'd been rivals since day one but, somehow, he could never measure up. Harry was a fair and honest opponent and, even though Draco often played dirty or cheated, Harry always caught the Snitch. And now Harry was marrying Sara. At last, Harry had beaten him at everything. But then, Harry always won in the end.

"The Boy who Always Wins." Draco sighed and carried his broom along the flower-lined path through the woods. Little foot lights help guide the way, but they weren't bright enough to reveal his presence. He pulled the hood of his cloak down over his eyes and hurried through the garden gate. An old oak on the corner of the house provided him with an excellent view of the great room and all the smiling, happy wizards inside. It was a smaller gathering than he had expected, mostly just their Hogwarts friends, their families, and the Hogwarts staff. A few people were dancing, most mingled with sparkling drinks in their hands and soft music drifted out to greet him.

It occurred to Draco to hate them all. Every last one of them. The righteous do-gooders that undoubtedly thought he was a person to loath and never to trust. A person in the image of his father. A person to be judged by the mark he bore against his will.

Fortunately, a small part of the old Draco remained, not the Slytherin bully he'd once been, but the Draco who'd befriended - and ultimately failed - Sara and had spent half of one lazy summer in meaningful discussion with Harry, gazing up at the stars from their beds, side-by-side on the roof.

Draco longed to join them. He could almost taste the champagne as a lively symphony rose and fell on the air, violins caressing his ears and lifting his spirit. He could see Sara now, talking with Professor Snape as they stood at the end of the buffet, eating elegant slices of cheesecake drizzled with raspberry sauce. They did a lot of laughing. Sara leaned against the wall, her eyes sparkling, surrounded by dozens of roses. Slowly, the smile left her face and she turned her eyes from Snape. She looked straight ahead at the window, which was halfway across the room, and would have had a clear picture of Draco, but she saw only her own reflection, of course. Nonetheless, she had sensed his presence. Draco prepared to flee and gripped his broom, nervous.

At least have the decency to knock at the door, she finally said.

Draco had no idea how this worked. Did he think his response and she would read his mind? He didn't believe she'd understood him outside the restaurant. He remembered her words so clearly, like a whisper in his mind. Do you still love me at all? His response had been soft and quiet and seemed to resonate only in his own mind. Yes, he'd said and then she'd run away, trying to hide that she was crying and tore into the street as the thunderheads gathered above.

He concentrated on her, trying to push the thought through the window and across the expanse. He wanted her to hear him. I can't.

I won't come out.

No, he thought, his brow furrowed in concentration, his eyes meeting her gaze. Don't come out.

Why are you here? Why did you stand me up?

I'm sorry. I meant to go in, but I couldn't.

Why? Weren't we once the closest of friends?

I have my reasons.

Why wouldn't you answer me? I know you can, obviously.

I tried. I didn't know how. His hands curled into fists. I do love you, Sara. I'll always love you. Even if you marry that idiot Potter.

The date is set, four weeks from today.

I see, he said, his chest tightening, his heart crying out for him to speak his mind here, now, before it was too late. Congratulations.

Sara said nothing for a few moments. He felt her mind reach out to him, felt her hesitation, then she withdrew once more. Suddenly, Sara left her place at the wall and walked straight to the window. Pressing her hands flat on either side of the glass, she rested her forehead against it and looked out at him, shining like a diamond in the tree outside, his long silver hair stirring in the salty breeze and collecting the moonlight. It lit his pale complexion and she smiled. She'd waited so long for this moment. It's so good to see you. She sighed. I missed you, Draco. I thought about you every day.

Draco sighed with his entire being. I missed you, too. More than you know.

Come to the back door. Let me see you properly.

I can't.

I need to see you.

I have to go now.

No! She said. Don't go!

I'll always love you, Sara. You know where to find me if you change your mind about Potter. You've been to my house once before. He stood and straddled his broom.

It killed me, you know. To be so close to you and not tell you who I really was. Draco, I desperately need your forgiveness.

He said nothing, only hovered there for a long moment, holding her eyes and wishing he could say the words she wanted to hear. Finally, he disappeared without reply.

* * *

It was a long trip back to London. It was only about thirty minutes at top speed but Draco liked to fly high, far above Muggle power lines, up where there was a chill to the air. He was still in his shorts and took the Lightening Mach 1 a little slower than usual. He would freeze if he flew too fast and the flight took just over an hour.

He was glad to return to his room, drop the broom on the floor, peel off his clothes, and head for bed. He tripped over the broom and caught a soft landing on the mattress. "Damn!" he cursed, tossing the offender a few feet away and rocking back to cradle his left big toe. It occurred to him that he'd been riding the same broom since seventh year when his father had always provided him with the latest and fastest new model. Now, the old Lightning Mach 1 was careworn and outdated. He would make a trip to Diagon Alley soon and purchase the new Nimbus XL Pro everyone was talking about. The Chudley Cannons recently switched to this broom and suddenly began winning games.

He also needed to pick up a good dose of poison. At least he could try the Nimbus before he put the poison to use. Escaping Voldemort was something he could no longer avoid.

Sara surfaced in his mind and something painful twisted in his chest. He thought of her pressed against the window, looking out at him from her engagement party. She looked beautiful as always and his heart grieved as he thought of her words. Four weeks from today.

It was over.

All the hope that she would one day come to understand how much he loved her sank in his stomach. In the end, she had chosen Potter, but she had never given him a chance. Not once. She refused to even consider that he might always be kind to her, give her everything she could ever want, and care for her like no one else ever could. Yet she loved him, of this he was sure. Even the sad, desperate look in her eyes tonight had told him so. The knowledge tortured his soul, yet it held him as well. She loved him.

Draco closed his eyes and soon fell asleep, thinking of a thin, almost pretty little brown haired waif, dressed in rags and smiling softly up at him with a hint of pride in her warm brown eyes.

* * *

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