Hey guys. well, we're actually coming down to the wire. there's only one more chapter after this one and then it's the end. but don't fret! there will be a sequel, i can tell you guys that much! anyways, let's not dwell over the end of the story and just enjoy the chapters we have. lol. i sound so cheesy. please review, you know i respond ... lol, who doesn't? much love! ;) ~nomikkin Chapter 27: To Define a Pureblood
Much to Draco’s dismay, Isabell had talked him out of going to his holiday cottage for the Easter break. The year was coming to a close, and she said the last thing she wanted was to worry about her best friend’s welfare. So the two stayed under the protection of the Hogwarts’ walls and did their best to study for their upcoming end of the year exams. But with all of the tension swirling throughout them from Isabell’s recent game with Harry, neither of them could concentrate.
They were taking a break from studying and watching the fire crackle in front of them in the Head House with only a few weeks of school left. Isabell sat on the floor in between Draco’s spread apart legs, her eyes glued to the sparkling illumination. Draco was taking swigs of fire whiskey from his silver flask that he had now kept around more often to relieve himself of stress. He had decided to quit screwing the little tarts that watched his every move; his grey orbs and energy were now directed on the red-head who sat below.
“Are you getting worried?” Isabell asked suddenly.
“Do you mean about exams?”
“No, I mean the end of the year, the war,” she answered.
“Why should I be? Actually, why should we be worried? The Dark Lord is only after those who aren’t pureblood,” he looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re worried about someone else.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, snapping her gaze down to her nails.
“Harry Potter is who I’m talking about. I know you’re still not over him. You had something with him and it was more than just a fling to get me pissed off,” Draco replied, closing in on her ear as he whispered in a low voice. “Isabell do you like him? Care about him? Love him?”
She turned around, placed her hands on his knees, and narrowed her eyesight at him as she said defiantly, “No.”
It was the first time Isabell had never really lied to him. Well, not since they were younger. Back then, she could lie to a boy and no one would care because she looked so cute in the little pink dress she wore. Those were the days when anyone could be fooled with the flutter of some eyelashes and crooked grin.
“Hey, did you take my crayon?” Draco asked.
He and Isabell were laying on the white carpeted ground of the living room, placed in between the coffee table and fireplace which was now crackling beside them. They had been stuck inside all day due to the strange rain that had suddenly appeared almost out of no where. Isabell looked up for a moment and then went back to coloring her bright yellow sun, wishing it really was like that outside. She shook her head no at Draco and continued to fill in the golden circle of light on her parchment.
“Well where did it go?” he asked.
She shrugged.
He stood up and began to examine the premises, looking like a scavenger who had lost his food. His grey eyes studied the area underneath the couches, over by the fireplace, and then in the obvious space underneath the coffee table. When he couldn’t find the blue crayon that he had need ever so badly, he went back to his sitting spot across from Isabell and look back in the box. It wasn’t in there. Draco pursed his lips with frustration and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling very disappointed. He glanced over at Isabell’s picture and noticed that she was now using the blue crayon he had needed.
His jaw dropped as did his arms as he pointed to her, “You had it all along!”
She glanced at the crayon and shrugged again, “So I did.”
“You lied to me!”
“What are going to do about it?” she asked smoothly, never once taking the time to look up at him. “If I had told you I had it, you would have taken it from me. You’re not a good sharer.”
“I am so!”
“Am not.”
“Am so!”
“Am not!”
“Am so!”
“Well it doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “I’m using it now and you’ll just have to wait your turn.”
Narcissa soon breezed into the room, looking between the two fight young toddlers, “What’s going on?”
Draco jumped up to his feet and ran to his mother’s side. He clutched onto her black dress and looked up at her with puppy eyes; it always got him to get what he wanted. She gazed down at him and raised a curious eyebrow; she knew this exression etched across her son's face ... something was up.
“Mummy, she lied to me and took my crayon!” he whined, pointing to Isabell who had paused in coloring her sky and was staring at the situation unfold before her.
“Draco darling, let Isabell finish coloring and I’m sure she’ll give it back to you,” she replied soothingly. She glanced at Isabell with a kind eye, “Won’t you, dear?”
The little red-head nodded and flashed her a bright smile. Narcissa beamed down at her son and patted his back, gesturing that he should continue on with coloring. He grumbled something inaudible underneath his breath as he stomped back to his parchment. He waited patiently until Isabell was finished filling in her large, blue sky. The small boy could not believe how deceiving this girl was. He could only imagine what she would be like when they grew up …
A sigh escaped from Isabell’s lips and she was just in the middle of pushing herself up into a standing position when the portrait door flung open. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter tumbled through into the Head House, their eyes filled with determination. Hermione led them to the staircase that swirled up to her room, but she quickly stopped them. She ordered them to stay there while she ran up to her room to get a book, no doubt. But Ron was too busy examining the place to hear a word that she said. He placed his subconscious foot onto a step and the staircase before them flattened out into a slide, just like every stairway leading to a girl’s room would do in the castle. He scowled at it and backed away, still looking around at the place and mainly at the chandelier. His eyes soon skipped over to where Draco and Isabell were now standing.
He raised up his eyebrows towards Harry and then looked down at the carpet, “Well isn’t this an awkward moment?”
Draco took one last look at the “Weasel” and “Potty Boy” and then grasped Isabell roughly by the hand. He mumbled at her to follow him, tugging her along to his bedroom. He slammed the door, his eyes catching the expression etched across Potter’s face; it was blank. Isabell removed her hand from his and shot him a menacing glare as she plopped down onto his soft bed. She gently massaged her red hand while Draco walked passed her towards the window sill. He removed a packet of cigarettes from the deep pockets of his robes, took one of the slender cancer sticks out, and lit it up with the swish and flick of his wand.
“You brought me in here just to make him jealous, didn’t you?” Isabell asked, dropping her hands into her lap.
“You’re one smart witch,” Draco replied sarcastically as he stuffed his wand and pack of ciggs back into his pocket.
“Do you even care what happens to them within the next few weeks?”
“Why should I?”
“They hold our fate in the palm of their hands, Draco!” she shouted.
“No they don’t. The Dark Lord holds our destiny,” he responded smoothly, letting the smoke seep out in small curling creeks.
“And what happens when the Dark Lord falls? What then? What becomes of us?”
“We’ll still be us,” he shrugged.
“What are we? Draco how do you define yourself?”
“I’m a Malfoy-”
“Draco,” she warned.
Isabell had heard all of his talk about how he was a pureblood, a Malfoy through and through, and forever a servant to the Dark Lord. It was a load of bullshit and he knew it. Thus he slid his knee up to his chest as he tapped the excess ash off of his fag. He blew some of the smoke out of his lungs and into the midnight air, trying to think up a good answer.
There was a loud banging noise; the “Golden Trio” had left to go and fight evil. The young Malfoy snorted at this thought. How could a bunch of seventeen-year-olds really go out, fight the Dark Lord, and expect to win? It was preposterous, yet he tried to do the same thing with his father … fight him that is. At this point with just a few more weeks left of school, everything seemed to wrap around into a strange loop and it made him wonder if he was any more different than Potter. It wasn’t like Draco to doubt his own character, but they were both falling for the same girl, both trying defeat some sort of “evil”, and neither of them had the brains to quit. He looked back over to Isabell who was still waiting for his answer.
“I am your best friend and nothing more,” he grimaced. “That’s how I define myself and, surprisingly enough, how I’ve come to know myself for the past few months.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she replied.
“Exactly what I said,” he answered, taking another drag of his cigarette.
Draco glanced at his burnt out fag and then stabbed it into the crystal ashtray before him. He took out his wand and silently cast a charm over the door so that it opened up for Isabell. She stared at it with a screwed up, confused expression splashed over her features. Her façade faced Draco again, as though she wanted some answers, but instead she received his back turned to her.
She spun around on her heel and stormed out, never wanting to look back at him, but she knew her eyes would never follow her orders. Isabell was just a couple of steps away from the doorway when it flung open. Passed the person who was entering, she could see light flooding over Ron and Hermione. But with the illumination placed at this angle, she couldn’t decipher who it was coming through the porthole. Then again, she didn’t exactly have to guess, she already knew. Harry stepped out of the entrance’s shadows and grasped onto her wrist, dragging her towards him. She did her best to get away from him, but he had more muscle hidden under those robes and it seemed as though he had kept them well hidden over the years. So, with her body in his grasp and her attention thrown at him, she raised a suspicious eyebrow, indicating that he should move on with what he was doing.
“I don’t know when I’m going to see you again,” he started.
Isabell began to laugh at his dramatics, “Are you always this bold with the ladies? Really, you’re quite the actor.”
“And you’re quite the bitch,” he snapped. “Just listen to me.” She tried her best to keep a straight face on as he continued, “I’m leaving and I wanted to say goodbye to you. I don’t know if I’ll be back, and if I’m not, I wanted to let you know-”
She giggled out loud, “Let me guess? You love me?”
Her laughter was not something she could contain and thus, Isabell went on laughing out loud, holding her stomach tight. Harry growled with frustration and pushed her away from him, turning back to the closed door. In between bubbling chuckles, she told him to wait and even grasped onto his arm to hold him back. He took a step back and gazed at her, locking his emerald eyes with her deep blue ones. She grinned evilly, still trying her best to keep her composure. The seventh-year Gryffindor sighed and draped his arms over her shoulders, tugging her into an embrace. He kissed the top of her forehead while her sniggers burst out into his robes, muffling them.
“See,” he said, giving her another squeeze, “isn’t this goodbye a little bit better than the one I was trying to do? It’s calm, casual … cool.”
A snort came from Isabell as she raised her head out of the curtains of robes that covered his body, “You have got to be joking me! This is stupid!”
“You’re not one to open up completely are you?” he asked.
“Look at that, the 'Chosen One' can catch on,” she mumbled.
“God you’re such a bitch!” he snapped, finally pushing her away, making her stumble a bit.
Isabell placed a hand on her hip, “Get used to it.”
“Who says I have to?” he replied, pushing the heavy door open.
“You did by saying goodbye to me. You will see me again Harry Potter, I can guarantee it,” she stated.
Before leaving and joining his friends on the other side he glanced at her, “Are you always in denial like this or is it just with me?”
And with that said, the entrance shut on him … possibly forever. Isabell stared at the closed door in front of her, wondering what she should do. She could hear Draco shuffling in the background; it sounded like he had watched her little conversation. Her hand reached out for the large silver handle and clutched onto it, pushing it with all of her might. She wondered if maybe the wolves on the front of the canvas were able to make the doorway feel extra heavy. Aside from that however, Draco had now taken a leaning position against the doorframe to his bedroom as she struggled to leave. He had thrown away his gentleman-like qualities out the door the moment he left his manor, she noticed, for he didn't even bother to help her open the door.
“You know there is one thing Potter said that I totally agree with,” Draco declared. “You can be such a bitch.”
'What is this? Pick on the Vartier day?’ she thought to herself.
But Isabell didn’t respond to Draco’s rude statement, nor could she if she wanted to; her breath was too shallow as she finally got the damn door to stay open. She began to climb out just as he was beginning to say something else. She couldn’t hear what he said for the door not only shut on him, but she had now turned her back on him. It was her turn after all. It seemed as though they had habits of breaking each other’s hearts, turning their backs on one another, and plan just messing with one another’s mind.
Back inside, Draco finished what he had started to say, “And I like you like that.”
Her being a bitch has made her who she was. However he had noticed that a different side had overcome her as the end of the year went on. He blamed it on Potter being gone, off fighting and leaving Isabell to contemplate whether or not he was going to live. Yet during their time spent together, Draco questioned himself; did he play a part in her sudden change? He wished she would answer his silent question with a sign of some sort, but not one symbol came. She usually just sighed and stared off into the distance, her mind on other things while his mind was on her.
It was finally two days before school was out and Draco was sitting on his window sill again, being basked under the moonlight when he decided to finally tell Isabell how he really felt. They had both decided to spend the last night together, as though they weren’t going to see each other again … but with the war still raging on, no one knew what their destiny was going to be. Draco was one too many years late in telling Isabell that he loved her; tomorrow night would be the time … he hoped.
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