Even at Our Worst

Chapter Twenty-Three

Draco holds up his hands, shuffling away from Padma as Daphne loops her arms around her waist. "He didn't actually," she says softly, near Padma's ear. "Everyone's alright, it's just—" she sighs, loosening her grip as Padma calms, sinking back against Daphne's chest. "They might not be if you keep going on like this."

Padma spins in Daphne's arms, pulling away slightly. Meanwhile, Draco huffs, shaking out his hair and resuming his indifferent stance at my side.

"If you're asking me to stop helping with the war effort, come off it." Padma shakes her head. "There's not a chance in hell—"

"It's been months, Padma, I don't think Potter is—"

"Ginny says—"

"Merlin, not this again—"

"Yes, this again! Do you want Voldemort to be able to just waltz right in here—?"

"Well, better that than over your dead body—!"

"You're unbelievable—!"

Draco's chest brushes my shoulder as he leans down into me, hand skating across my back. "Perhaps we should leave them to it," he says softly, his breath tickling my ear.

I look to Daphne and Padma, who have broken apart and are continuing a back-and-forth over the merits of raising a child army. I frown, turning to Draco. "Daph wanted us to help."

He sighs, "We've said our piece. If Patil wants to continue with this fool's errand, so be it, but I don't want you involved anymore." His hand rises from his side to hold my cheek and I lean into it, looking up at him with a heavy heart.

I nod into his hand, surrendering as his lips brush against my forehead. "I just want it to all be over," I whisper, hoisting myself off of the desk with my hands on his shoulders.

"Soon," he replies simply, his hand falling to my lower back to guide me out the door. We skirt around the arguing couple, Draco casting a silencing charm over the room as we make our quick escape— leaving their groans and taunts behind us.

⧏ ▴ ⧐

March 8th, 1997

I slip into Professor Binn's office at 21 o'clock, just as we'd planned. On the other side of the door, Crabbe and Goyle stand guard, while the others prepare the common room for what Blaise is calling "our last hoorah."

Theodore Nott's eighteenth birthday, a night we would never neglect to celebrate.

I wave my wand to carefully light the fire, then sit back in a chair to wait. The minutes tick by slowly, marked by the clock chiming on the wall, until finally the flames erupt in a violent green, and a girl comes stepping through the fire.

Tracey beams at me, and I'm on my feet, practically throwing myself at her. She laughs into my shoulder as I bury my head into her hair, gratefully breathing in the scent of the outside world. Her skin has deepened from her time spent away from England, laying low with her Father's family on the Ivory Coast. I tangle my hands in her hair and pull back, jumping on the balls of my feet.

"He's going to die." I clap my hands together as I stare at her, checking her up and down to confirm she's really here.

Tracey's cheeks form plump circles as she smiles wider, pulling me in for another hug. "I'm hoping he screams— or faints. I want to get a picture!" She giggles as she loops her arm through mine. I tap on the door three times, earning a matching three knocks back from Crabbe before we exit out into the hall, carefully casting charms over Tracey to conceal her as we make our way back down to the dungeons.