The Malfoy Project

𝟏𝟏 - 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐭

     Dusk has just settled its deep amethyst blanket over the sky when I finally make it back to Hogwarts. I rap the password to the Hufflepuff Common Room with one hand, recorder carefully balanced in the other. Up the stairs I bounded, chuffed that we're finally getting to the good bit of Lucius and Narcissa's story.

     Everyone else is at dinner, and our bunks are empty save for the lone figure of Hannah Abbott, bent over the fanned-out pages of an essay on her bed. Her head snaps up at the sound of my footsteps. "What're you doing here?"

     I laugh indulgently and round the platform to my own bed, setting the recorder down. "A Hufflepuff in her own Hufflepuff dorm. Strange times we live in, huh."

     Hannah smiles confusedly at my wisecrack. "Not meeting Monty for dinner after all?"

     Fuck.

     Did I just say that out loud? I don't care. I'm already speeding back down the stairs, slipping on the circular rug in the common room door and tearing through the kitchens, all the way back to the Entrance Hall. Turn right, down the stone steps. Password: 'silver scales' - no longer 'pureblood' because the Slytherins are on a campaign to distance themselves from all prejudices.

     I bounce on my feet with impatience as the bricks slide open lazily. The moment they make a gap large enough, I squeeze through and find Monty lounging on the green velvet chaise, a book propped between his thumb and pinky - a vision I've seen countless times. "Monty!" I screech, making him jump.

     "Bloody hell, Ains, you can't just come barrelling in here like that!" he says without getting up, without smiling. The way I rushed to his side, you'd think he isn't on a plush chair but lying in the infirmary from some sort of horrific accident. "I'm so sorry, Monty! I completely lost track of time. I'm ready now, let's go."

     "Go where?" he says irritably .

     "Wh- d- dinner, we're supposed to go for dinner."

     He snorts and turns back to his book. "Glad you remembered. Bit late for that now, isn't it?"

     It is one of those days. Raging maelstrom. I sink to my knees beside him, almost in reverence. "Monty, I truly am sorry. It's just that I wasn't expecting Draco to be back home today. I had to interview both him and Lucius. But it was worth it, I swear! I've managed to get a good story. And it's not too late to go for dinner, the pubs are still open."

     "I've already eaten," he says coldly, flipping the page and pretending to be interested in its contents.

     "Oh, Monty, please don't be mad," I plead. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

     And then I make a mistake: I shake his arm slightly. The touch sets off the trip wire that had been ready to explode. Monty flings down the book so hard it scatters a page or two. "OH, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! PISS OFF, AINS!"

     I scuffle back in surprise. "Monty... it's just dinner, honestly. We could go right now and-"

     "Just dinner?" he echoes. "So I'm just someone to fill your free time, is that it? We haven't had a date in almost three weeks. Three weeks! And all I wanted was to have a nice dinner with my girlfriend, but please forgive me if I've been too demanding, Your Most Royal Highness!"

     He's livid, steam pouring out of his ears. But he isn't done. He leaps up from the chaise, anger now in full bloom, and stabs a finger at me. "Rita picks you for one project and you think you're hot shit now? Did you forget who helped you get it in the first place?"

     He rattles on, but his words fades out into a slow reverb and my mother's takes over. 

     What do you do in a storm, Ainsley? You do as a tree does. You root yourself into the ground and stand tall, unmoving. You absorb the howling wind and beating rain into your branches, because the storm will blow over, and when all its water has seeped into the ground and drained into nothingness, you will still be standing.

     After a year and a half - and many trials and errors - with Monty, I've found it the best thing to do whenever he flies into one of his rages. I've learned not to let his sudden gushes of fury and vitriol get to me, because oftentimes, he doesn't mean it. 

     It's that fucking cabinet, he would say after. It's changed me. I just can't help it. I'm so sorry, Ains. And then I would say: Oh, it's alright, Monty! I know you don't want to hurt me. I'll be here through it all. I love you so much.

     So I stand there, a great oak tree amidst the torrential rain of lambasting and curses. You're so selfish, you never spare a thought for anyone other than yourself, am I so easy to forget?, Salazar knows what else you're doing behind my back, were you even at the Malfoys' or have you been sneaking away with someone else behind my back?

     I don't respond, because he doesn't wish me to. And like clockwork, when he has finally exhausted himself and all reasons for anger have escaped his manic reach, Monty calms down. His shoulders fall. He exhales long and slow, places his hands on his hips and looks around as if he doesn't know what to do with me.

     Three, two one. "I'm sorry, Ains," he sighs. "I don't know what got a hold of me."

     Three, two one. I smile lightly, not too much. Make full moons with my eyes. "It's alright. You hadn't meant it. It was my fault for missing dinner. I'm sorry."

     He takes me in his arms, pulls me in really close. He smells like ocean breeze and roasting marshmallows. "I love you, Ains. You know that right?"

     "I do, and I love you too."

     Like clockwork.