The Malfoy Project

𝟕𝟑 - 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐈𝐬 𝐚 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

     I'm back at the Malfoy's that very weekend. The moment I step through the doors I am greeted with a dainty, delicate hug from Narcissa. "You're well," she says stiltedly, but with relief.

     "I am. I'm so sorry for missing the last two weeks."

     "Not at all. Please, come in." She takes my coat and also the recorder, snatching it away from me as if I am too weak to hold it up and might drop and break it.

     Lucius steps forward from behind her, his cane clacking against the marble floors, and shakes my hand while looking me up and down. "It appears Lindström did a good job, as always. Which reminds me, I do have to ask him around for tea sometime."

     "Lindström?" I try to remember if it is an important name I should know.

     "Never mind," Lucius says in a brusque manner that makes me feel moronic. "Let's just get on with it." 

     "Where's Draco?" I ask, darting my eyes around eagerly in case he is lurking somewhere in the shadows.

     "He..." Narcissa pauses to think. "He decided to stay at school today. Since you two spoken the last time he thought you might want to have some time with us instead."

     "Probably drinking himself half to death," Lucius adds on casually.

     I try to disguise my frown as concern. I don't particularly like this comment about Draco. Maybe because it felt like a personal slight against me, having just recently discovered the wonderfully tranquilising effects of alcohol myself, and understanding the need for it.

     Beside him, Narcissa says nothing. I momentarily despise her for it. "Oh," I barely try to hide my disappointment. "Well, I would love to hear from you today, Mr. Malfoy," I chirp as they lead me away from the foyer and into the main library.

     "Fine, fine," Lucius waves me away.

     We're quiet the rest of the way. With Narcissa holding my recorder hostage, my arms dangle uselessly by my side. I can't help wishing Draco is here. Even his characteristic silence would be louder than the crushing emptiness of the house. 

     I haven't seen him since after my official discharge from the Hospital Wing three days ago. Then again, I hardly had the time — there was homework to catch up on, medicine to remember to take, and gossip from Hannah I had to get up to date with. 

     And then there had been Monty's news. 

     He had come to find me on Thursday night, banging on the Hufflepuff Common Room door so excitedly poor Susan had leapt up with a shriek of fright. We went upstairs to the bunks, where he showed me the letter. 

     It was in a bright cobalt blue envelope and the broken white wax seal had been stamped with some sort of crest. I could not believe what I was reading. "Monty," I said, voice hoarse and hands trembling. "Is this for real?" 

     "As real as the fucking nose on your face!" he cried and jabbed the top of the page. "Look. Says here: Swiss Ministry of Magic. The official stamp and everything!" 

     I read and re-read the letter again. "So... you're really going?" 

     "We," Monty emphasised, his smile gleaming wetly under the glow of the fireplace. "We're really going. I'm obviously not going to leave you behind, you nitwit!"

     "But—" I was gobsmacked. "But what would I even do in Switzerland?"

     "We'll figure something out. Father actually has a few friends in Geneva — I'm sure he'll be able to pull some strings and get you a writing job at a newspaper there or something."

     "But Monty, to live there! I mean, I don't even know German, and I can hardly string two sentences together in French! How am I supposed to write for anything?"