The Malfoy Project

𝟗𝟖 - 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

༻❁༺     

     The day before Leaver's Ball, I pay the Malfoys my last visit.

     In the South West, the weather is a fickle combination of blustery, hot, and damp. Despite Apparating straight from Hogwarts, my skin is already suffocated by a thin layer of sweat.

     The thought of seeing the family I have spent the past year with makes my chest ache. They were supposed to be simply another subject I had to interview, no more arrogant than the proudest Quidditch captain or more defensive than angry fans of a losing team. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected myself to form such an affinity with them, let alone come to love them.

     But there are certain principles I have held so dear to my heart — rules of life I have let guide my instincts and actions. Draco and my friends don't understand them, and neither do I as of late, but I am resolved to remain true to them, and to fulfil the mission I had set out to accomplish — even if it will cost me far greater than I anticipated.

     At least the ordeal is almost over.     

     N.E.W.Ts had come and gone more quickly than any of us had imagined. Just like that, in a flurry of loose parchment, scratching quills, and anxious, sleep-deprived whispering in the stairwells, 150 of Hogwarts' oldest students walked out of the Great Hall, hearts thumping with both anxiety and excitement for the future. 

     The following week, I mailed the first manuscript of the book to Theron Montague. Two days later, the Montagues' grey owl arrived bearing his gleaming approval. The next day, I delivered the final draft of the book to Rita Skeeter. 

     It is titled Beyond The Manor: The Malfoys Unveiled. It is a lie; I had unveiled nothing. In the book, Lucius acted out of calculated love than concealed tenderness. Narcissa is vapid, the second stupidest sister who fell under the Dark Lord's spell. Draco is a timid boy whose jealousy stemmed from a sorry inability to live up to the burden of his family name. There is no mention of the Montagues. Through this book, Britain would no more know the family than they do now. 

     Rita loved it. She raved and gushed and lauded it as the very thing that would catapult The Daily Prophet to new heights. Barnabas Cuffe had been there to sign off the cheque for 50,000 Galleons. That very day, I went to Gringotts and reopened my bank account. I deposited the cheque, as well as the one for 25,000 Galleons when Rita had signed my contract. 

     I also handed them my written will, to be stored in my vault. In the event of my death, all of my money, including the royalties from the book, is to be divided equally between Hannah and Ernie. My yellow friendship bracelet, old and grey from wear, is for Hannah to keep. The aquamarine necklace Narcissa had given me will be returned to her. The rest of my belongings — parchment, ink, books, clothes, even the recorder — will go to Draco. I don't know what he will do with them, but I know he will want them. Monty will not have anything of mine, not a hair on my head or the dirt off my shoe. And then I was ready to go.

༻❁༺

     The days leading up to today had been the worst. The encounter with the Chauderons had unnerved me, sent my mind off-kilter. Studying and finalising the manuscript was already a nightmare to manage, and then there was the matter of Draco.

     Between Draco and me, I've always been the more composed person. I am the rational one — vocal, but patient and tolerant. Draco, on the other hand, is quiet and unpredictable as the weather up here. But somewhere along the way, a switch had been flipped.