i s o b e l
Isobel had wanted to see London for a long time, but it had been too far.
She had wanted to see Trafalgar Square, and Covent Garden, and Hyde Park and Buckingham Palace, because the last time she had seen all of those places, she had been with her father. Together they had marvelled at the landmarks, how beautiful but foreign they were; that they seemed to mean so much to the muggle world, yet meant so little to them. For that, it had been all the more intriguing to watch the crowds surging around statues, royal guards, and telephone booths; clutching their point-and-shoot cameras.
But the post office in Diagon Alley had to come first, now. The landmarks could come later.
She held a letter clamped in each hand. The one in her right was addressed to Ginny; a rushed, messy note that had taken an infuriating amount of time to word out. She had figured that explaining herself in writing might be less shocking than to show up on the doorstep of The Burrow; didn't know if Ginny even still lived at The Burrow; but didn't know where to start. After several stressful drafts, Isobel had settled on copying out her own address, and asking Ginny to visit as soon as she could.
The letter in her left hand - well.
Somewhere between the reading and the rereading, she had unintentionally learnt off Draco's letter, word for word. As she moved across the cobblestones of Diagon Alley; her head down and her hood up, she said them to herself again. I would give the sun, the moon, the stars. I'd give anything to have you back.
Diagon Alley was busy. Isobel had travelled there hurriedly, not pausing to think about the busy hour. Crowds surged down the tiny, grey street. Isobel weaved between them, trying to make her way to the post office as quickly and inconspicuously as she could, but people pressed against her on either side. Her breathing quickened and her heart thudded hard in her chest, but she pushed on, desperate not to be recognised.
She had always been interested in Draco Malfoy, she could not deny that. Curious to see what a life could do to a soul; to figure out why he acted as he did. To find moments of softness in all his arrogance. She knew that he acted the way he did because of the world he had been born into. He was a deeply scarred product of a deeply scarred family, and he had fascinated her.
It would explain everything. It would explain why her mother was so protective over her, why she claimed that Isobel was in more danger than her other friends. Why she kept her locked up now.
She had been fascinated by Draco Malfoy, yes. But she could not fathom, could not begin to imagine, at what point fascination might have turned into love.
Isobel's chest was tight and her breathing shallow. She was nearing a tiny alleyway that led off Diagon Alley, so she ducked into it, and rested her back against the wall. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and told herself what she knew.
Her final few years at Hogwarts were a blur. She knew they had happened; that she was there for fifth and seventh year and at home for sixth, but could remember them only in shadowy fragments.
She remembered Draco Malfoy, but felt she knew him as a stranger. A Slytherin boy, born into a family that were loyal to Voldemort for years, until they suddenly weren't. Until they left the darkness, and chose family instead. She remembered how hateful he was in their first few years at school, and how intriguing that had been to her. But she wasn't sure if she had ever spoken to him, one to one.
All she knew for certain was that there was now a letter in her hand, claiming that he loved her. A single, crumpled piece of parchment, that could change everything.
She remembered being attacked at the Battle of Hogwarts, and the world going dark.
She remembered waking up to a changed life. A new life, where she didn't know anybody, and nobody knew her.
She remembered her mother's strict instructions to leave her star necklace on at all times, because her mother had enchanted the necklace, and that had been what had saved her. Her mother had saved her life, and Isobel was grateful for that. But she had also stolen it from her.
My name is Isobel Young. I am here. I am alive.
She took another deep breath, and opened her eyes. The street was still crowded, but the post office was in view at its end, waiting for her. She stepped out to move off again -
And then threw herself back, and flattened herself against the wall. Because approaching her, walking together down the centre of Diagon Alley, were the three Malfoys.
Draco walked between his parents, his eyes fixed on the ground. His hair fell to his cheekbones, and a frown tugged at his lips. His face was, as ever, pale. Ghostly.
And Isobel considered, for a moment - that it would be an easier move. To just - step out in front of Malfoy; to ask him if it was true. If she stepped in front of them now, pulled down her hood - what would he say? How might he react?
Narcissa's eyes swept over Isobel as if she was part of the wall, but Lucius' gaze clicked onto her. For a fraction of a second, he faltered, his hostile eyes locked onto hers . . . But he pulled himself away, and moved on with his family.
And then they had passed her, and her chance was gone.
"Some nerve," sounded a voice from beside her. Isobel jumped, and turned: a woman was standing in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts, and speaking directly to her. "To show up here like that," said the woman. "After all they've done."
Isobel hadn't noticed the woman standing there. Unnerved, she offered a small smile, and moved away; heart thudding.
She didn't decide to follow the Malfoys, she just did it.
She crept behind them through Diagon Alley, back the way she came. Whenever they stopped walking, she would pause; linger by shop windows. Head down; hood up.
The Malfoys separated outside the Leaky Cauldron, with little sentiment. Draco barely looked at his parents, before departing down a busy London road. Isobel trailed after him, moving behind bus stops and post boxes as she walked. She moved quickly and quietly; eyes fixed on the white-blond head bobbing in and out of the crowds ahead of her.
After what might have been ten minutes or sixty, with the sun setting and the sky dim, Draco stopped at a modest, red-brick apartment block. Isobel watched from across the road as he produced a key from his coat pocket, unlocked the front door, and disappeared inside.
She stood there, breathless. She could unlock the door with Alohamora. She could.
Be brave, Gryffindor, she told herself. But her feet didn't move.
A light flicked on on the third floor. Isobel's heart quickened, and she watched Draco move across his apartment. He filled an electric kettle, then leaned his arms on his kitchen counter. He sank against it.
He looked different. He was so much older, sadder, and more tired than the Draco Malfoy she remembered. The Draco she remembered - had known enough to dislike - was a ghost of the boy she saw now.
Even if this boy had loved her, she realised; she didn't know him. She didn't know anything about him, and that terrified her.
So, she walked away. She found a deserted alleyway, and Apparated to Diagon Alley, from where she would return home. Maybe the next day, she would find herself able to confront him. Or the day after that. Maybe.
But for now, she could not find the courage.
