𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐨

𝐗𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈

Black skies swept over the blue, and Draco and I were on our way back to the common room for the last time before we got on the train tomorrow.

"So, you're coming with me, right?" I asked, for what Draco said was the twelfth time this evening.

"I already said that I would," he bumped my shoulder in a playful manner, "None of my parents owled me back, so I'm assuming that they don't give a shit."

"Good," I sighed, and Draco gave a funny look. "Oh! No! I mean– not good. Not good at all. I just meant that it's good that you're–"

"I know what you meant," he laughed. "Honestly, I think that's it's a good thing too. I don't know what I would do if I had to go back to the Manor—parents or no parents."

I nodded, watching my feet hit the tile one after the other, "I get it."

"You do?"

I looked up to Draco abruptly, not fully realizing what I had said until he acknowledged it.

"Oh. Well. Kinda. Not exactly, of course."

"How?" he gave me a questioning look.

"Well. The people I stayed with before and during Hogwarts—my aunt and uncle—they didn't like me much," I tried to explain in a straight face, not really wanting to grimace or turn red while talking about that topic.

"Didn't like you much? As in neglect?" I felt him drop a hand onto my shoulder.

"Uh– yeah?" I said, as if I didn't know the answer, "They were Muggles. My aunt despised magic because my mother got to go to Hogwarts and she didn't. She made my uncle believe the same thing."

"So, they neglected you because you're mother went to Hogwarts," Draco said, not as a question. I could see the anger flooding his vision, making me believe that he could seriously hurt someone.

"More so that I could go to Hogwarts. They hated me because I was born able to do magic."

My mind flashback to scenes from my early childhood. Slaps across my cheek for burning food, a hit on my back with a spatula for dropping dishes, being pushed down the stairs and having doors slam directly into my face from Dudley.

Overall, my childhood was the picture of a happy child's nightmare. One that never ended; not even at Hogwarts.

Not until Draco.

"That's sick," Draco seethed, pulling me back into a much more pleasant reality.

I nodded, turning the corner that led to the fourth floor corridor.

"It's okay now. I don't ever have to see them again," I reassured, although I wasn't entirely sure if it was meant for him, or myself.

"I always thought you stayed with the Weasels all the time. Even before Hogwarts, I thought you guys had always been like family," Draco thought aloud, looking to our feet.

"I did for part of the summer sometimes, but never the whole time. And never before Hogwarts, either. I met Ron on the train. He was my first friend, actually," I said sadly.

Draco gave me a sad smile, rubbing circles with his thumb on my back as we tread through the endless hallways.

"So that's why you rejected me when I came into your compartment? Because you were too caught up with Ron?" he joked. I laughed.

"No," I smirked, "I rejected you 'cause you were a downright arsehole. You insulted Ron, Hagrid and my parents all in the same sentence, and then tried to take my hand."

He chuckled, but there was an obvious hint of regret laced into it. "What? I thought you were cute. Weasley didn't stand a chance."

Again, I laughed, and so did he. We spent the rest of the walk in silence until we reached the portrait hold.

Immediately, I could tell that something was different. Wrong. I looked to Draco, and I could see in his posture and the way he halted so suddenly that he was thinking the same thing.

"Where's the little brat?" Draco asked to no one.

Ophiuchus was gone from her place on the wall. There was only a gaping hole to where the hallways stopped and the common room began.

I looked back down the way that we came, hoping that the rest of the walls were also bare, but they were all lined with other paintings from top to bottom.

"They could just be... cleaning her?" I question worriedly, trying to come up with some reasonable answer for her absence.

Draco looked to me, a confused frown.

"The Little Girl has been put in solitude for the time being," said a voice from behind us.

I turned around to see Professor Mcgonagall heading towards us.

"Solitude?" I said, disgustingly, "For what?"

Mcgonagall sighed, her shoulders dropping, "It has come to my attention that she had been moving from her designated spot to intrude the Gryffindor common room; something that I made very clear, was not allowed."

I remembered back near the beginning of the school year, Ophiuchus telling me how she often visited Fred when she got lonely.

"She wasn't meaning to intrude," I tried to reason, "She likes to talk. No one really wants to chat with a thousand-year-old oil painting, though."

"I'm afraid that is none of my concern," Mcgonagall said, "She will remain in the Room of Requirement where she cannot move frames until farther notice. We can't have a gateway that does not follow the rules."

She gave us a single nod and continued her stride.

"But what'll she do for so long?" I called to her.

"Don't fret, Mister Potter. There's plenty of other portraits with her in the same predicament."

Sighing angrily, I turned to Draco. "We've got to get her out of there."

"Harry. We can't do that. You know that."

"She's not exactly very good at making friends..."

"She'll be fine," he reassured me, "I may find her insufferable, and frankly, rather obnoxious, but she'll be fine. The professor only said it's for the time being, so she'll be out and yammering away before she even realizes that she's been away."

Again, I sighed, and turned to head into the common room for one last sleep in the castle.

Though, on the threshold, I stopped. Draco almost bumped into me.

There, in a pile at my feet, were little pieces of shimmering stars.