The Carnival ⌁ Draco Malfoy [1/4] ✔

31

"Emma! Hey!" called Harry from the end of a corridor. Emma, clutching a pile of books to her chest, whirled around just in time to see Harry halt right in front of her. "Can I have a word?"

"I was just on my way to the -"

Harry gave her a very stern look.

"Oh, all right," she said, letting Harry drag her to one of the empty classrooms. She sunk into the nearest chair as Harry done the same in front of her, and rested her books on her lap. "What's this about? I know you've been meaning to talk to me for a while."

"Have you been having any dreams?" Harry said immediately. Emma raised an eyebrow, coughed out a laugh, and gave him a very pointed but amused look. "No - I mean - have you had any weird dreams, lately? You know - ones that lead down this corridor where there's a door and-"

"No, Harry," she interrupted, and she was strongly reminded of what an interview looked like, or appeared like. She set her books off to the side on one of the tables, and shifted more comfortably in her chair. "I'm guessing you're having these dreams."

"It's where I saw Mr Weasley get attacked, and each time I'm walking down that same corridor trying to get to the door," breathed Harry, unconsciously scratching his head, and Emma was under the impression that he was ashamed of what she would think of him. "Has there been any part of your body that's burned? Or been in pain before regularly?"

"You mean do I have a scar?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes scanning her face and her arms. "I want to be sure."

"I don't have a scar, Harry," said Emma, adding, "unless you count the time I fell off this small bridge and scraped my knee on a rock - look."

Emma pulled her robes up and showed off a light, small scar on her knee, but it was not in the shape of a lightning-bolt. It was just a straight line that looked like it was once a deep gash, and it was fairly smaller than Harry's scar. She pulled her robes back down and stared at Harry curiously.

"That's weird," Harry mumbled, the tips of his fingers anxiously messing around with his lips as he stared out at nothing. "You're sure, though?"

"I know what this is about, Harry," Emma said quietly, becoming wildly interested in her shoes. "I feel it, too."

Harry blinked. "Feel what?"

"Like they've got the wrong Emma."

Harry frowned and leaned his elbows on his knees before letting out a loud, exhausted exhale, and looked up at Emma.

"I'm just not like you, Harry," Emma said, pursing her lips. She stood from her chair, ready to grab her books, but turned to Harry's odd expression and added, "I don't have a scar the same as you yet I was in the same room. Nothing weird has ever happened to me before. They're probably just making it up. You don't have a sister."

"Sirius wouldn't make it up," Harry said angrily, he, too, stood fast from his chair. "He wouldn't lie to me."

"Then they've got the wrong Emma!" she exclaimed, slamming her books against her chest in anger and rushed toward the door.

"Sirius recognised you!"

Emma paused at the door, her hand clutching the handle hard and fierce. Deep down, she wished Sirius Black had gotten it all wrong, that she really was the wrong Emma. She had two loving parents who she'd just been told were not her parents at all, and that she was the twin sister of Harry Potter. As horrible as it seemed, she didn't want to be his sister. She just wanted to go back to being his fan.

"The same as Mr and Mrs Weasley," Harry went on. "And Lupin. Even Snape."

Water dripped onto the hand that was clutching the door handle, and Emma let out a shaky breath as more tears made themselves known. She hadn't cried about the situation yet; she'd been bottling it up, hoping to forget it, but the more Harry spoke the more she seemed to want to cry.

"You know you're not the wrong Emma."

"You don't know anything," Emma said in a hurt voice, desperately blinking back her tears. She still had her back to Harry, but he seemed to know she was crying for he came to her side and grabbed onto her arm gently.

"I know you felt it when you hugged me your first night here," he said quietly. "That - creepily familiar feeling."

Emma cried harder, shutting her eyes tight in the process. She knew he was right - she had felt something when she jumped up and hugged him - but she wished he was wrong. It couldn't be a coincidence that she and him were hated most by Snape, but then again Neville was, too. Snape couldn't look into Harry's eyes, and he couldn't look into Emma's eyes.

But she just didn't want to be related to him in anyway. The Boy Who Lived, she didn't want to be related to him. Not if she had to keep it a secret at least. And, quite frankly, she was enjoying her life. She loved her life. And to be told that it was all a lie, that they weren't her real parents, that her actual parents were murdered, it just burned a deep hollow hole in Emma's chest and the more she thought about it the more it was harder to breathe.

She felt alone, even though her brother was standing right next to her, awkwardly trying to comfort her.

"And there's something else..."

Emma looked up slowly, avoiding Harry's eyes in fear of seeing her own.

"What's that?" she said in a shaky voice.

"It's Malfoy, you can't be too comfortable with him," Harry uttered darkly. "His dad is a Death Eater. I bet his Mum is too."

"Yeah, and where's the proof in that?" Emma blurted out angrily. She already knew Draco's parents were Death Eaters. But being told what to do by someone who had no authority over her seemed to tick her off. It never had before, but after being lied to her entire life, being told what to do or what to think just didn't work any more.

"Saw him last year with You-Know-Who," he said calmly, and Emma was surprised Harry hadn't latched onto her in fury. "Trust me."

"He's my friend," Emma said quietly. "And he's helping me with Potions."

Harry blinked and then turned away, apparently trying to search the classroom for the words he wanted to say. "Look - I can't tell you what to do, I can't tell you who and who not to be friends with, but just be careful."

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