dear draco,

thirty-three

The moment I find my footing, and Malfoy Manor is looming over me, I raise my hand and knock loudly on the enormous door. The wood hurts my hands. The door creaks open almost at once and a pair of small, beady eyes peer around it. I recognise them immediately as belonging to the man who let me in on the night of Dumbledore's death – almost a year ago now.

His voice is thinner than I remember – almost weary. "Yes?"

"I'm here to see Draco Malfoy," I say; my exact words from the last time I stood here.

"Your name?"

"Pansy Parkinson," I say; the words out of my mouth before I can stop them.

He narrows his eyes at me. "Don't I know you?"

My heart skips a beat. "I – I should hope so," I say, trying to sound arrogant. "I'm a Parkinson. Surely you know the Parkinsons."

"Yes, yes of course I do," he lies, looking behind him, as if searching for help. "But I - I'm sorry to say, we haven't really been expecting guests."

"Not even close friends of the owners of this house?"

The beady eyed man twists his fingers, but the door is wider open now – just wide enough for me to see inside. The hallway is deserted, so I could easily sneak through to the main house. Time is running out, and its either he lets me through or I stun him. But do I have the courage?

"Yes – of course, right you are," he is saying. "But safety is priority Miss, I'm sure you understand. If you could just wait there, I'll get Mr. Lucius-"

He shoots me a sheepish, oily smile and turns to go, moving to close the door – and I seize the moment.

"Stupefy," I hiss, and dart forward, barely waiting to see him fall. I consider, briefly, shutting the door and dragging his stunned body out of sight – to save me more time - but if someone caught me doing so, this would all have been for nothing.

Heart thudding with exhilaration, I desperately wind back my mind to the night Dumbledore died, when Draco brought me to his room. I run up the massive staircase, faster than I have ever ran before. I can recall the paintings, the vast works of art lining the walls, but if I hadn't been so busy staring at him, I might be able to remember if it was a right or left that followed... By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I have not yet decided. I stand, looking frantically both ways, trying desperately to remember, but it is no use.

There is a shout. And my heart stops. I look behind me and there are six – maybe seven – men, skidding into the hallway, seven pairs of eyes locking onto mine. And then they are running – taking the stairs two at a time.

And then I remember. "The right of the house looks out over the garden and the left looks out over the woods. You know how you can think things, without really realising you even think them? I chose the left, but I never thought much of it. I only realise now that I've always liked the idea of being free."

My body is hurtling to the left before my mind has even told it to. "Draco!" I yell. So much for subtlety. "DRACO!"

Please be here, please be here.

I can hear feet behind me, thundering in the spaces I have just passed, and I know they will catch me. "Draco!"

A rough arm seizes mine, forcing me to a halt. Every inch of me is beginning to panic now. "Woah, little lady." A filthy looking man leers into my face, reeking of alcohol. "What have we got here?"

I swing at him with my weaker arm, but someone else catches hold of it. The man gives me a toothy smile. "Could have been worse."

They laugh, nasty chuckles. They don't show any sign of wanting to move, and suddenly, I am scared for myself.