REQUIREMENTS | DRACO MALFOY

42 | You've Got Mail

Y/N

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"GOOD MORNING DEAR," Molly Weasley said, strolling into the kitchen, "your mother called."

If it wasn't for the plate of sizzling hot bacon balancing on her right hand, I might have just fallen asleep for the second time that morning. And if I hadn't stayed up getting that old Ford Anglia 105E to fly again, I might have been able to get a good night's rest.

But now I found the familiar smell of breakfast distracting me from my exhaustion.

"Thank you Molly," I nodded, adjusting my seat at the kitchen table, "but I already spoke to her last night."

The red head set the plate down with a smile, "when is she coming by to visit?"

"Hopefully next month," I sighed, "things in the muggle-world are hectic enough, and she's too busy to have me worry her."

It was partially a lie, because while things were hectic over there, I just didn't want to see my mother. She wasn't a wizard, and she couldn't provide the same level of understanding and comfort the Weasley's brought me—I loved her with my whole heart, don't get me wrong, but she could never love me entirely.

Because I wasn't like her.

"You're not worrying anyone, sweetheart," Molly assured, giving me a soft pat on the head, "now, eat up before Arthur gets in here."

As I picked up a steaming slice of bacon, I turned to look out the stained-glass windows across the table.

Ron, Percy, Ginny, and the twins were off to Hogwarts already for what would have been my fifth year, so I knew I wouldn't see much of them till winter break. Not as if I saw much of them since the tournament, anyways. I kept to myself mostly, living in Bill's old room, only taking comfort in small conversations when it was necessary and rarely eating.

Let's just say things changed.

I'm sure Ginny and Percy have their suspicions about who really killed Cedric, and even though they won't admit it out loud, they definitely think I'm to blame. I can see it in the way they tense up when I pass by.

Ron's fine, I suppose, although he's begun to treat me as less of a best friend and more of an acquaintance. Maybe it's because he knows I never fixed things with Harry, or maybe it's because being connected to me was something to be ashamed of back at the school. Hermione at least sends me letters now and then—but I don't respond.

Not to mention, things were set off kilter when I swore off magic. I couldn't hold a wand without thinking about that night in the graveyard. Yeah. I don't know if I'd be able to perform a simple charm much less remember one.

And the twins?

Oh, they're perfectly fine. I couldn't get them off of me, actually. If I refused to leave my room, they'd wriggle in through the window and threaten to set my hair on fire if I didn't eat, or dress themselves up like Dumbledore and Mcgonagall to see if I'd fall for it and let them in.

One time I woke up to see them trying to shuffle their way down the chimney. I threatened to set the logs on fire if they didn't shuffle their way back to their rooms.

"Ah!" A familiar voice exclaimed, hopping down the stairs, "our favorite guest is already up and at em'!"

I smiled, turning my head to see Arthur Weasley bouncing his way towards the kitchen all dressed for his job at the ministry.

"I'm your only guest, Mr. Weasley," I chucked, pushing him the plate of bacon, "but yes, I've managed not to sleep in today."

The man flashed me an all-knowing grin, "how many times do I have to tell you?"