SALEM ᵈ ᵐᵃˡᶠᵒʸ

xiii. Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

IT was Lucius' voice that broke the trance I was in.

"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't—I can't be sure." Merlin, just hearing his voice. . .after so many months. . .

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Draco did no such thing.

"Draco," his father insisted again, "if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord—"

"Potter and Lovett," Greyback interjected rudely. "Margo Lovett."

Draco clenched his fists as he glared at
Greyback angrily. Lucius carefully turned to me surprised, as if he hadn't noticed that I was even present in their little company. Recognition and excitement, even more than before, flickered in his eyes.

"Yes," he said slowly, "everything will be forgiven—"

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback said menacingly, a hidden threat behind his words.

"Of course not, of course not!" Lucius said impatiently as he approached Harry and scrutinized his face closely. "What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?"

"That wasn't us."

"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me."

I stiffened and risked a glance at Hermione who was paler than before. She looked at me with teary eyes, something like guilt and an apology flashed in them. I jerked my chin with understanding: she had been too late in giving me a jinx like that, either way it was a useless cause.

"There's something there," Lucius whispered more to himself, "it could be the scar, stretched tight. . .Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"

He pulled Draco beside him, the latter looking reluctant and petrified as he glanced at us all, feeling his gaze linger on me more. I focused straight ahead, not trusting myself to not lose my shit if I looked at him again.

Draco looked down at Harry once before yanking his arm away from his father's grip. "I don't know," he said flatly with an edge as he walked back to where Narcissa was.

"We had better be certain, Lucius," Narcissa told him coldly. "Completely sure that it is Potter — Lovett, we already know of — before we summon the Dark Lord. . .they say this is his," she was inspecting Harry's wand, "but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. . .if we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing. . .remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?"

"What about the Mudblood, then?" I bristled as Greyback growled, feeling Hermione seize up beside me.

"Wait," Narcissa said sharply. "Yes—yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

Draco opened his mouth hesitantly, weighing in his options before choosing to shrug stiffly instead. His mother didn't seem to care.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" Lucius shouted. "It's them, Potter's friends — Draco look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name—?"

Before he could answer, the door behind us opened and a woman's raspy voice called out, "What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

All the air seemed to leave my lungs as I beheld Bellatrix Lestrange walking towards us slowly, her black as night eyes ridden with a hunter's gaze — and we were the prey. She stopped right in front of Hermione and I.

"But surely," she said nastily, "this is Margo Lovett? And this—this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

Shit, shit, shit.