#dggrys

@dggrys​

Draco Malfoy had been a free man for a year -- at least in the eyes of the law, his trial over and his wand returned to him. That didn’t mean the rest of the world saw him as someone who belonged outside of Azkaban; that didn’t mean that Draco saw himself any differently. But he was free, and life continued...which meant that unless he wanted to spend the rest of said life hiding in the relative safety of his family home, he needed to learn how to navigate the world outside the manor’s gates again.

Part of him -- a large part -- did want to leave those wrought-iron gates closed forever and let himself fade away like a bad dream...but even bad dreams get bored. And there were potions he needed, and that meant (because now that he was functional enough to go back into his laboratory and do more than stare blankly at the empty cauldrons, he wasn’t about to have someone else brew his draughts for him, not when they would surely be inferior to anything he could brew) he needed ingredients. He could have them delivered, of course -- had been taking deliveries from a shabby little shop on Spindrift Lane that was too poor to turn up its nose at Malfoy gold for almost a year now -- but Draco had always preferred to pick out his own ingredients; that way one knew one was getting the best.

Now, on the third day of trying, he’d finally managed to force himself through the floo to the Leaky Cauldron and all the way out to Diagon Alley (not Knockturn; he wasn’t sure he’d ever go to Knockturn again, no matter how interesting the shops; too many people there had family who were in Azkaban today because of testimony he’d given, he didn’t dare) but when he saw the sign for Ollivander’s wand shop his resolve had crumbled. Was the old man back at work, or had some relative taken over? It didn’t matter; the name was enough to conjure the memories, the horror, afresh. He couldn’t walk past that door, he couldn’t.

He stumbled backwards, retreating -- but found his path blocked by the solid form of the wizard behind him. Draco went to wrench away, lips curling back in preparation for an angry snarl -- but the words died, strangled and silent, when he saw the face of the man he’d bumped into: Cedric Diggory. The boy who’d almost died in the graveyard the night Draco’s father had been dragged back into war by his Dark Mark; the man who’d helped Harry Potter win the war while Draco had let the Dark Lord guide him around like a puppet. He hadn’t seen Cedric since the day the other wizard had testified at the Malfoys’ trials. Of all the people Draco could have nearly bowled-over in his panic to escape Diagon Alley, why had it had to be Diggory?

but you gotta wonder how many people would’ve stood in the way of albus dumbledore getting dragged through the mud. the bastards.

Bound to her seat by a dread that wouldn’t move from where it gripped her heart, stone-cold, she kept a prayer on her lips. The dark lord –– if the rumors were right and this was the dark lord and not some elaborately heinous hoax ––would take no prisoners. She knew that as a fact. 

She felt glances, looks from her peers, but none of it registered. Nothing was important anymore, except her best friend’s safety. Cedric. Cedric. Cedric. His name played on a loop as she hoped and wished and crossed her fingers that he was alright and on his way back to her at any moment. Briefly, in the midst of the mania, she felt a hand on her shoulder and traced it up to Cho. The two girls exchanged a solemn look, through which endless words were silently conveyed. Together, they waited for Cedric. 

Then, everything felt into a hushed lull. The chaos was gone, for a moment, as everyone realized there was nothing to do but wait. It lasted all of three minutes before a flash of light erupted and two boys, half-dead and stumbling, fell from within it. Betty ripped herself away from the crowd and ran faster than she ever had towards the boy in yellow. The closer she came, the more the splatters of red stood out against it. Bile rose at the back of her throat. No, no, no, her mind screamed. 

Past throngs of students and the teachers coming through, Betty Cooper was an unstoppable force. She had to reach Cedric before anyone else. 

“ You’re okay, ” she sobbed into his shoulder. She collided with him gently, a supernova of tears and a flushed face. “ You’re okay. You’re alright. ” Her hands were sticky; she didn’t want to know why. “ I’m here. I’m never leaving you again. ” Her breath came fast against his cheeks, like the air was being squeezed out of her. She clenched her eyes shut and held onto him; nothing could pull her from now. “ I-I don’t know what I’d have done if–– ” 

This reprimand would have been far more effective if she could get through the sentence without giggling like a school-girl. Despite a name plaque with his name on her desk, and the five years she’s been a teacher, whenever Cedric entered a room, it was like Betty was sixteen again. The MAGIC was definitely still there... pun intended. 

“ I thought you were picking me up after recess. ” 

          My mouth won’t close. I mean, really. the letter quivers in my hand, but my fingers tighten around it. pPart of me can’t believe it. a LOVE LETTER from the Cedric Diggory?

Okay –– time to pinch myself, because there’s no way I’m not dreaming. Cedric’s not one of the boys I wrote a letter too… but he is one of the boys you’d have to be BLIND not to like… even just a little. nd not just because he’s cute and has the deepest, most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s just a nice guy. Those are hard to find. It’s impossible not to like him. 

But to have him like you? Well. Okay. I don’t know that he does, and this isn’t really a love letter, but it is a letter, and that means something… doesn’t it? 

I glance over my shoulder at him, smiling and praying to God he can’t see how my adorable penguin-eraser-topped pen shakes when I go to reply. 

hey ced :) that’s okay. i haven’t made a dummy of myself in a while, so i was due for it anyways. i hope your project made it out okay. why was ernie throwing it around? 

p.s don’t worry about it! you don’t have to. 

p.p.s is historical romance your thing…? 

Then off it went, through slick hands and into his. I can’t look.

 ‘I was due for it anyways.’?? What the HELL?

             They’d banked early, arriving with the dawn, but now it was late in the evening as she took her place beside her... colleagues. What an odd word to consider when applying to herself. She was far more used to her first mate at her side, and a rambunctious, but gold-hearted crew at her command. Now she was faced with a crowd of students; all different ages, though she was not far from them in that she’d been around for a mere nineteen years herself. But when you sailed the oceans, parent-less and free to roam; you grew up faster than what society dictated. Or nature. That was debatable. 

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Alosa was here now, and after a rather embarrassing introduction as a pirate princess, her purpose was revealed. She’d be helping with the Triwizard Tournament, to regulate safety with one of the challenges. The students wouldn’t know this until later, but she’d also be helping with Care of Magical Creatures, after the fact. Being half-siren had its pros, she supposed. 

Really, she simply needed some time away from the ocean, where it was dangerous for her. 

Following a delicious dinner where she’d dug into her pulled pork with the hunger of twelve men, she was led along the halls to her quarters. Or... well, it had been a splendid attempt at that. Someone should have warned the Head Girl you couldn’t tie the lass down. She snuck away at the first chance –– exploration was in her blood, you see, and she planned to make the most of her first night at Hogwarts, before the real work began. 

She traversed the mostly empty wings, eyes WIDE with every moving portrait she’d encounter. Sometimes, she’d strike conversation, and sometimes, conversation would strike her. She saw all manners of things that night. Ghosts... spectres... an odd bathroom where a high-pitched crying emanated ( she opted not to go in; there was no way to properly convey how annoying the weeping was ). But by far, the most remarkable thing was the Quidditch pitch. It was... ginormous. Her ship could have fit within it twice over, with room to spare. The stands SORED above her head. Nearby, a shed, presumably with equipment stocked within it, waited. 

Alosa bit her lip. But before she could step forward, she was discovered. “ I’m not doing anything, ” she blurted before she could think. “ I’m just... wait –– what are you doing here? ” Her heart slowed; someone her age! Good.