Draco's chance encounter with Hermione in the town of Èze was only a brief respite in his long summer.
After that day, Draco was soon reunited with his parents and returned to Malfoy Manor; Hermione carried on touring France with her own parents.
But that gentle breeze had, without meaning to, stirred ripples in his heart, and left behind a faint sense of melancholy.
By mid-August, Draco Malfoy's usual teenage anxieties had been joined by a few new troubles.
As he sat reading a book called Confronting the Faceless on a bench in the courtyard, Joan landed in front of him with a lively flutter.
He flicked through the letters that had just arrived, his expression blank, and quite forgot to offer the hard-working messenger her usual owl treat.
Joan squawked at him in displeasure, flapped her wings, and flew off over the rose hedge.
The letters read as follows:
Draco,
The Black family house has been quite transformed. I do not know what happened, but Kreacher seems a changed elf; he has kept the place immaculate. I suspect it might have something to do with what happened in the Headmaster's office.
Anyway, Sirius says I have put on weight. That is hardly surprising, given how good Kreacher's French onion soup and steak and kidney pie are; you really must try them, next time you visit...
Sirius has been so busy, he did not even have time to watch the Quidditch World Cup, which is ridiculous! Still, on my birthday, he did manage to take me to visit Number Four, Privet Drive, saying it was to thank them for raising me. You should have seen Uncle Vernon's face; I would bet anything he was terrified of Sirius...
There is something else... My scar has started hurting again lately. The last time it hurt was in first year, when we ran into Quirrell in the Forbidden Forest... Ron wanted to ask his dad about it, but I stopped him, I did not want everyone to know; meanwhile, Hermione rather overreacted when she found out... You do not think it means anything, do you?
P.S. Are you going to the Quidditch World Cup? Ron has invited Hermione and me to the Burrow; his dad has got hold of some excellent tickets.
Harry
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco,
Sorry, Draco, I have arrived at the Burrow, and Harry is here too. Have you heard about his scar? I have been going through Common Magical Ailments trying to work it out, but with no luck. This does not seem like an ordinary scar, does it?
I think he ought to write to Professor Dumbledore.
My parents have already left for Africa. They caught the wildebeest migration and mean to stay a few more days (what a shame! I did so want to see it too!). Fortunately, the Weasleys are very welcoming, and they are happy to have me stay until term begins. I have discovered the advantages of staying with a wizarding family here: one may cast spells quite freely, and even get ahead by previewing next term's spells, something quite unimaginable in a Muggle household.
"Cast whatever you like, so long as Mrs Weasley does not catch you," the Weasley twins tell me. The twins really are a right pair of clowns; they prank Ron or Ginny at least three times a day, and Harry occasionally, but they have never once tried it on me, which is rather a relief.
Oh, and thank you! That book you recommended, An Assessment of Magical Education in Europe, answered my question... Hogwarts is not the only wizarding school after all. Those other European schools sound rather interesting too; I am quite curious how they choose where to build them. I have also found some rather "interesting" material in that book I bought over the summer. I do not think I can explain it properly in a letter, though; I shall tell you when we meet!
Hermione
~~~~~~~~~
A humble little dwelling, is it?
Was it really so interesting? As interesting as Malfoy Manor?
So much for all those hints he had dropped about it!
Draco thought, rather bitterly.
Despite this, Draco knew perfectly well that Hermione going along with the Weasleys to the match was the sensible choice.
Draco knew all too well how Lucius and Narcissa viewed Muggle-born witches. If he tried inviting Hermione himself now, knowing his father's temperament, Lucius would very likely try to hex her the moment he laid eyes on her.
It seemed there was still a long way to go before Hermione could become an honoured guest at Malfoy Manor.
Still, some uncontrollable feeling of displeasure kept nagging at him underneath it all.
The feeling itself troubled him.
Since his rebirth, Draco had somehow drifted, quite without noticing, into his fourth year.
As time went on, his outlook had grown steadily more shaped by the present, and he found himself forgetting his true age more and more often.
These three years at Hogwarts had left their mark on him, deeply.
Occasionally, Draco felt he had nothing whatsoever to do with the wretchedness of his past life. He was simply a fourteen-year-old boy like any other, worrying over his studies, making friends, caring about the girl he liked...
But whenever he woke in the middle of the night from nightmares of his past life, those suffocating memories came flooding straight back.
They were far too heavy, too overpowering, forever tearing at him, leaving him short of breath.
To him, the shadow of the Dark Lord was like the sword of Damocles from Muggle legend, forever hanging over his head, liable to fall and run him through at any moment.
He had to stay constantly vigilant, work tirelessly; he was racing against time, against fate, and, above all, against the Dark Lord himself.
It was a terrifying business. He was fighting some unprecedented evil, one that seemed to have three heads and six arms, and could never truly be destroyed. The slightest carelessness, and he would fall into some bottomless abyss. Yet if he did not fight back at all, he would simply be torn apart and devoured, alive, by a pack of jackals.
How much more must he keep in mind, on top of all this?
The Dark Lord's black-gemmed ring remained missing; Quirrell, who had fled at the end of last term, and the Dark Lord's soul lodged behind his head, weak as it was, would one day rise again, given the chance... not to mention the two of them were currently wandering about somewhere out there, still nowhere to be found.
Who could say whether the Dark Lord might not yet stage some sort of comeback?
In the early days of his rebirth, Draco had not thought so far ahead.
He had simply meant to trip up and hinder the Dark Lord's return.
But as matters had progressed, he had come to realise, gradually, that this alone would not be nearly enough.
The Dark Lord's schemes were far more elaborate, far more cunning, far more inhuman than he had ever imagined.
At first, he had simply thought that catching Quirrell and handing him to Dumbledore, and dealing with the diadem, would settle matters; but then the diary had turned up, followed by the cup and the locket... all Horcruxes, proof of the depth of the Dark Lord's evil; what was more, the Death Eaters lurking in the shadows had never once given up their support for him, and Peter Pettigrew, and whoever stood behind him, remained a serious cause for concern...
He repeated to himself, once again, his own unsteady, private resolve:
You must throw every ounce of your strength into defeating the Dark Lord!
You must stamp out any chance of his return, before it can even take root!
Only then can you protect the Malfoy family. And protect her.
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