Never Let Go

That night was one of the longest of my life.

Its entirety was spent awake. Fixating on the instant in which I had found Draco crying in the deserted bathroom. With great vividness, I recalled the exact moment that he raised his left arm and inadvertently exposed his Dark Mark for my eyes to see.

That was the first time I had ever seen the mark in person.

Before then, I had only seen it as a sketch in a book or as a poorly taken photograph. Its basic design, I knew well, but seeing it in person, seeing every detail of it was a truly unsettling experience. It was enough to make my stomach church.

And as I lay awake, I couldn’t help but wonder if Draco realized that I had seen the mark. Surely, he must have noted the fact that both his sleeves had been rolled well past his elbows. If he had noticed that, then he must have been well aware of the fact that I knew his secret, a secret that none of other Slytherins seem to know of; not even Pansy. Because if Pansy knew about him being a Death Eater, she’d be bragging about it to everyone, it would be something she’d use to reaffirm her position as a the most powerful girl in Slytherin. And the fact that she wasn’t bragging about it or as least whispering amongst her friends, made me wonder why Draco was hiding it from her and his fellow Slytherins.

His hiding it, made no sense to me.

I mean, if I were him . . . if I were a pureblood that was obsessed with status and power, I would brag about being a Death Eater. I would casually bring it up in conversation with my fellow Slytherins, because being a Death Eater would be something worth boasting about – at least in their eyes – and the fact that he wasn’t boasting, sparked my curiosity. And as I lay there, with my mind refusing to shut off, I couldn’t help but ponder what the reason for Draco hiding his status as a Death Eater, was.

There was something there, something I wasn’t seeing, but I hadn’t a clue as to what it could possibly be. This curiosity led to my spending most of the night trying to figure out his motive, but the problem was I didn’t know Draco, not on a deep emotional level or even as an acquaintance. All I knew about him was that he was my first cousin and that he appeared to hold the same beliefs that The Malfoy family was so well known for. That was all I knew about Draco.

And by the time the sun finally decided to make its appearance, I had grown so restless, so frustrated that I needed to leave the dungeons and there was only place I thought of going to, Gryffindor tower. I dressed quickly, throwing on the first clothes I came into contact with. In the early morning light, I couldn’t really tell whether the clothes matched or not, but I honestly didn’t care. A fucked up outfit was the least of my worries.

As soon as I was ready, I ditched the dorm and took off towards Gryffindor tower. The journey was quite a walk, but I’d gotten used to it during the course of the week; a perk of spending all my time in the Gryffindor common room. When I finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, I declared the password that Chey had taken the liberty of telling me, and was allowed to enter.

Unlike the Slytherin common room, the Gryffindor one was inviting. It looked like a place where people actually relaxed and enjoyed themselves. The Slytherin common room was more like a sitting room from a high fashion magazine. It was beautiful, stylish but it lacked warmth. There was nothing about it that beckoned students to inhabit it. But the Gryffindor common room did. Its couches were worn in, giving it a homey feel, and the lights that shone through the ancient windows illuminated everything and made it seem like something out of a dream.

How I wished I could call it my common room. It was perfect for me; the couches, the desks, the throw pillows . . . it all screamed EMILIA! But alas it wasn’t mine to claim. It belonged to all my friends and family, but I was a welcomed visitor and that was enough for me.

Eventually, I walked across the common room and made it to the stairs that led to the boy’s dormitory. I had only been up there once, when Ron gave me a brief tour of it, but I remembered it well enough and I really hoped I would be able to recall where Harry’s bed was. Because if I threw open someone else’s curtains, there’d be an awkward conversation and I would look like a massive creeper.

That was the last thing I needed.

Everyone already thought I was weird. Being a Slytherin that thought themselves a Gryffindor was unheard of and the fact that I was known to wander around the corridors, singing to myself didn’t help make me seem anymore normal. But fuck it. The horrible singing was a part of who I was and so is the mumbling, sometimes when I get stressed out I mumbled to myself. It helps, but people always think I'm insane for it.

In time I reached the entrance to their door and holding my breath, I carefully opened it. It wasn’t very far, just enough to let me slip in. The room was dimly lit; the sun that shone outside was kept hidden by the thick curtains that hung on the windows. What a pain it was to not be able to see right, but I bore it as best as I could and trudged forwards. Without even realizing it, I had walked to Ron’s bed and nearly drew open his windows before I remembered that I wasn’t there to see him.

I stepped away from his bed and peered over to the one on his left, trying to remember if that was Harry’s but when that person muttered loudly, I recognized the accent as Irish and with that, I turned to the bed to Ron’s left. I walked over as quietly as I could and then, gently opened the drapes that enclosed the sleeping Gryffindor. Thankfully for me, it was Harry.

“Harry . . . Harry, wake up.” I whispered, leaning forwards so as to minimize the noise

There was no immediate response from him.

“You need to get up.”

“Go . . . away . . .” he muttered tiredly, nestling his head against the pillow.

“I have something to tell you.” I crouched down beside his bed. “It’s about Draco.”

That did it. His eyes snapped wide open.

“Malfoy?” he repeated, his voice hoarse.

I nodded. “Get your shoes on and I’ll be waiting for you in the common room.”

“Be down there in a bit.” Harry rubbed his tired eyes.

A few minutes after I sat down in the common room, Harry joined me. His hair was messier than usual, his eyes were half closed and I honestly thought he was going to pass out on the stairs and end up tumbling the rest of the way down. That didn’t happen though. He managed to make it to a couch and fell atop it, letting out a deep sigh as he did so. For a few moments, we were silent. I sat there, not knowing where to begin and Harry was busy trying to wake himself up.

“What happened with Malfoy?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Nothing really happened with him,” I said. “But I sort of saw something . . .” I trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

Harry leant forwards in his seat. “What’d you see?”

“Um . . . I saw . . . I saw. Fuck! This is so hard to say. I spent the entire walk here thinking of how to tell you what I saw and now that I'm here, the words just sort of flew away, but ugh, this is turning into an awkward ramble.” A nearby pillow was grabbed and I began to fiddle with it. “Remember how you’ve been thinking that Draco’s a Death Eater?” I blurted out.

Harry nodded.

“Well, he is.”

“How do you know that?”

I thought about telling him what happened the night before, about seeing Draco crying in the bathroom, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to tell Harry that. Not sure why, but it just didn’t seem right to tell Harry that I’d seen his enemy sobbing.

“I ran into Draco last night, in the common room. He was sitting there with his sleeves rolled up and I saw it, right here,” I motioned to my inner left forearm.

“Did he say anything? Mention it to you?”

“No. It kind of turned into a shouting match so we didn’t really talk.”

“A shouting match?” his right brow, rose slightly, a look of curiosity swept across his face. “About what?” he asked.

“Oh you know. It was him yelling at me for not acting like a proper Malfoy and me shouting that I don’t give a fuck if I'm not living up to the last name; wasn’t anything important.” I lied.

“What a prick.”

“Complete asshole.” I added.

Harry leant back, his head resting against the couch. “I’ll never get how someone like you can be related to someone like Malfoy. He’s a prat that’s so obsessed with blood purity and then there’s, you. You don’t care about any of that.”

“That’s because I was raised by people that don’t give a fuck about blood or money.”

“What does your family care about?”

“Happiness,” the answer was simple, childish even, but it was the truth. “Nan says the most important thing in life is being happy. Know it sounds childish, but I agree with her.”

“Not childish,” Harry whispered. “That’s all I want . . . to be happy.”

“You will be.” I shot him a small smile. “You’re a good person Harry. And good people ultimately end up happy, even if they go through a rough patch here and there.”

“I know one thing that’d make me happy right now.”

“What?”

“You, talking to Ron again.” He answered.

“Harry . . .”I began to protest.

“He’s my best mate. That’s a lie. He’s a brother to me, closest thing I have to a real family and he may not show it all, that well, but he’s hurting. Known him long enough to know when he’s not happy and he’s miserable, Millie,” he scratched his unruly hair. “Always muttering in his sleep that he’s sorry and he’s just not good at putting he’s feelings to words. Took him ages to apologize to me during our fourth year, so could you please just forgive him. It’d really mean a lot.”

“If I start talking to him again, and I'm not saying I will, it’ll count as your Christmas present.”

“Sounds fair enough,” Harry smiled.

“Really?” I exclaimed. “Because I was going to get you something pretty fucking rad for Christmas, like so rad that you can’t even imagine what it could be.”

“Tempting as it is to get something so rad, I think I’ll go with you talking with Ron better.”

“You are a strange man, Harry Potter.” I spoke. “But you’re a good friend.”

Harry beamed. “That mean you’re gonna talk to him today?”

“Suppose so. I’ll go crash in his bed. Could really use some sleep since I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Why not?” asked Harry.

“Well, I spent half of it trying to figure out why none of the Slytherins know about Draco being a Death Eater and the other half, worrying about whether or not he was gonna sneak in and kill me.”

Harry burst into laughter.

“It’s not funny!” the pillow was launched at his face. “I was genuinely freaking over that. I mean the jerk could fly up to the room and then kill me. Alright, alright, sounds a bit far fetched now. But it was totally possible last night. Trust me.”

“Mental, you are.”

“All the people worth knowing are a little off.”

“That, mean I'm not worth knowing?”

“Means you’re the craziest fucking person out there,” I teased.

“Think Fred and George hold that title.”

“No, they just don’t hide it as well as you do.”

“Might be,” Harry stood up. “Coming up then?”

“Yeah, but I still think you’re crazy for trading in your Christmas present for this.” I followed him up the stairs.

“With any luck you’ll forget this and still get me a present.” Harry joked.

“Oh no, Mr. Potter, this is something I won’t be forgetting.

When we entered the dorm, Harry went off to his bed and I ended up standing in front of Ron’s. I stood there for a few minutes, hands on my hips, wondering if I really wanted to do this. A part of me was tempted to leave, but I had promised Harry that I would start talking to Ron again and another part of me, a larger part, really wanted to talk to Ron again. I missed him.

After a few minutes of internal deliberation, I kicked off my flats, placing them neatly beside his shoes and drew the curtain back. Ron lay motionless on the bed, his fiery red hair laying messily on his pillow and his mouth hanging slightly ajar with a bit of drool dripping down the left side of his face. He was a proper mess, but as I stood there I couldn’t help but notice something that I had never really noticed before . . . and that was that Ron was kind of handsome.

There was something about the way he looked as he slept; his hair seemed more vibrant, his blemish free skin appeared smoother, and his lips . . . those lips that I had never paid any attention to suddenly seemed enticing. The morning had transformed him into a sleeping prince, my mind ran wild with that idea, but reason soon silenced it.

Ron wasn’t a sleeping prince, nor was he a Mr. Darcy or Colonel Brandon.

Ron was just Ron.

Taking in a deep breath, I reached for his blanket and lifted it up. I tried being as careful as I could, didn’t want to wake him up, but the movement was detected by Ron and his blue eyes slightly opened.

“What’s . . . going . . . on?” he asked, his eyes heavy with sleep. “Emi?”

“Go back to sleep.” I whispered.

“I'm real sorry . . . about being . . . such a prat.” Ron’s voice was distant, as if he were still asleep. “I care about what you think, always have.”

“I know Ron,” I slipped into bed beside him and closed the curtains. “Go to sleep.”

“Gonna be here when I wake up?”

“Yeah, so lift your arm so I can get comfortable.”

Ron did as he was told and lifted his arm, allowing me to snuggle into his chest.

“Better not leave . . .” he said, his snores filled the room shortly after.

His snores lulled me to sleep and for the first time since school began, I slept well.