📜Crumpled drawings

A big owl landed on his hand and Draco untied the letter. The head of the family politely asked whether the son had found his soulmate, and reminded him that this was not at all necessary for marriage. Lucius and Narcissa were not soulmates. It was an ordinary practice for aristocrats to get into a marriage of convenience, because the scar appeared only at the first time: it was a warning, not a doom. Any couple could live peacefully and give birth to children. However, the young into a marriage of convenience still died too early from time to time, because each of them, getting married “purely,” still dreamed of finding their soulmates. Many of them searched desperately, eventually inevitably killing themselves with another mark. Unlike them Narcissa was a well-adjusted woman, and in the complicated duel of love and life she chose the latter. A sensible wife for a business man — they had an almost perfect union. Many considered them soulmates, but Draco knew the truth. Away back, in early childhood, he had trouble sleeping at night. Alarmed by nightmares, he sometimes went down to the living room and found his mother there, sobbing by the fireplace. Sometimes he heard his father breaking glasses in the office, swearing. The parents' separate bedrooms did not bother anyone, and a serious conversation with his father once dotted all the I’s. In their family, many things — very important things — had to be read between the lines. Narcissa and Lucius were satisfied with this semblance of life, but Draco did not want to repeat the fate of his parents. Therefore, the owl flew home with the usual neutral answer, and Draco himself decided to clear his head a little and went to the lake. His favorite place was already taken. Hermione Granger, the insufferable Gryffindor know-it-all, huddled in the shadow of a large rock. She sat with her knees pressed to her chest, covering her face with her hair. Shoulders were trembled. She held a letter in her fingers. The perfect victim. Draco needed her now more than ever. — Accio, parchment! Granger winced, letting go of the paper. — What… Malfoy! Draco caught the letter and grinned. Hermione pulled out her wand and narrowed her eyes — red and puffy, completely sick. With a trained eye, Draco noted the spots on her pale cheeks — a little larger than his mother’s usually — and tousled hair. “Cried,” he thought, pursing his lips into a thin stripe. — Still capable. Lucky”. — Give it to me immediately! You have no right… — Expelliarmus, — Draco casually waved his wand, — Granger, you are as naive as a Hufflepuff. Whoever is stronger is right, have you heard of this? — He unfolded the parchment. — So, what could bring such a correct know-it-all person to bitter sobs on the shore of the lake? Has your beloved hamster poisoned? Daddy haven’t buy a new dress? …or maybe someone died? However, it’s unlikely. These are already my dreams. — You are low, vile… — Yeah. Don’t have enough imagination for anything else? — Malfoy waved her off and began to read. Aloud. “Dear Hermione, Your father and I understand your feelings. We were also young and also dreamed of finding our soulmates…” — Oh no, Granger, don’t tell that you wrote to them about your first love! How snotty. Hermione’s eyes flashed. Instead of answering, she tried to snatch the letter, but Draco chuckled and, with a simple movement of his wand, stuck the soles of her shoes to the ground. — Well, well, so who did the best Gryffindor student start her search with? Potter, indeed? “But in the modern world, the importance of soulmates is overestimated. Your dad and I, like all our friends, are not soulmates. The realities of life are such that the chance to find…” He haven’t read no further. Hatred clouded his eyes like a black cloud. He raised the parchment to eye level and lit it with a short, habitual Incendio. Hermione frozed, looking at Malfoy with all her eyes. And with his eyes he devoured this flame in his fingers, watched as it rose higher and higher along the sheet of paper, approaching his fingers. He hardly felt the heat. And he let the letter go only when the flames engulfed almost the entire sheet. Hermione fascinatedly watched a fragile piece of ash flew up, burned out, and slowly crumbled into millions of pieces. She was at a loss for words. And she flinched when Malfoy said quietly: — What the hell is this world for if even lousy Muggles don’t believe in soulmates? For the first time in all these seven school years, Hermione could not and did not want to argue with him. And Draco, turning around and somehow hunched over, threw her his wand and wandered towards the castle. — Finite, — Hermione muttered. The spell has broken. Now she could catch up with Malfoy, stop him, scream, cast a spell back at him… But instead she just stood there and silently looked after him.

***

Draco received another letter the next day at lunch. Lucius reported that Mr. Greengrass was asking for a meeting, and it seemed that he want to discuss the perspective of a marriage between Draco and Astoria. That was asking too much! All these endless chains and bracelets, floral perfumes, thin fingers and lace stockings — she now disgusted Draco. Little Tori had long since burned in the trash can, in the torn scraps of his memory, and to return to this again, to live with her every day, to live until death… Draco wanted to die here and now. Astoria uttered a scream somewhere at the other corner of the table. There was a letter in her hands, probably with the same information. She involuntarily twitched and caught Draco’s gaze. Bracelets began to clinked, thin wrists trembled; Astoria dropped the parchment and ran out of the Great Hall. Daphne picked up her sister’s letter, read it briefly and looked to Draco. She nodded slowly. He turned away and covered his face with his hand. He didn’t want to think about it now. He has five more tries left. The last scar will cut his throat. Not the worst death, if you think about it. Draco rested his chin on his fist thoughtfully. Then glanced over the faculty tables and felt completely sincere indifference to each of those he saw. Maybe his soulmate is not in this room at all? Or even not in Britain? What if the problem is not in the soulmate, but in himself? Maybe he is simply incapable of love and therefore cannot find his person? On Draco’s left Blaise sneezed loudly, so everyone around moved over. — Sorry, — he muttered. — Bless you! — Pansy whispered. — Thank you… Pansy. A crumpled piece of parchment. An unburned drawing with the slate-pencil. Draco sighed and pushed away the pumpkin juice. Holy Merlin, if soulmates exists, may she finally have luck with Blaise. May at least someone get lucky. The sky above the Great Hall slowly became dark and gloomy, and bemisted with clouds. A thunderstorm was approaching. Lisa Turpin caught Draco at the entrance to the dungeons. She grabbed his sleeve, he meeted her empty gaze and simply nodded silently. He needed to take his mind off heavy thoughts. He didn’t know much about her. A thin girl with an expressionless face and a high-pitched voice who was desperately trying to invent a potion that would break the bond between soulmates. Unprepossessing and timid, one of those you forget about almost immediately after meeting. All Draco liked about her was her brown hair spread across the pillow. Rain and thunder rumbled across the window, while Draco counted her scars with his lips behind the screen of the Hospital Wing. The first one seemed a subtle stroke on the collarbone. The second settled down the spine. The third cut a wide stripe on the stomach, the fourth was deep, under the left breast, right under the heart. Fifth… Sixth… Seventh… Lisa hogged, screamed loudly and choked on her own scream. Scarlet blood splashed onto the pillow, and Draco frozen, watching with dilated pupils how the thousands of small splashes quickly were being painted the bed red. There were only seven scars, she said. Lisa swored that it’s just necessity to test a new potion, and asked him to become the next. For her the scar could be such as a souvenir in case of mistake. Lisa admitted that she had been in love with him for two long years. She hid her blushing cheeks, begging him to go with her to the Hospital Wing, closer to Madam Pomfrey, in case something suddenly went wrong. Something definitely went wrong. A wide, finger-thick scar cut across her throat. Magical, incurable… The ninth. Draco shuddered, shaking off his stupor. — Madam Pomfrey! — he yelled, jumping up from the bed and frantically trying to pull on his pants. — Madam Pomfrey! Where are you?! Cursing, he waved his wand and canceled the silencing charm. — Madam Pomfrey! Somewhere in the distance a scuffle was heard. — I’m coming, just a wait… Draco felt a tug on his arm and turned around. Lisa looked at him with a steady, direct gaze. He grabbed her by the shoulders. — Daft cow! Why didn’t you tell me? Ah, d-damn… Hold on, okay? Blood flowed out onto the pillow in spurts. Lisa smiled and whispered with her lips: — Thank you. Madam Pomfrey finally ran up and pulled back the curtain. And gasped. — Lisa! What have you done… She quickly waved her wand, applied some bandages and cast spells, thick and fast, but Draco knew that all of it made no longer sense. Lisa’s hand slid limply and fell onto the bed.