26 | ﴾ Foot Steps ﴿

                                    

                                          
The following week was heavy. On Sunday, Snape had reminded me that I still needed to write several finals that were missed during my time at the Malfoy Manor recovering from Quidditch. Thankfully, the Slytherin Quidditch team was currently suspended from any more games until February due to multiple incidences of injuries which required investigation. 
                          
Between classes and during the evenings I sat in the bookstacks cramming as much information as I could until Pince kicked me out late at night. Sometimes I would notice Malfoy dragging his feet behind me down the hall, seemingly coming out of thin air. He didn't bother me, just watched where I was when outside of classes or the dorms. He always knew where I was even when I hadn't told him, and his expression was consistently blank, stealing sideways glances at me that didn't last more than a second or two.
                          
I had also tried without success to reconjure the mysterious, wandless, blue flame magic. At night I would study down in the common room late, and when my brain couldn't handle anymore I would attempt to implore feelings of respite and anger upon myself. Clenching my fists, or laying my palms out flat, picturing Malfoy and all the things he had done to me, involved me in. But the flame would not come as though it were offended by the effort. 
                          
It was Thursday, the day before I had to write and complete all of my exams in order to be caught up. I had skipped many of my classes simply opting to cram as much as possible in the library on that final day. The ancient book stacks provided their typical comforts from peering eyes and interruption. I had been there for almost six hours when a disruptive smack occurred to my left.
                          
I looked up feeling bewildered by the inappropriate library conduct to see Harry Potter standing at the end of the bookstack, his closed fist glued against the wooden frame where it had been smashed against. He had a sharp look of determination on his dark features. Hermione Granger was hovering behind him looking displeased but also awkward.
                          
"What is Malfoy to you?" Harry jumped straight to the point, "Don't lie to me either. I've seen you two around, heard the rumors. What is he planning?" He had stepped within a foot of me as I begrudgingly stood up and squared my tired frame to face him.
                          
"Well..." I looked down to the side, not even sure what to say to them, "He is my, how do you say, my betrothed?" My words were coming out thin. I didn't have the energy or the permission to grant them any real information. I stood watching Harry's eyes widen and narrow.
                          
"How can that be?" He asked in complete disbelief, "You never even spoke of him really. Now all of sudden you're, engaged?" He looked to Hermione who's face had fallen into a despairing, uncomfortable look.
                          
I glanced between them, realizing that Hermione had kept the secret of my bequeathment mark to herself. "Harry, it is so complicated. I am fatigued." I started collecting books into a pile and Harry stepped his foot down onto one of the texts I was pawing at. 
                          
I glared up at him as he pushed further, "Madeleine, is he threatening you? Is he forcing you into something you don't want? We can tell McGonagall, we can help you." His face was incredibly serious, irate even, as he clearly believed his own words to be true. Which they were.
                          
I left the book on the floor and straightened myself again to level my eyes with his, "You would not understand even if I tried to explain." I knew my face was unfriendly, but it was better kept that way. Hermione looked at her shoes.
                          
Harry maintained his powerful glare, "Try me." His persistence was distinguishing, that much was certain.
                          
I swallowed. Hermione reached a delicate hand forwards and placed it on Harry's shoulder, "Harry..." She began before he cut her off abruptly.
                          
"What Hermione? Why are you acting so...odd?" He squinted at her now, "Do you know something?"
                          
She suffered to stand still, suddenly fidgeting with the metal clasp on one of her books and darting her eyes around the room. "Harry, Madeleine is entitled to her privacy. But," her brown eyes fell on me pleadingly, "Maybe if we ask nicely, she will assist us with anything she can."