Chapter 132: The Half-Blood Prince and Maria ─ 1-1

You're the only one left, Maria Potter.

Come to think of it, this was the first time I had looked into her eyes so closely and clearly, face-to-face. Looking utterly exhausted, yet still squeezing out her voice, the brunette maiden continued. Fiercely swirling emotions intensely colored her eyes.

"You're the only one. —Save Draco, Maria."

Pansy Parkinson cast aside all her hatred and grabbed Maria Potter's hands.

I watched the conversation between the "normal" Dursleys and the "abnormal" old man—Dumbledore—with an incredibly awkward feeling. It was the second week of summer vacation. Poor Dudley was clutching his bottom again. It seemed Hagrid giving him a pig's tail had really left a lasting trauma.

"In a year's time, both of them will come of age. Therefore, we must discuss a few things before then."

Hearing the truths of the "Wizarding World" spoken from the mild-mannered old man's mouth, the Dursleys shuddered in incomprehension. (Petunia might have understood a little.)

Harry receiving Sirius's will and the rights to his inheritance. The treatment of Kreacher. The intent to temporarily let go of Grimmauld Place and the wishes of the Order of the Phoenix. And the "help" requested before moving to the Burrow—

"Excellent, excellent. It seems you are all packed and ready."

Sending the luggage gathered in the hallway to the Burrow with a single wave of his wand, Dumbledore bid farewell to the Dursleys with the face of a kindly grandfather. —A blackened hand. The hand of the old man that waved the wand was etched with pain, looking like a thoroughly burned branch.

Ah! Hedwig's owl treats! Remembering what he had forgotten, Harry dashed back up to the second floor, sharing a chuckle with Dumbledore.

"Professor, were you able to meet the dead?"

Dumbledore cheerfully stroked his price.

"I was not. —Because they are dead, you see."

Dumbledore was calm. It was the face of an old man heading toward liberation. Just like Sirius—it was the face of one who leaves things behind.

Because the only ones who can meet the dead—are the dead themselves.

The destination we arrived at via Side-Along Apparition with Dumbledore was a deserted village. It was Budleigh Babberton, where Slughorn was hiding.

I smiled wryly as Dumbledore lightly jabbed at a slightly dizzy Harry, who complained that he preferred brooms, saying, "Recently, there has been an incident where school brooms have gone missing." ...Come to think of it, how far had that broom I abandoned traveled? I hope it's having an elegant journey.

We faced Horace Slughorn, who was trying to escape Dumbledore's scouting attempts. Slughorn looked back and forth between me and Harry, repeatedly expressing his bitter regret.

"To think both of you are in Gryffindor... At least, you, Lily's... er..."

"It's Maria."

"Yes, Maria! If only you had been in Slytherin... You look exactly alike. The children of those two. Naturally, you must have inherited their talents as well?"

"That—you will just have to see for yourself with your own eyes."

Slughorn fell into a sullen silence. His eyes were assessing whether this brand was worth weighing against his own peace of mind. He hadn't changed. Honest, or perhaps simple-minded... or perhaps, very Slytherin.

Harry pressed on, and Slughorn finally agreed to return to his post. Dumbledore smiled happily once more, murmuring, "Excellent, excellent."

"Now then, shall I deliver you to Mrs. Weasley?"

Grabbing Dumbledore's arm once more, we Apparated in front of the Burrow.

Since Dumbledore took Harry aside for a secret talk, I took the luggage I had received and Hedwig to the owlery with a calm heart.

—I felt calm. The curse on Dumbledore's arm was eating away at his life. If it was like the "last time," he only had a year left to live.

Naturally, there is sadness. But I lacked the fierce, burning desire to prevent his "suicide" like I had back during Sirius and Cedric's time. Perhaps it was out of resignation—or largely because it was what he himself had chosen.

Dumbledore knows things worse than death. Therefore, I had realized that to him, "death" was akin to liberation.

Because he—is someone who cries and begs to be killed.

"Maria."

Dumbledore smiled. I smiled too. We were silent accomplices.

Days at the Burrow were, as expected—filled with trouble and incredibly amusing. Because she was there. The radiantly beautiful woman with silvery-blonde hair—Fleur Delacour. Naturally, Fleur favored Harry, her sister's savior, but for some reason, she also seemed to have taken a liking to me, Maria. Every time Fleur treated me affectionately, I was subjected to condemning glares from the female camp. Me. It made no sense.

"Why don't you just take that woman's side, Monsieur..."

"Maria, you cheater."

Being spat at by Hermione and Ginny as if they were looking at a filthy stray dog, I was completely at my wit's end. I couldn't help but cry to Ron.

"Hey, what do you think?"

Ron shook his head in sheer exhaustion.

"A woman's heart really is a total mess..."

"In case you've forgotten, I'll remind you—you're a girl."

Even Harry was looking at me with dubious eyes. I just couldn't accept this!

Well, on the night we rejoiced and despaired over our O.W.L. results, Harry brought up his prophecy to his best friends. Voldemort and Harry Potter were bound by a tie where neither can live while the other survives—

Ron and Hermione were speechless. However.

"Oh, Harry... What can we do for you? Spells first. I'll look into whether there are any more powerful defensive arts. And counter-curses... curse-breaking... evasion spells..."

"Dumbledore's giving you private lessons? Dumbledore doesn't do things without a reason, you know that. That means he expects things from you. We'll definitely help you."

"Harry."

"Harry."

My best friends' eyes were warm. Not looking at a nuisance. Not looking at a monster. They were eyes looking genuinely at a friend. Eyes that cared for Harry from the bottom of their hearts. Seeing that, Harry choked back his emotions. I too—loved them so much. Ron, Hermione. I still haven't expressed my gratitude nearly enough. ...The fact that I cannot see "you guys" right now is so very lonely.

"Maria."

Harry had taken my hand.

"Maria, did you know about this—no, never mind. I love you, Maria."

I was hugged by Harry. Hermione stretched her arms wide to desperately wrap around both me and Harry. Ron, though embarrassed, patted Harry's shoulder.

This was all the warmth I loved. The three indispensable people. If it's to protect them—I can follow after Dumbledore.

I—can die.

When there was only a week left of summer vacation, the Weasley family, Hermione, and the Potter twins went to Diagon Alley to get the booklists and necessary supplies that had been sent out as usual. With the atrocities of the Death Eaters running rampant, most of the shops were closed, and even when we managed to find one open, sadly, most were completely deserted.

The lively energy that Diagon Alley had up until last year was completely gone—but amidst all that.

"What the heck, my brothers—this is bloody brilliant!"

Fred and George's flashy signboard stood out exceptionally. The shop was packed with customers. It seemed as though all the laughter that would normally have been scattered throughout the alley was concentrated inside W.W.W.

"Whoa there! If it isn't our esteemed sponsors!"

"Hey you two, come over here for a sec."

Stepping away from the others who were completely captivated by the array of products, I headed to the back of the shop with Harry. Fred and George excitedly began introducing their proud merchandise. The completed Skiving Snackboxes, an increased variety of Trick Wands, Shield Hats, and Instant Darkness Powder—even the Pygmy Puffs, a favorite of Ginny and their mother, Molly, were rolling around adorably.

"Harry, take whatever you like, anything at all. As for Maria—hm, we'll throw in a discount for you. You are our Lady Maria, after all."

"We surely have goods that will meet Her Highness's discerning eye."

"For example, a Pygmy Puff... No, never mind. These are popular with women."

"Maria might be more in need of a Love Potion Antidote."

"Give me a break..."

I threw a light punch at the red-headed twins who were teasing me relentlessly with wicked grins on their faces. Whichever one it was, Fred or George, caught it with a cackle and pulled me by the hand, separating me from Harry.

"Jokes aside—I really think you should keep at least one on you. See, there's no shortage of girls carrying a torch for your Prince."

"And for Maria herself, too. Well, not that there's any issue with your defenses, though."

"Oh, thieves of first loves, absolutely do not neglect your vigilance."

"Thieves of first loves..."

My cheek twitched involuntarily. What kind of name is Draco being called? ...And wait, am I being called that too? It gave me the chills.

They threw their arms around my shoulders from both sides and shoved this Love Potion Antidote thing into my hands. My big-brother figures were treating me, Maria, as roughly as ever.

"If you want, you could go hand it to him right now. He was just walking outside a minute ago."

"Huh?"

"Like I said, your Prince. ...Even our ears have caught wind of the rumors. —Is he going to be okay?"

Untangling the two arms wrapped around me, I turned back to them.

"Which way did he go?"

"Out and to the right. Hurry up."

"Thanks."

I checked that Harry had returned to Ron and Hermione before leaving the store. —Ah, right.

"George! Fred!"

Two identical faces peeked out from between the cheerful signs. They were shining youthfully, as if they couldn't possibly be having more fun right now. May this sight—continue into the future.

"Your shop is amazing!"

Because W.W.W. only truly exists when both Fred and George are together.

"—Please come again!"

With the voices of my twin older brothers at my back, I broke into a run.

—As for Draco's current situation, even I had heard a little bit from Uncle Arthur. Although there was testimony from captured Death Eaters, as long as Lucius's own safety could not be explicitly confirmed, the Ministry of Magic seemed to have decided to treat his case as missing or disappeared. Therefore, Draco had won a complete acquittal. But still—rumors are monsters that warp into more sinister shapes the further they spread. Regardless of the Ministry's verdict, irresponsible gossips all repeated the same thing. —That Draco Malfoy was a patricide.

"—Draco!"

I grabbed the arm of the pale boy in pretentious clothes. His tied-up long hair, which looked much like his father's, swayed, and his slit-like ice-gray eyes went round. Without a word of debate, I rolled up his sleeve. —Ah.

"—As you know quite well, it's a beautiful arm, isn't it?"

Draco Malfoy, who once had a wicked black snake and skull branded there, waved his unblemished, purely white arm and gave a nihilistic smile.

"...It looks like a woman's arm. Isn't it even flimsier than mine?"

"Keep talking. You'll get hurt if you underestimate the physical difference between a man and a woman."

"I've been hurt plenty already."

I released his arm and smiled in relief. Thank goodness—he had abandoned his life as a Death Eater.

"Are you alone?"

"Mother is with me. So I can't take much time."

"Ah, yeah. That's fine then. —I just wanted to see you."

"............"

I recalled seeing Draco in Diagon Alley a few years ago. He had been alone. Walking all by himself without his parents or his lackeys. I remember feeling overwhelmingly heartbroken for him. That little Draco from back then—was now being rewarded like this.

Draco, who gazed at my face without a word, gave a cheeky snort as he fixed his sleeve. And then, he pinched my cheek.

"No need for you to worry. I'm not going to Knockturn Alley either. There is no need to. I've already finished the purchase long ago. ...Don't make such a boring face."

They were clumsy fingers to be called a comfort. I squeezed his hand back and chuckled. The Vanishing Cabinet that triggered the tragedy of the past no longer exists in the current Borgin and Burkes. It is in Draco's hands. By extension, it belongs to me, his client.

"The year of agonizing over how to kill Dumbledore does not exist."

To Draco, who laughed with utter confidence and a liberated expression, I nodded in agreement before continuing as if it were someone else's problem.

"But Dumbledore is going to die."

It was a tone that sounded just a little bit like a prophecy. Finding it ridiculous, I followed it up with a hollow laugh.

Draco's eyes widened. —Returning his eyes to the color of ice, he spat out,

"...Pushing the troublesome things onto those left behind, and you just slip away first? Noble as ever, aren't you. That Gryffindor chivalry. —You're the worst."

I smiled from the bottom of my heart. It was downright radiant.

"Truly. —I'm the worst."