The outcast, clad in black flowing robes, enquires: “Running away?” For a second I wonder what he means. Then I see the suitcase, and freeze. The tag has my address on it.

He traces the fear in my face and smiles. It’s a warm, reassuring gesture and fills me with comfort. “Do not worry. I am not about to abduct you.” The calm stability in his tone stops me from panicking. He picks up the case, and gives it to me. “Have a good time at the party.”

He’s definitely up to something, but I can’t work out what. No matter how hard he tries, the pleasure leaks through his lips. I want to ask so many questions, but I don’t know where to start. Were the things that my Dad told me actually true? Did Draco really try and kill my Dad’s old headmaster? Looking at him now, I can’t see him as a murderer. There’s nothing cruel or calculating about the man . . . . at all.

Draco can see through my act. He’s watching me with a resigned expression but even though I can sense his frustration, I feel, well, comfortable. At home, it’s the opposite. I can never get a word in edgeways. Dad will always make out like he knows my business without even bothering to ask about it. “I’m ready,” I purposefully change the subject.

Now, watching Draco frown, I think it’s been snatched. He stretches his arms out behind his head, like a King surveying his Kingdom. “Are you most positive?”

I nearly laugh, then catch myself just in time. “Yes. I- I am.” Why . . . . . does he always have to speak like someone who’s got much higher status then me? Oh, I remember stupidly, it’s because he has. I shove my hands out of my pockets, and bite my lip.

Draco looks up from his mug of Butterbeer. It’s breakfast time, and I’ve just this second unrolled the ‘Daily Prophet.’ What I see makes me want to scream with joy, but he’s here so I gulp back my happiness and pretend to act casual. “What is it, Luke?” He asks testily.

Vicious excitement spurs me out of bed. I don’t feel lazy anymore, in fact I could never be more alive. I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I’m going to laugh at him, laugh in his face, tell him everything I’ve been up to, who I’m with. Why, because he’s in a murky old cell with no protections, and nobody to care anyway. It doesn’t matter if I tell him about Draco now, cause when I have this knife in my hand, I have the power.

With trembling fingers, I hand him the paper. “Read”, is all I’m able to choke. What seems like seconds later, he pulls me close, rocking me back and forth. I’m trying to stop weeping, but the tears fight, flowing faster. Draco embraces me, hugging me tenderly, and at that moment in time, I don’t care.

As I lie awake though, I can’t help but feel a bit suspicious. I trust Draco to the ends of the earth, but what if Dad wasn’t making up shit? I don’t understand why I don’t have to help with this party. It all seems too good to be true. I want this niggling feeling to leave me alone, but the more you wish them to, the more they come back.

“Sit back and listen, Luke. Have another drink,” he sneers, folding his arms. “I am going to tell you a tale about a selfish, useless, downtrodden, pathetic boy, who curiously enough shares the same name as you.”

Wouldn’t it be faster to apparate, but without arguing, I race into the house, slamming the door behind me. Whoops. That didn’t look suspicious at all, did it? We speed in the living room, scrambling and tripping over in haste. Where is the powder?