She flicked through to the place.
“Draco Malfoy, known to the world as the High Reeve, is the most infamous mass murderer in all Wizarding history. The youngest person to ever join Lord Voldemort's ranks, he was only sixteen when he assassinated celebrated Warlock Albus Dumbledore. Malfoy devoted his life to climbing rank within the Death Eater army. Not only was he the youngest Death Eater initiate, he also went on to become the youngest individual to achieve the rank of General during the war.
He possessed what was widely considered an unnatural proficiency in the Dark Arts. There is some debate among scholars about what means he may have used to obtain it.
In addition to the assassination of Albus Dumbledore, some of his most notable actions were the Surrey Massacre which led to the death of Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Order of the Phoenix's leader at the time, and the coordinated capture of all Order safe-houses during the Battle of Hogwarts. While many Death Eaters retired post-war, Malfoy's ascent was only beginning. He involved himself heavily in the capture and interrogation of all remaining Resistance members, using what became his signature curse to kill them rather than permit their imprisonment. His aggressive use of the Killing Curse was key to achieving his status as High Reeve and eventual acknowledgement as Lord Voldemort's successor.
It is the belief of many that if Draco Malfoy had not been killed in the fire at Malfoy Manor that the Death Eater regime could have lasted decades longer. Lord Voldemort's health was so precarious at the time that many believe he would have handed control over to Malfoy before the year's end.
Dark Arts scholar Eustace Sederis wrote in his book Malfoy: A Biography of Europe's High Reeve: 'Draco Malfoy was a monster in a man's skin. He may not have resembled Lord Voldemort in appearance, but his legacy would have been identical. To manage so many consecutive Killing Curses, a person must be utterly without empathy and virtually soulless.'
Early Life
Draco Malfoy was born the only child of…”
There was a sound behind Aurore, and she instantly snapped the book closed and turned. James was standing at the beginning of the aisle, a cheeky grin on his face.
She studied him for a moment before smiling.
James Potter had never been scrawny like his father, and two years of auror training had made him broad-shouldered. He had the beginning of a dark auburn beard along his jaw, and his hair stood roguishly on end, just long enough to hang over his eyes.
“Hey,” he said. He was still holding her suitcase.
A smirk played at the corner of Aurore's mouth, and she quirked an aristocratic eyebrow, her grey eyes staring coolly up at him. “Hey yourself.”
He rested his hand on a shelf over Aurore's head so that he loomed over her slightly. Aurore's eyes glittered.
He stared down at her. “Hiding from Mum already?”
The smirk faded, and Aurore looked down. “No. I was just curious about the new book. I thought I'd look up the section about the High Reeve.”
The grin lurking in James' eyes vanished. “Don't. They're never going to tell it how it was.”
Aurore shrugged. “I know. Somehow — I feel like I need to know what they all say anyway, but it's always the same thing. It quoted that line from Sederis, about the High Reeve being soulless.”
She gave another shrug that was almost convincingly indifferent as she looked up. “What do you think the odds are that Mum's even in the index?
James rested a hand on her wrist. “Don't.”
Aurore didn't listen. She turned, resting the book on the edge of the shelf as she opened it to the rear index, running her finger along until it stopped under a name.
She released a low breath. “Look...”
She flipped rapidly through the book and finally stopping at glossy photo page in the chapter on Harry Potter. There was a moving photograph with a caption beneath it.
Aurore and James both stared at the photograph.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley sat squashed together on a couch. They all looked faded and tired.
Harry and Ron's arms were slung around Hermione's shoulders as they turned their heads to stare at the camera and grinned, their eyes happy.
Hermione sat in the centre, so painfully thin her collarbones showed through the green jumper she wore. Her hair was pulled back into two taut braids that were pinned into a thick knot at the base of her head. Her face was set with large, devastated eyes, and she gripped the boys on each side of her.
Just before the photo looped, the corners of her mouth curved up into a sad, forced smile.
Aurore studied it for several minutes in silence before reaching out and gently touching photograph. “I'd never seen a picture of her from the war. Your mum sent a few from school, but there weren't any after her fourth year.”
James didn't say anything, but when Aurore kept staring at the photo without moving, he rested a hesitant hand on her shoulder. She looked up and met his eyes before giving a sad smile that was reminiscent of the girl in the photograph.
She looked down again, and her fingers ran along the words captioning the photograph as though she wanted to rub them away.
“Someday… someday someone should set the record straight,” she said quietly.
James cleared his throat and shifted. “You know Mum offered to. She wanted to tell what happened to them, just up to the fire. Your mum and dad, they don't want her to.”
Aurore nodded slowly, her eyes still glued to photo as it replayed over and over again. “I know they don't. I get it. I do. If I lived through everything they did — I'd just want to leave it all behind. There's no point trying to explain something like that; no one's ever going to even want to understand.”
“But”—Aurore's jaw trembled slightly—“she doesn't deserve to be forgotten like this. She shouldn't be a footnote. This shouldn't be the only entry she even has. She deserves her own chapter. She deserves a whole bloody book of her own.” Her voice quavered. “And Dad doesn't deserve to be compared to Voldemort and treated like some kind of soulless psychopath who wanted to do any of it—” she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes for a moment and drew a deep breath. “Sorry. I always think I can handle this — and then I always get so — mad I feel like I'm going to be sick.”
She sighed and blinked rapidly. After a minute, she exhaled heavily and gave James a tight smile. “At least I have you, and Aunt Ginny. Mum says I can always talk to her or Dad, but”—her mouth twisted—“she doesn't actually remember it all. She has to take potions beforehand, and if I start crying, she has trouble breathing and grips Dad's hand until she starts turning white. And Dad always looks like he'd rather be murdered, and like he expects I'll never speak to him again.”
Her knuckles were turning white as she gripped the book and finally set it down. “I don't know what I'd do without you and Aunt Ginny; without being able to write to you about everything. It was so lonely at school, you know, having to give all the wrong answers because I might lose my parents if I gave the right ones. And always feeling like no matter how close I am to anyone, they'll never really know me or any of the things that actually matter to me. You're the only person who knows me.”
James smiled at her, his green eyes bright and earnest. “You'll always have me.”
Aurore nodded and after a moment she smiled slowly back at him.
There was a pause as they stared at each other, as if they had only just realised they were standing alone together in an empty aisle.
Aurore's breath caught slightly, and a faint flush appeared in her cheeks. James' eyes darkened, and he shifted forward, moving closer, and began to reach towards her.