Okay, so this is my first Harry Potter fanfiction ever and I really, really hope you will all like it. I plan it to be approximately 20 chapters. It is a dark post-war fic which will include themes such as mental illnesses. Rated M for violence and sex scenes further in the story. I would appreciate it if you leave any reviews and would love to hear what you think about the story!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to the Harry Potter universe except the plot of the fic itself.
Draco waited impatiently beside the window. He wasn't used to expecting guests. In the last four years, he had only talked to Blaise which didn't happen often, either. It was the first time to see him in person and that made Malfoy uneasy.
Blaise, on the other hand, was nervous, too. He knew how unstable Draco had been but he couldn't keep the news to himself. He just hoped Draco was sane enough to think straight. No one knew what had happened with Draco in Azkaban four years ago, he never allowed a healer to check him up and Blaise was worried the dementors had driven him to madness.
He took a deep breath and as he raised his hand to knock, Draco flung the door open. He looked horrible. His platinum hair was in absolute chaos, his once strong features were now painfully sharp, hunger could be seen in his sunken cheeks, madness blinking rapidly in his now hollow eyes. There wasn't any trace of Malfoy's arrogance, he didn't look or behave like the noble he used to be, no one could say that this was the only heir of the pureblood family.
Blaise tried to hide the mixed emotions that the former Slytherin evoked in him but Draco didn't even notice, he just turned his back and went back in, not caring if Blaise would follow or not.
The house looked similar to its owner - in absolute chaos. Broken bottles of cheap wine were scattered all over the place, some blankets were thrown on the floor, the letters Blaise had sent in the past week were in the fireplace, most of them into pieces. The only thing Draco obviously was taking care of was his owl - the enormous golden cage was shining clean, even on the small details decorating it couldn't be seen a peck of dirt.
Blaise didn't know what to do next. He carefully studied the man before him who lit a cigar and sucked in hard. He exhaled the smoke towards his guest which made Blaise cough.
"What do you want?"
Blaise opened his mouth but instead of talking, he coughed once more because of the new blow of smoke in his direction.
"I came to tell you something."
"Really?" Annoyance spread across his face. "And what is so important that you cannot owl me about?"
Blaise could finally see the old Malfoy coming on the surface but he wouldn't let Draco play on his nerves.
"Because you, as the douchebag you always were, never answered me except when I sent you maybe a thousand letters."
"You cannot disagree, it was too annoying even for me to ignore."
"Believe me, even if I had owled you about this, you would have turned the world around to find me."
Draco scowled. He didn't like what he heard, he suspected that Blaise just wanted to mess around in hopes of seeing any trace of life and intrigue in his friend's eyes, a petty attempt that would be, but this obviously wasn't the case.
"What do you mean?"
Blaise smirked, "I finally caught your attention, didn't I?" He leaned to the wall and finally felt more comfortable.
"Spit it out already. What happened? Is it...," Draco couldn't continue. Blaise raised an eyebrow, "Is it who, Draco?" Draco threw the cigar in anger. His eyes, finally showing a clear-headed mind, were filled with rage. "Do not play games with me, Blaise. It will not end well."
"Say the name, it's not that hard. After all, I can't read minds." Although he appeared calm, Zabini was all tense and watched Draco carefully. He moved his hand closer to the wand in his pocket, just in case. Draco clenched his teeth, "Is it Granger, Blaise?" For a moment he thought that Malfoy would fall apart. He could only picture how hurt Draco was since only the sound of her name could make his whole body shake with emotion.
"It's not her fault and it never was."
"What do you mean?"
"She turned herself over. Hermione's in Azkaban, Malfoy." Whatever color was left on Draco's face was suddenly drained out leaving him as pale as a ghost.
"Why? Did she fuck the Potter asshole before the eyes of the She-Weasel?" His voice trembled against his will.
"She is in Azkaban instead of you, Draco. She took your place so you could be freed. Never wondered why they let you go without a word? Luna told us everything." Draco fell apart. After the time spend in Azkaban and all the fear, uncertainty, anger and rage he drudged for the last four years, he couldn't bear the truth.
She had betrayed him. She just didn't care. She never showed up to see him in Azkaban, she never tried to reach him after the war. She had loved him, they loved each other years ago and she betrayed him.
Draco chanted these words in his mind as a death wish but his head spun around as all the memories he was trying to block out for years, came back as a hurricane, making him growl from the intensity of the emotions.
He clutched to the window sill, his knuckles were white, his face pale. Oh how he wished he was insane, that he lived in a world on his own where his madness ruled it all. But no. All the efforts he made to withdraw from his life and especially from his memories were spent in vain. He looked through the window and wished to disappear as if he never existed.
