Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N So... this is in fact one of my very first HP-writings. I wrote it before I'd read much fanfictions and I do hope I've managed to escape some popular ff-tropes. I like this story and really want it to be decent; that's why I haven't put it up for so long. I've reread it multiple times and tried to improve it. Please tell me whether I've succeeded! The whole story will have around 17'000 words and most likely seven chapters (ending shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts), but I won't update again until January. I haven't reread the next chapter, but there's certainly tons of rework to do, and I want to put up some more wintery stories I've had around for some time (and also need correcting, urgh).

Sed identidem monuit ac saepe terruit, nequando [...] de forma mariti quaerat, neve se sacrilega curiositate de tanto fortunarum suggestu pessum deiciat nec suum postea contingat amplexum.

Apul., Met., 5,6,6

Jʼai fait vœu à la Madone, comme tu sais, de ne jamais te voir; cʼest pourquoi je te reçois dans cette obscurité profonde. Je veux bien que tu saches que, si jamais tu me forçais à te regarder en plein jour, tout serait fini entre nous.

Stendhal, La Chartreuse de Parme, 2,28

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea.

E.A. Poe , Annabel Lee

Everything inside him was pitch black nothingness, and yet that nothing was somehow whirling around, not allowing him one minute of peace. In that state of mind that had of late become normality, Draco Malfoy hastened back to the common room. All sort of feelings he didnʼt dare to admit were storming inside him. He only knew that he despised himself for his weaknesses and hated the others for their lack of them. So many years he had spent imagining how glorious it would be to yield power, to hurt your enemies, and gloat in their pain. Now it was possible for him to torture those who were unworthy of witchcraft - not only possible, but actually expected. And he was just disgusted. He couldnʼt stand the pain on his victimsʼ faces, their screams, even when he knew that those in pain would be just as ready to curse him or even when it was some blood-traitoring Mudblood lover. Despite himself, he shuddered at the thought of Crabbeʼs greedy face whenever he could put the Cruciatus Curse on some student who had earned detention.

He came to an abrupt halt. He had been so lost in thought, or rather his attempt not to think, that he had walked straight past the wall that led into the Slytherin common room. He looked around. He was in a deserted part of the dungeons. Those who were to be punished were locked up on the other side of the dark corridor he had been going down. He was alone.

Draco leant against the cool wall and breathed deeply, concentrating on the rasping sound. He had never liked Hogwarts much, but now with Dumbledore really gone - something his father had tried to achieve as long as Draco could think - it had become a nightmare. He couldnʼt fit together his former ideas of how Hogwarts should be with the Hogwarts he was now experiencing although the two concepts equalled each other so much. All the Mudbloods were gone - and he felt nothing. He thought fleetingly of Granger who was somewhere far away - Australia, if he remembered correctly. And yet, there was nothing like triumph, only wonder that she had left Potter and Weasley. The satisfaction that their friendship was not as strong as Grangerʼs wish for safety felt leaden in his stomach.

Draco balled his fist with so much force that they started to shake. He repeated to himself that he hated Granger, that she was gone, that he was rid of her. He forced his lips to a grin. It didnʼt make him any happier. Happiness had become a stranger anyway. He couldnʼt remember what it was supposed to feel like. Sometimes he wondered whether he had ever been happy.

He hadnʼt been brooding over this for more than a few seconds when the one memory that was torturing him for over half a year surfaced once again: Dumbledore, old and frail, leaning against that rampart wall. And then how the curse hit him, threw him into the air, and then the old man fell. Draco had never before thought about death. Of course he had dreamed about how he would kill a lot of people he disliked. He had pictured himself how he would shoot a killing spell at Potter and never have to endure again the wizarding worldʼs adoration for such a Mudblood lover. But it had always been a fantasy, he had never thought about the finality of death, of how suddenly a life could be cut short.

Nausea rose in his stomach again when he remembered how he had got out of the Hogwarts Express this autumn - one year ago he had thought that he would undertake the journey for the last time, then depart for more glorious undertakings. Very glorious his situation was now! He had walked up to the carriages, and there they were, black creatures, something between a horse and a reptile, Thestrals, commonly said to be omens of death. How long ago was the lesson with that oaf of a half-giant when he had stared into nothingness and laughed as Umbridge had degraded Hagrid. Seeing them for real impressed upon him how he had passed a threshold and would never be able to go back to who he had been before. And Dumbledore was not even the most recent death haunting his nightmares.

Somewhere far off there was a faint sound as if of water dropping. Like a cauldron with a leaky bottom he thought dully. He shouldnʼt have thought of cauldrons, of bottoms. Immediately unpleasant thoughts about Longbottom began to pester him. He shook his head angrily. The fact that brainless Longbottom of all people was the admired head of the resistance angered him especially. The idiot was admired, a short time ago Draco had even heard some younger Slytherins whispering about how brave he was. He should have turned them in to the Carrows. That was what Pansy would have done. Not to mention Crabbe who would have tortured them on the spot.

His good old friends, they knew that the Malfoys were in disgrace, and, of course, he was no longer interesting for Pansy, and the loyalty of Crabbe and Goyle crumbled. At least Granger was no better friend.

Now, he managed to let out a humourless laugh that rang through the corridor and froze him to his place. He was left in complete silence. Draco blinked in confusion. The sound of dropping water shouldnʼt have stopped. That was not logical. He strained his ears, but there was nothing to be heard. He grew nervous, suddenly feeling watched. He looked around, careful not to make any further noise. As far as he could see, he was completely alone. Probably he had imagined that sound before. He shook his head angrily and rubbed his cold hands against each other. He had better return to the common room before someone started to wonder where he had been and tried to force some explanation from him that he didnʼt have.

But then there was the sound of dropping water again. Louder. Silence followed during which Draco turned his head in the direction. Soon the sound returned in regular intervals and more muffled. Draco hesitated. This was a strange behaviour for a leaking cauldron. Something like excitement gripped him, and with slight amazement Draco realized that he was curious. It was not likely that there was anything hidden in the dungeons that he would like to see he reasoned with himself. Reason told him to ignore what he had heard and just to return to the common room. But it had been so long that he had felt anything else apart from fear, disgust, and shame that he could not turn his back on this new feeling.

Careful not to make the least noise he crept down the corridor, cherishing his excitement. As he drew nearer to the dropping sound, he grew more and more convinced that what he was hearing was made not by some device but came from a living creature. There were slight irregularities in the dropping, or rather - sobbing. As soon as he realised that he was approaching some sort of being, most likely human, he stopped short. Probably it was some prisoner like in the cellar of his home. His stomach lurched at the thought of the old man imprisoned there. He suddenly felt the urge to vomit and decided to go back to the common room, away from the potentially dangerous meeting with the sobbing creature.

He was already half the way back to where he had paused previously, but he now couldnʼt chase the thought of the man suffering at his home from his mind, and with every step that he made towards the common room, they haunted him more. He slowed down just as a more pronounced sob wavered through the corridor again and dispelled the picture of the prisoner. Draco hesitated, curiosity dominating his mind again and drawing him in the direction he had just come from. He wanted to be reasonable and made a step towards the common room that immediately brought back the torturing images of all the people he had seen suffering of late. Bile rose in his mouth. He turned on the spot and hastened down the corridor again, excitement rising as he approached the sobbing.

When he was sure that he was very near the miserable person, he slowed down, wary to do not give himself away. He only wanted to watch, not to be seen by whosoever made the sound. The dungeons here were not illuminated, and Draco had to use his ears and one hand to find his way while with his other hand he drew his wand but refrained himself from lighting it.

He walked past a couple of cellars. Before every single one he stopped, checking whether the sound might not come from someone inside. Only in the sixth doorway he came to a halt. In this room sat the sobbing person and from the regular sounds he or she made Draco knew that his presence had not been detected. Again his common sense yelled at him to sneak away. He could gain nothing from running after people who were not happy at Hogwarts. Whoever was sobbing was very sensible, far more sensible than he was at the moment, to hide their sentiments down here.

As before with a feeling of recklessness and excitement completely disproportionated to the situation, he raised his wand and silently lighted it. The thin ray of light fell into the cellar, a low-ceilinged, narrow, but relatively long room. And the beam of his wand was directed right at the person in question who was sitting crouched at the other end of the room, the shoulders shaking with suppressed weeping. Draco now saw that it was a girl because of the long brown hair that fell down her back. Also, there were no signs of bonds, so she did not appear to be a prisoner.

He had observed nothing more when the girl noticed the light. The sobbing stopped with a retching sound, and her head jerked up. Her eyes seemed impossibly large as she stared into the light of the wand. She looked very young, not much older than a first-year, but her complexion was of a ghastly pallor. She looked vaguely familiar to Draco and as he watched her he thought he could remember having seen her before in the Slytherin common room. When he had stared at her for a while, he started to feel awkward. The girl didnʼt move, only continued to gaze towards him. He didnʼt know what to say to her, he had never before had contact to a younger student for much more than for shoving them out of his way. He looked in her face and tried to guess what she was thinking. Her expression appeared blank and frozen, and she looked so breakable that he almost feared that any sound or movement of his could hurt her.

Finally he cleared his throat. The girl shuddered, and an involuntary little shriek escaped her. She was afraid of him he realised. It was quite idiotic of him that he had not seen it before, it was the most reasonable behaviour to have. Yet the realisation of her fear calmed the dreading part in him. At the same time another part felt bad, even guilty, for having caused her panic. A further part suddenly scolded him for continually shining dirctly into her face, and he lowered his wand. The girl did not move.

ʻErm, are you okay?ʼ

He had only whispered, but his voice sounded grotesquely loud in the little cellar. The girl still remained immobile. He didnʼt know what he could say or do in this situation he didn't even want to be in.

ʻDo you need help?ʼ

The girl showed no reaction and Draco felt more and more stupid and angry with himself and his superfluous wandering. Then the girl slowly shook her head. Vexation won over all his other sentiments, and he abruptly turned his back on her and made to leave the room.

ʻI know who you are and what you are going to do.ʼ

Draco staggered to a halt and slowly turned back to the girl. She was still in the same position as before, but there was nobody else who could have spoken with that clear, defiant sounding voice. Perplexed by the contrast between the bold voice and her timid exterior, he needed some time until her words reached and confused him. He had thought he might be hidden enough in the shadows to do not be recognised, but this seemed to be wrong and he didn't like this turn. He also had absolutely no idea what he could be about to do, how could she then claim to know it then?

ʻMeaning?ʼ he asked, his anger and returning fear making his voice rude.

The girl finally moved, getting slowly and insecurely on her feet, her eyes still frozen in a terrified expression, her mouth pressed together in an angry line. She did not answer him but continued her staring, shaking slightly. Some of Dracoʼs annoyance dissipated again as she looked so fragile and lost though he was confused by the look of mingled terror and rebellion that gave her the look of a much older woman. His own fear strengthened as he stood opposite her. If there was anything he didn't want, then it was more trouble than he was in anyway. The girl's words had sounded a little like a threat. Draco's hands started to sweat the longer she stayed silent.

ʻYou are going to tell the Carrows that I cried here,ʼ she suddenly whispered when he had almost forgotten his question again. She sounded no more bold, but tearful and broken. ʻThat I am weak. For you are one of them.ʼ

Relief swept through Draco. If this was what she feared, she would hardly report what he had said to her. He was safe. The reasonable part in him admonished him to now leave the girl alone or probably get some information from her he might be able to use, but the same curiosity that had led him to her longed to know why she had been crying. And a further part wanted to defend himself, telling her that he was not like the Carrows, that he wanted- No. He shouldn't think things like that. Too dangerous. Yet, he couldnʼt make himself just turn away and leave her in even deeper desperation.

ʻI donʼt even know your name. I couldnʼt turn you in,ʼ he therefore whispered, wishing to calm her as he turned to go away at last.

ʻNever mind I will save you the trouble of finding out. Iʼm Astoria Greengrass.ʼ

Her voice was cold and defiant again, but as he looked back at her, she slowly lifted her hand to her mouth and sank back against the wall as if shocked by her own words.

ʻGreengrass? Are you related to Daphne?ʼ he asked, more out of the habit of small talk than because of anything else, noting that she seemed to be of an old and noble family. She should not be in much trouble from the Carrows. Her name didnʼt explain her behaviour anything.

ʻMy sisterʼs got nothing to do with this.ʼ

ʻWith what?ʼ he asked back, seeing horror return to her expression and voice again. She remained silent for some time. With what appeared to be a huge effort, she pushed herself away from the wall she had leant against and stumbled forwards, shoving him away as she left the room, or rather Draco retreating some steps when she tried to get past him. He looked after her as she ran back the way he had come from with faltering steps. Slowly he followed her to return to the common room, confusion blissfully covering his more gruesome troubles.