Author's note: Hi hi, sorry this is late being uploaded. This week has been extremely busy. I hope you guys like the chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts!

-Catnip851

Lupin and Draco arrive by portkey, flying out of the air. Lupin lands gracefully on his feet but Draco falls and hits the ground hard.

"Ow," groans Draco. Lupin looks down at Draco with a slight, forced smile.

"Seems like a little bit of karma for your plan," Lupin shakes his head with an expression Draco knows of well. Disgust.

"Shut up, halfbreed. I could still curse you all the way back to Hogwarts," Draco growls, getting to his feet. .

"Not in our house, Mr. Malfoy."

Molly Weasley speaks up, looking down at Draco, hands on her hips. He stands up quickly, wiping the dirt off his clothes, trying to suppress his shudder. Halfbreeds, and now blood-traitors. Next, he'll be marrying a Mudblood! "It took a lot to convince us to take you here," Mrs. Weasley reminds him, her voice firm. "Don't make us regret it."

Draco scowls at the plump redhead. "I'm only here for one reason, and it isn't to play nice with dirty blood-traitors and halfbreeds." His hand tightens around his wand. "Where is Alyssa?"

Mrs. Weasley's eyes narrow into cat-like slits. "Now, see here, young man," She begins, her jaw clenched, fist shaking in his direction. "While you are under my roof, you will treat myself and the rest of the Order with the respect they deserve!" She shakes her head violently and takes a few menacing steps towards Draco. Unwillingly, he finds himself backpedaling furiously, his heart racing, as his eyes widen. Somehow, this short, jolly-seeming woman has become at least three times scarier than his father and his aunt combined has ever been. "Do you understand me?"

Draco nods, diverting his eyes from hers with shame. "Y–yes, ma'am."

"That's more like it," Mrs. Weasley growls, turning towards the house.

Draco lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in as she turns away, to which Lupin shakes his head and raises one eyebrow. "She packs a bite. We've all learned how not to get on her bad side. You, however..." Lupin pauses, taking Draco in. "You've taunted her son and Harry for six years. Doesn't look like you're getting on her good side any time soon. I'd wish you good luck, but honestly I'm hoping she kicks you out, after all you've done."

He follows Molly into the decrepit house, hands shoved deep into his tattered robe pockets, back hunched with sorrow, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.

Stupid half-breed. Always had it out for me. He rubs his hands against his legs, a nervous habit he's picked up in the last year-and-a-half. Of course they see me as the bad guy. They don't get it. They never will. He thinks bitterly, hands rubbing against his thighs faster and faster.

"Hey, Professor!" Draco calls after Lupin, although he knows no one can hear him. "What would you have done? What the fuck would you have done? WHAT THE FUCK WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?"

His fast moving hands are wet, and suddenly Draco realizes he is crying, curled up in the dirt. His mind spirals into a blackness that envelopes his world, a blackness that is oh-so-familiar. But despite this, every time he is shocked by how dark and deep and lonely he is. Every single time, Draco feels the cold knock the air out of his lungs, until he is gasping for air that doesn't exist – a pathetic fish out of water. And half of his heart hopes that someone, anyone, will come to get him. Someone will come and hold him as he rocks himself into dust.

But no one does. No one ever has. Not since her.

9 Months Ago

He was dying.

That was the only plausible explanation.

Sitting there, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, heart beating wildly, unable to breathe – Potter must've slipped him poison somehow – how and when, he didn't know. His brain was too scattered to function, thoughts circling into themselves, breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. And suddenly he focuses in on the worst thought of all – I'm going to die here. Alone. And despite that. No one is going to care.

And it's in this moment Draco realized how little impact – good or bad – he has made on the world. When he takes his last breath, there will be nothing to remember him by. And eventually, the memory of him will slip into oblivion. Just another one of his many failures in his pathetic excuse of a life. And so maybe this is better. Gasping for air, a flurry of emotion, heart pounding in his ears, eyes slipping in and out of focus – if this is it, at least he'll never fail anyone ever again.

So he closed his eyes, body shaking uncontrollably, and accepted his death.

And then a voice pulls him from the edge of the cliff.

"Hello?"

His eyes snapped open, a figure swimming into view.

"Oh my god! Are you – are you okay?"

She reached out to touch him, and he slipped out of her grasp. "Don't – don't touch me!" Draco snapped, voice shaking. "Get away from me!"

The dark-haired girl blinked at him for a long moment, then she sat down a few feet away from him.

"What are you doing? I told you to – to leave me alone!"

"I know," the girl said, tucking her legs underneath her slim figure. "But I don't think that's really what you want, Draco."

Draco slid his back up against the wall of the bathroom, tile cool against his skin, and eyed her warily. "How do you – who are you?"

"Alyssa Inkwood. I'm in your year." Draco placed a shaky hand against his chest, trying to find the words to respond to her, but he couldn't seem to connect his brain to his mouth, so it hung open, lamely.

Alyssa inched a little closer to him. "You should try taking deep breaths. I know it sounds impossible – it'll help, I promise."

Draco tried to muster the energy to scowl at her suggestion, but found he had nothing left.

So he breathed. In for three beats, out for three beats.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

His heartbeat slowed, lungs filling with sweet air, and his hands steadied himself against the ground.

"I wouldn't stand," Alyssa said. Draco looked at her in surprise – she hadn't left. "You'll be a bit light-headed."

He didn't want to talk to her, he didn't want to even look at her, but his curiosity got the best of him. "What – happened to me?"

Alyssa shrugged, tucking her long, braided-hair behind her. "Sometimes when... stress gets too high – I guess we just freak out. It happens to me, too."

"It – does?"

She nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. "People – kind of freak me out." Alyssa lowered her eyes, embarrassed, suddenly. "I spend a lot of time here. It's... just easier. A lot of people don't even know me."

"That sounds lonely," Draco murmured, suddenly exhausted.

Alyssa seemed to consider him carefully. "It's not so bad," she said slowly. "It means I don't have a gaggle of people around me all the time who aren't there when I really need them."

Draco scoffed. "I don't have that issue either."

Alyssa glanced around the empty bathroom, then back at Draco, who nervously rubbed his hands across his thighs, finding it surprisingly comforting.

"Yeah," She said, finally. There was a moment of silence between them, and Draco's palms skidded over his legs, reveling in the friction it caused.

"So it's true," Alyssa whispered, her eyes widening at his left forearm, where the sleeve had ridden up slightly. "You really are... a Death Eater."

Draco shoved the sleeve back down his arm, covering up the mark. "No, I just–" he began lamely, then realized there was no convincing her. He lowered his head. "Yeah."

"Can I see it?"

Draco looked up, his eyebrows furrowing. "I – what?"

She took a deep breath, and her eyes met his – grey against grey, storm clashing with storm – a matched set. "Can I see it? The Mark."

Lost in her curious eyes, Draco pulled up his left sleeve.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So – it's there forever?"

Draco frowned. "Of course. When you choose to join – you join forever."

"That's... kind of... intense." Alyssa chewed on her bottom lip. "I mean, what if you change your mind?"

Draco stood up suddenly, his limbs full of pins and needles. "You don't change your mind," he hissed at her. "You can't. This is who I am – you can't just decide you don't want it."

Alyssa paused for a moment, taking him in. "That sounds a lot less like a choice and a lot more like a compulsion."

"So what?" Draco snapped back. He rolled his sleeve back down over the Mark, shaking his head vehemently. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

He strode past her, intent on leaving that damn bathroom and never returning – until he felt a hand catch his arm.

"Maybe you can help me understand," Alyssa insisted, her stormy eyes swirling. As if burned by their contact, Alyssa dropped her hand to her side and ducked her gaze. "I – I know it's none of my business, but... you don't seem... happy. With your... 'choice'." She jerked her head towards his arm, and he rubbed it self-consciously.

And though his first instinct was to leave, something made Draco reconsider reaching for the door. Maybe it was the way she helped him calm down, maybe it was her insistence on understanding, maybe it was just her eyes – but Alyssa had somehow burrowed her way past his extensive defences like no one else could.

And so he stayed.

The thought of Alyssa and the way she helped him that night pulls Draco from his body enough to focus on his breathing. Draco stares up at the seemily broken house, that towers down over him. How could anyone live in a mess like this? It looks like it could fall over any second. Draco glares at the house, feeling weak from his episode. He stays, sitting on the ground moping in the dark, but it's the thought that Alyssa was sitting somewhere inside that house that caused Draco to hastily stand up. Intending to find his way to Alyssa. He stumbles slightly, his feet numb from sitting on the ground for such a long time. But once he gets inside the messy, broken house he finds his way blocked by none other than Professor The Filthy Werewolf Lupin, Molly Weasley and one of the Weasley's seven kids. They all stare at him. He glares at them.

"I just want to see Alyssa." Draco says, voice bitter, hands curled in fists at his sides.

"She doesn't want to see you. You'll have to wait till she's ready." Mrs. Weasley responds, looking nervous as she focuses on knitting something green. What did she have to be nervous about? Draco glares at her.

"Why so nervous?" Draco snarled. "What are you hiding?" He asks.

"Malfoy. You are here and we are all you've got, so I would suggest not ruining your chances." Mrs. Weasley says with a quiet warning. Draco knew then to back off, all he wanted was to see Alyssa, that's the only reason he was there.

"I am sorry." Draco backtracks. "I...I am worried about her. I just want to speak with her." He explains, slumping his shoulders. Mrs. Weasley gives what is meant as a comforting smile.

"Well Draco, it's late. I think what you need is sleep." She says, putting her knitting down and motioning him forward. "Let's get you settled. It's been a long night." Draco just nods, knowing that fighting to see her would be a losing battle. Mrs. Weasley takes him up two flights of stairs and to a small room that contains two beds.

"This will be your room for now." Draco puts his trunk down at the end of one of the beds, looking around. The room was falling apart like much of the house, the walls, which are painted a soft blue have the paint peeling off, the wooden floor looks like someone dropped a balloon filled with paint on it. Different colors and stains splattered every which way.

"If you need anything just come and find someone. Sleep well." With that Mrs. Weasley turns and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her with a soft bang. Draco sits down on the surprisingly soft bed with a sigh, sleepiness suddenly rushing over him. Not caring much about changing, Draco kicks off his shoes and curls up under the heavy blankets feeling warm and cared for, for the first time in two years.