A/N: The biggest, fattest, most monstrous of shout-outs to my Beta, PartyLines. This is all just trash with way too many commas without you.
I really hope you like the song pairing for this chapter. The song is about a couple breaking up, but there is something about it that sticks with me in the wake of Draco's recovery.
I hope you'll be patient with me over the next few chapters. I in no way want to sweep Draco's recovery and addiction under the rug and I hope that is not the vibe you get when reading.
Okay, enough babbling.
From throwing clothes across the floor
To teeth and claws and slamming doors at you
If this is all we're living for
Why are we doing it, doing it, doing it anymore?
I used to recognize myself
It's funny how reflections change
When we're becoming something else
I think it's time to walk away
Everything that's broke
Leave it to the breeze
Why don't you be you
And I'll be me
Let It Go by James Bay
The attic feels suffocating more now than it ever did before.
I find myself wanting to wander as my strength returns. It's becoming easier to eat and my skin seems to be losing that sunken gray I've been sporting lately. The books Granger dropped off all those weeks ago are finally finished. I read them in two days – devouring each word – my brain dehydrated of actual thought and screaming for sustenance.
When I finally feel up to Apparating again, I practice: small spaces first, then across the room; down a floor. She yelps, throwing her hands in the air and swats me out of the kitchen, a trace of laughter in her voice.
Later that night I Apparate to the garden and find her sitting on the bench, wrapped in a giant knitted blanket and drinking a very large glass of red wine. When I sit, she looks at me with sad eyes– bloodshot in her drunkenness. For a long time there is only silence and the ambient sounds of the Burrow's backyard. Eventually, she speaks.
"The summer after the twins turned seventeen, they used to startle me around the house – Apparating from here to there just for the hell of it," she pauses to take a long swig of wine. "Oh, they drove me mad. It was the summer after they started inventing those things. I was always their test subject." She smiles at her lap, lost in a memory thats uncomfortable to bear witness to.
"I hated those stupid pranks," I admit, my elbow propped on the back of the bench and my ankle slung over my knee. "I was on my fair share of the receiving end. I didn't leave my dormitory for two straight days – not even for meals – once."
"What'd they do to you?" she asks with a grin.
"Pimples the size of sickles," I roll my eyes. "Amongst other things. I'm rather vain, in case you hadn't deduced."
"I laughed today – after you startled me in the kitchen. Merlin, it felt good to laugh again…" Her eyes are trained on a point on the horizon I can't see – I'm not even sure it exists and there is a blankness in them that haunts me.
"Then you felt guilty," I say easily and her head snaps to me, life returning to her eyes. This relationship we've developed these past months is startling. She might be the closest thing I have to a friend.
"Yes," she breathes the weight of a confession.
"I didn't know Fred but George is… He's an alright bloke."
"He is… even if he did get you hooked on that awful potion," her face flattens in disappointment and I feel the sting of a blush crawl under my skin.
"It was my fault-"
"It was both your faults."
We're silent again for a long time; long enough that Arthur comes to collect her for bed. She leans into her husband – buckling with the weight of so much unspoken emotion – and I wonder if she feels physically heavier from all the grief she carries.
I stand in the attic for over an hour, constantly second guessing myself and on the very serious verge of splinching myself across the United Kingdom. I had resigned to do this days ago and then that day passed– then another and another. Today is different. Today I am dressed in my best robes which arrived in a trunk after the Manor had been requisitioned.
Today, I am Apparating to Diagon Alley.
I am.
There is no question. It's just a matter of when.
If I'm being honest, I want some fucking drugs. I want to get obliterated to the point that I can't think straight but since I've been sober from forty-two fucking days, so I won't.
Not today at least.
I crack my neck and without another self-deprecating thought, set Diagon Alley in my mind– feeling my magic vibrate at my feet before swallowing me whole. The cobblestone beneath me; my chin tucked into my chest and my eyes sealed tightly shut – I'm here.
The sounds hit me first – the clattering of people bustling along the stone – and I'm taken back to countless times chasing after my parents, ducking away from them into the toy shoppe and begging for ice cream at Fortescue's. Opening my eyes, I'm surprised that no one yet has noticed me. I've been waiting for hexes or insults, perhaps trash flying at me. Nothing.
There are only two locations in my mind today and the first is just to my left. I duck quickly into Flourish and Blotts and feel my heart pounding. I don't realize until I draw blood that I am picking deeply at my cuticles and by then my breath is coming too rapidly and I want to double over.
"Malfoy?"
Her small voice slams into me and I want to throw up.
"Gr-Granger?" I stutter, my head feels too light and I brace my palm on a bookshelf to try and steady myself.
She's behind the counter, her hair pulled up and her eyes hooded in disbelief.
"What on earth are you doing here?" I stammer.
As she rounds the corner of the counter, I'm surprised by her clothing. She's dressed like a Muggle and I wonder if everyone thinks she looks as out of place as I do.
"Dying, apparently." I wipe the sweat off my brow and try to shut my brain off as it's yelling for drugs. One small hit and this pain would cease and the anxiety would fade to black.
"Here," she touches me gently on the elbow and leads me towards the corner of the shoppe where two large armchairs are waiting. "Have a seat for a minute. Are you okay?"
"Yeah," I reply with an errant nod but my heart is still racing. "First time out in a while. Wasn't prepared for–" My hands are wringing each other red and raw and I can feel the slippery sweat at my hairline. The buttons of my shirt are choking me and my fingers rush to undo the top two buttons. "I guess, I just wasn't prepared for all of it." I confess now that I can breathe. I lean forward and rest my forearms on my knees and hang my head; trying by sheer force of will to slow my breaths and calm my mind.
"It passes," she says after a few long moments. "I felt that way too, in the beginning. We spent so long hiding that coming back into view is terrifying. I was waiting for someone to hex me in the back or kidnap me or-," she breathes heavily, and I peek up at her. Eyes trained at the ceiling, she exposes the long lines of her neck. "-waiting for an Avada. Sometimes, I hear a door slam, or a kid scream at their mum for Ice Cream and I'm back there. But it gets a little easier, every time we do it. Sometimes, I go all day without a flashback."
I don't reply, just focus on my breath.
"You look good," she offers, "Clear, I mean. Your eyes don't look so," she pauses while she chews on her thoughts, "cloudy."
"Forty-two days."
I stay in my hunched position but I'm feeling a little more steady.
"Wow," she breathes, and I feel it fan over my cheek. "Draco, that's incredible. I'm really proud of you."
Draco.
How odd.
"Thank you," I cough out of sheer awkwardness. "Thank you for everything you did during my-"
She lifts a hand to silence me and I'm so fucking grateful she won't let me go on, I let out a sigh of relief.
"It was nothing."
Nothing.
She doesn't realize that to me it was everything.
I sit back finally and find it's impossible to look at her. I'm so fucking ashamed of the state she saw me in. Flashes of the countless times she helped me wash the vomit and piss off myself stab into my mind and I clench my eyes shut trying to drive them back out.
Maybe I can find someone on Knockturn who has some Nebula. It can't be that hard to track down. If I just did it enough to get through this– I'd stop after that. Just one more time and I'd stop.
Fuck, I'm pathetic. I've been out of the Burrow for five minutes and I'm already rationalizing a fix.
"I'm hoping to find some new reading material. I was finally able to read the books you lent and after the fourth time of each, I'm think I'm ready to expand."
"Of course! Do you want me to leave you to browse? Do you need any recommendations?"
"Is there a fool alive who turned down book recommendations from Hermione Granger?"
I give her a small, lopsided smile and I don't miss the way she blushes. I don't miss the way it makes me feel human again either.
We talk as she struts through the book shoppe, pointing out her favorites. Well, she talks. I do very little other than nod along and ask a question here or there. Heat rushes to my cheekbones when she recommends Hogwarts: A History, claiming it's not as dry as it sounds. She doesn't know the nights I stayed up reading it under the covers the years before I left for school.
I'd imagined everything going so much differently once I'd arrived at school– imagined the freedom, finding my way, Hogsmeade and Honeydukes, feasts and girls.
What a fucking joke.
Granger tells me about how she took her NEWTS over the summer; how she did fucking excellent at them. Tells me about her trip to Australia to track down her parents and her face crumples when she admits she couldn't reverse the memory charm. There's a stab of guilt that I can't place the origin of, somewhere deep in my belly that reminds me I'm part of the root of her hurt. I shake the feeling away, banishing it with the other topics that make me feel shameful and listen as she talks about how she received a few job offers. How deadlines came and went but she never had it in her to accept a desk job.
Instead, she came here – looking for something to keep her hands busy and they offered her a job on the spot. Granger insists it's just short-term, but she walks the aisles with such reverence that I wonder how she'd ever do anything other than this.
Granger stuffs the books in a bag and holds them out to me. Our fingers brush.
My feet carry me from the store in a rush, and I barely grumble goodbye before I'm out in the Autumn air again. The chill sobers me and slows my breath.
I'm leaving with five new books including Potions in a Modern World, Liam Macdonald's: Rise to the Quidditch Pitch, the History of Gobin Made Weaponry and even some fiction that Granger insists is better than the leaf makes them sound.
Eyes trained on the pavement– I make my way towards the end of the Alley; towards that giant Ginger head over the top of the purple-bricked building. I keep to the sides of the street, eyes on the pavement and praying that I don't feel a hex or worse– hear someone call my name.
I'm almost there – maybe twelve paces from the front door when I hear it.
"Draco! Draco Malfoy, is that really you?"
I freeze. I'd recognize that voice anywhere.
My heart is threatening to escape and I feel slick sweat break out over my palms.
"Hey, Pansy," My eyes flicker closed and when I open them she's staring at me.
"What the fuck!" She laughs and gives me a playful shove. I try not to roll my eyes back into my skull. "Where've you been? We've been worried sick about you. I'm so sorry about your mum, she was such a lovely woman. It wasn't your fault, you know. I'm so proud you didn't join him when he asked. Especially since Potter won... Oh Merlin, can you imagine!" She's prattling, and I'm chanting in my head that it's never acceptable to hit a witch. Father was always a piece of shit– could land his walking stick on my shin without a thought– but he never raised his hand to my Mother. I wonder if he would have reconsidered this stance when standing toe to toe with Pansy Parkinson.
The black-haired, mischievous grinned witch in front of me has never had the social graces that tact requires. She's a menace at best.
"Well?" Her eyes are wide and it's clear I've missed the last of her little tirade as I've no idea what she's waiting for. She sighs and rolls her eyes, "Where've you been?"
"Oh, I, um… I've been staying with the Weasley's."
My chin rises slightly as my pride takes the hit.
Pansy's face is blank as her eyes study me, looking for the joke. Finally, she erupts into a fit of laughter, clutching and clawing at her torso. "Oi! You almost got me, Draco!"
She pushes her perfectly manicured bob back from her face and wipes at the corner of her eyes demurely.
"I wasn't joking," I reply flatly with an arched brow. As always, I'm growing quickly tired of Parkinson.
"What?" she spits in a low hiss, her face twisting in on itself in horror.
"They offered me a place to stay after the Battle. It wasn't like I had many options, as you can imagine."
"You, Draco Malfoy, have been staying with the Weasley family since May?" she says the name like an insult and I narrow my eyes at her, my lip curling up in disgust, "Why didn't you just owl me? Of course, you can come and stay with us. Do you have things you need to collect? I'll have my elf pop over, I doubt they have an elf of their own-"
\"Shut up!" The words are a snarl and she flinches, her eyes wide. "Some things never change, Pans." I sneer and brush past her into Weasley Wizard Wheezes.
Feeling the anger vibrate through my limbs, I sneer as the small bell over the door announces my arrival. There's so much ambient noise in the joke shop that I can't fathom the reason for the bell at all and I'm prickling with annoyance when George greets me. I shout at him over the cacophony.
"Why do you have this bloody bell! It's worthless."
"Uhhh, nice to see you too, Malfoy. Anything I can do for you on this fine morning? Other than defend my choice of bells?"
"Sorry," Runing my hand through my hair in agitation, I swallow– trying to remember that I'm here for a favor. "First time out of the Burrow and I'm a little-"
"Pissy?" George offers with a smirk and my crankiness eases a touch.
"I was actually going to say overwhelmed," my mouth forming a sour scowl and my eyes narrowing.
"Same difference to me. Let me show you to your office." He says offhandedly and turns down a cluttered aisle littered with honking toys and whizzing brooms.
It takes me several beats, as I stand there in shocked silence for a moment, before I'm chasing his heels.
"My what?" My eyes go wide as I should over the ruckus..
"That's what you're here for isn't it? The job?" He continues to shout over his shoulder, barely turning his cheek in my direction.
"Of course not," My chest puffs up in righteous indignation.
He stops and turns abruptly and I almost slam into his chest. He's too bloody tall, towering over me with an amused twitch to his brow.
"Oh? Came for some Puking Pestels? Didn't get enough of that the last few months?"
"Piss off." I scoff at him with a sneer.
He laughs in my face, but I don't mind it like I once would have.
"Alright, fine. Yeah, I'm here about the job." The words fly out quickly and I hate how this meeting, if that's what you'd call it, is getting away from me. I had a plan.
"Brilliant. It's yours. This way," he takes off quickly again and I rush to follow. "We'll start you slow, I'm about four months backlogged on the bookkeeping. So, I'll need you to start balancing checkbooks. For pay-"
"I don't need money," I supply quickly. It seems redundant to collect whatever measly pay George can offer when I've more than enough sitting in an account not being used.
"I can't not pay you, mate. My humongous ego would suffer. How about… you can let the flat upstairs. It's tiny and shit, but it's yours. I'll also throw in a paltry seventy-five galleons a week to keep you honest."
"I really don't-"
"I insist, Malfoy." He says it firmly and with a roll of my eyes, Idecide not to press the matter further.
"Your office is here," he points up a small set of stairs where – tucked in the back of the shoppe – is a closet that has somehow been masquerading as an office this entire time. The door creaks open and I find a desk and chair, but the rest has been cleared of everything but dust. "You can start tomorrow. I'll get some supplies in here and drop off the first set of ledgers. Any questions?"
With a shake of my head, I dismiss him, although I'm sure I have a hundred questions and to be fair, I'm actually quite rubbish at standard mathematics.
"Right. Well come on, I'll show you the flat."
He's gone and I'm still standing there staring at my new closet-office. Unnamed emotion coursing through me, but it's something like pride and I pause to let that feeling soak into my bones for another minute.
The flat is a joke. It shouldn't even be called that honestly. It's just another closet. This one is slightly larger and has a bathroom and kitchenette attached. No bedroom.
There was a witch I can't remember who Mother used to call on for her interior design work and before my mind can pull at that thread and think of her, I slam my boundaries back up.
Mum. Dad. Drugs. War.
Those are the places I can't visit.
Instead of dwelling in the empty closet-home, I Apparate back to my attic. As the surrounding room settles in my vision, my heart stops when I see Weasel sitting on my small bed, his back to me.
"There you are," he stands up at my arrival, slapping his hands on his thighs – his face an accusation.
"Weasley." I try for annoyed passive aggression, but my voice is shaking. My nerves are shot after my trip to Diagon and I'm not ready for anything of this prat's mouth. "Something I can help you with?"
"You can get out of my bloody house." His jaw clicks and his rage is billowing off him in waves.
"Alright, Weaselbee. But only because you asked so nicely." I roll my eyes.
"I don't like you being so chummy with my family. I know you all too well, even if you seem to have fooled everyone else in this house. I want you gone-"
With a raise of my hand, I cut him off sharply, "I'm leaving okay! Piss off."
"Oh you've just decided to leave? Where are you going?" his eyes narrow suspiciously.
The resulting smile spreading across my face is too sweet to keep to myself, as I turn to let him witness it.
"Well, it seems George needed a little help at the shoppe. I'll be working with him and he generously offered the other flat."
There is something oddly satisfying about the shade of crimson that his face reaches when he's this irate. It doesn't matter how old I get, I'll always find simple pleasure in pissing this particular Weasley off.
"That's… well," he stutters idiotically; his eyes doing the thinking for him as he darts them about the room, "That's just not bloody happening," he's saying it slowly, almost to himself. "I want you out of my life Malfoy."
"And I you," My head tilts empathetically, "However, it seems the gods have deemed it fit to intertwine our paths for now. So why don't we do each other a favor and stay out each other's way?"
My neck twitches as the nail of my forefinger is digging mercilessly into the cuticle of my thumb– an odd comfort when my anxiety is spiking.
Weasley's eyes grow a little darker and his chin tucks into his chest as he glares up at me, his teeth pulling back into a snarl. "I want you out of my fucking life. I'm not making room for you in it, you filthy fucking Death Ea-"
"Ronald Weasley!" Molly screeches from the door and her face is full of shock and rage that even I take a step back.
"Mum-" Weasley blanches.
"How dare you speak to a guest in my home like this. What on earth has gotten into you?"
"Can't you see he's playing you?" Weasley's eyes are sharp, his voice is thick with disbelief. "He's after something." He whips his head back towards me and he's accusing me.
"Of what, exactly? Is he after our money? Our fine goods? I don't know what has gotten into you since this blasted war has ended but you need to remember who you are when you step foot into this house. Out there you may be Ronald Weasley, War Hero but here? Under my roof? You're still my son. My son who was raised to respect every person from the Minister himself to a beggar on the street with the same courtesy."
"Not him." His shaking pale finger points at me and I want nothing more than to deck his sorry ass but that's not the answer – not right now at least.
"Molly, it's fine. I'm here to tell you that George offered me the position and a place to stay, so I'll be leaving anyway."
"Oh dear, I'm so happy for you!" She smiles brightly at me and her eyes are so kind that it disarms me. "However," her face falls into is earlier ire, "that does not excuse your behavior, Ronald. Apologize to Draco this instant."
Ron snorts unattractively and rolls his eyes. "Well, that's not bloody happening. What is this Molly-Draco bullshit all about?"
A shrill screech escapes Molly's lungs and even I flinch.
"OUT!" she points towards the door, "You may return when you've regained some of your long-lost humility."
Weasley gives me one last snarl and stomps past his mother and I hear him grumbling and cursing down the long staircase.
There's a long moment of pregnant silence in this too familiar attic. These are the moments I hate – ones where someone should probably apologize or hug or some other loathsome Hufflepuff-esque activity that would be deemed reprehensible in Slytherin house.
She's just staring at me with sad, wide eyes and I can tell that she feels guilty, although she's no reason to. "Ron shouldn't have said those things," she finally offers.
"I stopped caring what Ron Weasley has to say a very long time ago. I'm sure he feels the same. You didn't need to stick up for me, I mean, he is your son."
"He was wrong," she shrugged. Simple as that.
My mother always had my back, even to a fault. Especially to a fault. Had she not had such blind love and loyalty towards my father and I… had she just…
No. Not now.
I recreate the walls around her memory, so that I can make it from this moment to the next. That's all I hope to do anymore.
"Er," I stammer uncharacteristically, "Thank you, for everything." I can't stand to look at her. "I'm sorry if I made a mess of things by being here."
"You did nothing of the sort. This house has often been a place of healing for me. For many, actually. I'm proud that it could be for you too." There's pride and courage in her voice and if there was ever an archetypical Gryffindor, it's her: the lion who opened her den to the snake – never worried for her cubs because she knew that in the end, she was always far more fierce.
A/N: Thank you, as always for reading! Your reviews make my day :D (Seriously, I'm an attention-starved Hufflepuff and my love language is Words of Affirmation...)
I'm over on Tumblr sharing pretties, so if you're on there check it out for story updates and aesthetics.
Until next time,
LadyKenz