Chapter 8

Is Anybody Home

I can't find meaning
I'm sorry, we're sorry
We're all scared, all scared

Hey, is anybody home
Has anybody wasted tears on
The loneliness
That everyone becomes

Hey, is anybody home
Has anybody painted fear
On the bedroom walls that save us from . . .

A week later, Draco was officially released from the infirmary and was declared free by Madam Pomfrey to resume his previous schedule of schooling and Quidditch. He was released on a Sunday afternoon, to settle in before he resumed classes. Madame Pomfrey was giving him a lecture upon how much rest he must have, to careful eating to encourage him to recoup his strength when the doors of the infirmary opened.

Ginny stepped in and met Draco's eyes for only a moment before she looked down to her toes, then slipping out again. Draco bit his lip, restraining himself from running after her. He knew that it would be incredibly difficult to carry on this relationship outside the walls of the infirmary – even with her brother's extremely grudging allowance. He couldn't expect to strut out with her on his arm.

Loneliness had been part of Draco's life for so long, but only now was he realizing how painful it was. He wouldn't go back to that – he would find some way to have Ginny with him. He just needed a plan.

He nodded quiet thanks to Madam Pomfrey and left the Infirmary. Most of the students in the halls ignored him, a few giving him wide eyed looks but his authority kept any overt stares to a minimum.

He tried to keep his saunter casual, to hide the fact that he was dreading this walk down to the dungeons that had been his home for these years at school – when he wasn't quite sure if it still was his home. Slytherins weren't exactly known for their understanding when someone turned their back on their ways. It was a harsh system, but for a reason. It was a desperate struggle that the wizarding world was locked in, though few actually admitted it – and you needed every ally you could get. If you were unsure of those allies, you were placing your life in their hands.

Slytherins happened to have a fondness for their own skins, and thus were a very suspicious bunch. An admitted refusal of their ways could warrant everything from shunning to a surreptitious knife in the back, or drop of poison in one's morning tea. Constant caution was a must: friends were doubted as mistrust held everyone apart, in a hope to survive the coming war.

Draco came to the top of the stairs leading down to the common room and paused. He had few real friends among his housemates. The loneliness of being an only child in a large manor had followed him to Hogwarts. Even his two stalwarts were not true friends. Goyle followed him only upon his father's orders, though Crabbe was a true companion, as he had been with Draco from when they were both small boys on smaller broomsticks, whooping as they rose a few measly feet above the ground. Yet even Crabbe held himself apart, the future protector not wanting to get too close to his charge. Draco and Blaise respected one another, but as two alpha males often found it rather difficult to get along. Thus, Draco's only real friend was…. Coming up the stairs towards him.

"Pans."

The blonde girl stopped halfway up the steps and a smile grew across her upturning face.

"So the conquering deserter returns," she quipped.

He shook his head at her and dropped his shoulder bag, opening his arms slightly. "C'mere, you annoying biddy."

She grinned cheekily as she sauntered up the last few stairs between them and stepped into his hug. "Missed you, Malfoy. Things are always depressingly dull without you – though you certainly did shake things up with that entrance. I hope the house elves managed to get the blood out of that angora sweater you had on."

He shrugged as she stepped back. "I can always get a new one."

Her brown eyes – so dark they were nearly black- narrowed briefly. "Draco…"

His mouth tightened as he remembered. "Right. I forgot for a moment I was disowned."

Pansy's nose, having grown out of it's more obvious piggish tendencies, wrinkled. "Well, not quite. Though I did receive a missive from the Parkinsons that I was not to 'associate, relate with or acknowledge you as anything more than air'. I have a feeling the betrothals off." She fanned her face dramatically in reaction to this word from her parents, whom she had refused to as 'The Parkinsons' for years. "Whatever I shall do without having the honour of being your wife – is beyond me."

Draco scowled at her half heartedly. While he loved Pansy dearly, it was as a sister, and both had often shuddered at the idea of consummating their planned marriage. "So you're going to continue to be my friend to royally piss off your parents, then?"

She shrugged, "Why else do I do anything? It would take the fun out of things."

Draco was going to continue to tease her over her rebellious ways when the other part of what she had told him clicked. "What do you mean that I'm not quite disowned – there's really no halfway to it."

Pansy casually tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder, taking the opportunity to glance around to be sure no one was listening in. "You've had a few letters from the Manor – I had Vince put them in your trunk."

Letters. From his mother. Draco's spirits rose measurably. Hopefully Lucius hadn't taken out too much of his rage on her, more likely on the first unfortunate Muggle born girl he came across. He nodded swiftly.

She laid a hand on his arm. "You go do some reading. I'm dying for a smoke." Pansy fished her small silver plated cigarette case out of her pocket as she spoke.

Draco shook his head fondly at her. "You know those are terrible for you. Even the Muggles have clued into that, you daft girl."

"I'm blonde, not daft you prick. I know they're awful but they're terribly calming – and you should see my mother's face when I have them, it gets even more pinched than usual." She made to move away but he held her arm.

Draco nodded towards the door at the bottom of the steps. "What's it like these days?"

"Will you be tarred and feathered, you mean?" She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. "Draco, we may be forced to live with a houseful of power hungry children who would usually be at your throat for refusing the Lord – you still play a mean game of Quidditch. You're our Captain, and no one's going to mutiny while there are still two more games this season. The mob mentality isn't that dumb."

"So I'm saved by Quidditch then?" Draco chuckled to himself.

Pansy sighed and nodded resignedly. "You are indeed, though I will never understand this school's ridiculous obsession with that barbaric game."

He took a half hearted swipe at her for that which she easily side stepped. "Just you wait," he wagged a finger at her. "Just wait – you're going to marry some Quidditch obsessed man one day.

She snorted, "Not if I can help it. Now Draco, I really must run out for a smoke before Snape comes round to make sure you're settled in, without any scorpions under your pillow." Pansy patted his arm again. "Go do some reading, m'dear." With that, she sauntered away.

Now heartened again with Pansy's support and knowledge, and with the promise of word from his mother, Draco squared his shoulder and went down the steps to the door.

He opened the door, a sarcastic, "I'm home," falling from his lips as he did and entered the House of Slytherin.