Notes: Song lyrics from Breaking Benjamin's "You."
Promise me you'll try
To leave it all behind
'Cause I've elected hell
Lying to myself
Why have I gone blind
Live another life
Life is different after the war. He escapes Azkaban, his whole family does, but the stares he gets in the street make him wish that perhaps he'd ended up there after all. The dementors are gone. The only thing left to torment you is your own guilt, and he has plenty of that. He tells Harry he's sorry. Tells them all he's sorry. But the words ring hollow and finally, he has to turn away, has to Apparate home and bury himself in the library, in the gardens, anywhere to save himself from the crushing emptiness.
His parents are like ghosts, and he can't bear to see them anymore. He becomes a phantom, flitting around the grounds like a wraith. The house elves beg him to eat, but he only manages scraps to please them.
And then she comes.
A breath of flower-scented air, Pansy storms into his rooms early one morning, blowing the curtains apart with a flick of her wand and grinning in satisfaction at the way his hands fly up to cover his face.
"Are you done moping?" she snaps, her eyes flashing blue fire at him. He scowls at her.
"I am not moping," he insists icily. Pansy only rolls her eyes and summons his blankets to her, laughing at his panic-stricken yelp at finding himself before her in only his y-fronts.
"Get dressed," she finally says, tossing the blankets back onto the bed. "You're coming with me."
Draco stumbles out of bed, a sheet haphazardly wrapped around him for modesty.
"Oh, and Draco?" Pansy calls after him. "Dress appropriately." She smirks at him, and he disappears into his closet, only reappearing when he is properly attired in grey slacks, emerald-green shirt, and black robes. She smiles in approval when she sees him and ruffles his hair up into messy spikes.
"Don't," he says irritably, but she only laughs and ruffles his hair once more, pulling him after her past the ghost-silent Narcissa and absorbed Lucius, who only turns another page of his newspaper and ignores his son hurtling past him on the arm of a girl most of the Wizarding World despises.
"Where are we going?" Draco asks, but she doesn't reply, only clutches him tighter to herself and Disapparates. They land in a dismal alleyway, and Draco crinkles his nose at the stench of refuse and the twitching whiskers of an over-sized rat that squeaks defiance at him before disappearing into a cluster of bins.
"This way," Pansy insists, dragging him out into the street proper. It is full of witches and wizards, some in robes and some in clumsy Muggle attire. The whispers and stares begin as always, and Draco tries to wrench himself free from her grasp. Why is he here? Does she really want to watch him be mocked further, watch his mental state degrade even more?
His polite mask is cracking and it is with more than a bit of relief that he notices they have stopped before an ornate-faced building, with no sign up, and blackened windows.
"What is this place?" he asks. Pansy smiles impishly at him and drags him in.
"You'll see," she nods.
The inside is dark, but lushly appointed. Draco squints around, but can't see anything until Pansy yanks him nearly off his feet.
When the lights rise up, he is surrounded by his old classmates.
His old Slytherin classmates, he takes in, in a split second. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott converse quietly in a corner. Millicent Bullstrode is sprawled out on a very plush-looking sofa, reading a book.
"What-what is this?" Draco stammers. Pansy laughs, but it's not a cruel laugh for once.
"You'd know if you hadn't locked yourself up like a hermit for the past year," she teases. "It's for everyone who's so Dark and evil they can't be seen in polite company." The sarcasm is refreshing, and Draco finds himself smiling without realising it.
"I didn't know you still knew how to smile," Pansy says dryly, guiding him to a chair.
"I'm not my parents," Draco jibes back, then bites his lip, cheeks flooding with colour.
"I'm sorry, Draco," Pansy says, her voice soft.
"It's not your fault," Draco shrugs. Pansy looks undecided, but nods and changes the subject.
"So. Now are you done moping?" she re-asks him. His smile returns, tentative but there, as he looks around, at everyone who knows he's there, but doesn't care. No pointed stares, no sneering faces or jabbing fingers. Just acceptance.
"Yes," Draco says, and realises it's the truth.
