A/N – I can't say thank you enough for the constant love and excitement for this story! Thank you all for reading each week and I love reading your thoughts and feedback. The next chapter update will be on 05/31.

June-August

"Draco." Hermione's voice dripped down him like melted chocolate. "Are you even listening?"

Turning to meet the cadence of her voice, Draco found himself staring, mesmerised at the way the beams of light broke through her curls and cascaded down her skin. "Of course I'm listening, you were telling me about watching the sunset with your mum and dad the night before you left for Hogwarts."

A small smile broke across her lips. "I've found I much prefer sunrises to sunsets. New beginnings instead of closing chapters."

Draco shifted closer, resting an arm comfortably around her waist, their feet dangling out of the Astronomy Tower window.

"New beginnings." His thumb rubbed up against the smooth metal of his band. "Is that why Spring is your favourite season?"

Tilting her head forward, she beamed. "I hadn't realised I even told you that."

"You didn't." His legs kicked out and bumped gently against the stone wall of the Tower. "Not directly, that is. You tell me all sorts of things without words."

Her lashes fluttered and her lips curled coyly. "What am I indirectly telling you right now?"

Tapping his finger in faux contemplation, his eyes opened wide in mischievous shock. "Hermione Jean Granger, that is most inappropriate. I'll have you know that I'm a gentleman."

"So, you can read my mind. I was wondering when you'd learn of my dirty library fantasies." She winked, falling into a fit of laughter as his jaw dropped.

"You—wait—what?" As her laughter built, he stumbled over his words.

"Draco—"

"The library? I can't tell if you're joking. I can do—we can do the library." His head kept nodding repeatedly, unable to stop as visions danced through his head. "We can go now. I love the library."

Crinkling her nose, she shook her head at him, a fond expression on her face. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I mean, after the library comment, I have a few proposals. Though I do suppose we should stay for the sunrise."

Hermione hummed in agreement, leaning her head against his shoulder; she turned her gaze back to the rising sun and the changing colours of the sky, and a contented sigh escaped her lips. "The library can wait for another day, love. Right now, I'm busy looking at the most beautiful sight in the world."

Brushing a curl away from her eyes, his fingertips lingered in her hair. He watched her eyes light up, "Me too," he murmured, completely transfixed by her. "Me too."

As the morning light pierced his vision, Draco's eyes blurred with sleep; he closed them again with a groan, willing the memory to return. He was back in his room in the Manor.

Without her.

A chill swept over the room and settled deep in his chest. It hardly fazed him anymore, the unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach when dark magic seeped into the bones of the manor.

One month into summer and Draco had spent the majority of his time secluded in his room, fully Occluded. A dull sheen faded into his vision as his thoughts drifted away from him.

Schoolwork, Quidditch, friends, anything but her.

She only came to him in his dreams.

He slammed the trunk in his mind shut so quickly he barely had time to register the thought.

At first, he had taken Dreamless Sleep to escape the nightmares, but without dreams he never had the chance to see her. He would trade a hundred night terrors to relive a single memory with her in his dreams.

After succeeding in the cabinet repair but failing the Dark Lord's task to murder Dumbledore, Draco was granted reprieve from his involvement in the day-to-day activities of the Death Eaters. Half of the Death Eaters believed Draco failed in his task and shunned him as a result, the other half considered him successful for the breach of Hogwarts and worthy of a break. In either case, Draco was not complaining; the ostracism provided exactly what he wanted.

Solitude.

The days of his summer were long and meaningless. He read until his eyes felt like sandpaper, practiced Occlumency until his head pounded, exercised until his muscles screamed in fatigue. Occasionally, he made his way around the grounds. It was uncommon but on particularly nice days, he would traverse the gardens or walk around the lake.

His eyes stuck to the window; a gentle breeze rustled the trees just outside his room. At the last moment, he snagged his book of drawing parchment, which had been gathering dust until this moment.

Perhaps he would find something worth drawing today.

With a gentle push of his door, Draco paused, listening intently for the sound of an unexpected intrusion down the long manor halls. Silence. He let out a breathless sigh of relief as he slipped out of his room and into the hallway.

Draco navigated through the manor, using the secret paths built into the manor from the original developer. William the Conqueror had been the pinnacle of paranoia, having earned his name by overthrowing his enemies. He was determined to prevent the same fate for his allies.

A strip of sunlight appeared at the end of the dark path; he stepped into the heat eagerly, yearning to feel the sun beat down on his skin.

"I see someone has decided to grace our presence today." Narcissa peered down at Draco, her head covered with an elegant sun hat which protected her from the full force of the sun.

Passing her without pausing, he muttered unintelligibly under his breath. A gentle hand dropped onto his shoulder and he faltered, looking to his mother.

"Draco." Her voice lowered dangerously. "I do not know what you instructed him to do but Charles has attacked three of the Dark Lord's followers today alone. If you cannot control him, I am afraid someone may lose their patience and dispose of him."

A scoff escaped his lips before he could stop himself. "I'm not sure if you've met Charles, Mother," he spat. "But he doesn't listen to anyone. Me included. Don't blame me because our peacock has decided to single handedly take on the Dark Lord and defend the Wizarding World."

He wrenched his shoulder away from her touch, noting her brief flinch from the action.

"Maybe he's a spy," Draco crooned. "At least someone would be saving the family reputation."

Narcissa's eyes lit with fire. "You will do as you are told, Draco," she scolded before hissing, "You cannot continue to speak so blatantly. I can practically read your resentment on your face. Go. Practice your Occlumency, before you kill us all."

With a roll of his eyes, Draco continued down the path to the gardens, retrieving the Galleon from his pocket and flipping it in the air as he walked. Pausing in front of the camellia bush in full bloom, he plucked a flower and twirled it between his fingers absentmindedly, pushing down his memories of summer days, freshly squeezed lemonade, and braided curls as he passed the field of roaming peacocks.

He pulled a handful of fresh raspberries that he had nicked from the kitchens out of his pocket and continued his journey until he spotted a familiar sight.

"I've heard you've been making progress for her." Draco could not help but whisper, presenting his offering of berries. "I know you've had your disagreements in the past, but she would be rather pleased to know that you've drawn blood."

Charles extended his white feathers with a shimmer, appearing satisfied as he pecked at raspberries, the juices escaping from the fruit.

"Don't tell Mother," he said, smiling softly and taking a seat in the grass. Charles sat down next to him in contemplative silence.

Draco's fingers itched, and for the first time in months, he felt the drive to draw. He flipped open the book to a blank page and began to sketch Charles. The wide strokes began to take shape as he added detail and texture to the proud peacock.

Leaning back onto the ground, Draco stared up at the cloudless sky, squinting at the intensity of the sun. The heat poured over him, causing a line of perspiration along his hairline.

A thought popped into his mind and refused to leave. He set down his sketchbook, stripped off his clothes—save for his trunks—and sprinted into the lake at full speed. The wind whipped through his hair and for a moment he felt the blood flush his cheeks and bring life back into him.

The water splashed violently around his legs as he navigated into the deepest section of the lake. As he floated on his back, the cool water enveloped him.

He lost track of time, though his hands were wrinkly if that were any indication.

"Draco!" His father's scathing voice pulled him out of his dreamlike state. "What are you doing?!"

Draco's hands spread across the surface of the water, dragging slowly as he bobbed. "I'm swimming, Father," he replied lethargically, as if explaining a difficult concept to a small child, "Surely you are familiar with the action. It's the inverse of drowning."

Though he could not see his father's face—he was still drifting through the water with his head up—he knew that his father was glaring at him.

"Don't be daft, Draco, it doesn't suit you. Would you like to explain to me why you are contaminating yourself in the murky water of the lake like a peasant?"

Her words came to him without effort as he repeated, "Life's too short and happiness is too rare."

Lucius departed without another word, and a smile spread across Draco's lips as he dunked his head beneath the water, relishing the way he felt in that moment.

After a quick drying spell—Draco loved being able to use magic without the trace—he dressed and followed the secret passage back to his room, becoming a recluse once more.

Thumbing the edge of the parchment, Draco carefully inspected his latest sketch next to the fireplace.

In his opinion, it was his best work yet; he managed to capture her freckles perfectly, having memorised the pattern across her cheeks and nose. Her smile lit up the page, her eyes gazing back at him. A figure entered the doorway to his room.

"I saw the light coming from your wing. It's past midnight. I thought perhaps you were having difficulty sleeping." When he did not respond, Lucius prompted, "Is that her?"

Lucius closed the door behind him and made his way to Draco.

"Don't worry, Father." His voice was light and sarcastic. "I'll burn it. I always do."

With a flick of his wrist, Draco tossed the freshly sketched image into the fire, watching dully as the flames licked the parchment, consuming it.

Lucius lingered for a moment, his eyes anchored to the disintegrating sketch.

"That was…" Lucius' voice wavered in an uncharacteristic manner. "Excellent work. You have your grandmother's eye for art."

He stilled, unsure of how to respond.

"Your mother is worried about you," Lucius informed him, turning his gaze back to Draco.

Shrugging, he looked to his feet, counting the seconds before his father would leave.

"I am worried about you," Lucius added, lowering his voice as he watched Draco's reaction morph.

"You don't need to worry," he replied with a sneer. "I won't expose the family shame to dear Auntie Bella."

The cane scraped against the floor as Lucius took a step forward. "Your mother"—he exhaled as if catching himself—"showed me memories of you and her. The visits to the manor. The summer she spent here."

Draco flinched, the reminder of how quickly his life changed hit like a punch to his gut.

"If you're expecting me to apologize—"

"—no." Lucius cut him off with a raise of his cane. "I expect no apology. In fact, I know my initial reaction to your…situation was unkind."

A choked laugh mangled in his throat. "Unkind?! You slung the word 'Mudblood' a dozen times in a single interaction. If you had shown her even an ounce of kindness—you know what, just leave. I don't know why you're even here. You made it perfectly clear that you don't care about me or my situation," he spat the word in disdain.

Lucius closed his eyes for a beat, and Draco noticed the dark circles of exhaustion that lined his father's eyes.

With a slow stroll, Lucius made his way back to the doorway, faltering as he reached for the handle.

"The way you look at her..." Lucius' voice was as quiet as the breeze outside the window. "It reminds me of when I first met your mother."

The door clicked as it shut back into place, no sound in the room save for the crackle of the fire.

The Manor was uncommonly empty that morning, which made Draco more uneasy than relieved. It meant the Dark Lord and his followers were planning something. A downside to avoiding the Death Eater meetings was that Draco was the last to learn new information on their plans.

Trailing through the empty halls of the Manor, Draco took in the sights and sounds around him. He could smell freshly baked bread wafting from the lower kitchens, hear the birds and creatures outside the window, feel the dark magic fading from the air around him. If he closed his eyes, it would almost feel as though nothing had changed.

Catching a glimpse of dark hair through a crack in the doorway to his father's office, he paused, listening in.

All Draco could see was the back of Snape's head as he faced Narcissa. "I know you're trying to help him, but Narcissa, surely he must know—"

"No." Narcissa cut off sharply. "You cannot. You know what would happen."

"He's not foolish enough to—"

"You do not know him like I do. We will tell him after. When it is safe."

The floorboard under him creaked with age. His mother and Snape turned towards the sound. Before he could be caught, he rushed back to his room through a nearby secret passage, his mind turning with questions.

"We had him! We fucking had him and you missed your shot and hit the damn owl."

The sound of fumbling feet and growling caught Draco's attention as he passed the dining room later that night, having made a stop in the kitchens for Pinky's chocolate ice cream.

"How was I supposed to know that was him?! The entire sky was full of Harry Potters!"

Draco forgot to breathe.

"HE WAS WITH THE GIANT! It was fucking obvious and you missed it you arsewipe!"

"STOP YELLING AT ME! I lost a tooth because of that filthy Blood Traitor! I could have died!"

A low scoff echoed in the empty hall. "And what a loss that would've been, your hand would have surely missed you."

"You son of a—"

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the doorway, ushering Draco away from the scene. As he was pulled away, he spied a group of Death Eaters in a skirmish across the dining room, still in their masks and cloaks.

"Draco." Instead of her usual calm demeanor, she appeared flustered and scattered. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Cissa! Have you told dear Draco the good news?" Bellatrix appeared at the end of the hall, her wand raised in the air as she spun around and cackled, "We killed one of them tonight."

Draco felt the colour drain from his face, his questioning eyes meeting his mother's. He felt a splinter in his Occlumency, the crack trailing up through his mind as he struggled to regain control.

"Yes, Draco." Narcissa's voice grew unnaturally tight as she feigned cheerfulness. "There was a raid tonight, to catch Harry Potter. The Dark Lord's servants were informed that he would be transported to a safe house tonight. They did not anticipate the decoys, but at least one Blood Traitor is dead. Bellatrix, did you figure out who it was under the Polyjuice?"

Polyjuice.

Draco's nails dug into the palm of his hand, trying to mute his reaction. He knew that Hermione would do anything to protect Harry. There was no doubt in his mind that she was one of the Potters tonight. Pain pierced up his arm as he dug his nails in further, trying not to seem too eager as he waited for his aunt to reply.

"It was that ex-Auror, Alastor Moody." Bellatrix's eyes glimmered with satisfaction. "He took down so many loyal followers, he deserves to rot. My only regret is that I didn't get to play with him before he took the Avada."

Draco felt incredibly guilty at the amount of relief he found in his aunt's words. In the back of his mind, he assumed he would be able to tell if Hermione were killed, but that did not stop him from worrying every moment of every day.

It was nearly imperceptible, but Draco could see that his mother's disposition brightened from the news as well.

"Big changes are coming, Draco." Bellatrix lowered her chin, looking up at Draco with a manic grin. "The Ministry is next."

He barely registered Bellatrix's words as he dismissed himself and walked back to his bedroom, knowing he would receive a message from Hermione soon. She wrote to him at the same time each night, just one word to his band to update him. Draco wanted more—one word would never be enough—but they had agreed upon it to minimize risk until he was back at school.

Checking the time impatiently, Draco sat on the edge of his bed, watching his ring for any signs of life. He jumped up, pacing the room with unstable legs, feeling his anxiety mount as the clock ticked by.

Finally, his band warmed, dousing him in comfort. Savouring the four letters, he pressed the metal against his lips.

Safe

An hour earlier, Pinky had arrived in his room with a warning from his mother—his presence was required at supper that night.

The dining room had become a central location for the daily activities of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. As a result, Draco avoided meals and took them alone in his room whenever possible. Every few weeks, his mother insisted he attend a meal to maintain the façade.

Travelling the familiar corridor from his room to the dining room, his eyes wandered out the nearby window into the grounds. A cloaked figure was on the front lawn, shouting and stomping aggressively. Draco stopped mid-step to watch the scene unfold.

Fearlessly, a white peacock sprinted after the figure, hissing and waving its tail feathers as it chased its prey. The Death Eater attempted to kick Charles, who dodged the foot and pecked at him, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground.

Holding in a laugh, Draco continued his path to supper, ignoring the other guests and selecting a seat next to his mother just before the first course began.

The discussion quickly became background noise, fuzzy in Draco's ears as he Occluded. His mind cleared and refilled with details of the latest Quidditch match that he had skimmed in the newspaper during breakfast.

Magically, his bowl was filled with soup, provided by Teeney who was waiting silently in the corner, her head bowed. Dragging the spoon through the bowl, he forced himself to take a bite, barely tasting it as it trailed down his throat.

Laughter filled his ears, drawing his attention away from his soup and to the supper guests at the table, who were staring at him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered the apology, unsure of what he had missed.

"I asked if you are excited to return to school." Bellatrix's lips curled into a nasty smile, baring her teeth to Draco. "Now that Dumbledore is out of the way, we can finally give the students of Hogwarts a proper education."

"Hear hear!" Yaxley raised a glass of wine, dumping the liquid into his mouth; it overflowed and spilled out the sides of his lips.

Narcissa's shoulders pulled back nearly imperceptibly.

"I hadn't realised the school was reopening." Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Last I had heard, McGonagall was closing for the year."

Bellatrix's face morphed into contempt. "That bitch is no longer in charge of Hogwarts," she crooned. "Only the Dark Lord has the power and influence to force lasting change. He had the wisdom to make attendance mandatory this year. Now he can teach and mold young minds to his ways with the new curriculum. Those professors have been far too soft; they need the proper incentive to educate your peers as the Dark Lord sees fit."

Draco nodded, trying to control his elation at the news that he would be able to return to school, to leave the Manor. "Yes, aunt, I am excited to continue the Dark Lord's will at Hogwarts."

His heart rate elevated; he tried to settle it as he took another spoonful of soup between his lips, the flavour dulled on his tongue.

"With control of the Ministry, The Daily Prophet, and Hogwarts, the Dark Lord's reign is all but secured. We will be able to complete his will and finally rid the world of Mudbloods." Macnair's gaze pricked at Draco's skin.

"Speaking of, Macnair, how has the recent hunt gone?" Dolohov questioned, a glint of malice in his eye.

Hunt.

The word carved at Draco's insides.

"Found a pair of Mudbloods trying to escape the round up in North London, hung them by their wrists and beat them until they screamed themselves mute." Macnair ripped off a piece of bread with his teeth, dipping it into the soup. "After we take away their wands, there really is no use fighting, but it sure makes the game more fun when there's a challenge."

Stomach turning, Draco pushed his bowl away from him, nauseated by the cackles and agreements around him. His hand slipped into his pocket, pressing the metal edge of the Galleon into his thumb.

"May I be dismissed?" His eyes pled silently to his mother who gave a curt nod, her eyes masked with indifference.

"Oh, Draco?" Bellatrix's voice raised, sickly sweet. "This arrived for you." With a tilt of her head, Teeney stepped forward, carrying a single letter on a silver platter.

Suppressing a tremble from making its way down his hands, he ripped open the letter, noting the Hogwarts seal.

A hard object rested in the envelope; he retrieved a metal badge from between the folded paper.

Head Boy

His finger traced along the hard edge, absorbing the words.

"The Dark Lord is pleased with your execution of the cabinet," Bellatrix purred. "He would like to reward you for your loyalty."

"Thank you," his voice deadpanned. "It's an honour to serve him."

With a hard scrape of his chair, Draco's legs carried him out into the hall outside the dining room.

They were hunting Muggleborns.

His stomach lurched, emptying its contents onto the floor.

Draco lay splayed out on his bed, his eyes tracing the intricate carvings that bordered the room.

Hours passed and his mind grew numb to the silence. After midnight but before the sun rose, he accepted that he would not be sleeping that night.

Dressing haphazardly, he snagged his wand from his bedside table. Focusing on the image of Theo's room at Nott Manor in his mind, Draco felt the familiar squeeze and tightening of his chest that came with Apparition.

The brief sound of a pop filled his ears before he settled in his new surroundings. Mildly relieved that he had not been splinched, Draco squinted into the darkness of the room.

"Theo?" After a moment he lit his wand, making his way over to Theo's bedside. "It's just Draco."

He tripped over a pile of rubbish on the floor, the glass bottles clinked together and rolled before colliding against the bed frame.

"Bloody hell, Theo," Draco grumbled, wincing at the pain shooting up his foot. "Where are your house elves?"

The bedcovers on Theo's bed were skewed about, his pillows thrown on the floor along with weeks of rubbish. He felt his pulse race, a sense of dread filling his stomach as his voice raised. "Theo?! Where are you?"

A mixture of a low groan and huff came from beneath him; Draco stepped back suddenly, balancing his hands on his knees as he bent low and peered in the space below the bed. Two feet were visible, one was wearing a shoe with no sock, the other a sock with no shoe.

Dragging a hand slowly down his face, Draco let out a warning. "I'm pulling you out now, mate."

More groaning and words that were muffled by the bedding came from Theo. After setting his wand down on the nightstand, Draco wrapped his hands around Theo's ankles and pulled; Theo's arms flapped above his head, fighting against the movement.

"You know, Theo, the top of the bed is much more comfortable."

"Bloody hell," Theo grumbled, his words slurred together into one long sound. "I was sleeping."

Draco picked up his wand and angled the light towards Theo who hissed. "What the fuck, Draco?!"

The lack of shoe ended up being the most normal part of Theo's appearance; his hair was in disarray, he was presently wearing a white button-up—with only three buttons done, and in the wrong holes—a pair of red and gold athletic trousers, and a scuffed dress shoe.

"What the fuck?" Draco raised his brows incredulously. "You're the one asking me, what the fuck? Have you looked in a mirror lately? What are you wearing?"

"It doesn't smell like him anymore," Theo's voice came out in a pitiful rasp, his hands balled the shirt into his fists and pressed his nose against it. "I lost the last bit of him that I had left."

Draco eyed the empty bottles littering the floor, "How much have you had to drink?"

"Fuck if I know." His eyes glazed over, looking past Draco. "What month is it?"

"July."

"Fuck." Theo slow blinked, his eyes widening and narrowing experimentally. "When did that happen?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Draco let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, mate."

"Sorry for—" Theo's question was cut off by a splash of water jetting out of Draco's wand and onto his face.

Sputtering, Theo sat up abruptly, glaring at Draco as his hair dripped water droplets onto the floor. "What the fuck?!"

"See, now that's an appropriate time to ask the question," Draco drawled, waving his wand to dry Theo.

The cold water sobered Theo up and he tucked his head down onto his bent knees, covering his face.

"Why are you here, Draco? Just let me wallow in my misery."

"Theo—"

"Stop. I don't want to hear your words of encouragement and optimism right now. The love of my fucking life fucking hates me and is being hunted down by my fucking father and I can't even get a fucking drink! LANEY!"

Laney the house-elf appeared next to Theo with a quick pop, holding a fresh bottle of firewhisky.

"Does Master—"

Yanking the bottle from Laney's arms, Theo waved her away with a broad flop of his arm. "Go away."

Pop

Draco's stomach sank like a stone through water, sending ripples down his spine. "You can't sit here in the dark, sloshed out of your mind, and—"

"—what the fuck am I supposed to do, Draco?" Theo coughed out a bitter scoff. "He's gone."

"Yeah, and how do you think Harry would feel if he saw you right now?"

Theo flinched at the name.

"Stop." His lips pressed together as they trembled, his eyes squeezed shut.

"No, really, Theo. You think he'd be happy to see you in here falling apart? He's out there fighting a war; he needs us to keep shit together back home."

"Needs?" Theo's hand tightened on the glass bottle. "He doesn't need me, Draco. He's made that perfectly clear."

Draco joined Theo on the hardwood floor. "He does, Theo. He loves—"

With a strangled sob, Theo threw the bottle of firewhisky across the room; the glass shattered with a loud crack, a puddle of whiskey spread across the flooring, mixing with the shards.

Theo's eyes flickered, staring off into the distance, his mind pulled into a memory.

The one-word messages that Draco received from Hermione were his lifeline, pulling him to the surface when he felt like he was drowning.

Theo was drowning with no one to save him.

"Teeney!"

The small house elf appeared next to Draco, looking wide-eyed at Theo. Giving a silent nod to Teeney, Draco turned back to Theo. "You'll feel much better in a clean room, okay? Teeney is here to help."

The elf made quick work of the room. With a few snaps of his fingers, the rubbish disappeared, the bed rearranged itself, and the fireplace came to life with a thriving fire.

"When did you last eat?" Draco's voice was laced with worry.

"What day is it?"

Closing his eyes, Draco turned to the elf. "Teeney, please get us food too. Can you bring Pad Thai?"

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the floor with a pile of food around them. Having mastered the use of chopsticks since their last attempt at eating Pad Thai together, Draco took another bite of food. "And these slimy fucks have taken over Hogwarts and they think I'm going to be their perfect little puppet as Head Boy next year."

"Fuckers." Theo shook his head, taking a long swig of water. "I wanted to stay at the Manor but father told me that it's required to return to Hogwarts by penalty of law. He's trying to stay in the Dark Lord's favour."

Draco's eyes caught on the moving image of the newspaper which Teeny neatly folded on the table in front of them.

Before Draco could reach for the paper, Theo snagged it. "You don't want to read it."

"What is that?" Draco stood up from his seat. "I want to see it."

"There's a Muggleborn Registration Commission." Theo crumpled the newspaper into a ball. "They are requiring all Muggleborns to register and undergo interrogation on how they stole their magic from real witches and wizards. It doesn't matter how they answer, though; they all end up in Azkaban."

"What?"

"Yeah. It's led by the bitch from fifth year. The toad one."

"Fuck, Theo. What is going on?"

Theo slumped. "Mate." He shook his head, appearing defeated. "This is only the start."