Oh, the way that I have toiled over this chapter, umm'ing and ahh'ing, deleting and re-writing. My poor friend, thebestoftimes2, has had to put up with my insanity. As per usual, I AM NERVOUS! I have come to accept that this is going to be my natural state when posting. But still... AH!

Secondly, I would like to say HELLO! To all the new readers! A huge thank you to girl_in_love who recommended this fic. I am continuously humbled and awed by all of your feedback and positivity. So thank you all once again for allowing burden you with the ramblings of my mind.

Thirdly, do you remember how in the last chapter I was like - totally not going to do a 16k chapter again guys... I'm sorry. But you will hopefully understand why I have 100% unashamedly gone back on my word here. This is a long one.

TRIGGERS - Descriptions of starvation, death, horror, gore, blood, violence. As per, I think that's it, but if I have missed any, please let me know! Muchos love!

'Seeing you come to me should be catharsis

but instead it takes on the colour of murder.

It is because you the mortal one between us,

More beautiful in your emotions, easier to kill,

All that energy inside you as quickly perishable

As the entire lifespan of a butterfly.

Maybe this was why I wanted you,

I had grown cold with responsibility for the sun.

Destruction was not what I intended for you

But this is what happens to all who follow in my wake.

Ask the sunflower who she used to be, She will tell you

She was the mortal who fell in love with me.

This was the difference between ichor and iron.

The universe made you closer to itself than us.

The water will take better care of you than me,

Let me melt your wings, you belong to the sea.

Now a stillness neither of us knew before.

Now a softness no one can answer for.

- Nikita Gill – 'Apollo to Icarus'

Chapter 11 – Raison d'être

10:13 am, 11th of September, 1999 – Penthouse, Hyde Park Gardens, London UK.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

It had been a long time since he had been allowed peace. Even before Azkaban, peace had been a mystical concept known only to others around him.

"I know you can hear me!"

Second-year maybe, Draco pondered. That year hadn't exactly been a walk in the park. No, quite the contrary, the whole thing had been fucking terrifying. Every kid's worst nightmare to know that there was a literal monster roaming the halls unseen, leaving only a trail of bodies in its wake. The nightmare was worse when you knew what the monster was. No, second-year hadn't been easy, but when he peaked at the memories, they held a certain whimsical sheen. The lights had been bright, the fire warm, the smile's wide and the laughter loud and free. He had known peace that year. Third-year had been the beginning of the end, what with the Dementors looming around every corner, and when he had arrived home that summer, his father had expressed in no uncertain terms that it was time to start accepting family responsibility. Thus heading Draco on the path to the mark on his arm.

"Oh for Salazar's sake, fine! Have it your way!"

No. Second year was the last time he had had peace. The last year of his childhood.

Draco blinked slowly, his eyes trapped in an unseeing stare, mesmerised by the scene beyond his window, while he got lost amongst his thoughts. He had been awake for hours, unable to sleep properly in the huge downy bed that Pans had put him in. At some point before dawn, he had wrapped one of the many soft blankets over his shoulders and had curled up on the floor, his back to the foot of the bed, to watch the morning light appear through the window that made up the entirety of his wall. He'd watched as glass-fronted buildings were set ablaze in silvery, weathered light, standing like crystals on the horizon. He'd watched the entire sky come alive while the world awoke beneath. He'd watched the clouds rolls in and had savoured every drop of rain that had fallen onto the waking city below.

He had watched the sunrise he never thought he'd see again.

Knock knock.

He had watched as the storm had come to life; the winds whipping the trees below as if they were releasing pent up energy from having been confined within their cumulous cages for so long. The rain too; it was as if it fell upon the world with an air of desperation, keen to get back to the soil and the flowing rivers.

Draco absently noted the air around him shift, welcoming a new presence into his space.

Peace was a novel concept.

Is peace freedom?

Even the wind that was free and wild was not at peace while it chaotically thrashed the trees below.

Is peace the opposite of stress or is it happiness? Because some people are happiest when they're stressed, ergo reducing stress does not bring them peace…

He frowned as he tracked a particularly wild lash from the wind stir the clouds above.

Somebody settled on the floor to the right of him.

Is peace knowledge?

With knowledge comes the aforethought of negativity, of all the evil of the world. Draco's fingers twitched as if to reach for something like the muscles were reliving the memory that his mind had occluded. Knowledge is knowing, and knowing comes through experience. And if knowledge encompasses the spectrum of experiences, ranging from good to evil, then knowledge is sometimes knowing something that nobody should know. He huffed slightly as he concluded that he would be an entirely different person, a better person, had he not experienced the things he had, if he didn't know the things he did, if he didn't possess that knowledge.

But then is that ignorance?

To be at peace, does one have to be ignorant?

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news here mate, but I think Pans is going to come up here and force-feed you if you don't come downstairs," Theo said softly as if he were trying not to disturb the quiet of the room.

"I believe that," Draco replied, his voice rasping from disuse.

Pansy had done what Pansy does best - though she'd kill them if she ever heard them say it out loud. The minute he had arrived through the fireplace, she had swaddled him so tightly in soft blankets that he hadn't been able to fight her off as she had poured regenerative potion after potion down his throat. She had only ceased her browbeating care when he had wretched, his malnourished stomach revolting against the alien feeling of fullness. So instead she had tutted and preened him whilst he had sipped the first cup of tea he'd had in over a year. Draco had been in a daze, his mind slowly coming around to the fact that he was free, and that this was the first nonabrasive human touch from someone other than his mother or a Healer, that he had had in over a year. He had basked in the feel of the gentle fingers running through his hair, lost in the tenderness of the moment. It was only when he had stood later on weary legs, did he notice the tufts of loose blonde hair that had scattered the floor.

"It was beyond saving," was all Pansy had said, before she had turned away, nose in the air. She had then curtly ordered him to follow her as she had led him to his room. The room that had always been his according to her. He'd looked around numbly, overwhelmed by the space. Pansy had pilfered one of Theo's t-shirts for him and it had hung loosely on his skeletal frame. She had then forced him into the bed, tucking him in so tightly to the downy nest of luxury that he'd barely been able to move. At some point, he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her quiet commentary of the magazine she had resumed reading.

What is peace?

A flash in the distance caught his eye as the white light silently fractured across the heavy canopy of clouds.

"Come on mate," Theo said as he made to stand. Draco forcibly peeled his gaze from the horizon to look up at a face that he knew so well, and yet hadn't seen since the day of his trial; Theo hadn't been at the Penthouse by the time Draco had arrived and Pans had explained that he and Blaise had been working. Slowly, Draco grasped the hand that Theo offered him, and with some effort and a lot of support, stood. There was a moment of hesitance from both men as they looked at one another. Draco noticed he was now taller than Theo; while this was a surprising fact considering that Theo had always taken pleasure in being the taller one of the two, it was not an unpleasant discovery. He noted the dark circles under Theo's eyes and the tense poise of his brow. He noticed the hesitant look of hope in his blue eyes. A look that Draco had seen over the years become repressed and silenced by the harsh hand of his father so that the only glimmer that remained could be found in the corner of his eye if one knew where to look.

With an unspoken signal, they stepped into one another, firmly grasping each other in a solid embrace. Draco tucked his head into Theo's shoulder and breathed deeply. Coffee, tobacco and notes of bergamot.

"I missed you," Theo's small, fragile words brushed his ear; the sudden hard lump of emotion in Draco's throat prohibited his reply. It was all he could do to pull his friend in tighter and curl his fingers into Theo's soft jumper as he clung on.

After a moment, Theo slowly began to extricate himself and looked up at Draco with bright wet eyes.

"Give me your word, you'll never do that again," he said seriously, his tone brokering no argument. Confused, Draco lifted a brow.

Theo swallowed and wet his lips. "Give me your word, you'll never leave me like that again."

Only the patter of rain against the window could be heard as silence stretched through the room. Draco looked between Theo's shining blue eyes. The lump in his throat pulsed with clogged emotion. He swallowed heavily to try and shift it.

"Y-" He gruffed, choking on the words. He looked down at the floor and swallowed again. "I give you my word, that I will not willingly leave you like that again," Draco said in a coarse voice, meeting Theo's eyes that now radiated the hope that he usually kept locked away.

After a moment, Theo nodded. "That'll have to do." He clasped Draco on the shoulder as he stepped around him. "Come on, Pans is probably apoplectic by now."

Draco's lips gave a muted twist of amusement as he began to carefully follow Theo from the room. His stiff joints creaked and his malnourished muscles ached from, what Draco assumed to be, the combination of the lingering magic of the potions that Pans had forced on him, the inheritance and the sudden influx of movement after so long of wasting away. He leant heavily on the hand that slid along the wall as he shuffled down the hall to alleviate some of the weight on his weary bones. His toes flexed against the soft plush carpet as he paused to catch his breath at the top of the stairs, leaning on the landing bannister. Theo hovered ahead of him, banked in a similar repose a couple of steps down, looking placidly out of the huge panoramic window that covered the ceiling and wall while he waited. Draco followed his gaze and had a sudden swooping sensation of vertigo. Admiring the expansive view of the world from within a constrained porthole in his room had been fine; granted the porthole was an entire wall, but the additional opaque surrounding walls provided the sense of security he had needed. He hadn't had a decent opportunity to notice the makeup of the apartment the day before, given his shell-shocked state upon arrival. The view in front of him, however, was open. Exposed. Everywhere his eyes landed, the outside world was there, waiting. To go from having the entirety of the world be reduced to a twelve-by-fifteen barred window slat, to complete, unobscured openness on all sides left him with a distinct feeling of being simultaneously giant and huge beyond his body, filling the world around him for as far as the eye could see, whilst also feeling like a small boy, lost in the wilderness: weak, vulnerable and alone.

Draco's chest juddered as he drew in a ragged breath, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped the bannister tighter. His eyes eagerly roamed the vast vista, greedily soaking in every detail that was free of the raging storm. His eyes tracked the rivets of water that streamed down the gentle slope of the glass roof, only to then be distracted by the expansive view of the nature within Hyde Park. The image of his daydream from a couple day's prior hit him so suddenly that the need to be outside was so visceral, it was pain. He turned to Theo to get his attention, only to meet the gaze of blue eyes that already watched him with curiosity.

"Can we -" Draco faltered in uncertainty, unsure of how to ask.

"I mean, do you think we cou-" His breath rushed from his lungs as he failed to find the words again.

Theo tilted his head, a slight crease appearing between his brows as he tried to puzzle out Draco's request. He watched as Theo's eyes slid from him to out the window and back; a questioning look crossed his feature upon return.

"You want to go out there?"

Draco nodded, feeling ridiculous for making the request. Before he could say anything to dismiss the notion, Theo's arm appeared before him.

"Do you want to get some shoes and a cloak first?" Theo said conversationally. Draco looked up in surprise. Again, Theo's face was the passive calm but the light in his eyes had grown and there was a small twitch of his lips that threatened to crack into a smile.

"No," Draco said, taking the proffered arm. Theo held his eyes, searching for assurance, before nodding to himself. He tensed suddenly and whipped back to Draco.

"Are you safe to apparate?" he asked urgently.

"I'll be fine," Draco said with quiet confidence.

And he believed it, too. Though he felt like he'd had lost a fight with a pack of Werewolves and that the frame of his body was weaker than it had ever been, Draco sensed the power that coursed through his veins with every move he made. It was the same power that had unfurled itself during that night, the same power that had burned his blood, that had felt alien and ancient but all together like the comfort and familiarity that he found with his old friend. It didn't feel separate from him anymore. It felt like…him - but more.

"Ready?" Theo asked. Draco nodded, closing his grip with his other hand, just be secure. He felt Theo's hand curl around his, clutching it tightly as he pulled his arm to his body, securing Draco in his hold.

At last, Theo's grin broke across his face as he glanced at Draco over his shoulder. "Pans is gonna be so pissed," was all he said before Draco felt the tug in his navel that pulled him away with a crack!

Immediately his bare toes curled into the sodden mud, securing his unsteady balance.

"Alright?" He heard Theo's raised voice shout over the roaring wind. Draco tapped the arm he still held in reassurance before he stepped away. The soft wet ground gave slightly with every press of his weight, covering his feet in the oozing earth. The wind tugged his hair in every direction as if it were excitedly vying for his attention. Within seconds he was soaked through as the cold rain hammered down.

Draco kept walking.

With every step, his footing became more sure.

With every step, the ice of his bones thawed and the burning in his veins was smothered.

With every step, the creak of his joints eased and his stiff muscles loosened.

He rolled his neck, closing his eyes to the world and the wild elements that whipped around him. He felt the aggression in its actions, the unrestrained ferociousness as the wind lashed at his macerated body. It curled around his loose limbs, stroked lovingly at his cheeks only to twist back around flirtatiously to come at him from another direction.

A laugh bubbled up from Draco's chest and escaped his lips. He snatched a hand to his mouth in shock and blinked. He pulled his hand away to stare at it with wide eyes as if it were a dangerous animal.

He had forgotten what it was like to laugh.

Another titter freed itself from his throat.

And then another.

They rolled through him faster and faster, shaking his shoulders and racking his ribs until finally he tilted his head back and let them free to the wind.

As if it had been waiting for an unspoken signal, the heavy clouds above sparked with light, instantly followed by the rolling rumble of thunderous sound that vibrated the mud between Draco's toes.

And still, he laughed, whooping with unbound feeling.

Is this peace?

The wind whipped faster, brushing, tugging, pulling him in every direction.

Again, the park flashed with white as a dramatic fork of lightening exploded across the blackened sky above. And again the ground beneath his feet trembled as the booming sound of broken light echoed through the air.

Tears escaped the corners of his eyes and the uncontrollable laughter in his throat turned raw as he crowed.

The months in a cage.

The years of silenced emotion.

A decade of fear.

Freedom - not peace.

The continuous downpour of heavy droplets turned into sheets of water as if the sky were liberating all of its burdens at once. The deluge joined the tears that now streaked freely down Draco's cheeks, carrying them away from his waterlogged body.

Moments, minutes, hours: Draco didn't know how long he stood there, freeing his laughter to the elements. Gradually, it began to subside, leaving only Draco's chest to occasionally shudder with a latent chuckle and a hiccupped breath. He felt a warm, heavyweight settle on his shoulder and he turned to see Theo's drenched face, holding a look of equal concern and bemusement through the hair that was plastered to his forehead.

"Are you gonna come out with an evil villain speech now?" he asked with a teasing smirk, while he gently squeezed Draco's shoulder in affection. Draco covered Theo's hand with his own, squeezing it in turn as he looked back to the angry sky above.

"Maybe after breakfast," he replied with a grin. Theo barked a laugh, as he squinted his smiling eyes to look up at the angry sky. He blew out a sharp breath that displaced a heavy drop that clung to the tip of his straight nose as he turned back to Draco.

"Better?" He asked, a smile still dancing on his lips.

"Much," Draco said, scrunching his toes again, relishing in the feel of the gritty earth. "You ready?"

Theo nodded and stepped back, holding out his arm. With surer motion than previous, Draco gripped it tight and with a crack they landed in a decked area, surrounded by plants on all sides.

Draco blinked around at the sea of green that towered above his head. The sharpness of the rainfall was rounded and dulled as the droplets landed on the thick, luscious green leaves around him, creating a gentle tympanic rhythm that filled the decked space. He spied a glass wall at the end of the path and began to walk toward it unaided. It wasn't until he was nearly at the door, did he realise that Theo wasn't with him. He scraped back the fringe that had flattened itself to his forehead and looked back to where Theo still stood, rooted to the spot he had landed.

"Everything alright?" Draco asked.

Theo's brow rose sharply as an incredulous look shaped his features. "There's obviously a lot we have to talk about," he began slowly, as if unsure of his words. He swiped a hand up his jaw and across the back of his neck as he started to walk toward Draco at a sedate pace.

"And I was totally willing to leave questioning the whole 'jaunt-in-the-storm' moment because you know, I think I get it," he said, scraping his wavy hair back. "Obviously, I wasn't going to bring anything up unless you volunteered the information, but Draco…"

Draco saw Theo's Adam's Apple bob as he swallowed convulsively around his sentence; a curious mix of unease and wonder coloured his blue eyes as he met Draco's gaze once more.

"Not twenty minutes ago you were rag and bone, barely able to stand," he held out a hand, gesturing up and down Draco's person, his brows high on his forehead. "Now look at you!"

Draco frowned and glanced down at his body, his rebuttal ready on his lips to dismiss Theo's assertion, but the words quickly were washed away with his exhale of disbelief.

The thin t-shirt that had hung loosely from his frame was clinging to his wet body, moulding to every ridge and line perfectly like a cast. Instead of seeing the valleys of his ribcage against the hollow of his navel that he had seen reflected in the mirror the night before, he only saw the toned smooth lines of muscle and sinew that flexed and tensed with the shock that ran through him. He held out his arms, turning them over and over, observing from different angles how the bone that had been becoming alarming prominent, was now wrapped in rounded flesh. He ran his hands down himself, checking for the tell-tale hardness of bone that he had been getting uncomfortably familiar with. Speechless, he turned back to Theo, his mouth opened and closed with every sentence he tried to offer as an explanation, all dying a death before their utterance as they fell short.

"So you're a creature now?" Theo said hesitantly.

Draco made a noise of agreement whilst flexing out his hands, watching as the strong tendons shifted under the new healthy parlour of his skin.

"Veela," he offered absently, "full-blooded." He twisted and stretched, relishing in the pleasurable burn in his limbs instead of the creaking struggle he'd had not twenty minutes before. It wasn't until Draco had finished, that he realised that Theo hadn't replied. He looked over to see him staring with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"What?"

"It explains so much," said Theo, the corner of his mouth twitching again as he tried not to smile. "Veela are notoriously high maintenance and prissy."

"Oh fuck off," Draco scoffed, waving him off as he turned to make his way toward the French doors.

"No no, I'm serious!" Theo pressed, his teasing smirk unrestrained now, as he scampered to catch up. "Fastidious about every fucking hair. Oh, do you remember that time you made Millie bald just because she messed up your 'oh so perfect slick-back do'?!"

Draco snorted as he pulled open the door, "I didn't do it just for that reason!"

"You fucking did!" Theo squawked.

"No, she'd been a cow for ages, she wouldn't leave me alone and she had been bloody messing with me constantly," Draco shrugged, "so I ended it."

"Ah, the Malfoy overreaction, we know it well," said a sage voice.

Draco looked around to pinpoint where the new arrival in their conversation was. Sat at the breakfast table, behind a tall newspaper, was Blaise. He creased the corner of the paper with his fingers to peer over it with a knowing smirk that quickly melted away as he raised a perfectly shaped quizzical brow at Draco.

"You are looking distinctly better than when I last saw you?"

"Oh good, you've finally decided to grace us with your presence! I knew those potions would work!" Pansy's clipped voice added as she appeared from the kitchen area carrying a platter of pastries. "I have your next dose Dra-"

She drew up short as she caught sight of him and tilted her head like a bird.

"Well…I didn't think they'd work that well," she mused quietly to herself before speaking louder to Draco and Theo, "why on earth are you two soaked through?" She flicked her manicured hand to point to Theo's shoes. "Off. You'll ruin the carpet."

Draco felt a wave of warmth spread over him as all the moisture disappeared from his clothes; his newly shortened fringe fluffed and fell into his eyes while Theo muttered darkly to the side of him as he removed his boots. He puffed a breath to move the hair from his eyes, nodding thanks to Blaise who placed his wand down gently after enchanting the cafeteire to pour its steaming liquid into the cups around the table. Draco took the seat opposite him, Pansy settled to his right. Theo stumbled, swore loudly and threw a shoe before seating himself to his left. Draco watched, reverently sipping the coffee, as his three friends slipped into an obvious familiarity, passing around breakfast pastries and the milk jug, quietly conversing.

"Really Theodore, out in this weather!" Pansy chastised.

Theo held a pose of mock-horror. "I know! How could I? The absolute debauchery!"

"Pass the croissants before she hexes you," Blaise drawled.

Handing the porcelain platter over, Theo whispered conspiratorially, "she would never! Not at the breakfast table, that's a sacrilege that rivals standing in the rain."

"Honestly, do you ever take anything seriously?" Pansy sniffed, placing a platter bearing an assortment of pastries between herself and Draco for him to choose.

"I take many things seriously," Theo said as he popped a jam covered croissant piece into his mouth. "The assembly of an outfit, a tailor's cut," he said around the food thoughtfully, "the notes of a decanted wine," he swallowed and reached for his coffee mug. "The noises of pleasure my bedpartner makes," he said into the lip of the vessel that he had brought to his mouth before taking an eager sip.

Draco chose a strudel and set about cutting it in half.

Blaise snorted. "Because you're an expert on that," he said sarcastically.

"Oh re-"

"Don't start you two," Pansy interrupted, tearing at the bear claw on her plate.

Apple. It was an apple strudel.

"He started it," Theo muttered indignantly while Blaise chuckled.

"And I'll finish it," Pansy quipped.

"I just find it very hard to believe that you would take something seriously if you have no experience in hearing it," Blaise said haughtily with a teasing smirk.

Draco popped a bite of the strudel into his mouth. The tart sweetness of the filling electrified his disused taste-buds, the force of which they came screaming back to life caused an ache to roll along his jaw as he savoured the zingy warm flavour of caramelised apples. His eyes fluttered shut as if to preserve sensory information. His stomach awoke with vengeance, crying out for the food his tongue was currently preoccupied with. The sound that tore from his throat was an unconscious conclusion to the simultaneous awakening of his systems…

"Well, I guess you've heard it now."

"Can I get one of those strudels?"

Draco blinked his eyes open and unashamedly reached for another piece.

"It's quite nice to see you lot haven't changed," he commented around his next mouthful.

Pansy tutted a put-upon sigh, "honestly, it's been like dealing with children."

"Oh, that reminds me," said Blaise suddenly, "have you heard from the Mice?"

Draco frowned in confusion as he chewed.

"No, but I've asked Allie to meet me later. I've got to pick up some winter coats for them now that the weather is turning," said Pansy.

Theo nudged Draco with his elbow, "The Mice are the merry band of spies that we keep," he supplied. Draco nodded in understanding while remained thoroughly confused, as he continued to demolish the strudel

"They're not spies," Pansy admonished, after taking a delicate nibble from her pastry. "They're orphans from the war: too young yet to go to Hogwarts and refuse to go into the Muggle system. We're doing the best we can for them."

Theo raised a brow. "My apologies, I amend my previous statement. They are poor lost little souls who have an uncanny ability to overhear useful things quite a lot. What's even more interesting about this phenomenon, is that if you ask them to overhear a specifi-"

"Oh shut up and eat your food Nott," Pansy snapped.

Draco chewed thoughtfully, watching the two bicker before he turned to Blaise. "Who are you spying on?"

"Everyone," Blaise said simply. "We'll read you in on the business when you've settled in. Speaking of which, are we going to talk about this?" He tapped the folded newspaper to his left. Today's headline visible from its placement:

Old Rules Still Favour the Elite: Ministry Sets Monster Free.

Draco washed down his mouthful with his coffee and lent back, eyeing his friends in turn.

"Where should I begin?"

Pansy flicked her wand toward the cafeteire, enchanting it to refill their mugs again. "Begin at the open darling," she said with unusual gentleness.

And so Draco began to tell his story. He described the gradual decline of his health, not lingering on the effects that he could now directly attribute to the misery of Azkaban. He repeated the pleas that he had made to the guards, to his mother – though he amended that knowing of her condition now somewhat explained her inaction. He then went through, what he now knew to be the inheritance event, glossing over the intimate details. He spoke of what Healer Morin and his mother had said to him regarding his lineage.

He then faltered, the words catching in his throat as the image of molten honey and the scent of nutmeg washed through him unbidden. The hunger that had quelled to a simmering burn, but hadn't disappeared entirely, yowled with a renewed sharp aching pang through his chest.

As it had been gradually worsening in the days leading up to the inheritance, Draco had concluded that the hunger that he had felt within him, was at first, a literal hunger. But he had known then, that that was a false belief in the vain of denial. In the quiet of the night, he had gone as far as to admit to himself that the hunger was not a craving for sustenance and so he had attributed it to a yearning for freedom. But even then, he had known deep down as he had watched the sunrise that morning, that that wasn't the truth either. And as he sat at the table, the sticky sweetness of apple coating his lips, his breath stuttered in his chest on words he couldn't say because a part of him didn't want to share her with them - he knew what that hunger was as it rallied within him.

He knew what he yearned for. What he craved.

Draco knew without a shred of a doubt what the burn of desire was longing for.

But he refused to say the words.

He would not acknowledge it.

There is no point.

He swallowed heavily and curled his hand into a fist. Only to loosen them just as quickly.

A low whistle sounded to his left and Draco looked over to see Theo eyeing the black claws that lay in stark contrast to the pearlescent white table cloth.

"Fancy," Theo commented with an impressed look. Draco rolled his shoulders in an attempt to abate the now familiar itch that had appeared down the blades while ignoring the pointed looks that flew between his friends.

He continued, forcibly occluding the feelings away behind a flimsy, hurried wall. He told them of the trial summoning, of the immediacy of the hearing. He repeated the split arguments that had been shouted across the chamber: freedom or execution.

"That's fucking lucky the old dogs on the Wizengamot, just had that defence ready like that," Theo said.

Pansy hummed in agreement, "almost convenient. You might have some of the old families trying to get you to take the Malfoy family seat now that they've gotten you out."

He told them of Willows and the Department of Mysteries' interest in him.

"Do you know what they want from you?" Blaise asked with a furrowed brow.

Draco shook his head, scraping his clawed fingers through his hair, letting it fall softly back into his eyes. "I haven't a clue, but there's something about this Willows fellow…"

"You think he's one of them?" Blaise said, straightening suddenly as his expression darkened. Draco noted how Pansy and Theo's postures subtly changed too, tensing, readying themselves.

"No, he's a different breed of mania to our parents, I think."

Though they all relaxed in their seats slightly, their eyes watched Draco with strained focus.

"Well, what sort do you think he is? Do you think he's an Order member?" Pansy asked as her painted nails drummed a rhythm against the table.

Draco hesitated, "I don't think so, he and Shacklebolt weren't exactly friendly with one another." He remembered the way that Willows had roamed the floor, looking as if he were the one that commanded the room; the Minister had shown subtle deference to Willows' presence. At the time, Draco had thought that mere polities, but in hindsight… "No, I think they work together and know of each other's agenda, though I'd hedge my bet that they're not necessarily on the same side."

"Come off it, there aren't any other sides to take," said Blaise exasperatedly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Death Eaters or the Order. Light and Dark. Us versus them, they've made that clear," he said, tapping the folded newspaper beside him.

Theo twirled a butter knife lazily between his fingers, his eyes unseeing as he spoke. "Just because we impose constructs upon the world, doesn't mean that is how life actually works."

"Don't start," Pansy sighed.

"No, but it's how society is run Theo," Blaise stated shortly.

"Think of it as a clock face," Theo continued, ignoring the terse interruptions, still twirling the silver knife between his fingers. "We humans, have created a system to measure the passing of time in numerical increments, in a means that is mathematically logical in accordance with the world around us." Theo leant back in his seat, crossing one long leg over the other. "If you remove clocks from consciousness, does time still exist?"

Pansy frowned at the table while Blaise fixed Theo with a disapproving look. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," Theo shot back. "Your concept of time is beholden to the ticking of a clock. What happens if you delete the clock? Nothing." He dropped the knife with aplomb and reached into his trouser pocket to pull out a box of cigarettes. "Time still goes on, the sun still rises and sets, the seasons still change, things are born and things die. Time doesn't stop just because you remove the human framework from its lexicon." Theo held a cigarette delicately between his teeth as he snapped a silver lighter aflame. His cheeks hollowed before the blue smoke began to curl from his nose. "Our lives have been framed by Death Eaters and the Order. But that's just one framework, so of course, there are more sides out there because there are more people in society than those who took part in the war. There have been other wars with different causes. Besides, Light and Dark are so binary. What about all the shades of grey in between?" He summoned a crystal ashtray from one of the side tables.

Nobody spoke for a moment, silently processing the thought.

"The real issue," Theo said suddenly, "is trying to find out what his side is. He's not one of them, nor on the side of the Order. He's Department of Mysteries and powerful enough to waltz into a full hearing and shut down an entire notion just like that," he said with a click of his fingers. "So what game is he playing? What's the tune he's dancing too?"

Draco pursed his lips and watched as his claws receded into the blunt edges of his fingers.

"The impression I get from him is that if he's an ally, I'm sound. If he's an enemy, I'm fucked. At the minute, he thinks it's in his best interest to keep me safe - hence yesterday," Draco said with a nod to Blaise who tilted his head in acknowledgement. "But he knows things; he's got an air about him like he's twenty steps ahead of you, y'know?"

Blaise made a noise of agreement, "I saw that too, particularly when we were leaving. I mean, I hoped you'd change your mind and come here, but he seemed so sure that you would, and to top it off, he also knew that you'd be in a bit of state!"

Draco nodded, "that occurred to me too as I was about to floo."

"If he's not Order or Death Eater, do you reckon he's interested because you're a Malfoy?" Pansy mused, taking a sip from her cup.

"I wouldn't say so personally," Blaise said, "that's only because of the way he reacted to Narcissa. You didn't see Draco, but he seemed genuinely quite concerned, but not in a way that denoted that it fucked with any of his plans."

Draco hummed in thought. "And yet, when I asked why he was being so nice to me, he said that he thought that leaving me in the state that I was, would reflect on him poorly in the future. Though to who, he didn't say."

"So we'll add him and the Department of Mysteries to the list of people on our watch list then," Theo concluded.

"Wonderful," Pansy quipped, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "What happened after the trial?" she said, turning back to Draco.

The rest of the story was short as Blaise had already told the other two of his version of Draco's arrival back at the Manor.

"Where were you two when I got here? Pans said you were working?" Draco asked, refilling his mug.

"Oh isn't that a fun little story," said Blaise bitterly, casting a dark look at Theo who flicked his middle finger at him as he turned to Draco.

"We had a meeting with some clients, had to pass on something they'd asked us to fetch."

Draco's brow rose as his gaze flicked between the two men. He threw a questioning glance to Pansy who shrugged with a bewildered look on her face.

"So what happened then? Why's it a fun story?" Draco asked.

Theo shifted in his seat, unease pouring from his posture while Blaise glowered at him.

"Did everything go alright? Are you guys in trouble?" Draco pushed, stress creeping into his voice the longer the other two remained silent.

"No, there's no trouble, it went fine. Just…" Blaise swiped a hand down his face which suddenly looked weary with a weight that he carried. "Theo being Theo and not thinking further than his dick."

"Hang on!" Theo exclaimed, straightening his posture in defence. "I explained to you why, so you know it has nothing to do with my dick, fuck you very much!"

"Oh I'm sorry, how could I forget that you've suddenly developed a mora-"

"Don't fucking start! Everything we-"

"BOYS!"

Silence reigned in the wake of Pansy's shout. Theo stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray while Blaise scowled into his mug.

"Now, I know that I have to go shopping today and run a few leads. Draco what time are you - Oh yes, I almost forgot!" Pansy's aggressively calm demeanour brightened suddenly. "An owl arrived for you early this morning from St Mungo's," she exclaimed as she flicked her wand with a muttered, 'Accio'. "Forgive me, but you were so exhausted I didn't want to wake you quite that early. I assumed that if it were urgent, then Healer Afton would have tried to contact you with immediacy rather than owlpost."

A thick cream envelope landed daintily beside Draco's plate, bearing the crossed wand and bone emblem of St Mungo's in the wax seal. He picked up his knife, ran it under the edge to break the wax and pried it open. He reached for his coffee as he unfolded the letter:

Mr Malfoy,

I hope this finds you well. As per my promise to you, Lady Malfoy has been admitted under complete anonymity. She is placed in the private wards housed in the Septimus Wing. She has been awake since before dawn and is responsive and cognisant. Forgive my forwardness, but it gives me pleasure to say that she is aware enough of her surroundings to be rather displeased at the current situation she finds herself in. As I said, usual visiting hours are between two and six pm, however, as Lady Malfoy is in the private wards of your family's wing, and considering her emotional state, I feel it may be best for you to come whenever is best suited to you – regardless of the visiting hours. If you send an owl before your arrival to let me know, I shall escort you so that no questions are asked.

Kind Regards,

Healer Afton.

"She's awake; Afton says I can go there whenever. I'll um," he folded the parchment back into the envelope and made to stand. He frowned, unsure of his next action. "I'll need some clothes."

"Help yourself," Theo replied.

"Do you want company?" Blaise said, his irascibility forgotten.

"No, no, I'll be fine. Thank you," Draco said with a small smile. "After I'm done there, I'll head back to the Manor and pick up some stuff to bring here."

"Will you need a hand there?" It was Pansy this time who offered as Theo came to stand beside him, ready to lead him up to his room.

"No thank you," the smile of Draco's lips widened with affection. "Stop worrying, I'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Don't say that," Theo grouched, as he turned to lead the way towards the stairs. Draco finished off the last dregs of his coffee before following Theo up to his room.

13:16pm, 11th of September 1999 – Septimus Wing, Third Floor, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, UK.

Draco adjusted the cuff of his shirt sleeves for the hundredth time as he followed Healer Afton down the corridor. He had arrived to see the tired Healer waiting for him on the hearth of the private entry in St Mungo's foyer. She had signed him in quickly, keeping him away from the main waiting area and had proceeded to inform of him of his mother's wellbeing as she led him through the hospital.

Draco however, struggled to pay attention. The black suit and shirt that Theo had thrust upon him were well-made from luxurious materials, only needing a slight tweak here and there to fit Draco's measurements. But it was the restrictive nature of the stiff collar and cuffs of his shirt that had Draco re-arranging them every five minutes. He hadn't worn a suit for over a year. He hadn't put any effort into his appearance for longer, considering vanity had been the least of his concerns during the war. And with his newly revitalised body, where unexplored power coiled with every stretch and tense of muscle; where the sensitive nerves sang with every brush of the soft material; where every sound was deafening and every scent, he had come to realise as he walked through the halls of the hospital, was pungent to his newfound acute sense of smell; he found that he felt like a stranger in this new dangerous skin.

The tundra was quiet and undisturbed in his mind's eye.

He ran a finger under his cuff once again.

"To be honest with you Mr Malfoy," Healer Afton continued, "my main concern is for you."

"Beg your pardon?" Draco blinked, trying to recall what she had just been talking about to explain her concern. The gentle witch cast a soft smile over her shoulder.

"I'm underplaying it when I say Lady Malfoy isn't pleased by her current situation dear." Her lyrical voice was coloured in amusement as she turned the corner through an archway inscribed with:

Septimus Ward – Qui se Auxilio Auxilium

Figures, Draco scoffed, his eyes trailing the etched stone. Septimus the bewitching Machiavellian. He had spent many an hour during his childhood conversing with the portraits in the manor, learning of his family history as all good pureblood children were expected to do. Septimus was situated in the blue reading room of the auxiliary library. It was where all the political manifestoes collected by his ancestors throughout the centuries had been stored. In the beginning, before Draco had even started Hogwarts, Septimus had made him read the manifestoes aloud for hours, refusing to answer any question or hold any kind of conversation. By Draco's first summer home from Hogwarts, he'd read them all and so Septimus moved on to chess. He had said that he would only answer a question if Draco beat him.

It took a further two years until Draco won his first game.

By that point, Draco had spoken to all the other portraits in the house and was fairly knowledgeable of the different lineages in his tree.

Nobody had mentioned the Veela, he chided, distractedly.

Septimus had been the only one left who had yet to engage in conversation with him properly. And so the day that Draco had finally won, he had sat there, blinking in disbelief at the check-mate on the board. He had wanted to cry from sheer relief. He had looked up to see Septimus' black eyes watching him in their soul-seeing manner, waiting expectantly.

"Well?" he had croaked, his lofty, soft English pallet hanging heavy in the enunciation. It had been that moment that Draco had realised that in all those years, he never had expected to win. He had wracked his brain for a question; he had known he had to make it a good one, it could have been another two years before he got another chance. He had known so little of Septimus: he had been an advisor for the Minister of Magic of his time; he had been a very successful politician in his own right and an unforgiving patriarch of the Malfoy family – or so Draco had been led to believe by Nicholas and Armand Malfoy, whose favourite past times included passing judgement on each head of the house that came to be. Draco had done the only move he could have. He had reset the board, bid Septimus 'adieu', and left without another word, only to return the next day to start another game afresh without any passing comment. He played his first move and had sat waiting for Septimus to make his, except his ancestor had just sat there watching him. Finally, a grin had broken across his painted face and his cold eyes had sparkled.

"And what is the lesson I have taught you?" he had said.

"Never surrender power once it is yours," Draco had replied. Septimus had laughed richly, played his move and settled into retelling his life story, how he had commanded the Ministry from the shadows while usurping the Minister with the court of public affection through such acts as the ward that Draco was walking through. He had gifted it to St Mungo's, fully stocked, fully funded and it had won him many favours that he had graciously declined, only to utilise the power of their given good grace later when it had suited him. But he couldn't help himself from showing his true colours now and again: Qui se Auxilio Auxilium – Helping those who help themselves.

"Nothing is ever given for free, boy," he had said the summer of his fourth year. "You must always take what you are owed, but never when it is not given freely. If you sit around and expect the world to bend a knee to you, it never will. You are the master of your path. No-one will command the world to love you, for you. You must help yourself. You must lure it in with charm and promise, make it think that it's bending the knee of its own volition. Be benevolent in your selfishness. That way, it will not fight when you take control."

Septimus had always said, in the quiet of the night when Draco would sneak away for a moment of sanity, that the Dark Lord would fail because he was taking what had not been given freely.

"Here we are," Afton sang, gesturing to a heavy oak door. She turned to Draco, her eyes lingering on his form appraisingly. "Forgive me, but I'm glad to see that you're looking remarkably better than yesterday. I did worry, leaving you."

Draco tipped his head graciously, his old etiquette training kicking in, and flashed her what he hoped to be a charming smile.

"Thank you, your concern is touching, truly. I'm glad my mother has had a caring person by her side."

He watched as the soft witch's cheeks coloured a delicate pink as she returned his smile.

"Right well, of course, it's been wonderful," she rushed. "I mean, it hasn't been wonderful obviously. It's been awful. Not your mother. She's been wonderful. She um…" The pink darkened on the Healer's cheeks.

"I appreciate your sentiment," Draco smoothly input, hoping to belay some of her awkwardness.

"You're welcome," Afton breathed, ducking her head to clear her throat. A second later she looked back again, her jaw set against the flush that Draco could see rise up her neck. "Shall we?" she said in a clearer tone.

"After you," he said with a gentle smile.

Still got it. He watched as the Healer set about un-warding the door, noting her flustered movements. A quiet part of him preened and he fought to keep the grin from his face.

"Lady Malfoy I - "

"Elizabeth I will not put up with this any longer!" Came an enraged voice from inside. Draco winced as it echoed down the corridor.

"I know I-"

"This has gone far enough!"

"Lad-"

"I will not tolerate this treatment! I am not a second class citizen! The Malfoy name still means something!"

"Narcissa!" The Healer barked, the command sounded foreboding in the strong Irish accent. "If you'd allow me to talk, I have your son here."

The answering silence was deafening, and Draco shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, feeling insurmountably grateful for the small witch in front of acting as a barrier.

"Send him in."

Afton turned to look at him expectantly and Draco suddenly wished to be anywhere else in the world. She stepped back and gestured for him to go in. He took a sharp breath and rounded his shoulders before stepping through the doorway.

Immediately, his senses were overwhelmed by the scent of patchouli that filled the cosy room that was lit with a roaring fire and low reading lamps; it could have been another room in the Manor for all he knew. In the centre of the room was a four-poster, its white curtains pulled back. In the centre of the bed, his mother, who watched him with glittering eyes and a stern set to her mouth.

"Thank you, Healer Afton," Draco said quietly, "I'll take it from here."

"Of course, tap the knocker on the door if you need anything or when you're ready to leave," she replied, before closing the door with a quiet click.

"Mother," Draco said after a moment, unsure of what to do; as much as he wanted to greet her or worry over her, he could feel her fury from where he stood. Instead, he pocketed his hands and waited.

"Come here," she said, holding out a pale hand. Draco crossed the room in a few long strides and gently held her thin hand in the grip of his strong fingers. He noted she was warmer than she had been the night previous, as her fingers curled to strengthen their grip on him. He lowered himself to sit on the bed, one knee up to angle his seat towards her, their entwined hands between them.

"Mother I-"

Narcissa held up her free hand, halting his words. "Let me begin," she said quietly as her radiating fury melted away. Her pale eyes searched his face, the shadows of her gaunt, un-glamoured features were stark in the low light of the room.

"While I will argue that this," she gestured to the room around her, "is not necessary at all, I can concede that perhaps, it is what is needed at this moment in time. My dear boy," though her voice cracked and her eyes shone brightly, Narcissa's features were a veneer of calm and poise, "I am so deeply sorry... I am so sorry for not being there for you, for letting you be alone, for not hearing you."

Draco's eyes pricked, "Moth-"

"Let me finished darling," she interrupted with her soft iron will. "I have let you down. I promised after the war, after what that monster did to you, that I would never leave you to face the demons alone again, that you would never be left to bear the weight of this family's follies on your shoulders and I failed you. I have no excuse, but I want you to know that I will not let you down again."

The breath from Draco's lungs escaped in a rushed exhale as he hung his head; the surge of emotion that shattered against the quivering walls within his mind choked his throat. A singular tear broke free and trailed down his cheek. He pursed his lips, twisting his grimace to abate the tremble that threatened to start. He brought his mother's hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles.

"You, have nothing to apologise for." He heard Narcissa draw breath and felt her tense. Sensing her rebuttal, he continued, "but you are forgiven nonetheless for anything and everything."

He raised his eyes to meet hers and watched as her own silent tears trailed down her tired cheeks.

"Malfoy's never show weakness," Draco murmured as he thumbed them away. She chuckled a watery laugh.

"You are the product of all that has come before you," her breath hitched as she gently squeezed his hand. "To see you look so well now, standing tall and strong after what you have been through. No, my darling boy," she sniffed delicately, "you could never be weak, no matter what you do. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you are now free to live your life the way you were meant to."

Narcissa sniffed again and reached over to her left for a handkerchief. She wiped the remnants of her emotions from her face and turned back to Draco with a rekindled fire in her eyes.

"Now, let us discuss how you saw fit to lock me away not five minutes into your freedom," she said, her brow rising severely while her pale eyes still glittered with unshed tears in the firelight.

Draco swiped a thumb over the back of her hand and sighed. "You know very well that that wasn't the case -"

"It bloody well is the case -"

"No it isn't, you said yourself that you can concede how this is needed right now."

"Do not throw my own words back at me!"

"Mother, be reas-"

"I shan't! You have imprisoned me here!"

Draco raised his brow and affected his most disapproving look.

It only took a moment for Narcissa's features to show contrition. "You know what I meant."

"I do," Draco agreed with a sombre nod. "However, with all due respect Mother, I do not care." Fierce offence sharpened his mother's features but Draco continued regardless. "As you promised that I would not shoulder this family alone, that does not mean you get to either. Let me help you now. Starting with getting you back to full health, before we discuss your living situation."

The argument that Narcissa had been building paused as she became distracted at the second point. "Living situation?"

"Yes, the manor is miserable. It's a nightmarish tomb and would drive anyone to the brink. If you wish to return there, then we are going to discuss some serious renovation. But I implore you to consider your own freedom during your time here. France, a cottage, a different manor. A bloody castle for all I care. Wherever you want, you shall have, as long as you are happy," he said, stroking her knuckles with his thumb reassuringly.

Narcissa's pale eyes searched his face. "When did you become a man?"

Draco's lips twitched in amusement, "I'm taking that as a concession, just so you are aware."

"That's reasonable," Narcissa replied with a small smile. "So I am to stay here?"

"Till you are better."

Narcissa huffed and pursed her lips. Draco snickered, "I'm glad you are more like yourself than the last I saw you."

"And I, you, darling," she squeezed his hand. "You are much better, I must say. You no longer look like -" Her voice ceased as she brought her handkerchief to her mouth, her face twisting in upset. "Oh, you were wasting away! My child I -"

"Hush," Draco crooned. He shifted closer up the bed and pulled her to his chest, wrapping her delicate form into his embrace. "I'm okay now," he said softly into her hair.

"Yes but -"

"But nothing, having an inheritance has to count for something right?"

Narcissa pulled back, her watery eyes searching his.

"How is that?" she asked quietly. Draco sighed and looked into the fire as a way to avoid meeting her gaze.

"It's fine."

"Draco…"

"Well I am fine," Draco nonchalantly repeated, turning back to her briefly. "Look at me."

"Yes I can see there has been a change," Narcissa replied softly as if she were trying not to spook a wild animal.

Draco nibbled the inside of his lip as he looked down and fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve again.

"I'm fine," he said once more. "I don't…" He blew out a sharp breath. "It's all happened so fast."

The walls in his mind trembled.

"One minute I'm fine facing another ten months in prison, the next I'm a Veela, then I'm in court, then I'm going to be executed, then I'm not, then I'm healed, and now I'm here." He drew a ragged breath, his fingers still toying with his cuff.

All that could be heard in the room was the crackle from the fire.

His chest panged a sombre keel.

"I'm…" He swallowed thickly. "I'm frightened," his voice was barely a whisper in his admittance.

"Oh darling," Narcissa breathed, her small hands folded over his, stilling his movements. "You have nothing to be frightened of. This is a natural change. It is in your blood, it is you. It'll be different but-"

"I'm not frightened of the physical differences," Draco interjected. "They're alarming and they'll take some time to get used to, but I'm not frightened of them."

Narcissa paused, the quiet of the moment was leaden with the emotion of the conversation. "What are you frightened of?"

Draco bit his lip and rolled his shoulders. The itch was back.

"I don't…"

He took a shuddering breath.

There is no point.

His chest keened again, the hollow hunger cracking like a chasm deep within him.

"I don't understand… what's happening in me."

It was Narcissa who gently swiped her thumb over his knuckles now.

"Try your best to explain and I'll see if I can provide some context. Though he didn't know a lot, your father spoke on some things."

Draco looked up sharply. "He was-"

"No," she interrupted. "He wasn't like you, but your grandfather Abraxas inherited some Veela traits."

Mollified and surprisingly disappointed, Draco quickly looked off into the fire again. Narcissa remained quiet, waiting for him to speak.

There is no point.

"It's nothing."

"It's something Draco."

There is no point.

"No, it's nothing. I'll be fine. I'm just getting used to the change is all." Draco swallowed sharply against his tight throat.

Narcissa pursed her lips, frowning slightly. "Why won't you say what's bothering you?"

"Because there is no point!" Draco snapped aggressively. He immediately reeled back, shocked at his outburst. Narcissa however, did not flinch and instead merely swiped her thumb again over his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

"Why is there no point?" she asked, her voice tender with compassion.

"Because…"

Draco's walls shuddered violently and finally, the wall he had hastily built that morning crumbled, disappearing into nothingness. Suddenly he was awash with molten honey and nutmeg once again.

"I don't understand why her…I don't understand what she is…"

Narcissa tilted her head as she looked at him quizzically. "Who?"

Draco brushed her question aside, "it doesn't matter." Narcissa opened her mouth to argue. "No Mother, really. It doesn't matter. It will never be anything. I just don't understand why I can't stop this…" he tapped his chest as he searched for the word. "Pain," he settled on. "When I think of her, she is pain. I can't breathe." He took a deep shuddering breath as if to prove his point.

"Has this been since your inheritance?" Narcissa asked in a hushed tone.

Draco swiped a hand through his hair, only absently noting the claws that had appeared. "In a way. She's always been there but I could deal with it before. I accepted a long time ago though, that it would never be anything, so whatever I felt just stopped. But since the inheritance, it's pain." He swiped his hand down his face. "And I know that I can't do anything. I don't even know what I'd want to do if I could. Part of me wants to, so badly I can feel it in my bones. But I know I can't," he drew another juddered breath. "I know I can't do anything. I don't know what she is, but I know she is something. She's something to me. She always has been."

"Why can't you?"

"Because I make her sad," Draco replied unthinkingly, his voice breaking with strangled emotion as he spoke the truth he had only admitted to himself in the quiet of the night. "And before, that didn't bother me so much because I wasn't anything to her," he swallowed thickly. "I'm still not," a bitter laugh slipped past his lips. "The only thing I have ever been to her is pain. So I can see how this is karma." His laugh grew darker as his chest panged once again. "It's so twisted to feel this," he tapped his chest again, "this ache - when I don't know who she is now. I never did." He looked down at his hands and watched the firelight dance in the reflection of his obsidian claws. "I never could know who she was," he added in a hollow voice. "I am a product of all that has come before me after all."

Narcissa reached for him again but Draco pulled back his hands and stood from the bed.

"Draco -"

"I'm fine," he repeated adamantly, as he walked over to the fireplace and leant against the mantle. He watched the flames dance and flicker, uncaring and free. "I am fine because I understand enough about whatever she is to me, to know that I need her to be fine." He felt the prick of his claws as the hand that leant against the mantle curled into a fist. "And she will be fine because I know that the thing that causes her pain," he drew another ragged breath, "is me." The golden flames blurred as his eyes filled and his throat tightened. "So, to keep her fine, I'll stay away. I won't do whatever it is that some birdbrained instinct is telling me to do. I'll ignore it all." He thrust his jaw forward, fighting the quiver in his lip. "The only thing that frightens me is whatever she is. I don't understand this change; I don't understand why she has this power over me."

Draco breathed deep. His muscles were coiled tightly. His shoulders stretched and burned as his wings threatened to break forth. He loosened his fists and rolled his neck.

Tundra.

Snow.

Silence - not peace.

"I don't know if that's the best course of action, my son," Narcissa's voice broke his reverie. He whirled around to face her.

"Why not?" He demanded. "It's the only option I have!"

"Because I think you already know what she is to you."

"Have you not been lis-"

"Your grandfather inherited three traits according to your father," Narcissa said over him. "The claws, the strength and the mating bond."

Draco's breath stuttered in his chest.

"As you know, your grandmother died during childbirth and Abraxas never spoke of her again nor loved again. Lyra Rosier. He had her portrait removed following her death. Lucius supposed it was because it was too painful. Only once, did your father push to know anything about his mother and he said it was the one and only time he saw his father turn." She shook her head solemnly. "Lucius found out from Armand the extent of their connection years later. It was also then that he learned the extent to which his father had changed in losing his mate. He grew colder in his grief. Frozen from his lack of love." She looked up to him. "You must not fight this my darling. Who is she?"

Draco released his held breath and pocketed his still clawed hands. "A stranger."

"Strangers can be won over."

"This one can't. I'm free from Azkaban but this is my atonement for the wrongs I have done." Draco sighed. Narcissa made to reply before he interrupted her. "Enough. Let it go. I'm fine." He laughed a bitter laugh that left an acrid taste on his tongue.

Draco hung his head and breathed, his chest aching with each inhale.

Mate…

He swallowed and blinked his blurred vision clear.

Grang-

He exhaled shakily.

Hermi-

He shifted his shoulders and rolled his necked.

There is no point entertaining the fantasy.

He shucked his sleeves, straightening his cuffs.

I'm fine.

He straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

I may never know peace, but I will be fine.

Draco released the last of his breath and straightened his posture, turning his level gaze to meet Narcissa's worried eyes that watched him pull himself back together from the bed.

"I need to head to the Manor to get some stuff. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?" He asked calmly, the voice even and cold.

"Draco…"

"Do you need anything Mother?"

Narcissa blinked owlishly before masking her features in an aristocratic veneer.

Malfoys never show weakness.

"An assortment of outfits and my case of toiletries. The potions they have here are just awful," she tutted scornfully.

Draco smirked, "of course. I'll return later with that. In the meantime," he crossed the room to lean down and place a kiss on her forehead, "rest."

She squeezed his hand in parting as he turned to leave.

"Draco?" She called as he tapped the knocker on the door. He stepped back as it slowly creaked open, and turned to acknowledge her call.

"Never admit defeat before the war has begun."

Draco noted the fierceness of her features and the fire in her eyes. His lips twitched a fond smile in return.

If only you knew who she was, you wouldn't be so quick to push.

"I'll return shortly Mother." He tipped his head and turned to leave, clicking the door shut behind him.

"Everything go alright?" Healer Afton said brightly as she rounded the corner, coming towards him.

"Perfect, I just need to pick up some personal items for her and I'll be back," Draco said with a smooth smile.

"No worries, I'll take you to the floo now."

As Draco followed Afton to the foyer, he allowed the lilting melody of her Irish accent to wash away the molten honey and nutmeg that slipped between his fingers.

14:14 pm, 11th of September 1999 – Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, UK.

Draco swept out onto the hearth of the darkened drawing-room. He brushed the ash from his sleeves and swept a hand through his hair, pulling the shortened silver locks from his eyes.

Silence and freedom.

He pocketed his hands and strolled through the shadowed room towards the entryway. The crisp footsteps of his dress shoes echoed across the marble floor as he stepped out into the gloomy cavernous hall.

He paused.

The storm raged outside, the wind howled through the hollow carcass of the Manor while the rain beat rapidly against the windows. Usually, the sconces would flare to life, welcoming a Malfoy home with their merry flames.

None of the candelabras were lit. The house was in complete darkness.

An eerie sense of stillness crept over him as he stood in the centre of the entryway, his back to the huge front oak doors.

Draco's eyes roamed the shadows that grew deeper, swirling with unseen threat further down the hall.

With all the fluster and panic since leaving Azkaban, it was with muted alarm that Draco noted that he was still wandless. He cursed himself for never learning wandless magic and vowed to begin as soon as he was out of the veritable nightmare he currently walked through.

"Bipsy?" He called, his command echoing down the hall before disappearing into the shadows. He waited, but no response came.

"Joply?"

Nothing.

"Padry?"

Silence.

The hairs on Draco's neck stood as he felt his shoulders burn and his pulse spike. His eyes roamed the entryway; his ears pricked, listening for the slightest disturbance over the howling of the wind. Draco suddenly realised why the silence had been so unsettling in the first place. His eyes caught on an empty portrait frame. He stepped back, angling his neck up, as he turned.

Every frame was empty.

None of his whispering ancestors watched over the hall.

Where the fuck is everyone?

He took a cautionary step forward.

Then another.

Slowly, he began to creep up the hall. He felt his fangs extend and sharpen as his eyes darted from darkened corner to corner, scanning for any signs of life.

This is ridiculous. It's all in your head.

Draco paused as he reached the base of the staircase. Every part of him wanted to sprint up the stairs, throw the items he needed into a bag and leave.

But the elves.

He took a steadying breath and veered to the right of the staircase and headed down the corridor that led to the kitchens and servant's quarters. He paused every couple of steps, his ears straining for any noise out of the ordinary.

Just check the elves. See why they didn't answer. He peered around the corner, searching the way ahead. At the end of the corridor, lay the hidden service stairwell that was a sure-fire shot into the kitchens. Maybe they've had a revolt. He toed down the hall, his clawed hand trailing the wall as he kept close to it. A mini-revolution, maybe they were waiting for all the family to leave before they drank all the liquor… maybe they're all drunk.

Draco paused at the false panel that obscured the stairwell and pressed an ear against it. Not a sound came from the other side. Tentatively he pushed, wincing at the creak of the unoiled hinges. He glanced back, checking the hall behind him was still clear. With his heart in his throat, he squeezed through the gap he'd made, not wanting to risk any more noise. He paused, his back to the wall; the stairwell before him was shrouded in pitch-black. Fear grinned widely and cooed softly in his ear as she ran her frozen fingers up his spine. He reached forward blindly in the dark and breathed a quick breath when his fingers curled around the bannister. Slowly he inched forward, feeling for the edge of each step before descending. He paused on every plateau, listening to the deafening silence over the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Finally, there were no more steps to take. He leant forward, fingers extended blindly into the dark, hoping that the door that should be there, appeared. His claw caught against the frame and he stepped more assuredly to it in relief. He ran his hand down the frame, feeling for the door handle. With the cold brass secure in his palm, he paused once more, listening to the dark.

Nothing.

Slowly, Draco twisted the handle and was immediately met with a blast of frigid air that pushed the door open the rest of the way. He blinked against the sudden onslaught and swung his head out into the corridor, looking to the right. The servant's door that led to grounds was wide open, allowing the wind to run amuck in the bottleneck of the narrow passageway. He frowned and stepped out, intending to head straight towards it, to close it. Except, the crunch that filled the hall was deafening as he stepped forward. Shocked, he jumped back and saw that the floor glittered in the gloomy light with scattered piles of broken shards of glass. He toed around it and looked to his left to where the darkened kitchen lay. The door was wide open.

Thunder cracked in the distance, rumbling ominously along the wind.

Draco made toward the servant's entrance, skirting around the patches of broken glass. He paused by another open door to his right, half down the passageway, and quickly skirted in. He headed straight to the bureau that stood proudly as the only furniture in the room, besides the mop buckets and brooms. As a young boy, he and Theo used to steal the sweets, and later the matches for the cigarettes that they stole, that Joply used to hide in the bureau. He rifled through the drawers, pulling random envelopes and assortments out until his fingers curled around a box of matches. He scoured the shelves of the room, searching for Joply's oil lantern that Draco knew he used to light his way when had to harvest the midnight herbs. He eventually spied it, tucked behind a pair of gloves on the top shelf. With nimble fingers, he hooked the loop with a long claw and brought it down, placing it on the flat of the bureau. The wind howled anew as he reached for the box of matches and struck it alight. It fizzed and popped merrily as he lowered the foundling flame to the wick of the oil, waiting for it to catch. Finally, he straightened, locking the glowing lantern door in place. Now armed with light, he felt more confident stepping back out into the corridor. He quickly traversed the final steps to the servant's entrance and heaved it shut, dead-bolting it locked.

The abrupt disappearance of the howling wind left the silence to ring in Draco ears as he stood in the doorway, looking down the corridor toward the kitchen. The orange glow of the lantern threw long dancing shadows, that stretched the length of the hall before they too disappeared into the inky abyss. He drew a slow inhale as he carefully began to pick his way toward the kitchen, avoiding the dotted patches of crystalline shards that twinkled like stars in the lantern light as best as he could.

Draco stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and leant forward to peer into the darkness. Standing centre of the room were two islands with a walkway in-between: their surfaces were covered in an array of flour and baking equipment, a rolling pin teetered dangerously on the edge.

It's as if they've just disappeared…

He stepped forward, his foot crunching more glass that crackled like splintered ice as he moved further into the room. He suspected the crystal glasses that covered the floor were the ones usually housed in the cupboards that lined the walls of the kitchen, ready for serving. He lifted his lantern and confirmed his suspicion when he saw the rows of cupboards doors strewn open. The orange light reflected off of the shiny surfaces of the polished granite tops as he rounded the far side of the first island.

It was only when he moved to push the rolling pin more securely on to the counter, that he saw from the corner of his eye, the reflection of the orange light in a dark pool of liquid that bloomed out like a sinister stain on the white tiled floor, in the space between the two islands. The breath caught in Draco's chest as his heart pounded in his ears. He toed forward, his shoes scuffing the sharp shivers across the hard floor. He peered over the edge of the island and lifted the lantern high.

"No no no no-" Draco gasped as he swept around the island and knelt to the floor, he knees digging into the crystal slivers. Joply lay, lifeless, a stalk of a wineglass buried in his thin throat. Draco's fingers fluttered over the elf's tiny form, searching in vain for a pulse as he tried to avoid looking into the lifeless green eyes. Finding none, he glanced around him: from the broken glass that littered the floor to the stem that protruded from Joply's neck to the unfinished baking on the surface.

Draco cast his mind to the patches of crystal in the corridor.

Joply must have used them as projectiles against whoever had accessed the servant's entrance.

But how? How had they managed to get onto the grounds?

He looked down at the elf's frail form, his eyes lingering on the wound that bore evidence of insensate cruelty.

Bipsy, Pad-

A thunk sounded from further into the kitchen.

Draco flinched, ducking his head lower. He didn't move, his breath silent, his heart pounding as his eyes searched the visible area. When he heard nothing more, he slowly straightened just enough to peer over the lip of the second island. The light of the lantern that he had left on the first counter behind him, only barely touched the space past the second island where Draco knew the pantry was.

He waited.

Stillness.

Fear peered over his shoulder into the darkness, her breath raising goosebumps across his neck.

With his heart in his ears, he straightened fully and grabbed the lantern. He then crossed the kitchen as quickly and as quietly as he could on the broken glass, and pulled a chef's knife from the wooden block. The handle lay heavy in his palm and calmed the fluttering sense of vulnerability he felt without his wand.

Draco crept along the side of the second island, his lantern raised aloft, his eyes scanning for any movement. The shadows lengthened as the light caught on the open pantry door.

He blew out a steady breath and bounced the knife in his hand, securing his grip as he approached the door. He stayed back and held the lantern high in an attempt to get the light to reach further into the recesses of the narrow pantry as he came to stand central in front of the open space.

Nothing moved.

He cast a glance behind him once again, ensuring he was clear before he took a tentative step forward.

Then another.

It wasn't until he crossed the threshold of the pantry, did he see a coppery smear on the floor that disappeared further into the darkness.

"Bipsy?" Draco whispered, taking another step.

A tiny whimper met his ears.

The relief that flooded through his body left him senseless as he rushed forward. Tucked away, between two burlap sacks and a barrel, Draco saw a tiny bloodied foot. He tucked the knife into the back of his trousers and knelt low, placing the lantern on the floor beside him.

"It's okay," he whispered.

"M-Master?" Came a Scottish squeak.

It was Padry.

"I'm here, it's okay. Can you move?" Draco breathed.

Draco heard Padry hiccup a whimper. "Padry cannot move sir. It hurts."

"Okay, stay there." Draco straightened and went to the full burlap sack. He lifted it with ease over his head, to spin and place it behind him in the narrow space. He moved the lantern closer into the now vacant spot. Padry lay in what was once, a white apron. An aggressive rose of deep red bloomed from his side. He looked to Draco, his huge brown eyes tearing as held his balled-up hat to his head.

"Let me take a look," Draco said softly, as he covered the tiny hand with his own. He lifted the hat to see a deep gash above the elf's eye.

"Jop-Joply's-"

"I know," Draco murmured lowly as he moved the chef's apron aside to see the slowly oozing deep wound in Padry's ribs that glinted sinisterly in the lantern light. He swore quietly under his breath and removed his suit jacket.

"Where's Bipsy?" He asked, piercing the thick fabric with his claws and tearing it into thick swaths.

"She – She went to stop them."

"Who?" Draco pressed as he gently laced the fabric under Padry's body and to wrap it tightly around him.

"Padry does – does not know," he hiccupped, "wizards and witches. They wore black. Padry did not recognise them."

Draco made a noise of frustration as he tightened the wrap around Padry's abdomen in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"Do you know where Bipsy went to go stop them?" He said as he gently patted his fingers over the wrap, checking that they came away clean. Satisfied, he moved the lantern to shine brightly on the elf's tiny feet. Draco noted the glass shards that were stuck in the soles of his feet.

"The people Sir, they – they said they were here for Master last night," Padry squeaked weakly, "Bipsy told Padry to hide and then she went to the East Wing."

"Why did she – you know what, nevermind," Draco grumbled as he scraped a bloody hand through his hair. He then set about undoing his collar and hastily rolling up his cuffs. "Come on, I'm going to lift you, alright?"

Padry nodded and held out one thin arm while the other kept the hat pressed to his head. Draco carefully bent low and curled his arms around the elf's fragile body. He felt Padry's tiny hand curl into the collar of his shirt as Draco slowly lifted him, not wanting to make any sudden movements, lest it worsen the elf's injuries.

When he was stood straight once more, Draco shifted Padry into the crook of one arm and lifted the lantern ahead of him as he backed out of the pantry. He crossed the kitchen, turning Padry away from Jopley's still body.

"Don't look," he breathed as his hurried steps crunched over the broken glass. He felt a sob shake in Padry's chest. "It's going to be okay," Draco hushed as toed open the door to the stairwell, peering into the gloom with the lantern held high. "It's all going to be okay. We're going to go upstairs. Then I'm going to put you in the hidey-hole in the drawing-room with the floo, you know the one?"

"But Sir -"

"Do you know the one?" Draco smoothly interrupted, as he skipped up the stairs. His shoulders burned from the weight set to burst forth for the second time that day.

"Padry knows the one Sir," the elf sniffed as his hand curled tighter into Draco's collar.

"Good, I'm going to pop you in there, all safe while I go and find Bipsy," he said as he edged the hidden panel open with his foot and broke out into the hall.

The wind rallied through the corridor, howling with fury as the rain beat a furious rhythm against the windows.

"They came last night you said?" Draco whispered.

Padry nodded, "yes Sir, just after midnight."

Draco's throat clicked as he swallowed around his dry mouth. If I hadn't left…If mother… If…

"Why didn't you leave? Come and find me?"

Padry hiccupped and sniffled into Draco's shoulder. "Padry was frightened to make a noise. They were searching the house for a long time and Padry promised Bipsy he would wait for her." The elf's voice broke with emotion as he finished his sentence.

"Okay, alright," Draco breathed, as he crossed the entryway, his eyes darting back and forth, checking his path was clear. "You're going to be okay. You're going to wait in here. I will be back as soon as I can alright?" He felt Padry nod against his shoulder. "You're not going to make a sound until I come and find you alright? You stay quiet." He crossed the drawing-room in a few long strides to the floo mantle. He ran a finger down the craved design of the fireplace until he felt the familiar notch. He pushed until it clicked and watched as another small hidden panel hissed open to the right on the fireplace. He toed open the entrance and knelt, wincing as his tender knees bore his weight. The secret space was nothing more than a nook, one of many hidden around the house that he and Theo had used on multiple occasions to spy on their parents. He tucked the lantern into the corner before he lowered Padry into the nook next to it. Once free, he leapt to his feet and dashed to one of the various ottomans that decorated the room. He gathered a couple of cushions and hurried back to the nook, to tuck them securely around Padry.

"Now stay here. Not a sound, understand me?" Draco urged; Padry nodded with wide eyes and a trembling lip. "If I am not back in an hour, find Pansy, Blaise, Theo or Mother. Mother is in St Mungo's, Septimus Ward. The other three should be on errands but they live in a Penthouse by Hyde Park. Wait for them there. Understand? One hour. If I'm not back - go." A huge tear broke free from Padry's large brown eyes and trailed down his cheek as he nodded slowly, his hat still clutched to his head, ears flapping as he did.

"Padry understands."

Draco thumbed the tear away, "everything is going to be okay. I promise. I will be back," he repeated, as he trailed his hand over the frame of the inside of the nook. "Here, see this? This is the switch to close or open the panel. See it?" Padry nodded and sniffed. "Good, I'll be back before you know it," he said with a weak smile as he flicked the switch. He leant back out of the way of the panel and watched as it slotted into place.

Draco blew out an unsteady breath, puffing his cheeks as he did. He rolled to his feet and set a quick pace as he retraced his steps out of the drawing-room and through the entryway. He didn't pause at the bottom of the staircase and took them two at a time as he bounded up them, his heart pounding in his chest. In the back of his mind, he thanked whatever Gods saw fit to bestow him with the inheritance. The difference between the time where he had depended upon Willows to get up the flight, to where he barely registered his feet landing on the step before they sprang him to the next, was a stark contrast that his unconscious made. He hurtled to the left and vaulted the balcony bannister, shaving seconds from his ascent. He slowed as he breached the entry to the East Wing.

Silence.

Slowly, Draco crept forward, passing the windows that overlooked the grounds and the storm that raged outside.

The door to his bedroom stood open ajar.

He sidled up to the frame and listened.

From within the room, he could hear a faint rattling. Draco hooked his finger in the open door to pull it wider as his other hand settled on the handle of the knife that was still tucked into his waistband. Pulling it free, he slid into the room, keeping low to the ground and settled against the back of the long sofa. He peered over it into the gloom of the room. He noted that all the curtains had been closed. He edged around the sofa following the sounds of the rattling that grew louder with every step he took toward the far side of the bed.

Draco straightened and held out his free hand to reach for the poster of his bed as he leant around it. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he could make out the shape of Bipsy's body on the floor.

"Oh fuck," he gasped, tucking the knife back into his waistband as he stepped over her and knelt.

"Bipsy?" His hands fluttered over her, checking for signs of life. The rattling sound reached his ears again.

Draco leant over and slowly lowered his head to her little chest. The rattling noise was loud in his ear as Bipsy drew in a breath. A visceral wave of relief spread over Draco so sharply he could have cried. "Thank fu-"

His exclamation faltered as he straightened and realised the side of his face that had touched Bipsy's chest, had come away warm. He ran his hand down his cheek and rubbed the dark viscous liquid that came away between his fingers. His eyes strained as they focus back on the small form. He noted the ominous shadow that bloomed over her torso. His heart plummeted and cracked into pieces as the itch in his shoulders finally gave way. He grunted with the effort as he felt his wings spring forth, tearing the shirt on his back as they splayed awkwardly in the confined space by the side of the bed.

"Oh Bipsy," he whispered.

"Mas-" The elf wheezed before rasping a wet cough.

"Easy girl," Draco urged, securing a hand under her thin shoulders to support her. "I'm here. You're going to be alright."

"Bips-" She coughed again.

"Hush, you'll be fine. I'll get you out of here, I'll just find something to-"

"Bipsy is dead, sir," the elf wheezed.

Draco blinked, frowning in confusion. "No, you're not yet. We'll get you-"

"Master Draco," Bispy breathed, the rattle of her chest was sickeningly loud to Draco's ears. "They came for you." She gasped as she drew in another breath, "you must hide."

"Hush, you can tell me when we ge-"

"Bipsy is not leaving," she rushed. "But Master must go," her strangled inhale sounded harshly as she struggled, "before they return," her throat bubbled, "and Bipsy cannot protect you."

Draco ran a gentle finger across her cheek, "you have done enough."

He curled his arm under her and pulled her to his chest as her breaths became more laboured. Draco's throat clogged with grief as the elf who had raised him grew quieter. She had always been the first one there when he had had nightmares at night, right up until the night of his trial. As the movement of her chest grew shallower, he thought of the strength that the little elf had always shown: bringing him into line when he had pushed too far or wiping his tears after another row from his father. He had loved her as a young boy until his father had beaten it from him one day after he had argued over one of the other elves' punishment.

He hadn't argued again.

But Bipsy had always been there, even when he had been horrible to her himself.

Draco didn't know how long he had sat there by the time she finally stilled in his arms.

A tear slid down the bridge of his nose as he hung his head in grief over her fragile body. With his free hand, he reached up and reverently slid her closed her eyes, before he curled it back under her, holding on for a moment more.

His ears pricked to the deafening silence that fell heavily upon him. It was the type of silence that nobody should have the knowledge of, but one that Draco knew well. It was a burdensome silence; cruel in its emptiness. It was deafening in its hollowness, twisting the mind of the living with its void. It is the silence that only follows death; the place where the grim walks the shadow.

And it was so easily broken.

He tilted his head and strained his ears.

Footsteps.

He looked up to see a sliver of silvery-white light dance through the gap he had left in the door.

His fingers tightened their hold on Bipsy's body.

Before they return, she had said. Fury swelled in his chest as his lip pulled back in a silent snarl over his fangs. His vision narrowed, darkening around the edges as he focused on the white light that flickered through the gap.

Draco's muscles tensed, his form frozen in a protective hunch over the little body he held in his arms as the door slowly opened.

He blinked against the white light that shone like a beacon so bright that it obscured the intruder's face.

He heard the creak of leather as they crept into the room.

He watched as they stepped around the far side of the sofa, their back to the far wall. Their steps, cautious and slow.

He watched as they came closer to the bed and stood amongst the seating area.

His eyes trailed down to their feet and as they took a hesitant step to the left to lean around the bed.

He didn't blink as the white light shone directly onto him.

He didn't blink as the wand lowered.

He didn't breathe as he finally saw the face of the bearer.

"Malfoy."

No…

Nobody moved.

Not her…

Draco's lungs burned from the breath he couldn't release. His walls shuddered violently, threatening to break.

Anyone but her…

"What have you done?" Granger's voice was venomous as the tip of her wand never strayed from its mark.

Before they return.

"What have I done…" Draco growled menacingly as his fury overwhelmed his shock. "What did you do?"

Granger's mouth snapped shut as she blanched. "Me?"

"Yes you," he rumbled through his clenched teeth, his fangs biting into his lips. He released his hold on Bipsy and effortlessly rolled to his feet, pulling his wings to his back with ease that only came in a mindless rage. "Was it not enough?" He took a step toward her and watched as she stepped back, golden eyes wide, her wand still trained on his chest. "What more must you take from me? Were you that pissed with your farce of a government setting me free, that you had to take an INNOCENT LIFE?!" He roared, taking another step toward her as his walls buckled under the desperate strain to stay together.

"Malf-"

"FINISH IT!" He beat a hand against his chest as he towered over her, incensed. "Take the fucking pound of flesh from me that I owe you." He took another step and relished in predatory glee as she stepped back again.

"MA-"

"Come on Golden Girl! FINISH IT!"

She suddenly lunged forward from her retreat, ducking low as she hooked an ankle around the back of his and threw all her weight against his chest. The breath emptied from his lungs as he landed with a thud awkwardly on his wings; the fission of sharp pain that ricocheted up the limbs cut through the fog of fury, clearing his senses enough for them to be swarmed by the scent of Nutmeg. Blindly, Draco made to grab Granger's shoulders to throw her off him when she jammed her wand into the soft flesh of his throat under his jaw, forcing his neck to snap back.

"Stop," she hissed, pressing the wand in further, as her golden eyes bore into his. "I'm not here to hurt you and I certainly didn't hurt the elf."

Draco blinked at her and swallowed awkwardly around the wand in his throat. "Well then why the fuck are you here?" he rasped.

"Because I figured you were in danger," she replied, her eyes strayed over to where Bipsy's body still lay. "I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner." She returned her gaze to his as she leant back, wand still to his throat. Draco hitched his shoulders in an attempt to relieve some pressure on the joints whilst he obstinately avoided thinking about the petite form that straddled his, as he eyed her with suspicion.

"You just figured I was in danger?" he said, raising an imperious brow. "Since when did you care?"

"I don't," she replied easily, "but you are part of a puzzle I'm trying to solve so I need you in one piece." He watched as Granger's gaze slid back to Bipsy. "What happened?"

Draco craned his neck to relieve some of the pain there. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because we wouldn't be having a casual chat if I wasn't Malfoy." She turned back to him, a sardonic expression on her face.

"Well it's a little difficult to believe you when you have a wand in my throat Granger," Draco replied bitingly, raising his own snarky brow back at her.

"Forgive me if I'm not quick to let you go with all things considered and after you came at me," she replied with a cruel narrowing her eyes.

Draco shuffled his shoulders again; the pain of his crushed wings spliced down his spine and up his neck, whilst chest keened with a pain he had now grown familiar with.

"I don't know what happened here," he spat caustically. "I came here to pick up some stuff for my mother and nobody was about. Somebody got in through the servant's entrance I think. One elf is dead in the kitchen, another injured," he swallowed thickly. "I came up here to find her before I could leave with the injured one."

Granger reeled back, her wand slipping from its point to trail dangerously down his throat.

"There's an injured one?" She repeated before she rolled to her feet. "Where?"

Draco raised a brow and held his hands open and out as he sat up slowly, in an attempt to mitigate any need she might feel to jump him again.

"Hidden," he replied, rolling his now free shoulders. "I couldn't be sure that whoever it was wouldn't come back to finish the job." He cast her a pointed look as he got to his feet. His wings flexed and shivered behind him before they folded themselves to his back again.

"I swear Malfoy, I am not here to hurt you," Granger said, fixing him with a steady earnest look. "You're under my protection."

Draco snorted. "Under the protection of the Golden Girl, how noble."

"Of the Department of Mysteries," she interjected.

Draco stopped, his cold smile frozen to his face as he stared at her.

Her golden eyes didn't waver.

Fuck…

"Never figured you for a Spook," Draco said lowly as his perception of her began to shift. Granger had always been the shining beacon sickening righteousness and good. Department of Mysteries…He tilted his head as he appraised her: her loose stance, her sharp eyes, the way she had walked back in Azkaban – coiled and controlled. He could see the difference. She had always been a threat to him, to everything he knew and believed. Her brilliance and natural control over magic went against everything his father has beaten into him. Her tenacity to always be right, no matter the cost, had put her front and centre of the Dark Lord's list of enemies. And yet, Draco no longer knew the scope of what she was capable of. She stood before him, a stranger.

A stranger who watched him with distrust and hostility in her dull golden eyes.

The hunger his chest burned as his fingers twitched by his side.

"People change," she said quietly.

"Yes, they do," he replied. He drew a quiet, unsteady breath, masking his discomfort in his chest. It felt as if every swipe of her eyes over his body twisted a knife into the hollow chasm of hunger deep within him.

Granger's eyes flitted between his before her shoulders lowered, "let me help you with the other elf," she implored with a foreign softness to her voice, "and we should probably get you out of here before whoever it was, comes back."

"What about her?" Draco asked, glancing back to Bipsy's body.

"Leave her for now," she replied. Draco turned back to Granger, affronted. "I'll come back and sort it, but right now, we need to get you out of here," she added in a placating voice.

Draco fixed her with a weighted stare before he nodded his assent. With a final look at Bipsy's small body, he stepped around Granger, headed toward the door.

"Come on then Spook."

He heard her huff before her footsteps joined him in the corridor. They walked in tense silence while Draco's mind played as much havoc as the storm that still raged outside: in one breath he hated the idea of leaving his back exposed to her, in the next, he instinctively trusted her to be there. A duality of logic and reason. His walls trembled once more.

Fucking birdbrain.

He glanced back at her as he started to descend the stairs. There was a slight crease in her brow as her eyes roamed over his wings, seemingly unaware him watching her.

"The irony is not lost on me," he said conversationally, pocketing his hands as he continued his descent.

The quiet stretched between them, to the point that Draco thought she wouldn't reply.

"Believe it or not, that brings me no pleasure to hear that."

Draco stepped onto the ground floor and half turned to look at her as he continued forward. "Really…none at all?"

"No Malfoy," she sighed, an exhausted expression crossing her features. "It will bring me no satisfaction to treat you, how you did me."

"And how did I treat you?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he could make them disappear. He hadn't thought, they had just escaped his throat without his permission.

How quickly can I disappear?

"Like I wasn't human," she stated quietly. A dead weight settled in the pit of Draco's stomach as a wave of nausea washed over him. He felt a cruel smirk settle on his lips as he looked back at her – though he couldn't tell if it were aimed more to her or himself.

"You've always got to be better than me, haven't you?"

"Yes," she said simply, her eyes flashing. "I do."

Look up the definition of self-flagellation, Malfoy, Draco thought bitterly, turning his back to her again as they crossed the entryway. Don't remind her why she hates you, for fuck's sake.

He swallowed heavily and rolled his shoulders.

Silence, freedom…

The frozen tundra twinkled pristinely in his mind; its ice crept forward like glassy webs, crinkling and cracking as it encroached on his walls, freezing in place the memories in a winter palace.

He suddenly felt lighter and a glance over his shoulder confirmed the disappearance of his wings. His eyes met Granger's whose only response was a twitch in her brow.

He ignored her silent question.

"He's through here," Draco said, blinking away the image as he crossed the drawing-room. He fingered the notch on the fireplace and crossed over to kneel by the panel as it opened.

"Master?"

"All good," Draco replied easily. "There's someone here who is going to help," he said as he reached into the nook and pulled Padry to him, wincing as his still tender knees bore his weight.

"Do you have somewhere else away from here you can stay Malfoy?" Granger said as she approached them, eyeing the elf in his arms. She offered a small smile as she ducked to meet his eyes. "Hello there," she said gently. Draco felt Padry's hand curl in his collar.

"This is Miss Granger Padry. And yes, Hyde Park."

He fought the wince as he scolded himself; yes, birdbrain, just tell the Golden Spook who is definitely spying on you where you live.

"Hyde Park?"

"Yes," he nodded. Shut up Malfoy. "Penthouse, Hyde Park Gardens." Shut up! "The floo is attached."

He bit his lip to stop himself from talking any further. Wonderful - truly.

"Alright, let's get you both there safe, and then I'll come back to deal with the rest," Granger said briskly, stepping around him to get to the floo.

"It's the black pot just there," Draco said with a nod of his head. It took Granger a second more before she plucked it from the mantle. She held it out to him with an expectant look on her face. Begrudgingly, Draco grabbed a pinch in his hand and threw it into the grate, murmuring the address.

"Hold on tight," he said quietly to Padry, securing his grip on the small elf as he walked into the fire and whizzed up the flue into the floo network.

Unlike last time, no one was there to greet him as he stepped out onto the hearth. He hurried over to the sofa to place Padry down as the flames burst green behind him.

"Huh."

Draco turned to see Granger eyeing the visible surroundings. "What?" he asked.

"I wasn't expecting this," she replied, seemingly coming back into focus as she headed straight to where Padry sat on the sofa. Her wand slipped from her sleeve as she knelt to get a closer look.

"This may sting a little," she said softly as she waved her wand over Padry's feet. Piece by piece, the crystals fell with a clink as they landed on the floor. Draco sat next to him and carefully began to unwrap the ruined suit jacket from his torso. He heard a hissed inhale and looked over to see Granger eyeing the newly exposed wound with trepidation.

"Okay," she said quietly, before beginning a melodic chant that sounded alien to Draco's ears. He struggled to follow the rise and fall of the harsh consonants as he watched Padry's skin knit itself back together.

When the last of it was mended, Draco gently pried the chef's hat from Padry's head. Again, Granger restarted her chant, her voice caressing the words that fell from her lips. Draco turned to her; her golden eyes writhed with intensity as she focused on her spellwork - the molten honey. Her red lips shaped around the words with an artist's touch, taking care to be exact in their pronunciation and honest in the love she poured into the utterance.

The knife twisted deeper into his chest.

He tore his eyes from her and focused back on Padry who placed his small hand on Draco's as he looked up at Granger with his huge brown eyes. Draco ran a soothing thumb of the little fingers that curled over his.

"All done. I'm not a healer so keep an eye on him please," she said sternly to Draco as she straightened.

"Of course," Draco replied, affronted.

Granger's eyes snapped to his, dulling their hue as they did. "I meant, just in case there are complications."

Draco raised his brow as his lip curled. "Right," he drawled. Granger's chest puffed as she drew breath to argue but Draco continued, "I'll keep an eye on him," he said, reassuringly.

Whatever Granger had been about to say was lost, as Draco watched the pink of her tongue ran over her bottom lip.

The knife wrenched further, opening the chasm wider and the frost set deeper into his walls.

"Good, I'll head back to the Manor if that's okay with you?" she to him expectantly. Unsure, Draco nodded. "I'll begin an investigation, see if we can figure out who broke in. What you uh-" She glanced at Padry, "what would you like done with the bodies?"

Draco swallowed, "we'll bury them."

Surprise coloured Granger's features, her wide eyes searched his. "Right." She said after a moment. "Of course, well I'll get that ready for you." She hesitated, her eyes still searching his. "May I come by and see you tomorrow? I'll fill you in on this, and I need to ask you some questions anyway."

"Yes," Draco blurted, before thinking. This is becoming an unfortunate habit. "That's fine, just let me know when and I'll make myself available."

"Thank you," Granger said, stepping toward the floo. "You should probably disconnect this from the Manor," she added.

"I'll take it into consideration, Unspeakable Granger."

A few wild curls escaped her haphazard up-do as her head snapped back to affix him with a dull gold stare.

Draco remained rooted as ice crinkled and cracked further into him, reaching down into the chasm.

With a final nod, Granger reached for the pot on the mantle and disappeared in a plume of green flame, while the shards of ice fractured in Draco's chest.

... So, how are we all? Need a hot minute?

As usual, would love to hear your thoughts and theories, constructive criticism is welcome, and kudos is love.