CHAPTER 23: The Worst Bad Thing

Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to JK Rowling or the world of Harry Potter.

The next day is probably the worst day of my life.

I've always been brought up to believe that bad things happen in threes. There is no isolated bad incident, there has to be three of them. Nobody knows why, and whenever I've asked my parents or anybody else when the topic has come up in conversation, they haven't had a valid reason – it's just the way the world works.

It's stupid and illogical, but it just is.

Aside from the underlying current of gossip circulating the school surrounding my uncharacteristic behaviour yesterday, which I had somewhat prepared myself for, three bad things do happen today.

And not just bad. Terrible.

The first one I can manage, to be fair. Blaise corners me on my way to breakfast, pulling me into an empty dungeon corridor just outside of the common room while looking like he didn't lose a wink of sleep last night over his best friend's current occupation of the Hospital Wing, much unlike myself who remained awake for most of the night replaying in my head everything that happened, unable to stop.

He takes in my washed-out appearance but doesn't hesitate as he predictably says, "I told you to stay away from him."

"I know," I reply dejectedly.

"And now look at him."

"I know."

He exhales roughly, undoubtedly about to spew some tirade he's nailed down to perfection. "He's in this Godric-awful position-"

"I know."

"-and there's no way his parents, and hence the Death Eaters, and hence Voldemort, haven't found out about it-"

"I know."

"-and-what?"

I throw my hands up, sighing and taking a step away from him as I drone, "You got what you wanted, Blaise. One of us got hurt. Are you happy now? Does this mean you'll leave me alone?"

His forehead creases. "That's not-"

"Of course, it wasn't," I bite out weakly and storm away towards the Great Hall – a futile endeavour since I know breakfast will taste like sawdust in my mouth.

But I go, and I manage to eat some toast and drink some tea, and that's when the second bad thing happens. Now this bad thing is a bit worse than the first bad thing, since I'd been half-expecting the first bad thing and I know by now how to handle Blaise's pessimism, but it isn't as bad as it could be, given everything. It's a letter from my parents, despite that I told them I've gone dark, saying that they're not happy I haven't completed the mission yet since there's only a couple of months left of the school year and they've heard that 'that Malfoy boy' has made significant progress on his task.

I'd bloody hope so since I've been helping him out and all.

I scratch out a wary reply saying he's better trained than anyone could have expected and that Potter almost did my job for me just yesterday before sending it back with Coco there and then, telling the owl not to bring me anymore of their letters and instead take them to the post office in Hogsmeade.

Because after the end of my current mission (if one can even call it that anymore), there's no way in hell I'm letting them send me on another one immediately. Or worse:

Summon me home.

Home. As if that house has been such a thing for a number of years now.

If you'd have asked me before Christmas if I'd like to go home, the answer would have been an unequivocal yes. But now I've experienced life, and not the strange semblance of it I've been offered over the past few years, I can't think of anything worse than being put back into that stuffy box with nobody to talk to and nothing to do other than train.

No, it's about time I carve my own path, whatever that looks like. By not having Coco deliver to my exact location, even if I would have rejected the letters, my parents can't track me down and find me physically. Granted, there's still a chance they could that regardless, but with my newfound skill in apparition (we only have three lessons left and then I'll get my licence) and my childhood full of training, I'm confident I can outpace and outsmart them. I learnt from them, after all. Probably the only people to escape the Dark Lord's clutches. And besides from that they're getting old. Not old old, but not as young as they used to be.

A definite advantage, I'd wager.

After the second bad thing happens I attend lessons, occasionally making idle small talk with Pansy and Daphne and Theo in my various classes of the day while half my mind is still running through the incident from yesterday, and Theo's revelation last night, and the encounter with Blaise this morning, and the subsequent letter from my parents. At dinner I'm mostly silent too, letting the others chat with each other as I stew in my thoughts before finishing my meal early and getting up from the table.

From where I head to the Hospital Wing.

And that – that's where the third bad thing happens. The worst bad thing by leagues.

The thing that shatters my soul.

I stand in front of the large doors, staring at the wood and working up the courage to go in (since I by no means have any Gryffindor traits within me). I'm not as shaky as I was yesterday, and I'm not as nervous to see Madame Pomfrey and explain myself. No, I'm apprehensive that Draco will be awake this time.

And I have no idea what to say to him.

Do I tell him I love him? Declare my undying affection? Or do I just keep it to myself for now and wait until-

The door opens and out steps Professor Snape, starting a little when he notices me.

"Professor, I was just about to visit Draco," I say politely. Then add, "But while you're here I want to say thank you. Truly. For what you did yesterday – if you hadn't have found us when you did…"

His posture, while normally rather tense, borders on awkward as he replies, "There's no need to thank me, Miss Messer."

I shake my head. "But what you did, it was heroic. You saved a life."

"That's kind of you to say, but really your thanks are not in order."

"Well, I think they are, sir."

"Very well then," he takes a step forward, and I take the hint and move to one side so he can get past. "I best be going. I'm afraid I'm about to miss dinner."

"Of course."

"And…" he trails off, looking pained for a microsecond before covering it up with his usual stoic façade, making me believe I imagined it. "Don't stay long, Miss Messer. The inevitable can't be changed, no matter how much you believe it can be."

On that note he walks away, and I stare after his retreating figure confused at his words. The inevitable can't be changed? What in Salazar's name does that mean? And what was with that strange, almost guilty, expression?

I shake it off, putting it down to the overall odd demeanour that the Professor exudes, and enter the Hospital Wing, greeting Madame Pomfrey as I do. Glancing over at Draco's bed, the hangings have been withdrawn and his grey eyes are wide open and gazing out of one of the large windows opposite him at the still-bright sky of late spring.

My heart starts to palpitate. What will I say to him? I really should have thought this through before coming.

With a moments' hesitation, I make my way over to him, being careful to make sure my steps are even and not too hurried. I hover at the end of his bed, tucking my hands into my pockets so I don't end up wringing them, and whisper, "Draco?"

Neither his gaze nor his expression do so much as flicker, and I frown, repeating, "Draco?"

Again, he doesn't move, and I walk up the length of the hospital bed until I'm stood in front of the nightstand where his wand and a utilitarian-looking lamp sit.

"Why won't you look at me?" I ask, instincts blaring that something is terribly terribly wrong.

Draco rolls his head to the side on the stack of pillows he's propped up against, eyes a hard gunmetal as they bore into mine.

"What do you want?" he says, blunt and cold and so unlike him. Or at least the version of him he is around me.

"I came to check up on you." I clear my throat. "To see if you're all right. After what happened, I… I don't think I'll ever recover from seeing that, from seeing you like that-"

"And why is that my problem?" he cuts me off in that same tone of voice, and I recoil as though I've been hit.

"Are you serious?" I ask, voice cracking.

"Do I look like I'm not."

"I don't know."

"Let me spell it out for you, then," he sneers, teeth flashing like knives towards me. "I'm fine. And you should leave. I don't know why you're concerning yourself with me."

"Why? Because you're my…" I trail off, not having the courage to speak the words aloud considering we never officially discussed the nature of our relationship between us.

"I'm your what?"

"You're my…" I take a breath before saying the words quickly, embarrassment washing over me which is ridiculous because this is Dracomy Draco, "You're my boyfriend, my lover. What happened to you? Have you forgotten about us? About what we have between us?"

His words become even more staccato. "No. I haven't."

"Well, you're acting awfully strange and I need you to stop it right now. Please." I can feel the desperation, pathetic and wanting, fall upon my face, but if Draco notices he doesn't show it.

"No."

I open my mouth to speak but he continues, "I won't stop, Messer, because I want nothing to do with you. Not after I've just found out what you do for a living."

Ah, so that's what's going on.

His odd behaviour suddenly makes sense.

I stiffen from head to toe, heart beating frantically in my chest as my worst fear, the fear that Draco will hateme for what I am and what I do, comes to life in front of my very eyes, manifesting into reality, and I brace myself for what I know will be the worst pain I've ever experienced – pain that thus far I've only read about or seen from a distance.

Heartbreak.

"You're an assassin," he continues, and my body stiffens further at his bluntness. "You lie and you infiltrate and you kill people. And you didn't tell me – after everything I told you, after all the times I opened up to you. You disgust me, Messer, and I don't want to be anywhere near you, not with the amount of blood you have on your hands. Salazar, I can't believe I fucking fell for it, fell for you and your act – because who knows what else you've lied about? Has any of it been true?"

I narrow my eyes, shaken to the core at his sharp words but also annoyed. Annoyed at him for assuming the worst when I thought we were close, so close in fact I was pondering how to tell him that I love him. Annoyed at myself for letting myself believe that someone could actually want me for who I really am, flaws and all.

"Of course it has, Draco, and I didn't lie," I say quietly, hands clenching slightly in my pockets.

"Like I believe that for a second."

"Sure, I omitted some information," I shrug, looking at him in disbelief, "but aren't you the same? You're trying to kill someone too."

"Trying and doing are two completely different things," he moves his gaze away and back out the window, face a blank slate and emotions totally unreadable as though he's not affected by this one bit.

As though he never cared for me.

"No, they're not. The intent is the same," I argue back, desperation turning up a notch and leaking into my tone.

"Intent means nothing. I haven't killed anyone, and if I do, I'll feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. Unlike you seem to be."

I can't answer that, knowing to some extent he's right and any argument against him evades me, conveniently jumping out of reach. Because I ama killer. I dohave blood on my hands – a ghastly amount. And I can carry on withoutfeeling guilty, without losing a single bit of sleep over what I've done. And that's not to mention my itch that makes an appearance when I haven't killed in a while, my restlessness that can only be quelled by taking a life with my own hands.

Draco's apparent disgust of me, while gut-wrenching, is painfully understandable.

Because I disgust myself.

And maybe – just maybe – I never deserved any of his affection, any of his kind words whispered against my bare skin late at night in our own private sanctuary. Maybe I never deserved his letters, his light teasing, the way he looked at me as though I was the only girl to exist, the only person who mattered.

Maybe I didn't deserve him.

Maybe I don't deserve love.

"You're right," I whisper, the pieces of my heart and soul coming loose from each other. Unhinging.

"I know."

"I'm an awful person."

"You are."

"I-"

"Just go."

I take one last look at Draco and turn to leave, spine rigid to combat the want to shake like a leaf, but before I can go, he speaks one final time, "And Messer? Never talk to me again."

Shutting my eyes momentarily, I take a breath and say, "That won't be a problem," without looking back over my shoulder at him and then leave the Hospital Wing, containing myself until I'm outside the large wooden doors again before giving into my emotions and sagging shakily against the wall.

What was that?

What happened?

I've really fucked up, haven't I? Fucked up twofold: for not telling him and for letting myself get this close to someone. Close enough for said someone to hold my feelings in the palm of their hand and crush them when they see fit.

And I guess right now is when Draco sees fit.

Merlin, I'm a fucking idiot. A huge fucking idiot – the old Arachne would never let someone have such a hold over her, to influence her in such a way. I thought I didn't want to be the old Arachne, didn't want that solitary and meaningless lifestyle she had. But now I see that while I might want to discard her completely, some aspects of her should be brought with me. Kept on board so I don't make foolish mistakes like these.

Like him.

I lied to my parents for him.

I compromised my mission for him.

I risked the future of the wizarding world for him.

My bottled-up emotions break loose, body shaking even more in anger and in sadness, but no tears come. Not that I want to cry, but when look inward I find that it's not a case of whether I wish to or not, but of inability.

As though I'm devoid of feeling. An empty shell.

The pieces of my heart littered across the Hospital Wing floor.

I've previously said that I don't know what I'd do with myself without Draco, and immediately after leaving the Hospital Wing after he broke things off with me, I'd scoffed at myself, telling myself that of course I know what I'd do – I've had a life before him and I'll have a life after him.

But now?

Now I'm not so sure.

Draco is discharged a few days after that fateful visit (Theo told me, not that I was asking) and returns to meals and lessons. Seeing him again affects me much more than I thought it would, an iron weight settling on my chest that gets heavier every time I see him, and as much as I can rationalize with myself, tell myself this was inevitable in a distorted echo of Snape's words, it doesn't make it hurt any less.

And it bloody fucking hurts, let me tell you.

He doesn't look in my direction. He doesn't speak to me. He doesn't acknowledge I exist. I could almost deal with the heartbreak if he didn't ignore me, I think, but it just makes the whole ordeal worse. It's as though what we had between us never happened, our entire history erased in the span of a single conversation, a history that meant – means – more to me than anything else in the world.

It's been three weeks since the Hospital Wing, though, and by now I've developed coping mechanisms – for one doesn't survive through a life like mine without the ability to adapt. Every time my thoughts turn sombre and wistful (most often when I catch a glimpse of his platinum hair or hear his mocking tone), I distract myself. Ask myself questions instead.

Questions such as:

Who told him about what I am?

(Because while Theo, Daphne, Pansy, and Blaise each know pieces of me, they don't know that I'm an assassin per se.)

Have I ruined my relationship with my parents because of him?

(Which I think was inevitable anyway, but it makes my ego feel good having something to blame him for.)

Is my post-school-year plan airtight enough?

(Something that Theo, Pansy, Daphne, and I have recently spent many a late night working on, intending on going off-grid together, potentially with Blaise if he's willing – we've packed emergency supplies and planned where to go, Theo's father owning a cabin in the forest some twenty miles south of the school that's practically untraceable and rarely ever used.)

And finally, should I kill him?

Should I kill Draco?

It'd certainly get me back in my parents' good books, there's no doubt about that, but what's the point if I'm not contacting them again? I mean true, he's a player in the impending war that would tilt the odds in the Order's favour, but the change wouldn't be that great. Unless he actually succeeds in killing Dumbledore.

And then he'll be just as disgusting as me.

I throw myself down onto the bench at the Slytherin table for breakfast, sitting as far away from Draco while still remaining with our group will allow. Daphne shoots me a sympathetic look from my left, something she does roughly a hundred times a day as of late, and Pansy kicks me underneath the table from where she's sat opposite.

"Cheer up, Spider Girl."

I raise an eyebrow at her, tone dry as the desert when I reply, "Why should I?"

"Because the school year is almost over."

I snort, buttering some toast and deadpanning, "End of year means exams – can't wait."

"You know that's not what I'm on about," she says in a slightly quieter tone and takes a sip of coffee, the pencil behind her ear notably absent today.

I sigh, intending to apologize, when Daphne adds, "We have some news on that front."

"Spill." Pansy brightens up and leans across the table.

"Blaise is joining us."

"Good."

"Great," I drawl sarcastically.

My favourite person. Scratch that – my second favourite person.

"It is great, Arachne," Pansy snaps, leaning further towards me until her head is directly over my plate, jagged ends of her hair brushing my food (which is gross, by the way). "We know you've been through a shit time recently and we understand that you won't tell us what exactly happened between you and Draco, but our sympathy only extends so far, you know? Either tell us what's so bad or cheer up, because from our point of view everything is looking up. We're finally of age and getting out of our lives, escaping our families like we've dreamed of doing since we could talk, and I'll be damned if you ruin it for us."

"Pansy," Daphne warns, halting in her actions of delicately chopping up some fruit. "She doesn't have to-"

I cut her off, "No, you know what, I will. I've gotten in trouble for holding my tongue recently." I look at Draco pointedly, who's got his head bent towards Blaise's in a picture that's been very familiar over the past few weeks, a pang of sadness running through me that I get every time I lay eyes on him. "And if we're doing this, really doing this, then it's only fair that you know the truth. The complete truth. About me and about what happened."

Daphne glances at me warily. "Only if you're sure, Arachne, because you've seemed a bit…"

"A bit what?"

"Depressed over the past few weeks. And we don't want to make it worse, no matter what Pansy's just said."

Depressed?

I mean, when I think about it, she's totally right. The constant moping, staring gloomily into the distance, lack of focus on my lessons and my schoolwork, loss of appetite, to name a few, are all indicators of feeling depressed. And now that Daphne has said it, I'm glad the emptiness in my chest has been identified by a particular emotion.

Because now I know what to do. What to fix. Even if a voice in my head tells me that the damage Draco has caused will never be repaired.

But I digress.

"Sounds about right." I nod and finish my toast, brushing my hands together to get rid of the crumbs and getting to my feet. "Dormitory tonight at eight. If you're late I won't utter a word."

I leave the Great Hall and head to lessons, ignoring the worry that they'll react in the same way as Draco and hate me because they've already seen me in action, already seen me kill a man and hide the body. That thought lifts my spirits for the first time in weeks and my lessons for the day no longer seem so much of a chore – more of a chance to take them in and lock them in my memory because I know there's little chance I'll be coming back to continue my education once we leave in a month-or-so's time.

It's while floating on this meagre cloud that I bump into Draco.

And my optimism comes crashing down.

I walk into the potions storeroom on Friday afternoon to grab a second boomslang skin as I gave my first one to Lavender Brown, who'd forgotten to grab one for herself earlier, she'd told me between various strips of drama, and it's not until I cross the threshold into the small room that I see him scanning through the vials on one of the shelves, occasionally grabbing one and stuffing it into the pocket of his robes.

The door behind me is open, the chatter of the classroom having covered the noise of my footsteps, and I debate turning around and leaving without him realizing when his head turns and he notices me, contemplative expression shutting down in an instant.

We stare at each other and my battered heart beats faster as this is the first time he's looked directly at me since the Hospital Wing. Acknowledged me. Hope swells, small and fickle – because even if he still hates me, at least if he talks to me I know that what we had between us did exist, but he doesn't, moving his eyes to a spot over my shoulder and taking a step as if to leave.

Salazar, I didn't think he could hurt me anymore than he already has, but I was wrong. So so wrong.

A stinging feeling zips through me and I step to one side so he can exit, which he does swiftly like he can't stand to be in my company any longer. As soon as he's gone, I let out a large exhale, breath seeming to fill the store cupboard claustrophobically and I feel I might suffocate.

Get a grip, Messer. He's just a boy.

But he's not just a boy, is he?

He's my boy. Or at least he was before everything went to hell.

I force myself to grab a boomslang skin and leave, finishing up my potion and passing through the rest of the day in a trance until it's almost eight o'clock. The time I told Pansy and Daphne I'd tell them everything. Having been in the library all evening, I mentally prepare myself before I enter the dorm, telling myself that they'll understand, that they've literally seen me do what I do before.

They're both sitting on my bed waiting for me when I walk into the dormitory, a pile of Witch Weekly magazines, various chocolates and sweets, and some nail varnish on the emerald bedspread, and I cross over to them shakily.

"There you are, Spider Girl, we thought you'd bailed on us," Pansy says from where she's lounging against my headboard.

I laugh weakly, lifting my arms outwards. "Well, I haven't and I'm here."

The two girls look at me expectantly. I drop my bag to the floor by the nightstand and motion for them to make some room for me to sit, which they do, and I kick my shoes off and shut the hangings around us before planting myself between them.

Here goes nothing.

Then I talk.

I tell them everything, right from the beginning until this very moment, not a single disgusting detail missing. And all the while they listen, their reactions unreadable, until I finally finish what feels like hours later and wait with bated breath to see what they say.

And then Pansy pulls me into a hug.

Shortly followed by Daphne.

And I cry in relief.