On Tuesday the news of Narcissa's illness was leaked to the Prophet and Draco quickly learned to avoid the main corridors between classes. He hated the universal look of pity he received. They might as well have hung a Ministry educational decree:
Educational Decree No. 194
Draco Lucius Malfoy is a sad, lonely, soon to be motherless, child.
All students are to look on sympathetically and pretend they give a shit.
Fucking tossers. How fucking dare they? And they didn't know the half of it.
They only knew Narcissa was dying.
They didn't know that his eyes burned and pricked and shifted and pinched. And when he felt too weak to keep on, they flashed a sickly green. It was a disgraceful color— A color that contradicted his noble lineage. He charmed his silver irises back into submission.
They didn't know he was hearing voices. A woman's voice. And even if they did— only Draco knew it was distinctly not his mother's. He would lay awake at night analyzing the mysteriously soothing tones and the way her featherlight voice made him feel safe and terrified all the same.
Sometimes he talked back. He asked her how she loved him. He asked her where she was. If she needed help. Needed him. She never responded.
He had not asked her name. Not once since that day on the Hogwarts Express.
She told him she was right there with him. She always had been, and she loved him. The voice was the closest thing he had ever known to unconditional love. He had grown accustomed to his apparent madness. He listened intently, into the early hours of the morning, eyes raw and wet with the sting of containment charms and fresh blood and tears.
In the daylight hours, when the green glow of the Black Lake crept through his drapes, he tore himself away from her, though he could still hear her as he dressed and readied himself for the pitying eyes awaiting him in the corridors.
He hadn't seen Granger since their run in on the sixth floor. Draco's vision had suffered considerably from frequent color charms and chronic meltdowns. She had been blurry— A silhouette of light and color he could only just discern. Why had she been there at all though?
Maybe he had imagined her. That was happening a lot lately.
It was the last Thursday in October, and Draco had herbology with the Ravenclaws. He proceeded to the greenhouses, his button-down shirt clinging awkwardly to his chest. A strange hint of summer remained in the air and Professor Sprout had asked them to harvest the last good bit of Fluxweed.
When he arrived, Blaise and Theo were waiting at the entrance to the greenhouses.
"About time, Malfoy!" Zabini called, "Sprout took the rest of 'em over to the forest already! Didn't want to get your hands dirty, did you?" Blaise teased.
"Leave it out, Zabini," he held out a hand and eyed his elegant digits. His lips quirked up at the sides, "You know Pans likes it when my hands get dirty," he added with a wink.
Blaise scowled.
If he liked Parkinson so much, he could tag in anytime, Draco thought. She'd be one less thing Draco would have to deal with.
Theo slapped Blaise on the back and snorted. The three Slytherins stalked towards the edge of the forest.
Herbology had grown on Draco, and though he was loath to admit it, so had Looney Lovegood. Like Blaise and Theo, she treated him well. She was probably too busy hunting Wrackspurts to pity him.
Luna's shoes no longer hissed at him when he approached. Hector, as she had called them, chirped in excitement at his late arrival, and blue sparks erupted from her feet.
"Not a good day for Nargles," Luna breathed.
A grin spread across Theo's strong features, "How do you figure, Lovegood?"
"Oh, surely Draco told you! They've been hoarding Dragon Liver, but it seems they've overdone it…" She hummed and bounced on the balls of her feet.
Theo chuckled and turned to face Draco, "Oh, of course. You'll have to fill me in later." He jeered.
Draco nodded in mock agreement as a private panic washed over him. He had stolen a vial of minced Dragon Liver from the potions store only a week before. But she couldn't know about that.
Class continued much in the same fashion. Theo baited Luna into tales of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and the latest merperson conspiracy. Draco envied how little the blonde witch cared. She must know they were playing with her, sizing her up and making her less than. If she noticed, it was never apparent. She was always authentically herself.
"Oh, Draco," Luna called as he followed Blaise and Theo back towards the castle.
Draco stilled. He considered correcting her. It was Malfoy. But he decided onto err on the side of playful irritation, "What, Looney?
"On Friday I feed the thestrals. Would you care to join me?" She trilled and smiled sweetly.
He stared at the ground.
Draco hated the thestrals. He had seen them ever since he disarmed Dumbledore on the astronomy tower. He had witnessed countless murders at the hands of the Dark Lord. He knew death. A sensation of blood pooling behind his eyes overwhelmed him. It invaded his senses. Metallic fumes filled his nostrils. He tasted copper.
Her singsong voice turned matter of fact, "You know, my mum died when I was nine. But it's not so bad, you see. We're going to die too, you and me. But it's easier if you have a friend, you know. Nargles are terrible company."
Cheery. Draco rolled his neck from side to side and ran through a list of snide remarks he could throw at her. He wanted her to leave. He liked to ruin things. But she was right, and he said nothing.
"We're going to be great friends, Draco. See you Friday!" She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. He felt his eyes flicker as she danced across the grounds.
He had not gone to see Luna that Friday, or any day thereafter, and as days bled into weeks, he retreated further and further into himself. Draco took greater measures to never meet the stares of his classmates. He rarely talked to his friends — if you could call them that — for fear of a hint of green catching their attention. He hadn't continued his research on curse containment since Granger had questioned him.
That insufferable mudblood ruined everything, and worse yet, Draco had double potions with the Gryffindors.
Professor Slughorn had asked them to brew a variety of Dr. Ubbly's oblivious unction. He patched his pockets for a vial of a similar thought healing draught he'd yet to perfect, and the pilfered bottle of Dragon Liver. He had been researching psychic draughts since term had started. When he wanted to quiet the voices. When he thought he was going mad.
And perhaps he was still going mad, but he had accepted it. Grown fond of it even.
"Horace, can I borrow Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall called from the door. The headmistress wore a commiserating expression.
Draco tensed.
"Of course, Minerva. Mr. Malfoy, you're dismissed."
Draco rose and collected his things. A head of bushy bronze curls lifted, and a pair of amber eyes followed him from the room.
McGonagall led him to her office and offered him the seat across from her. She rummaged for a small challis and placed it between them. She spoke cautiously, "Mr. Malfoy... I wish I didn't have to be the one to tell you this," McGonagall sighed, "But your mother has a few days, at most. There's unfortunately nothing more that can be done. I received an owl from your father this morning." She paused and waited for a reaction, but Draco's face remained stoic. Unreadable.
She tapped her fingers against the silver challis, "Your father has requested you return to the Manor for a service in two weeks' time. I have arranged a portkey..." She gestured towards the object between them as he made the connection. "...and if you'd like, I can excuse you for the rest of the evening for a visit."
He felt something rise up in his stomach. A pain and sickness that he needed to expel. An expanse of words tumbled around his mind and met his tongue but all he could muster was, "Absolutely not."
"Mr. Malfoy, you will only have this opportunity once. I strongly suggest..."
"FOR FUCKS SAKE, I SAID NO!" Draco bit back a throatful of bile and flung his chair backwards. He stormed out of the headmistress's office and didn't stop until he reached the dungeons. He uttered the password and slipped into the empty common room.
The rest of the Slytherins were still in class. He supposed it was better this way.
Draco rifled through his trunk for a tall bottle of Firewhiskey. He immediately brought it to his lips and chugged. There was no time for formalities; he was going to drink the whole bottle until he was numb. He wasn't going to stop until all feeling drained from his body.
Draco slipped onto his bed, clutching the bottle like a lifeline. He had prepared for his mother's death. She was dead to him already; she had been for weeks.
He drank some more. The liquid coated his throat and blanketed his senses as he tumbled hopelessly into a dream.
A redheaded woman sat cross-legged in bed, crying as she clutched her flat stomach.
"I promise. I promise I'll keep you safe. No matter what," She stuttered, her eyes trained on a set of ivory sheets.
Draco recognized the voice. It was her… the woman who had talked him through his grief. He studied her and she registered as someone he should know but couldn't place.
"I won't let her have you. You're mine. You'll know that." She seemed unconvinced and terrified. Draco extended his arm, wanting to comfort her as she had comforted him, but he couldn't reach her.
And all at once, he realized. This was not a dream.
It was a memory.
He had only once used a Pensieve but the experience was unmistakable. He was traipsing through a moment entirely not his own. It was hers. It had to be.
"Lily, what's the matter?" Her eyes shot up as a man bearing a striking resembling Harry Potter appeared at the door.
James Potter, he thought. He shielded her from view as Draco was thrown from the memory. A sensation of both falling and flying ripped through him as he was ejected from her mind into his own, unsettling reality.
When he awoke, he was drenched in a cold sweat. He blinked.
"You alright, Draco?" Theo said with seemingly rehearsed concern, "…I wasn't sure if I should wake you." His eyes drifted to the empty bottle of Firewhiskey in Draco's arms. "Should I even ask?"
Theo was Draco's oldest and most trusted friend. He had spent summers at Malfoy Manor when they were children and Narcissa had nearly been a second mother to him. Draco wondered if Theo needed to grieve the loss as much as he did.
"McGonagall asked if I wanted to see her… my mum, before…. Well, you know." Draco muttered sadly.
Theo waited. He was always patient and kind. Like a real Hufflepuff. Draco almost laughed out loud at the thought.
"I said no. I can't, Theo. I've had enough." He looked past his friend and into the depths of the Black Lake.
Theo pressed his lips together, "And what of your mum? Do you think she's had enough? Maybe she'd want to see her selfish prat of a son before she goes." Theo's usual patience was replaced by fierce resentment. "I think I would give just about anything to have spent a few more hours with my mum, you ungrateful prick," He hissed through his teeth.
"Oh, come off it, Theo!" Draco balled his fists at his sides. "Why don't you go and give her my fucking regards? Hmm? You go be the son she always wanted! Merlin knows, I wasn't fucking good enough!"
Theo's fist collided with Draco's temple. There was a white-hot flash of pain. His right eye threatened to break free of its socket as blood beaded behind his eyes and dripped down his cheek. Fucking great.
A look of horror spread across Theo's face and Draco knew. He knew his containment charm had lifted and Theo was seeing his muddled green eyes in all their foul glory.
"What the….?" Theo started as Draco squeezed his eyes shut. Blood dripped steadily off his lashes as he hurried out of the dormitory and back through the portrait hole.
Draco sprinted through the corridors until his legs shook and his throat burned. His blood was boiling again.
He couldn't remember the last time he felt a semblance of peace – at least not while sober. The effects of the Firewhiskey had long gone. His dream had seen to that. No – not a dream; a memory.
Lily Potter. He had been in the memory of Lily fucking Potter. A wave of questions he hadn't dared to ask himself came crashing down. The ebbing current swept him under, and he was drowning. His skull cracked on jagged rocks. His lungs filled with fluid. She had rescued him. She had calmed the storm. He tried to remember what she had said.
"I won't let her have you. You're mine. You'll know that."
The words tumbled around in his head with a rough, pounding pressure.
Draco paused, drawing deep, ragged breaths. He could feel dried blood pricking the corners of his eyes. He rummaged through his pockets and removed the butchered vial of thought draught–– A viscous violet liquid. He glanced around and pulled the cork. The fluid spat violently from the bottle as he tipped it back and allowed it to ooze and slither down his throat.
In a moment, the vial slipped from his grasp and fell to the stone floor. It shattered. The unfamiliar corridor dissolved around him and he was swallowed by a tangible darkness. He could feel it on his skin as cold, dead shadows came alive. The stinging heat in his lungs evaporated, promptly replaced by a bitter chill. His boiling blood turned to ice. It paralyzed him. His breath hitched.
At the end of the corridor stood a single, lit torch. It beckoned him forward and he obeyed.
"I am disappointed in you, Draco," A voice erupted from the flame. "She gave everything for you, you know. You're the reason she's dying." The voice boomed.
The waves broke again. His stomach twisted and he tasted bile. He vomited onto the floor.
"Stand up straight, you sad excuse for a wizard," The flame roared.
Draco pulled at his own platinum locks. He wanted to purge the draught, but it was alive inside him. It felt as if the potion was shredding his mind from the inside out––prodding his subconscious fears. He searched for a single pleasant thought to ground himself in reality; all he could muster was the memory of Lily Potter, and this, he decided, was the furthest thing from reality.
He screamed into the corridor, "SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
"Malfoy…?" A woman's voice called from behind him, but he didn't startle at the sound; he was so used to hearing voices. He shivered. It was always all in his head.
"Hello? Malfoy, what's going on?"
Draco turned slowly to find Hermione Granger standing at the end of the corridor. He turned back to the torch with a puzzled expression as she approached him, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. The darkness receded at her touch, leaving behind nothing but a drunk and dizzying sensation.
Hermione's eyes drifted to the glass fragments scattered across the floor. She paused, loosening her grip on him, "That won't help you, Malfoy," She seemed to steel herself. "But… if you'd just let me, I will."
Draco's brow furrowed as he eyed the witch before him. He had never been anything but unkind to her, and here she was, offering herself. Her support; unsolicited and unconditional. He could feel her warmth hovering above his shoulder. She had grounded him.
He thought back to their moment in the library. Her delicate rose and gardenia scent. He had almost tasted her. He had wanted her then, but only with malicious intent. And now, she was the only light in a sea of darkness. Hermione was pure, like the voice in his head, like Lily. But she was undoubtedly real.
Without a second thought, Draco wound his arm around the nape of her neck and pulled her close. He pressed his lips to hers and fed her all the pain he could manage with his tongue and teeth.
For weeks, Draco had lived in a well of his own suffering. A raw, bottomless pit with timeworn claw marks and shredded fingernails where others had managed to scratch their way out. But he would die down there. He was sure of it. He would die there, dark and damp and cold and wholly alone. He would succumb and he would suffocate.
A gasp left him when Hermione met his advance with the same ferocity. She gripped his robes and pulled him flush against her. Draco responded with desperation and poured every ounce of himself down her throat until they were both gasping for air. She tasted sweet, like honey and certain euphoria.
"Granger," He barely managed, fingers knotted in her curls, peppering tender kisses as she caught her breath. Her eyes met his with a glossy and exasperated expression. She was raw and bruised; his pain displayed plainly on her lips. They stilled; bodies pressed against one another as if being apart was pure agony. As if they hadn't spent seven years and a war as enemies. The sound of their frenzied breath filled the corridor as the castle fell away.
Draco ghosted his fingers down her neck and shoulders. A weight had been lifted and replaced with terrible need. He wanted more of her. No – he wanted all of her. His hands gravitated towards her hips. Hermione shivered and inhaled sharply. He could hear her overthinking.
"Wait, Malfoy," She forced out, "I can't."
His expression soured. He was falling again, deeper this time, if that were at all possible. He masked the disappointment written on his features and averted his eyes.
"No, no…" She corrected, running her fingers along his jawline, "I could, I just… you know. I have a boyfriend…" Hermione winced as the words left her.
Draco caught fire again. The Weasel of all people had taken something from him. She had been his. Hermione fucking Granger had been his, if only for a few stolen moments. And now she was retreating to a redheaded moron who bored her.
Weasley didn't deserve her, he thought. Though, Draco supposed he didn't either. She was the Golden Girl and he… well, he was a Death Eater.
They remained, locked in each other's arms for a few more moments, completely still. Silent and content. Hermione sidled up to him and planted a soft kiss on his cheek, "I should go," She murmured.
"Yeah, alright," He whispered, releasing her delicate hands as she stepped away and turned to leave.
She was halfway to the stairwell when he called after her, "Granger, wait," He paused, "How did you find me?"
Hermione's cheeks reddened as she tapped a small piece of parchment with her wand, pressed her lips together, and hurried away.