A/N: This will be the last chapter for this story. Careful, it deals with...
TW: suicide, panic attacks, addiction, flashbacks
CHAPTER 28 - THE END
After his wonderful evening with Hermione, Draco thought no nightmare could touch him – as if she was his protection spell – but her magic didn't seem to work two nights in a row. Just when Bellatrix slashed her knife one last time over his arm, he woke, gasping and with a racing heart. With unseeing eyes, he stared into the all-engulfing darkness and fought with the scream that lay dormant in his throat.
It was just a nightmare, he tried to tell himself – an especially cruel one, so much was true – adrenaline still pumped through his body. Jerkily, he ripped the curtains open, searching desperately for a ray of light that would confirm he was really back at Hogwarts and not still in that room. But the relief he felt when he saw the shapeless shadows of the two four-poster beds was short-lived. His arm still hurt as if someone had set in on fire, his breathing was still ragged and panicked, his pyjamas clinging uncomfortably to his sweat soaked body.
He should have taken a pain potion before he had gone to bed. He really should have.
With clumsy fingers, he reached for the phial on his bedside table, opened it, and let the relieving liquid run down his throat, numbing the agony in his sore muscles and body, not, however, in his arm. Flames of pain still licked on his skin.
With a groan, Draco untangled himself from the sheets and nearly fell to the floor trying to stand up, disoriented and out of balance. He didn't care if he woke anyone while stumbling over to the bathroom, teeth clenched to stop the moans of pain threatening to escape his lips.
The bathroom was gloomy, only one tall window illuminated the white and slate-coloured tiles, which formed a chequered pattern over the floor and the walls. Draco, however, didn't notice any of this. He just floundered to the sink and let cold water run over his arm. He didn't even bother to remove the bandages.
Breathing heavily, Draco stared into the mirror, barely recognising his angular, deathly pale face. Not even his new haircut seemed to have improved his appearance. Gritting his teeth, he looked back down to the sink to not have to face his ghostly image. He looked like he hadn't slept for days – which was true – and the purple smudges under his eyes contrasted starkly with his chalky white skin. His eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness of the bathroom, and he could clearly see a shadowy liquid in the crystal clear water. Blood.
"Fuck," he cursed quietly and turned the water off. The burning in his arm had slightly subsided, giving way to a sharp sting.
He was about to remove the bandages when a stifled sound alerted him to somebody else's presence. At once Draco froze, checking the mirror to see if somebody stood behind him, but nobody was there. With bated breath, he turned around and tip-toed over to the two shower cubicles where the sound had come from, his body tense, expecting an assault.
His eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness of the bathroom, and he could clearly see a dark shadow that sat huddled up in the corner, trying to be as small and quiet as humanly possible.
"Theo?" Draco asked cautiously. The other Slytherin was the last person he had expected to find. His mind had already wandered to a possible attacker, who only waited for the right moment.
The silhouette flinched and looked up. Although the light was dim, Draco could clearly see traces of tears on the boy's face. "Go away," Theo choked out.
Draco winced involuntarily. Theo crying? Slytherins – boys at least – didn't cry, didn't show weakness in front of others. He really didn't know how to handle the situation. For a split second, he considered leaving, pretending he hadn't seen anything – undoubtedly the reaction that was expected from him – but he found himself unable to move. It must be something severe for Theo to break down like this, and he couldn't just leave him alone. It felt wrong.
So instead he lowered himself to the floor, leaning against the side panel of the cubicle, and said, "I'm not going anywhere. We're friends, remember?"
Theo snorted and tried to discreetly wipe away any evidence of his tears.
"What's wrong?" Draco asked after his friend had stopped rubbing his face, meanwhile tracing the white tiles next to his foot with his index finger. White, black, white, black, white, black.
"Nothing," Theo answered harshly; however, he didn't try to leave. Draco could feel Theo's searching eyes on him but deliberately didn't meet his gaze. He didn't dare to yet. He had never seen Theo cry, and he wanted to give the other boy the privacy to pull himself together.
He understood the feeling of inescapable pressure and fear, and how it was enough to bring anyone crashing back down to earth. He understood the burning urge behind the eyes, the restlessness, and, mostly, the unstoppable tears.
So he asked another question. "Why did you come back to Hogwarts? Really, I mean. Not the rubbish you told the others about earning your grades." Theo's NEWTs consisted of solely Outstandings although – according to him – he should have at least failed Ancient Runes last year. But a perfect pureblood prince like him was not allowed to fail in anything. The fake report was too common for it not to be bestowed upon Theo, like any other. Draco understood that the other boy was upset about his obviously fake report, but he didn't need school grades – he, like Draco himself, probably had enough money to live the rest of his days without working a single day.
"It's not rubbish," Theo snapped. "I don't want perfect grades just because I'm pureblood, just because my Dad …" His voice broke.
Draco ignored it deliberately. It was a little too close to home. "But why would you need real grades? For your ego?" The dark-haired boy snorted, but Draco continued, "Seriously! Why go through the horror of school again?" Finally, he looked at Theo and was surprised by the pure despair he found on the other boy's face.
"Nobody'll employ me with that," the Slytherin said without inflection, but Draco knew it was only half of the truth.
"You don't need a job, Theo. None of us do."
Suddenly, a sob escaped Theo's lips and he buried his face in his hands.
"Theo?" Draco asked, alarmed, and reached for him.
Theo quickly backed away and Draco stopped mid-movement.
"Theo?" he repeated. But there was something he'd missed, something he didn't know. Suddenly, the other boy jumped up and rushed past Draco before he could stand up. Theo took out his wand and aimed it at the door, locking it and putting multiple silencing charms on the room.
"What …?" Draco asked, taken aback, but was interrupted by Theo pointing his wand at him.
"Shut up!" the Slytherin bellowed, then suddenly grabbed a chair and hurled it across the room. It crashed against the wall and fell with a loud clatter to the ground, one leg broken. "I have nothing left! Nothing!" He took the second chair and threw it against the off-white toilet cabin, from which it ricocheted and then scraped over the floor with a sickening sound.
"No money!" Theo shoved the bathroom utensils the boys stored in a shelf next to the sinks to the ground where they broke into millions of tiny pieces.
"No heirlooms!" The shelf followed the toothbrush glasses and perfumes, causing glass splinters to shoot through the air like deadly arrows.
"No home!" He drew his arm back and aimed it at the mirror, which shattered after the first blow. Theo, however, didn't stop there, punching the mirror again and again, accompanying each word with another well-aimed box. "No – house – no – family – no – nothing!"
Quickly, Draco caught Theo's wrist before he could hit the mirror again. "Stop!" he yelled and held his arms in a vice-like grip so that Theo was unable to struggle free and destroy more of the furnishing. "Stop it!"
Theo tried one last time to free himself, but then he gave up. At once, his rage seemed to vanish, leaving him empty and broken. Draco felt Theo's violent shivers vibrating through him, as if he was ready to collapse. Very carefully, Draco let go of his wrists. Immediately, the Slytherin backed away against the wall and slumped to the ground, still shaking violently.
Only now did Draco realise what Theo had said. "I- I don't understand," he whispered hoarsely and sat down next to the dark-haired boy.
"I know," Theo breathed. "I know you didn't know. You were probably still in the hospital or maybe already in Azkaban."
"So what happened?"
Theo swallowed. "My Death Eater father managed to get himself k-k-kil –" His voice broke again and Draco gasped. Theron Nott was dead?
"When?"
"The battle," Theo choked out, clenching his fists so that his knuckles stood out in white. Draco didn't need to ask which battle. He felt the same oncoming panic he had learned to associate with it, and he knew that Theo felt exactly the same.
"You're bleeding," he exclaimed suddenly, realising his friend had hurt himself punching the mirror. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet and reached for a fresh towel. "I'm sorry, Theo," he whispered, kneeling down with the wet towel in his hands. Gingerly, he reached for the boy's fist, expecting him to flinch back but he showed no reaction when he grabbed his right hand and started to clean it.
"Don't be," his friend hissed. "He was an asshole, and a Death Eater." Draco swallowed but stayed silent, knowing there was more that Theo wanted to tell. "For that, they convicted him posthumously, seizing all his property. Everything. The Manor, the family vault, the books, the jewellery, everything …"
Draco stood up and let warm water run over the bloody towel. "But … but your vault? And … you're of age! How could they …?!"
Theo barked out a bitter laugh. "Because there was nothing I owned. The Manor was still my father's until I married, which was never going to happen, and my vault …" Theo hesitated. "Suffice to say we had a massive row in the Easter holidays. I made it starkly obvious that I had no intentions of following his footsteps as a Death Eater when I had finished school, even though," he lifted his fingers to sign quotation marks, "his Lordship would gladly welcome me in his ranks." Theo snorted bitterly. "Yeah, as if."
"He took your money because of that?" Draco asked, scandalised, and sat back down, the towel forgotten. He suddenly felt a little dizzy, nauseous even. The Dark Lord hadn't needed to bribe Draco, but nevertheless he had never felt the same inclination his father had felt in joining his ranks. Like many of his pureblood friends, he was pushed towards the darkness and the promise of greater power. The thought haunted him, as it haunted every pureblood family, each act in the Dark Lord's name a disgrace. They comprehended each others' situations, but never spoke of it.
"He dissolved my vault and my mother's trust fund, to be precise. And no, not only because of that," Theo answered flatly.
Draco looked questioningly at his friend and waited for him to continue. Theo shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth to answer, but he stopped himself before any sound came out.
Immediately, Draco understood. The fact that Theo was gay had been a well-kept secret between Theo, Pansy, and himself. "How did he find out?" he asked quietly.
Theo flinched and glance at him sidelong. "Dunno. Confronted me, though. And … and I couldn't lie. I don't know why. Maybe because I'd lied about it all my life, maybe because a slight, stupid fraction of my mind thought he might accept me…" Theo sighed. "He told me that, until I came to my senses, I would not receive a single knut of the family's fortune. He really wanted me to marry, to produce an heir." Theo wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Bastard," was all Draco said.
Theo shrugged. "Yes. But now … now he's gone. And I'm all alone…" He interrupted himself before he could say more.
Now Draco understood why Theo had come back. He had nowhere else to go. "Where did you stay after …?" He paused when he realised he didn't know how to finish that sentence. It was suddenly so hard to focus on the conversation, as if mental cobwebs were catching his thoughts, slowing them down.
Theo shrugged again. "Pansy."
He nodded. That made sense. Pansy, who pretended to be vicious, cold, and mean but inwardly cared so much that she would rather die than let her friends down. "How's she?"
"Not good," Theo answered. "Her mother's trying to force her into marriage. I would've offered myself, but I'm not desirable anymore."
Draco flinched at the bitter tone in Theo's voice. "I didn't know. I didn't know anything," he whispered, turning his head to look at his friend. He was sorry, so sorry, that he hadn't been there for his friend before, that he hadn't seen how desperate Theo had been. But now he understood everything, every hint, every conversation they'd had in the past month since they were back at Hogwarts. He understood the rage and the loneliness. It was finally revealed. "You know you have a home, don't you? You know you're not alone?" he whispered.
Theo's head snapped around. "What? You want me to live in the Manor with you?"
Draco winced. "No! Not Malfoy Manor. I'm never going back there. I don't care that mother's trying to rebuild it differently – she's writing me her progress every day. I'm not going to step another foot into that cursed house." He shook his head, his fingers tightening around his aching left arm. "No. What I meant was that I have enough money left for the both of us. I can buy Nott Manor back if you want; if you don't want, we can look for something suitable together."
Theo's sapphire blue eyes scrutinised him - and Draco promptly realised that the room was now light enough to see colour. The sun had snuck over the horizon without either of them noticing. "Why would you help me?"
"Why did you beat someone up for me?" Draco retorted.
Theo winced and looked away. "That's not the same."
Draco shrugged, his fingers tracing the tiles again. White, black. White, black. White, black. His fingers itched to summon another pain potion but he couldn't. The pain in his arm hadn't stopped, but he had been distracted enough to ignore it, but now it slowly became unbearable.
He couldn't imagine what Theo had gone through, but he tried. His mother had died when he had been just a baby, and his father had never stopped blaming him for her death – not openly, of course; in public Theron Nott had boasted about how proud he was of his son and heir, but Draco suspected that, behind closed doors, Theo had suffered a lot at his father's hands. But Theron was still his father and, even if part of Theo hated him, another part loved him dearly, despite him being a Death Eater, despite all the abuse. Draco understood that – maybe because his situation was similar. His own father had brought the Voldemort mess upon them, had blindly and eagerly followed a madman, and part of Draco – only a teeny, tiny part – resented him for that.
And now, Theo had nothing. He was not only an orphan but also homeless and broke. Draco felt his lostness, his all-consuming rage that constantly burned inside him, and now he finally understood why, understood his situation.
"I hate him," Theo suddenly choked out, and Draco's head snapped up.
"Don't. He's your father, Theo. And I'm sure there was a part of him that loved you."
"Love me?" Theo echoed, sarcasm seeping into his voice. "He never loved me, nor anyone else. He was a terrible father. Just look me in the eyes and tell me he is not the devil, please."
Draco swallowed. "Maybe he was, Theo. But he's dead, dead and gone. He won't hurt you or anyone anymore," he replied hoarsely. "And I think you should forgive him."***
All of a sudden, the other Slytherin gasped, but it wasn't a reaction to his words.
"Bloody hell, Draco!" the other boy cursed and reached for the arm Draco was still clutching. Draco looked down and realised that small rivulets of blood were soaking his still wet bandage and running down his wrist.
"Shite," Draco exclaimed.
Theo had already drawn his wand and was now removing the bandages. The sight that greeted him was anything but pretty. The place where the skull of the Dark Mark had sat enthroned had been neatly cut out by Bellatrix, and new skin and muscles had grown in its place, but the scars where still visible. It looked like they had opened once more and fresh blood was oozing out of them, flowing freely down his arm. Now that the bandages that had pressed the wound together were gone, the scars seemed to open even further, and Draco groaned. It felt like bit by bit the other scars were ripped open too.
"Pain potion …" he said between clenched teeth.
"So you overdose here on the floor? Not with me!" Theo hissed and waved his wand over Draco's arm, cleaning it from the blood and applying basic healing spells, but from the look of it, they didn't help much. "We're going to Madam Pomfrey."
"No," Draco moaned. He didn't want anyone to see. He didn't want to show up in the hospital wing again after only one day. He didn't want to be weak.
"Ferula." New bandages wrapped around Draco's left forearm and he cringed.
"No!" he protested and tried to push Theo away, but the other boy was a lot stronger than he looked. Without much of an effort, he wrapped his arm around Draco's shoulder and pulled him up. Instantly, the room started spinning and Draco's knees seemed to be made out of jelly.
"Justin!" he heard Theo call loudly and tried to protest, but his voice was too low to be decisive. He would not pass out on the bathroom floor like a stupid Hufflepuff who had drunk too much.
Theo forced him forward towards the dormitory and called again for Justin. Still half asleep, the Hufflepuff sat up and looked at them accusingly, but then he seemed to realise the gravity of the situation.
"I'm fine," Draco protested when Justin put his arm under his other shoulder. Then his knees gave in and he blacked out.
Draco woke in an unfamiliar bed – it was too hard to be his bed at Malfoy Manor and too small to be his bed in Hogwarts – and an unnerving clean smell was in the air. Instantly, he sat up to survey his surroundings, but his head was spinning so hard that he couldn't discern even the shadow in front of him.
"Draco!" he heard Theo gasp and turned his head slowly. Blinking hard, he recognised the silhouette of his Slytherin friend next to his bed. Where was he? Ah. The hospital wing, of course.
"Welcome back to the living, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said dryly – the other shadow he hadn't been able to recognise.
He swallowed audibly. His throat was dry and his whole body felt boneless and weak.
"Drink that," the nurse said and pressed a cup into his hand. Obeying blindly, Draco emptied the not so bad tasting potion and fell back to the bed. Sighing, he lifted his arm and stared at the fresh white bandages. Shite. He had really passed out like a good-for-nothing Hufflepuff.
"How d'you feel?" Theo asked, and there was something in his tone that made Draco's head turn. Worry?
"Fine," he lied and whished Madam Pomfrey had also given him a painkiller.
Theo only rolled his eyes and moved to stand up.
"Wait!" Draco said quickly and reached for the other Slytherin as if to stop him. "How long have I been out?"
"Only half an hour or so," Madam Pomfrey supplied and waved his wand over him. "I think you're good to go. But take another blood replenishing potion before breakfast."
Surprised, Draco looked at her. Normally, she tended to keep students until they were sick and tired of the hospital wing. But he just nodded obediently, took the potion she offered, and swung his legs out of bed. The ground was a bit wobbly at first and he needed to grab the chair to steady himself.
"I'm fine," he said quickly when Madam Pomfrey threw him a critical look and walked as steady as he could out of the hospital wing. "Thank you," he said as soon as they were out of earshot.
"Don't do that ever again," was all Theo said as they walked slowly back down to their Common Room. Draco had started to limp a bit because his knee had started hurting again, but Theo pretended to not see it.
"Don't tell Hermione," Draco warned him quickly before they entered the Common Room. Theo nodded sharply and disappeared in the bathroom to repair the damages he had done. Draco tiredly walked back to his bed, crawled under the sheets, and fell asleep in under a minute.
xxx
Draco woke painfully slowly. For half a second, before his mind became clear, he didn't remember the last night, didn't remember the horror of Theo's confession and the pain. For a heartbeat, he believed that this was just a normal day like any other. But then he felt the still sharp pain in his arm and reality hit him, taking his breath away.
Gasping, he opened his eyes to the pale light of a rainy Sunday afternoon. Thick clouds hung over the sky, making it impossible to tell the time of day. It could be nine in the morning but just as well three in the afternoon. There was no rainbow, no lone ray of sunlight, merely sharp flowing sheets of water crashing down on the earth like bullets.
Draco groaned and turned to look at the clock on his bedside table, unblinking. This couldn't be. Maybe the clock had stopped working sometime during the night, but no – the second hand ticked the time away. Two o'clock?
Draco bolted upright and hurriedly started to dress, just stopped to take some painkillers, then stormed out towards the Common Room. He nearly collided with Seamus, who seemed on his way to his own dormitory.
"Draco!" he exclaimed, sounding rather surprised.
Draco grimaced and walked past the boy into the Common Room, where he could already see bushy hair bowed over an essay. She must have heard Seamus because at the same moment she turned, her eyes searching him. He was, however, wholly unprepared for her reaction.
With flashing eyes, Hermione drew her wand, pointing it at the unsuspecting blond boy. "Tell me, it's not true!" she almost yelled.
"Um…" Draco uttered confused, trying to remember what she could be upset about. Everyone in the room stopped doing whatever they had been doing and curiously watched the drama unfold. Desperately, his eyes darted around and then fixed on a forgotten prophet. Oh, of course. Skeeter's article. "I told you not to read it, Hermione," he groaned.
"Read what?" she snapped.
"The prophet naturally," he snapped back and crossed his arms.
She frowned, lowering her wand. "What are you talking about?"
Draco opened his mouth, but Luna was faster. "She's not talking about the Skeeter article, Draco. It's actually quite nice. I guess you'll receive some hero fan mail now instead of hate mail," the girl said with only a hint of dreaminess in her voice. For a short moment, he wondered why the seventh year was here and not Ginny but dismissed it as unimportant.
Draco opened his mouth to retort something, but then realised he didn't even know what Hermione was upset about if it wasn't the Prophet article. Wait – hero fan mail? He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts of that disconcerting idea. Potter must have really pulled a number on Skeeter to get her to write something nice.
"Let him wake up, Hermione, before you attack him. I've already told you it's rubbish, but nobody seems to listen to me," Tracey said, grabbing Draco's hand and leading him to a chair.
"Thanks," he said numbly and quickly searched the room for Theo, but the Slytherin wasn't present. Then he let his eyes wander back to Hermione, who had put her wand away and wheeled herself to his table. "What's going on?" he asked lowly.
She bit her lip and her gaze flickered to Tracey, who still stood protectively next to him, her arms crossed. "Er … basically, the whole castle talks about how you tried to kill yourself last night."
Draco's mouth fell open and he stared at Hermione. "You believed that?" Real hurt was mirrored in his voice. He had thought she knew him better than to think he would give up like that. Yes, he ran, and yes, he was a coward, but he would never leave her.
"I told you it's not true," Tracey interjected.
"Draco might have only used the blood to ward off night-ghasts," Luna chimed in, nodding as if that was the most reasonable explanation.
"But how …?" Hermione asked gingerly, ignoring the two girls.
"How the rumour sprang up?" Draco asked bitterly. He could imagine how. Someone must have seen Theo and Justin dragging him, his arm covered in blood, to the hospital wing. His first reaction was to say something harsh and hurtful, but then he saw her face and realised she had been only worried and scared – and the reason for that was that she loved him. So he swallowed down his anger and said in a calm and collected voice, "My scars opened again, and I passed out in the bathroom. If Theo hadn't …" He interrupted himself before he could give anything away. Quickly, he glanced around in the Common Room, but it appeared to be only Tracey and Luna who were listening. Susan was working on an essay, and Dean and Seamus seemed to have taken up their game of Wizarding chess again.
"Your scars?" echoed Hermione, a shiver in her voice. "You mean …?"
He nodded curtly.
"Oh." She swallowed loudly. "I'm sorry I screamed at you."
He shrugged.
"So you really didn't try blood magic against night-ghasts?" Luna asked, staring at his bandaged arm.
"Sorry, no," he said without inflection. He really didn't have the nerve to think about any monster she had invented. Swiftly, he hid his arm under the table in case she got the idea to examine it.
"What are night-ghasts?" Tracey asked innocently, and Draco groaned. He really didn't want to know.
"Excuse me," he said and stood up.
"Draco!" Hermione called after him, but he didn't stop until he had reached the dormitory. Instantly, his gaze focused on the red stains on his white bed sheets. "Damn," he cursed under his breath and started to rip them from the bed before Hermione would see. It was, however, too late. A sharp intake of breath behind him told him she had seen it. No wonder he had passed out from the blood loss. It looked like he had tried to slaughter a pig in his sleep.
Suddenly, the sheets were ripped out of his hand and flew purposefully over to the laundry basket. Hermione directed her wand back at his bed and started to clean it from any remaining traces of blood.
"Don't," he tried to object, but she was unfaltering. Sighing, he retreated to the window-sill and leaned against the stone wall. After she had finished, Hermione rolled over to him.
"I am really sorry," she whispered, looking at her folded hands in her lap.
"Okay," he nodded.
"I was just so … so scared it could be true," she admitted as if he hadn't said anything. "I thought I … I had driven you to it somehow."
He shook his head. "Hermione, listen! I would never do that, understood? It was an accident."
She looked at him, guilt still obvious on her features, but she nodded, apparently believing him. "Will it happen again?" she asked quietly.
He hadn't thought about that until now, but now that she had said it … "Probably. The nightmare triggered it, I think."
She flinched, guessing the nature of his nightmare. "Damn her," she hissed full of menace.
"She knew what she did with that cursed knife. Even if I was to survive, she guaranteed that I'd always remember, that I'd be cursed forever."
Hermione swallowed. "I wish …" She silenced herself and looked away.
"What?"
Sighing, she admitted, "I wish I had stopped it. But I barely remember…" Abruptly, her gaze turned sharp again. "We'll find a cure, I promise."
"Don't promise anything you can't keep, love," he said sadly. "And I really don't want you to remember." He shivered and curled himself into a ball. Still, only the thought of the memory send pain through his arm and the desire to numb it into his mind.
She leaned her head against his leg and said nothing. Draco didn't mind the silence, he just watched the rain fall.
"So, Theo?" she asked after a while, and he flinched.
"You knew." It wasn't a question, her tone told him everything.
Hermione turned her head to look at him. "Everyone knows. That might be the only reason he hasn't been attacked yet. I think people pity him, or they think he's deserved it but that it's punishment enough." She tugged at his shirt until he looked at her. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't know how to explain."
"Stop apologising," Draco hissed a bit more forcefully than intended. "I still don't understand how they could do it."
"The Ministry likes to brand people as evil incarnate."
His fingers curled around his left forearm. "But we'll fight this, I'll hire a lawyer –"
"Don't!" a voice suddenly interrupted them and both their heads snapped around. Theo stood in the doorframe, watching them. "I tried everything, believe me. Pansy's not poor, as you very well know. I think we spent half her fortune." He smiled bitterly.
"But –" Hermione tried to contradict.
"No!" Theo almost yelled and Hermione flinched back. At once, Draco made a move as if to stand in front of his girlfriend, but stopped himself in time. Theo had seen it, though, and now sneered at him. "Relax."
"Why not?" Hermione asked, unwavering.
"Because there's determination and there's foolishness. I'm done with hoping, I'm done with the Ministry, I'm done with school, and Death Eaters, and Dark Lords, and all the rest of it. I don't care anymore," Theo exploded, and Draco could see how he clenched his knuckles so hard that the encrusted wounds opened again.
"Why are you staying then?" Hermione threw in before Theo could act on his outburst of rage and punch something again.
That seemed to somehow halt him, his whole body froze up and his eyes flickered to Draco. "I have nothing to lose, haven't I?" he finally answered, but again it seemed like only half of the truth. Hermione's eyes wandered between him and Draco, and she seemed to realise something Draco couldn't grasp.
"That's nonsense," she whispered. "Come on. Give me your essays and I'll proofread them. Your grades will be superb."
Draco's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't dare to say anything. He knew it was Hermione's way of offering her friendship to Theo.
The black-haired boy stared at him for a whole minute, unmoving; his breathing slowly went back to normal until he seemed to have calmed down. Then he nodded. "I do need some help in Ancient Runes."
The Sunday afternoon passed in a flash, with time spent with last-minute essays and practices for DADA – although Hermione hardly needed the practise. She insisted, however, on firing twenty-five nonverbal Arrow-shooting spells – Sagitta – at a poor cushion, which didn't survive the ordeal. Draco could only watch her since he, of course, wasn't allowed to practise magic. The spell was supposed to improve their aim as they could clearly reconstruct the arrow's flight path.
After dinner – where everyone threw him curious glances and whispering ebbed and flowed over the Great Hall every now and then – Hermione decided to visit the library for some last refinements on her charm that was supposed to make the ceiling of their four-poster look like the real night sky. So far she had only achieved to make it invisible or let it rain, which wasn't at all what they wanted.
Draco, though, wasn't too keen on being asked one more time if he really tried to kill himself and hurried back to the Common Room. He would rather go outside, but the lashing rain stopped him.
When Hermione finally come back, she looked unnaturally pale and her lips were tightly pressed together. She held herself rigidly upright in her wheelchair when she rolled over to Draco, who had been convinced by Dean to play a game of chess.
"What's wrong?" he immediately asked, interrupting the command he wanted to give to his knight, who now stared at him accusingly.
"Nothing," she said between clenched teeth. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and hid her hands below them, but Draco had already seen her slight trembling. Was it anger or something else?
"Did you find the right spell then?" he asked almost casually.
"I would have, if certain Gryffindors hadn't thought they needed to disabuse me from dating you and, in passing, question my mental stability." Anger now clearly spilled over into her voice, and her eyes were flashing dangerously.
"Who?" Dean threw in before Draco could say anything.
Hermione nearly spit out their names, "Romilda Vane and Brandon Angel."
Draco paled slightly. Brandon Angel was in the Gryffindor Quidditch team and surely had had no pleasant time last year, as had the Vane girl for being in the DA. Hermione looked at him and quickly added, "Don't worry. They weren't deliberately mean. I think they might even care for me in a absurd kind of way. Since they overheard that we're together, they seem to think you might slip love potions in my drink." She rolled her eyes. "Of course, Romilda'd think that. But don't worry, I gave them a piece of my mind."
Draco nodded, not wholly convinced, and exchanged glances with Dean. The other wizard also frowned, slightly worried, but then a grin split up his face.
"So, you're officially a thing now?" the dark-skinned boy asked. "Brilliant. Seamus owes me ten galleons."
Hermione gasped. "You bet on me and Draco?"
"Bloody hell, no. I think he's the last person anyone thought you'd date. No." His grin widened. "Seamus bet on Ron."
Hermione grimaced. To distract the Gryffindor, Draco chimed in, "Knight to D6." He smiled crookedly at the other boy. "Check."
xxx
"I think we must have the worst timetable of all of Hogwarts," Seamus complained the next morning on their way to breakfast, and for once Draco agreed. The teachers really had gone out of their way to pair them with different houses every class. DADA with the Gryffindors, Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins, Charms with the Ravenclaws, and Potions and Transfiguration with the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Luckily, he had been allowed to drop Arithmancy, so he had only to endure Ancient Runes with all houses together (since the class was so small).
"I mean double Potions Monday Moring," the boy added with a groan.
Draco and Hermione exchanged anxious glances. They had escaped Potions last week, but today they would need to go to the dungeons.
At the Gryffindor table, they parted with Seamus and Dean and walked with Theo and Tracey over to the Slytherins, where Luna and Ginny joined them a little later.
Potions – normally, a class Draco would have no worries about. But, technically, it wasn't the class itself that frightened him, but the location. Downstairs, with barely any windows and dim light, long dark halls and an unnatural cold you could never shake, doors like cell doors, and people who hated him.
"Maybe it's not going to be so bad," Draco suddenly said and interrupted his friends' conversation. Promptly, everyone shut up and stared at him, and he realised he had uttered that thought out loud.
"Maybe," Hermione agreed quietly, and he turned to look at her. She was as pale as he felt and wasn't eating either.
"We should ask if we can use another classroom," Luna whispered and he could see that the blonde girl shivered. Draco tended to forget that she too had had an encounter with cold, dark, locked cells and he was not innocent of that.
Ginny's gaze wandered between them and a spark of understanding gleamed in her eyes. "Oh. Let me talk to McGonagall."
"No!" Hermione objected suddenly and straightened herself as if to brace herself against a battle. "We'll get through that."
Draco's jaw tightened and for the first time he thought that her optimism was nothing but denial. But he stayed quiet and secretly added a double dose of pain potion to his juice. The rest of the breakfast went by in a blur, and soon, it was time to go down.
"Oh, shite. I think I forgot my potions book," Tracey exclaimed and sprinted out of the Great Hall in front of them.
Theo threw him a sideways glance and Draco knew the boy suspected that Tracey wasn't on her way to their Common Room because of a book. They fell back a little and Draco whispered, "What's wrong?"
"We should really change the classroom. I bet most students have horrible associations with the dungeons." He swallowed and threw another glance at Draco, who tried to keep his face carefully neutral. "Tracey, um … after you went AWOL, all students who didn't manage to save themselves into the Room of Requirement were questioned if they knew anything about Potter's location or about you. I was kind of protected because … you know…"
Draco nodded.
"But, um, Tracey and also Pansy, who were seen as your closest friends – I mean, everyone knew you'd dated Pansy, and you always stood up for Tracey, so …", Theo struggled with words. "Well, it hit them the most. And then, there was this incident –"
Theo turned round the corner and bumped straight into Hermione's wheelchair, interrupting him in midsentence. "Hermione!" he hissed, rubbing his shin.
"Sh!" The girl put her finger on her lips and pointed at the bathroom door. You could hear the sound of someone throwing up behind it. "I'll go check," Hermione added and wheeled herself through the door.
Draco and Theo exchanged worried glances and automatically checked the corridor for other students, but they were alone. Hermione must have sent the others ahead, and since they were actually quite late for their class, most students who needed to go to the dungeons were already there.
"Tracey!" they heard Hermione exclaim, and Draco stiffened.
"Theo, can you go ahead and tell Slughorn we're late?"
The dark-haired boy scrutinised him, then looked at the closed door to the girl's bathroom, then back at him. "Fair enough," he said grimacing, and Draco understood he'd rather stay, but somebody needed to tell Slughorn where they were. The teachers had a closer eye on Draco than on anybody else.
"Thanks," Draco nodded and slipped through the door. Tracey stood over a sink and splashed fresh water onto her face. Hermione stood behind her and awkwardly tried to rub her back. When they heard the door open, both girls spun around, but only Hermione visibly relaxed when she saw Draco. Tracey, however, narrowed her eyes and took a defensive stand as if he would attack her.
"What do you want?" she asked aggressively.
"Just checking on you both," he said nonchalantly and lifted his hands to show her he carried no wand. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, but her eyes were still narrowed.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, just as fine as me, right?" he deadpanned, just when Hermione said, "But you were throwing up!"
"It's nothing! I was just not feeling …" She searched for words and finally settled a bit dejectedly on, "well."
"That's okay, you know?" Hermione whispered and intertwined her fingers on her lap. "Is it the dungeons?"
"No!" Tracey hissed. "There was just something wrong with the food!"
Draco and Hermione exchanged glances. "Okay. Should we go then?" Draco asked although he felt like putting class off a bit longer.
Tracey paled. "You can go ahead." Her fingers twitched for something in her pocket, and Draco, who knew that move well, narrowed his eyes.
"What are you taking?"
"What …? I – nothing!" she stuttered and put her hand protectively over her robe.
"Accio," Hermione said simply, and a small phial flew into her hands. "Draught of peace?"
Tracey paled even further. "That's – that's not – give it back!"
Hermione shrugged and handed it back. "Do you have any more?"
"Why?" Tracey asked defensively and stuffed the phial back into her pocket.
"I –" Hermione bit her lip and threw Draco an apologetic look. "I think I need some."
Draco inhaled sharply but did not react otherwise. He knew it was hard for Hermione to admit a weakness. Although potions were no solution, as they both knew, they helped sometimes. He had seen how she had tried to stop her hands from shaking, how she had desperately fought off the panic attack during breakfast, and he would have suggested she should take some potion, but he had guessed she would reject it anyway. So, no, he had no objections at all. Hermione didn't reproach him for his addiction, so he could never judge her for taking a single potion.
Tracey stared at his girlfriend. "You do?"
"I guess Theo made it for you? Like my Dreamless Sleep Potion?" Hermione asked deliberate casually, lifting her hands. "Do you see that?" Her fingers were shaking like a leaf. "It'll only get worse." She swallowed and reached for Draco, who quickly took her hand, which seemed to calm her down a bit. "Please," she almost begged.
"O-okay," Tracey said cautiously and handed Hermione the phial.
"What about you?" Hermione asked before she opened it.
Tracey's jade green eyes searched her gaze, then wandered to Draco. Sighing, he said, "Take it. I don't care. Really. I'm the last person to judge you."
"I really hate the dungeons," Tracey said, as if she felt the need to explain herself but then accioed a phial out of her bag.
With a sort of gallows humour, the two girls bumped their phials and downed the potion.
"Ready to go?" Draco asked and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
The girls grimaced in response and neither made a move to leave.
Hermione was the first to pull herself together. "Let's go to the mattresses," she said determined, rolling towards the door.
"What does she mean?" Tracey asked Draco in a low voice.
"I have no idea," Draco replied, shaking his head. "Maybe she wants to go back to bed."
Hermione, however, didn't want to go back to bed. With a straight back and clenched fists, she led them down to the dungeons.
Right in front of the door she stopped and turned to Draco, who was breathing heavily, trying to control his terror and the urge to take another pain potion. "I don't think I can stay here for two hours!" she whispered, panic seeping into her voice.
To be honest, Draco felt exactly the same – the walls were already coming nearer. But he promised her, "Let's try. I'm here. I'll protect you!"
She nodded and reached for his hand. "Together."
"Together," he confirmed, and she opened the door to their personal hell.
The light in the classroom was as sombre as expected, and the way the meagre sunrays slanted through the narrow windows made a chill run down Draco's back. Slughorn merely nodded and continued his explanation about the antidotes they were revising today. Ignoring the glares from the Gryffindors and the frowns from fellow Slytherins, Draco pushed his way to the back of the room where Ginny and Theo seemed to have reserved them three places. For once Draco hated to sit in the back of the room since the way to the door was blocked by cauldrons and hostile students.
With a sidelong glance at Hermione, he took out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, which also served as a seventh-year book, and waited for her reaction when she realised who it really belonged to.
The day before Draco had gone off to Hogwarts, a scowling ministry official had handed over – rather grumpily – his godfather's will to him. Actually, Draco had been rather surprised his godfather had left him anything. However, now he was the owner of a vast collection of potion receipts and manuscripts and some boxes with unknown content – since he hadn't dared to open any of them yet.
Draco knew Harry had hidden this particular book in the Room of Requirement, but Snape had searched for it during his time as headmaster, so it wouldn't find its way into another student's hand. Now the book of the half-blood prince lay before him, and Draco felt nearly sick opening it. It was the only thing from his godfather's possessions he had managed to look at or take with him; everything else was still too painful to even think about.
Draco knew perfectly well that he was still in denial, but death was just something he didn't know how to deal with.
A hissed Draco made him snap out of his thoughts, and he looked up. Everyone stared at him expectantly, making his mouth run dry.
"Sorry, Professor," he croaked. "What was the question?"
With a slight frown, Slughorn repeated, "I asked which the antidote was for the Draught of Living Death."
Draco swallowed loudly. "The Wiggenweld Potion, Sir."
"Exactly. And, if I remember correctly, you were one of the few sixth years who managed to brew it perfectly." Slughorn beamed at him. Then he turned to the other students. "That is the last potion we'll brew this week. "Waving his wand at the blackboard, he added, "I assigned each of you a different potion, a potion you were either weak at in your last year in general or in your exam. Antidotes are of great importance in potion making, and I only want the best results in this year's NEWT class."
Draco squinted at the board and suppressed a groan. He was supposed to make an antidote to Veritaserum, which was surely one of the most difficult potions, and not even accomplished Potion Masters always succeeded in its making. It was a potion for a student above NEWT level – but, technically, he, Theo, and Tracey had already taken the NEWT level.
He cast a glance at Hermione, who looked grimly and with clenched teeth into her potions book, then he let his eyes wander through the room. Tracey appeared like she might be sick again, Seamus had his back pressed against the wall, clenching his hand so hard around the silver knife his knuckles went white, Ginny sat closely to Luna, who flinched at every sudden movement, which made Ginny look up and scrutinise the room for any danger. Even Theo was distracted and nervous – Draco clearly saw him adding half a ginger root too much which he had before savagely cut up.
Draco had just tried to concentrate again on his potion and was skimming the index when the door was ripped open abruptly and Leanne stumbled in, looking as frightened as if she had just seen a Boggart.
Then the door slammed shut with a familiar click – a sound that seemed to reverberate through Draco's whole body – and, suddenly, he wasn't in the potions classroom anymore but in Azkaban. The dark stone walls rushed nearer, surrounding him like wolves about to attack, and the only escape was the locked door. But it wasn't only the walls that threatened him but the prison guards that had entered just now. He knew what was coming, and he also knew he had to get out of here!
Jerkily, he jumped up and fled towards the door, but the lanky guard must have stretched out his leg because abruptly he crashed to the floor like a falling tree. The impact pushed all air out of his lungs and slowed his stupid body down so that he didn't get up fast enough. Another guard already reached for his shoulder, but in a desperate movement Draco struggled to his feet and pushed the guard away, who stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. But Draco didn't care. He only concentrated on his escape.
Only a few metres left to the door!
Panic-stricken, Draco sped towards it, desperate to cross these few metres that separated him from freedom. But a guard appeared out of nowhere, his wand pointed at him.
"No!" Draco roared, dodging the curse by a hair's breadth. At the same moment, someone touched his shoulder and he turned around, defending himself without thinking. His fist connected with a jaw and the guard recoiled. Two guards down, only one to go.
All of sudden, Draco realised he held a wand in his hand – he must have taken it from one of the guards – and pointed it at the last guard who held his hands up in defeat, his wand falling to the floor.
It surprised Draco the Auror gave up so easily, but he didn't complain. He knew the door was locked, but he had a wand now! Alohomora surely wouldn't work on the complicated locking spells, and he didn't have the time to figure out the correct spell, so he just pointed his wand at the massive door and shot a non-verbal blasting curse at it.
The world exploded all around him when the door was blasted off its hinges, and little rocks catapulted through the air. However, Draco didn't care. Protecting his face with one hand, he ran out of the cell and up the stairs. Just away.
Every step seemed to echo loudly through the hallway, and he thought the guards must be on his tail already, but he couldn't detect anybody following him. So he ran through the labyrinth of hallways, stairs, and stone archways; his heartbeat was loud in his ears, repeating like a drum: a-way, a-way, a-way…
The blink of an eye later, Draco was suddenly kneeling on the ground in ankle-deep mud, water pouring over him like a waterfall. Confused, he looked up and realised he was out on the grounds, near Hagrid's hut. How did he get there? Shouldn't he be in Potions?
His gaze travelled down to his shaking hands, which still clenched his wand with all their strength, making red sparks erupt out of it. Quickly, as if the wand was burning hot, he dropped it. Shite. Had he done magic?
His breath came in panicked and ragged gasps, and he felt as if he had run a mile. What had happened? Everything was so fuzzy.
Suddenly, a dark shadow fell over him, and Draco's head snapped up. Hagrid was looming over him, appearing for Draco more like a real giant than a half-giant. Instinctively, he pulled himself up to face the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts.
Chaotic thoughts invaded his mind like poison – I must've done magic, and now they'll expel me and drag me back to Azkaban! –, and his knees started to shake uncontrollably. He couldn't even run away anymore.
"Yer alrigh', Malfoy?" Hagrid asked in his deep, rumbling voice. "Yeh don' look so good."
His mind couldn't focus on Hagrid's words let alone on answering, it just ran in circles – around and around: I don't want to go back. Not yet. Not after only two weeks of freedom. I don't want to go back. The panic overwhelmed him, and he desperately fumbled for a painkiller in his pocket.
"Come on, let's get ya ou' of the rain," Hagrid said in a voice like thunder, and before Draco knew what was happening, the half-giant pushed him towards his hut.
His old arrogant self would never have put a foot into Hagrid's home – too small, too filthy, and generally not worthy the presence of a Malfoy –, but now he was surprisingly thankful for the warmth it provided.
Still shaking, he dropped down on an old armchair near the fire and wished he could use his wand to dry himself. Suddenly, a cup of tea was shoved into his hands, and he glanced up. Hagrid's grim face looked down on him, not smiling but also not hostile.
"I'm sorry Rowle burned your house down," Draco blurted out. It was the first thing that came to his mind.
Hagrid snorted. "Needed remodellin' anyway."
Draco glanced around. It didn't look remodelled, maybe just a bit bigger than before. Before he could get himself into more trouble by blurting out inappropriate things, he took a sip of tea but nearly burned his tongue. But the tea helped. Fang sat silently slobbering next to his feet, also warming himself on the crackling fire.
By the time he had finished the cup, the shaking had died down, and he could think clearer.
"Shouldn' yeh be in class?" Hagrid finally asked.
"Er…" Draco mumbled. "Probably. But …" He frowned deeply, trying to remember. "I think something went wrong. I think I did … magic." His fingers clenched around the cup.
"Oh, nearly forgot. 'Ere." Hagrid held out his wand to him, the wand he had dropped before. Hesitantly, Draco took it. "So why's it bad if ya do magic?" Hagrid asked.
Draco felt the shaking come back and his hand wandered almost automatically to the pain potion in his pocket. "Could I have another cup of tea?"
"Sure!" Hagrid rumbled and turned around to get the kettle. Quickly, Draco pulled out the phial and gulped the liquid down, relishing its numbing effect. "'Ere yeh go."
Draco nodded thankfully and obediently took a sip of the strong tea.
"So, what's the problem?"
The pain potion had made him numb enough to be able to tell Hagrid about his sentence and his suspicion that something had happened in the dungeons.
"The dungeon, eh?" Hagrid grunted and it looked like he shivered. "Know what yeh mean, boy."
Suddenly, Draco remembered that the half-giant too had been sentenced to go to Azkaban. Also something his family had had a hand in.
"I wonder why they keep doin' classes there after last year," Hagrid added, sighing. "Anyway, yeh should go back. Hermione'll be worryin'."
Vehemently, Draco shook his head. "I – I can't. I can't go back there!" He didn't feel ready to face anyone yet.
But it seemed he was left no choice in that matter because, at the same moment, someone knocked. Hagrid threw him a warning glance and stood up to open the door. With an air of cool calmness, the Headmistress entered.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, sounding not surprised at all, and indicated he should remain seated. "What a coincidence to have found you here."
Draco raised an eyebrow, guessing it wasn't a coincidence at all, but he didn't dare to say anything. In fact, the appearance of the Headmistress let his heart sink into his boots. She was here to tell him he had to pack his things, or worse, would tell him Aurors were already on their way to take him back to prison.
"What can I do for you, Professor?" Hagrid asked politely and offered McGonagall a cup of tea, which she wisely declined.
"I came to discuss the new Centaur settlement, but, since I found Mr. Malfoy here, I'll have a word with him," the Headmistress answered casually, but Draco knew there was no casualness about her visit.
"Yes, Professor?" he asked in a husky voice.
Her stern, blue eyes scrutinised him. "I heard there was a little incident during Potions. Miss Granger came to me straight away, worried out of her mind."
Draco opened his mouth to say something, but McGonagall continued, "Good that she did it, so we could clarify the matter to the Ministry, which suspected you had attacked other students. Miss Granger and Professor Slughorn, however, explained that the blasting curse you fired was due to a Potions experiment. Isn't that right, Mr. Malfoy?"
It took Draco to react, the he nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. So the Ministry had realised something was wrong.
"Good. Luckily, I convinced them that the matter is settled and that I would not allow such a fuss about a single spell." Her square spectacles reflected the firelight when she leaned forwards. "Can you tell me what really happened?"
Draco swallowed hard. "I – I don't know. I don't …" He frowned. "I don't really remember."
"Miss Granger told me you suddenly jumped up and sprinted towards the door but fell over a cauldron. When someone tried to help you, you attacked them."
His head dropped "Did I hurt anybody?" he asked crestfallen.
"Not seriously. Will you be all right, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall asked with something akin to concern in her voice. Draco glanced back up.
"Maybe," he answered honestly. "Eventually. It must've been a flashback. I think I was back in …" He swallowed thickly. "The dungeons freak me out, Professor."
"Yes, I realised that was a bad choice. The next Potion class will be in the empty classroom on the second floor." She narrowed her eyes. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"
Draco opened his mouth and quickly closed it again. "No, Professor."
She gave him a long, sharp looked but finally nodded. "Fine. You should get ready for your next class."
Quickly, Draco jumped up, desperate to leave the room before she could change her mind about expelling him from school.
xxx
To Draco's surprise, it wasn't Hermione but Theo who found him sitting in the Common Room and staring at the wall. He knew McGonagall had told him to go back to class, but since she taught the next hour, he had thought his absence would be overlooked.
He heard Theo enter – his steps were characteristic enough for Draco to identify him without looking up. Theo had cat-like gate, silent but always purposeful.
"Shouldn't you be in class?" Draco asked before the Slytherin could say anything.
Theo chuckled. "I could ask you the same." In a smooth movement, he sat down in one of the armchairs and scrutinised Draco. "You alright?"
Very slowly, Draco let his gaze wander from the wall to his friend. "Peachy."
"I thought so," Theo murmured. "You scared the hell out of everyone in that classroom, mate."
Draco flinched and quickly looked back at the wall. "Who did I hurt?"
"Nobody important. It'd have been actually quite funny if …" He interrupted himself. "Anyway. You should've seen Justin's face when you pushed him right into Marianne's Confusion Concoction." He tried to chuckle, but it sounded forced.
Draco didn't answer. He didn't think this was even remotely funny. Now there were only more people who feared him and hated him. Great.
"What is it you saw?" Theo asked after a while of thick silence.
Draco shrugged. He didn't owe his friend any explanation, but something inside of him wanted Theo to understand. "Azkaban," he then replied quietly.
"Do you know what triggered it?"
Draco glanced at the other boy. Theo's face was carefully neutral, but his eyes were burning with … with what? Determination? Anger? Draco wasn't quite sure. "I've thought about it, and I think it was … it was the door. Leanne entered, didn't she?"
Theo nodded. "She didn't look too good either." He pressed his lips together. "I hate this. I hate this school, and the dungeons, and ... I hate that they make us do this. Don't they see that half of the eighth and seventh years are traumatised? Or do they just don't give a damn?"
Draco watched the dark-haired boy carefully. There was a rage within him that seemed to threaten to consume him, a rage that would lay waste to everything in its way and destroy Theo in the end.
"Maybe they think we're stronger than that," he replied. "What was wrong with Leanne anyway?"
"She wouldn't tell," Theo said curtly. Then he leapt to his feet as if determined to get this day over with. "Come on, Draco. It's nearly lunch time. You can't hide here forever."
"And what makes you think I'm hiding?"
Theo snorted. "I won't let you miss lunch and neither will Hermione! So get a move on!" he said sharply, and threw a pillow in Draco's direction when he failed to react.
Draco dodged the pillow and it tumbled to the floor with a soft thud. He wanted to say that he wasn't hungry or that he needed to prepare something for Herbology, but he knew Theo would see right through that. Still, he wanted to stay, wanted to revel in his dark thoughts and self pity, but the look on his friend's face told him he wouldn't accept no for an answer.
So grumbling, he got up and followed Theo out of the Common Room.
They were one of the first students in the Great Hall. Most people seemed to be still in class. The second Draco stepped into the room he knew that everybody else had already heard about the incident. Nothing could stay a secret in Hogwarts, absolutely nothing.
Instantly, all gazes were fixed on Draco and angry glares followed him all the way to the Slytherin table. His heartbeat was loud in his ears and his fingers were clenched around his wand so tightly that he burned a hole into the fabric of his pocket. He expected the other students to attack any minute. But they didn't. Without any problems, he and Theo reached their seats.
Even the other Slytherin students threw Draco curious glances and a sixth year leaned over to them and asked, "Hey Malfoy, is it true you blew up the dungeons?"
"Um…" Draco croaked, his mouth suddenly dry and his mind blank.
"He wished he were that cool. It was only the door," Theo replied in his usual bored drawl as if he didn't understand what all the fuss was about.
A smile seemed to flicker across the faces of the other sixth years and one of the girls said, "Thanks, I guess. If that means we won't have any classes down there."
Her friend nodded his agreement.
Surprised, Draco looked at the younger Slytherins. That wasn't the reaction he had expected. Then he remembered his conversation with the headmistress and said, "Don't worry. From now on, Potions will be taught on the second floor. McGonagall told me."
"Yes!" the girl exclaimed, a grin splitting up her face.
"What did McGonagall tell you?" Hermione suddenly asked behind him, having heard the last words of the conversation.
Draco spun around. He hadn't noticed her entering. A slight smile was on her lips and she took his hand, intertwining their fingers, as she rolled to her seat beside him. "Potions will move up to the second floor," Draco replied, smiling back at her. But then his expression turned serious, his eyes scrutinising her. "Are you okay?"
Hermione nodded. "I'm not hurt. You scared me, though," she replied softly. Her words seemed true. There were no holes in her robes from any dangerous potions nor scratches or bruises on her skin.
Draco swallowed thickly. "Sorry."
"You know it's not your fault. Not really," she said, shrugging and turning to the meal on the table that had appeared as soon as the bell signalling the end of class had chimed. "You couldn't help it. I'm just glad nothing happened to you."
"I thought the Ministry would … you know," Draco whispered.
Theo pulled a face, but said nothing. Hermione, too, stayed silent. But they were all thinking the same. They'd also expected the Ministry to arrest him again.
Draco stared at the food in front of him. Maybe he should make use of it as long as he could. Eventually, after half a minute of staring at the trays in front of him, he put a spoonful of carrot salad on his plate.
"We just have to be more careful," Hermione said, after she had loaded her plate with potatoes. "Maybe it's easier if …" she faltered, casting a sidelong glance at him, "if I take your wand."
Dracos's fingers curled around his fork. She was right. If he didn't have his wand, he couldn't use it. But that was also the problem since he wouldn't be able to defend himself in danger. "Probably," he murmured and stabbed the fork into the carrot salad. He chewed without tasting anything.
"Draco. You know I don't … I'm not –"
"I know, Hermione," Draco replied, glancing at her. "I get it. You want to help me. You might be right."
"Just," Theo threw in abruptly, but then paused, considering his words. Finally, he said, "Just be careful." He nodded over his shoulder to the Gryffindor table. "They're rather protective of Hermione. You might run into some trouble …"
"I know," Draco said pointedly. He didn't know why Theo had brought it up. They both knew that Draco was in danger every time he stepped out of the Common Room, but now Hermione would worry even more.
"Maybe it's a bad idea," she murmured, immediately confirming Draco's thoughts.
"No. No, it isn't. I'll just need to work on that wandless magic thing more," Draco replied, trying to sound casual, but his voice was husky. "You know what – why don't we train a little tomorrow afternoon? We don't have any classes."
Hermione nodded hesitantly. "O-okay."
"Okay," Draco repeated and put his fork down. "I'm full. See you in Herbology."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco shook his head and she closed it again. He wasn't sure why she obeyed. Maybe she wanted to give him some space.
It's better this way, Draco thought, making his way to the large, wooden doors. He wanted to be alone.
He had just slipped into through the door when a voice stopped him. "Do you want to get killed, Draco, or why exactly do you wander the castle alone?" Ginny asked bluntly, suddenly appearing next to him.
Draco flinched in surprise, leaping away from her a little. "What?" he asked blankly.
Ginny shrugged. "To me, it feels like you're tempting fate, courting danger so to speak, if you leave the Great Hall obviously alone. You know that things are a little … tense recently."
Instead of answering, Draco turned and walked towards his Common Room. Ginny's words stung because they were true. He knew it was smouldering beneath the surface of Hogwarts everyday life and he just wanted to get the explosion over with. He knew something was coming. The recent outing of him and Hermione being a couple and the incident today only accelerated things. Yes, so maybe he was tempting fate a little.
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, drawing level with him again.
"Perfectly fine," he lied, with only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Why was she even asking?
"Don't give me that shit, Draco. You need help. You can't bury what has happened in pain potions," Ginny said forcefully.
Draco stopped in his tracks, spinning around towards her. "That's none of you freaking business. I don't think I asked you to accompany me. So get lost, Weaselette." He knew he was mean, but he reacted the only way he knew. Lashing out because he was hurting. Being cruel.
Ginny's face fell a little, but she glared back at him just as angry as he felt. "I know you didn't. But someone needs to save you from yourself. So shut up and move."
A/N: So this is where I stopped writing. I have some notes about a confrontation with Gryffindors or some such about his supposed suicide – "the world would be better off if you'd died" etc pp – and that's it. I was planning for a bittersweet ending, Draco learning some wandless magic and being badass, Hermione being healed.
I hope you enjoyed this story. This will probably be the last thing I posted on this page (and this fandom for now). So goodbye, dear readers.
Remember to be kind!