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CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: Goodbye

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"Would you like some more juice?"

Hermione raised a hand to stop Mrs. Wilkins from pouring some more into her glass. "I'm good, Monica. Thank you." She gasped when she saw Mr. Wilkins pilling on more bacon onto her plate.

"You eat so little." He tutted, just about to add one more sunny side up egg before her dish was pulled out of reach.

"I already ate two servings!" Hermione cleared her throat when she realized she accidentally raised her voice. Her father always did have a tendency to overstuff her with food to the point where she felt like vomiting.

"Don't tell me you're on a diet?" He placed his hands on his hips. "You're skinny enough as it is! You should eat more."

"Honey, just let her eat how much she wants." Monica placed a hand on her husband's shoulder as she shook her head. "You don't understand the woes of a woman. There's so much pressure from the world to look perfect."

"Then don't listen to the world!" Wendell chucked a hand up in the air, making his wife laugh at his exasperation. "As long as you're a healthy weight and you're happy, what else is important?"

Monica sighed at this. "Now if only the rest of the world was like you." She planted a kiss on his forehead before standing up to bring dessert to the table.

Hermione leaned in towards her father when he sent her a conspiratorial look, followed by a wave of his hand. He began to whisper into her ear.

"Monica runs for an hour every single day, and is so concerned over what she eats it's driving me insane! If she starts counting calories I swear I'm going to-"

"I do those things because I want to live a long and healthy life." Monica whirled around from her position by the refrigerator to glare at her husband. "Too bad not every person nearing their sixties think that way."

Hermione chuckled when her father immediately quieted down. Her mother had always been the health conscious one in the relationship. She blinked at the apple crumble pie in the older woman's hand as she made her way back to the table. "Did you… make this?"

Monica looked at her in surprise. "Why, yes dear. How did you know?"

Because the crust was folded in the same way it always was. Because the smell of apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg with a mild hint of ginger was as nostalgic as it used to be. Because the five point slits on the top cover looked as perfectly proportioned as they always did. Hermione cleared her throat. "You're such an excellent cook, so I didn't put it past you to be great at baking, too."

"Oh, thank you, dear! That's sweet of you to say!"

She took a bite out of the slice her father handed her, sighing in content as she listened to her parents bicker over their habits throughout the years. It used to drive her up the wall; but now, she would give anything just to sit with them at the dining table, watching them prattle on and on about their lives.

It's been three years since she obliviated them. It's been three years since they've lived their lives as Monica and Wendell Wilkins. It's been three years since they've forgotten they had a daughter named Hermione, and that they once wanted her to become a dentist like them so she could inherit their practice.

It's been three years.

As she watched them argue over the health benefits of quinoa, she couldn't help but think that maybe… Maybe this was enough.

Maybe seeing them alive and well was all that mattered.

"You know how people say you change as you grow older?"

Hermione broke her train of thought when she realized Mr. Wilkin's question was directed at her.

"Well this one certainly hasn't changed since high school!" He shook his head at his wife. "Never fails to nag me over every little thing, I tell you!"

"If you didn't do things that required nagging, then I wouldn't have to do it!"

Hermione chuckled a little at this, knowing for a fact that she inherited that quality from her mother as well. "You've been together since high school?"

She knew the story about how they met. She's heard about it so many times she's lost count. Her father never failed to narrate it whenever they celebrated their wedding anniversary.

"We weren't together back then, but we were in the same class." Wendell began, shifting his body to face Hermione. "There was this girl I used to like. Played the violin like a goddess! She was absolutely stunning!"

Hermione pursed her lips to hold in a laugh when she saw her mother roll her eyes.

"She was part of the school orchestra, so I decided to join as well. You know? So I could get to know her better." He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the knuckle of his index finger against his nose. "I picked the euphonium since no one else played it. Had to make sure I could get in, of course."

Hermione nodded, knowing for a fact that the brass instrument still laid hidden inside the attic of their old house.

"I practiced a bit, just enough to seem decent at it in time for the tryouts. I got picked during the auditions and-"

"Fast forward to his first month in the band…" Monica inserted herself in the narrative, ignoring her husband's offended glare. "He was dragging everyone down because of his dreadful, pathetic, completely uninspired playing-"

"So this snooty woman who played the clarinet walked up to me one day after practice…" Wendell reinstated himself back as the principal storyteller, going as far as blocking his wife away from Hermione's view. "Told me I was being a burden and that I should just quit because, and I quote, 'You suck so bad you make it look like an actual talent.'"

Hermione laughed out loud at the anecdote, still finding it hilarious no matter how many times she's heard of it.

"So you know what I did?" Wendell pointed a finger towards himself before slapping the same hand down the table. "I practiced! I practiced so damn hard so I could shut her up-"

"Fast forward to six months…" Monica wormed herself back into the account once again. "He became slightly more decent at it, emphasis on slightly, where he was able to actually finish a piece without making any mistakes."

"So I walked up to clarinet girl and said, 'Ready to eat your words?', and you know what she said?" Wendell pointed at his wife, eying Hermione in disbelief. "She said, 'Oh, you're still here? I thought you'd already left months ago.' Then she walked right past me like nothing happened!"

Hermione snickered at the sight of her mother flipping her hair unapologetically.

"I spent the rest of my years in high school trying to get her to take back her words! And the most frustrating thing of all was-" Wendell slammed another hand on the table. "That I ended up falling in love with her!"

Hermione smiled at the look her parent's exchanged. It was one that she'd always see whenever they had a quiet moment with each other. It was a look that spoke of unbridled loyalty, friendship, and trust. It was a look that couldn't be faked, couldn't be fabricated.

It was a look full of love.

"He asked me out just before graduation." Monica continued the story, smirking when the expression on her husband's face fell.

"She turned me down!" Wendell pointed an accusatory finger at her. "When I asked her why, you know what she said?"

"I don't date short guys." Monica flipped her hair again, much to Hermione's amusement.

"Listen to me, Hermione… and listen to me really well." Wendell raised his hands up in the air as he stared at her firmly. "Us men… We're delicate creatures, okay? We have feelings, too, you know? Never ridicule a man about his height, alright? It guts us. It's like a knife to the heart, I tell you!"

Hermione felt her eyes prick, surprised to hear her father echo the exact same lines he once said when they'd first told her this story.

"Well, you wouldn't quit. I told you I wasn't interested, but you kept on pestering me. So I said something that was sure to get you to stop." Monica rolled her eyes. "Listen to me, Hermione… When a guy can't take no for an answer? That's a red flag right there."

"I thought you were playing hard to get back then!"

"Being told no a handful of times should have clued you in on the fact that I wasn't!"

"Well I was the persistent type! I work hard for things that I want!"

"Well I was the stubborn type! If I say something, I mean it!"

Hermione continued to watch them argue, feeling an overwhelming desire to make things right again. She wanted them back.

She wanted her parents back.

"You know, we saw each other again after ten years at a high school reunion." Wendell continued the tale, turning away from his wife to glance back at Hermione. He didn't want the narrative to end with him at such a disadvantage. "She'd gotten way more beautiful, but my pride still remembered that wound she gave me all those years ago." He chuckled to himself.

"I saw him from the corner and almost didn't recognize him. He'd grown a lot since high school." Monica laughed at this. "So I went over to say hi and well, the rest is history."

Hermione watched them reach a hand out towards each other, threading their fingers together as they smiled. "What a wonderful story."

"Thank you, dear." Monica placed her free hand over the younger woman's, scanning her features adoringly. "You know… We've actually always wanted a child."

Hermione froze at her mother's statement, suddenly unable to look her in the eye.

"We tried for years, but it's been fruitless."

Wendell brought the back of his wife's hand against his lips for a quick kiss, running the pad of his thumb against her skin soothingly. "But at least we have each other."

Hermione swallowed down a sob at her father's quiet words.

"At least we have each other." Monica echoed, smiling lovingly at her husband. "But I'm not going to lie. We really would have loved to have a child." She turned back towards Hermione, patting her fingers over hers. "Maybe one like you!" She chuckled to herself.

Hermione broke a piece off of the sudden wave of guilt she felt, tucking it into her mind for a moment to stop herself from breaking down. She turned her palm up, easing her fingers through the spaces of her mother's hand.

No.

She wasn't going to give up just yet.

Draco checked the cabinets in his room one last time, making sure he had everything he needed inside his leather satchel. He'd already given most of his stuff to Theo, leaving only the more important items in his personal hand carry.

A knock against the door made him sigh. He had a feeling it would be his mother again, asking him to rethink his decision for the umpteenth time. "Come in." He didn't bother to turn around, focusing on rummaging through the extension charm of his bag, checking the things he's already packed.

"God this place looks worse on the inside."

He froze at the lazy drawl that reached his ears, followed by a whiff of cigarette smoke. He swallowed down the panic that rose in his throat, whirling around to face his unexpected visitor.

"What?" Andromeda raised a brow at the haunted look on her nephew's face. "I look like Bella?" She blinked at him tiredly, having already heard that claim more than a thousand times. "Secrets out then." She shrugged, imitating her older sister's signature smirk.

"I am Bella."

Draco felt the blood drain from his face at his aunt's words. Andromeda may have had short hair; but the sharpness of her eyes, and her aristocratic features were so reminiscent of Bellatrix that it was impossible for him not to associate them both.

Andromeda rolled her eyes at the sudden panic in the Malfoy heir's eyes. "Relax, kid. Fucking hell… Don't you have a sense of humor?" She scoffed at him before taking another drag from the nicotine stick between her fingers. "I heard from the grapevine that the crazy bitch taught you." She blew the smoke out through pursed lips, ignoring the ash that fell down onto the stone floor as she flicked a finger over her cigarette. She could tell by the way he looked that it was every bit as traumatizing as she imagined. "Had fun?"

Draco looked at her like he would a madwoman.

"It was a joke kid." Andromeda sighed in exasperation. It seemed her younger sister's spawn had more of Lucius. "You get that prissiness from the Malfoy side. Blacks have an excellent sense of humor. A bit on the dark side, but still hilarious. Because you know… we're Blacks." She wagged her brows, amused by her own pun.

Draco looked at her dubiously, not knowing how to deal with her exactly.

"I heard you were leaving." She moved towards the closest stool, looking into the empty cauldron next to it before flopping down to sit.

Draco watched in silence as his aunt pulled out a thick envelope from inside her robes.

"An owl from your mother." She rolled her eyes as she spread out the pieces of paper. Its word count was sure to give Shakespeare's Hamlet a run for its money. "Lost my interest after the first two pages." She tapped the back of her free hand against it. All 119 paragraphs could have been summarized in just one.

Narcissa always did have a tendency to ramble. After her release from Azkaban, she would always send her thick letters every damn week. What she wrote in them, Andromeda had no idea; nor did she care. She would always throw them in the fire unopened the moment she received them.

There was one time her curiosity finally won over though. It was when an owl dropped off a thin envelope, unlike the previous ones she used to get. Inside it was a single piece of paper with a lone paragraph.

I'm a horrible mother, Anne. A terrible sister. A failure as a daughter. Why is it that I still can't do anything right even after all these years?

Andromeda had her whole speech ready when she applied for a visitation right to see her sister. She had decades' worth of betrayal, anger and disappointment bottled up; but the moment she saw her younger sister's disheveled countenance waiting for her by the foyer, bursting into tears at the sight of her…

All of that didn't seem to matter anymore.

Maybe old age had turned her sentimental… Or perhaps she just didn't want to be alone anymore… But the physical reminder of her younger sister's age made her relent.

All the years of separation were just that – numbers – until she was forced to confront them in the face. They've grown old. They've gotten so old without once seeing one another.

Had it really been more than three decades? Had it really been that long ago?

Andromeda never believed in the idea of time healing all things. Wounds mend, but they always left scars; and the invisible ones she held still spoke to her loud and clear. They would never fade, and she would never forget. But just one look at Narcissa…

Her little sister who used to be a snotty crybaby – frightened of heading to the bathroom alone at night, always knocking on her door incessantly until she eventually gave in. Her little sister who always worked twice as hard, hoping to keep up with her and Bella, and eventually live up to their mother's expectations.

Her little sister who learned to ignore her feelings in lieu of objectivity and rationality. Her little sister who grew colder as the years passed by, eternally stoic and detached; much better at hiding what she truly felt.

They both may not have long in this world, but with what little time they had left, she wanted her little sister to turn back into that snotty crybaby who was scared of the dark – warm, caring, and blissfully happy.

"So… Why are you leaving?" Andromeda took another drag from her cigarette, eying her nephew discerningly. "Going to live with the muggle-born you're in love with?" She smirked at the stunned look on the Malfoy heir's face. "What? You don't think I know? Narcissa talks… a lot."

Draco had half a mind to deny it, but there was no real reason to. What was the point of negating the truth? "I'm not leaving to be with her."

Andromeda hummed at this. "Are you leaving because you fell for a muggle-born? Impure blood and all, am I right?"

He narrowed his eyes at the older woman's patronizing tone. "No." He answered firmly.

Andromeda said nothing, taking a moment to just look at boy standing in front of her. "I fell for a muggle-born, too. I'm sure you know. Left everything I believed in and ran away with him." She flicked the ash off the tip of her cigarette, smirking in amusement when the young Malfoy heir eyed the gesture condescendingly. At least he wasn't acting like a scared little house elf anymore.

"Want to know why?"

Draco said nothing, keeping his gaze locked resolutely onto his aunt.

"He was the first man whoever asked me if he could take me out. It wasn't an order. It wasn't a duty expected of me. It was my choice." She paused to take a long drag out of her cigarette. "He would ask me what I liked, what I wanted to do… It didn't feel like I was doing a service. It wasn't a task or a chore. It was a partnership." She looked out the window, eying the cloudy sky through hooded eyes.

The first time she played a game of Quidditch was on a dark, gloomy winter day like this. She had always loved the sport; but her mother strongly prohibited her from playing the game, saying it was an incredibly unsightly thing for a pureblood woman to do.

A bunch of Slytherins and Ravenclaws were gearing for an impromptu match just before Christmas break, with the former needing one more player to even out the game. She declined the invite, going as far as making fun of the women suited up to play when a scrawny Ravenclaw hit back.

There's no rule that says women aren't allowed to play Quidditch. Maybe you just suck at flying that's why you don't want to join.

She blinked at the memory of her first meeting with Ted, recalling how disgusted she was that a muggle-born would dare to address her. She accepted the challenge, going as far as outscoring every single player on both teams in double digits, earning her an offer to join the Slytherin Quidditch team.

And she had declined.

Because it was… unsightly.

"Meeting him made me realize that I never want to conform to anything or anyone any longer." She eyed her nephew's silent form, letting him feel the weight of her gaze. "Kid, it takes courage to live outside the traditional expectations of society. But as you grow older, you'll understand that none of that shit is important. Not everyone will like you, but not everyone matters. So if you're doing this… If you're leaving because you think what's expected of you is to continue this pure lineage, then let me tell you now that you're being an idiot."

"I don't believe in that anymore." Draco bit back, unable to contain his scorn at being accused of blood supremacy. A few years ago– No. A couple of months ago it probably still would have applied to him. But now? With everything he knew?

There was no way he would ever go back.

Andromeda scanned the look on her nephew's face, trying to piece together the rest of his unspoken sentiments. "Tell me, kid… What do you like about Hermione Granger?" She paused just before taking a drag out of her cigarette. "And keep it curt. I have the attention span of a fly."

Draco looked down at his feet, not at all expecting the question. There was so much about her that he liked. So much about her that he loved.

"She makes me want to be better."

The hand holding her cigarette stopped in midair. "Well what do you know? We actually have something in common." Andromeda chuckled to herself as she shook her head.

Ted taught her how to look at the world through other people's eyes – how to empathize. She was still utter crap at it, but she was much better at it now than she was at 18. She could only imagine how she would have turned out if she hadn't met Ted. She pulled the cigarette off her lips when a thought hit her.

"Did you know that I was initially supposed to be betrothed to Malfoy? Lucius, I mean. Thank fuck that shit never happened." She shuddered at the thought. "During the marriage interview, I pointed at Lucius and said, 'You must be the father?'. Then to the actual patriarch I went, 'And the great grandfather?'."

Draco felt his lips part. He's only met his grandfather a handful of times before he passed, but to say that the old man was prideful would be the understatement of the century. He was sure to have taken offense. He didn't even want to get started on his father's ego. He watched his aunt's cackling form in disbelief.

"Mother had been livid because it took her forever to set up that meeting!" Andromeda shook her head in amusement, wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. "The only reason your mother landed Lucius was because the then Malfoy matriarch found her incredibly beautiful and 'agreeable' enough." She rolled her eyes.

It was basically another way of saying that her little sister was the perfect breeding cow. "I'm sure you understand by now that purebloods only exist to procreate. Our blood is our pride, and our children are our trophies." She vanished the spent cigarette stick with a wave of her hand, pulling out a new one from the packet she had inside her robes.

Draco watched her fire up the tip with a muggle lighter. I looked different from the one Blaise would carry around every now and then, but the way it lit up was similar.

"Which was why there was a time I considered killing you."

Draco blinked once. Twice. Not sure what to respond to his aunt's candid confession. He swallowed down the apprehension that bloomed in his chest, facing the older woman head on. "To avenge your daughter."

"Yes." Andromeda nodded unapologetically.

It was killing two birds with one stone. He was Bella's prodigy, and Narcissa's son. Doing away with him was sure to bring both her sisters agony. And she would have gone through with it if Bella hadn't kicked the bucket first.

She could still remembered her rage when news had gotten out that the crazy bitch had been killed. That should have been her job. That should have been her honor. She should have been the one who–

My head just- It hurts so much! I don't… I don't understand why it keeps on…

The memory of Bella hunched over in pain as she clutched the side of her head flashed through her mind. There were a handful of times she found her that way – by the foyer, out the garden, sometimes even in the cellar. But whenever she tried to help, Bella would claw into her mind, digging through her most embarrassing memories, making her relive them over and over.

So she gave up on her, choosing to keep her distance instead.

"Why didn't you?" Draco eyed his aunt unfazed, knowing for a fact that there was a time he would have accepted it as a form of kindness.

"Because Bella died." Andromeda answered matter-of-factly. "Killing you without her suffering over your loss would have been pointless."

A chill ran down his spine at the offhanded way his aunt talked about murder. She sounded so indifferent, so unbothered, that it seemed as if she was simply talking about the weather.

"Relax, kid. That was years ago. I don't plan on killing you anymore."

He swallowed at this. Was that supposed to make him feel better?

Andromeda sighed out loud at the haunted expression on his face. "Sorry." She added quietly, looking back out the window once again. "Children should never feel like they're born into this world to serve their parents, or atone for their sins. Just like I never wanted to uphold any of their beliefs, you shouldn't have to exist carrying the mistakes of your family."

She stood up off the stool, pulling out a shrunken item from inside her robes. When she found out her nephew was going off on his own journey, she couldn't help but think of the book in her hand. "This was my daughter's favorite." She reverted it back to its original size as she walked towards him. "I used to think it was stupid, but the older I got, the more things made sense."

Draco took the worn down copy of The Little Prince in his hands. He eyed the stains, tears, and muddled pages, trying his best to school his expression.

The look on his face told Andromeda everything she needed to know. "Kid, if you make one comment about getting a hand-me-down, I'll hex you."

Draco swallowed, glad he decided to keep his mouth shut. "Thank you, Aunt Andromeda." He looked down at the muggle book in his hand, assuming it was an item off the children's literature section based on the front cover.

"What is essential is invisible to the eye." Andromeda muttered as she eyed the old, worn-down book her little girl used to carry with her wherever she went. "The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart." She added as she chuckled a little to herself. "Corny as fuck, isn't it?"

Draco nodded, unsure of what else to respond. He felt his heart stop when he noticed his aunt reaching for him; incapable of preventing himself from flinching when her hand landed on top of his head, patting him gently.

"You go out there and live the life you want to live, okay kid? Don't ever let anyone else tell you what to do, understand me?"

Draco felt his eyes prick at the ocean blue eyes staring at him warmly, looking so much like his mother's. He nodded, unable to find his voice.

"Good." Andromeda ruffled his hair, making sure it stuck out in odd directions before dropping her hand back to her side. "There. Now you look like a rightful Black."

Draco flexed his fingers as he stood by the door of his childhood bedroom. He had every intention of leaving the manor without ever setting foot inside this room ever again; but he knew it was something he needed to do.

I'm stealing your idea. You said new memories helped so… I'm overwriting the old ones.

He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his spine as he reached a hand towards the knob, feeling an inexplicable need to run. He felt the cool metal against his palm, gripping it a lot firmer than necessary, swinging the door open as he held his breath.

He exhaled slowly; eyes darting through the room to catalog it in his mind. He dropped his leather satchel onto the closest side table, eying the brand new Ebony four-poster bed draped in white and silver silk sheets. The antique chaise by the fireplace had been replaced by a cozy four-piece lounge set; complete with a vase full of roses as the centerpiece. His bookshelves were restored, along with most of the volumes he knew he shredded to bits night after night during the first week of his house arrest.

He walked in, eying the pristine marble floor against his feet, remembering the shade of charcoal it used to be after he set it to flames. The door to his walk-in closet was reinstated, and a quick peek inside told him it housed new sets of clothing as well. His bedside tables were different, so were the curtains hung by the windows. He waved his wand towards the refurbished balcony door, pushing it open, letting in a wave of cool winter air.

He stepped out to admire the view, taking time to inspect the balusters as he ran his hands through the marble railing. He had to admit, his mother did an excellent job. He was pretty sure he blasted the entire balcony all the way down to the ground. How she managed to restore it so perfectly was beyond him.

He stared out into the horizon, letting out a breath at the sight of the morning sun. Today was a new day – a new year. He fisted his hands against the cold railing, feeling himself gradually drowning under the promise of a fresh start; the small flame in his chest giving him both a sense of hope and an ounce of fear.

Could he do this? Could he really turn his life around through sheer will? Could he– The sound of a soft knock against wood made him turn around.

"Are you all packed?"

Draco leaned back against the banister, folding his arms across his chest as he nodded at his mother. He watched her make her way towards him wordlessly, stopping just an arm's reach away.

Narcissa tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, wrapping her arms around her middle to fight the cold air, and the chill that was beginning to take root deep inside her chest. "Is there really nothing I can do to make you reconsider?"

Draco looked down at his feet, shaking his head in reply. Ever since he informed her of his plan the day after Christmas, she never let a day go by without trying to convince him otherwise.

"Draco…" Narcissa whispered in appeal, closing her eyes to conceal her desperation.

"I'm not leaving for good, mum. I just need time away."

"From what?"

He let out a sigh at the insistence in his mother's voice, turning away from her pained expression. "Mum, we've talked about this. I need to get better. I want to get better."

"And you can't do that here?"

"No." He shook his head, not needing time to think of his answer. "This house… This place…" He looked out into the horizon to avoid having to look her in the eye. "I just can't."

Everywhere he turned there was a memory he wanted to forget. Everything about this house was a trigger. Every single time he closed his eyes, he would remember something, hear something, feel something… And he was just…

He was done.

"Is it really the manor you want to be away from? Or is it me?"

Draco blinked at the distressed expression on his mother's face. "What?"

"Is it me?" Narcissa pursed her lips to fight the quivering she could feel from them. "Is it me you're running away from?" She scanned the wide gray eyes staring at her in stunned silence. "Are you still angry with me? Do you… Do you still hate me?"

Draco felt his lips part at his mother's quiet inquiry, feeling something in his chest crumble at the sound of her broken tone. "No… No, mother. I don't." His hands were on the sides of her face, running his thumbs through her cheeks, hoping the gesture would reassure her. "I don't hate you, mother, I swear. I just… It's just that sometimes it's-" It's hard to look at you, he cut himself off before the words could slip through his lips.

He'd forgiven her. That much was true. And he loved her. That wasn't even a question. But sometimes… Sometimes his heart would ache at the sight of her. Sometimes he would still find himself blaming her. Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder how different his life could have been if his parents hadn't done what they had.

"Sometimes it's just really hard to be here." He settled on instead.

"Draco… I've…" Narcissa hugged herself tighter, clenching her eyes shut as she occluded through the onslaught of emotions wreaking havoc in her mind. "I've already lost your father. Please… I can't lose you, too."

The sight of his mother's grief was like a punch in the gut, expelling all the air out of his lungs. Throughout the past year of living together, not once did they talk about his father. Not once had he seen his mother mourn, or show any indication of having been affected by his father's absence.

Narcissa continued to occlude bits and pieces of her pain away, willing herself to stay lucid enough to persuade her son to stay. She needed to think. She needed another plan. She needed– A choked sob escaped her throat at the thought of Lucius.

This was his strong suite. He had always been much better than her when it came to negotiating. He was always calm – always several steps ahead. He never failed to figure out what people wanted, and would use that leverage to work things in his favor.

They were never in love, but they were a team. He was her other half. More than anything, he had always been her partner in raising Draco.

He has my hair… and my eyes… He's my- He's our son. We have a son, Narcissa… We have a son!

Narcissa! Draco slipped and hit his head! There's bump! We need to see a healer!

Draco obviously doesn't like broccoli. Let him leave it on his plate and- Excuse me? What do you mean he doesn't get dessert if he doesn't finish all his vegetables? At least he ate the rest of them!

I beg your pardon? Why does he have to learn the violin? Draco clearly has an affinity for the piano!

Narcissa, Durmstrang has the best curriculum for- I understand that it's quite a distance away and- I assure you that this is all for Draco's- Would you let me finish what I'm trying to- You threw away his application form?!

He's been crying nonstop for the past fifty-three seconds now. What do you mean that's normal? He looks like he's in pain… Just give him what he wants.

He gets his obstinacy… from me? What are you talking about, Narcissa? I'm not obstinate. Since when have I ever been obstinate? What? Why are you looking at me like that? What was that sigh for? Don't walk away from me! Admit I'm right!

Narcissa! Narcissa! Draco is bleeding! He tried to pluck out a rose and- I fixed the puncture wound, but what if it gets infected? Perhaps a prescription salve would be necessary?

Why do you always feel the need to limit our son?! You're going to make him grow up thinking we're… poor! Just let him have the candies!

I've given you… a lot of suffering… I'm sorry, Narcissa. I'm sorry… I… If I can… If I could make things right, I would. At least for you and Draco I would.

Narcissa let out a whimper at the memory of Lucius saying his goodbyes just before they had been separated in Azkaban. She could still feel the strain of the shackles against her wrists when she tried to reach for him one last time, only able to graze the fabric of his shirt before they were pulled further apart.

Draco wrapped his arms around his mother, shushing her soothingly when her muffled sobs grew louder.

"Please don't leave me, too, Draco…"

He teared up at the sound of her plea. He buried his face against her neck, tightening his hold on her as he closed his eyes. "I'm not leaving you, mother…"

"But you are. You're going somewhere I can't reach and you'll- You won't ever come back…"

Draco pulled away to peek at his mother's face, bringing his hands to her cheeks once again. "Mother…" He ran his thumbs under her eyes, willing her to open them. "Mum…" She finally blinked at him. "I'm not doing this because I want to leave you here all alone. I'm doing this because I…" He dropped his arms back down to his sides; the rest of his words hanging on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm doing this because I hate myself."

Narcissa shook her head, finally letting go of her hold against herself to cup her son's face in her hands. "Draco-"

"I hate myself and… I'm tired." He closed his eyes, thinking of all the times he wanted to slam a fist against his reflection. All the times he drank himself into a stupor until he passed out. All the times he wanted to fall asleep and never wake up.

"I'm tired, mum." He let out a breath – one that carried the weight of everything he's been holding on to all these years. "I want to not hate myself anymore."

Narcissa wanted to say something, anything; but the look of utter defeat on her son's face made it difficult. She knew that there was absolutely nothing she could say or do that would ease his suffering. How could she when she had been the root cause of most of them?

He brought his fingers over hers, pulling them off his face gingerly. "I… I want to be someone, mum. Someone who isn't a war criminal. Someone who isn't a death eater. Someone who isn't just the heir to the Malfoy name." He squeezed her hands in his. "I just- I want make something of myself. Achieve something. Something that would make me proud. Something that would make you proud."

"I'm already proud of you, Draco."

He scoffed at her words, shaking his head in disagreement. "Proud of what, mum? That I'm a convict? That I'm an alcoholic? That I'm unemployed? What exactly have I done for you to be proud of me?" He snapped back bitterly. "I'm… I'm barely existing as it is. You can't be proud of someone for just staying alive, mum. Living doesn't… People don't get awards for being alive."

"And is that what you want? An award for something?" She scanned his face, failing to hide her confusion as she tried to make sense of his words.

"Maybe?" Draco let go his mother's hands to run his fingers through his hair, fisting them at the nape of his neck. "I don't know- I just…" He huffed in frustration, not understanding what it was that he wanted to make out of himself either. "All I know is that I want to do something else with my life. Something… Something meaningful."

"I understand your desire to achieve great things, Draco, but… There's no rush." Narcissa gently loosened his fingers off his hair, smoothing his disheveled platinum blonde locks. "You're twenty-years-old. You have all the time in the world to decide what it is that you want to do with your life."

"When should I start figuring things out then? When I'm thirty?" He bit back, unable to hide the spitefulness in his tone. "All I've done these last two years is live in the past. I've… I haven't done anything. Everyone else seems to have found what it is they want to do in life, and… and here I am just-" He pushed himself off banister, taking a few steps away as he ran his hands through his hair once again.

"You don't have to compare yourself to others, Draco. Life isn't a race." Narcissa looked at his back tiredly. "You set your own pace. You don't have to-"

"And what if this is mine?" He turned around to look at her again. "What if this is my pace, mum? What if I think it's time for me to actually get things done?" He walked towards her, stopping just a step away from where she stood. "Mum, I have to do this."

"I know… But what I don't understand is why you have to leave." Narcissa closed the distance between them, placing a palm over her son's cheek. "I… I've renovated most of the manor. It's-It doesn't look like how it used to anymore. If there's- If you want something else changed, just tell me… I'll fix it."

Draco felt his eyes tear up at his mother's bargaining. He knew she's been running herself ragged with the manor's restoration the moment she got her wand back; but he had no idea she's been doing it for his sake.

"Just tell me what else to do, Draco… What else do I need to fix? Please… There must be something else I can do."

"Mum…" He whispered in exasperation as he closed his eyes; torn between guilt and exhaustion. "I… I don't want to fight. I don't want to keep arguing with you. Just please… Please just let me have this."

"But I-"

"I have to do this, mum… I have to." He looked at her resolutely, grounding his resolve further. "Because if I stay in this place any longer, I really will go crazy."

His unrelenting words and the look in his eyes vanquished what little hope she had left. She thought of all the times she's seen him unhinged – by the drawing room, the garden, the main dining room, the foyer…

On the stone floor of Azkaban's visiting chamber.

The memory of him laughing out loud in abandon, even as tears poured down his face after being assaulted by his very own father, brought a chill down her spine.

Seeing him that way… scared her.

She was scared of waking up one day no longer able to recognize her own son.

Narcissa picked up the scattered pieces in her mind, willing them back to where they once were. She clamped down harder on her occlusion, staring back at the gray eyes looking down at her with desperation.

"Okay…"

Draco blinked at her answer, surprised to hear her finally relent when the telling sight of slate blue eyes met his gaze.

"Okay." She glanced back at her son, knowing for a fact that there was nothing else she could say or do to make him stay. "I understand."

He grit his teeth at the sound of his mother's clipped voice, fisting his hands to his sides; not knowing what to feel.

"Will you write to me?"

The sudden hopeful tone of her voice make him draw back, blinking several times at the unexpected request. "Yes, I… Of course, mother. When things get… When I make more progress, I'll visit regularly. I… I'll come back, mum. I promise." He reassured her once again. "And when I do, you'll see I… That I'm better." He took a step towards her, eying her imploringly. "I'll get better, mum."

Narcissa nodded at this, reaching a hand out to comb the stray locks of hair off her son's forehead. "Okay…" She whispered, scanning her gaze through his face, memorizing every inch of him for as long as she could. "Okay." She reiterated once again; more to steel herself than to express her acceptance.

"You can go."

Draco stood by the fireplace, eying the foyer of the manor one last time. He knew his mother was still in his old room, and the way she turned her back to him when he announced his leave told him she wasn't going to see him out. Or perhaps she just… couldn't.

He let out a long sigh, silently saying his goodbye as he stepped out through the front door, eying the looming structure of Malfoy manor. He's lived in this place for the past twenty years. This house was all he's ever known – the only home he's ever had. Leaving it gave him a lightness he hasn't felt in years, but at the same time… it made his heartache.

He was heading towards unfamiliar territory – aiming towards a goal he wasn't sure he was capable of accomplishing. But for the first time in a long time, he actually wanted to give things a shot.

Regardless of whether he would succeed or fail, he just wanted to try.

The popping sound of apparition from behind made him turn around. He blinked at the tiny elf wringing his hands together, looking down at the ground wordlessly. "Is there something wrong, Tobi?"

"Masteh 'aco, is Tobi… Tobi do sum-ting?"

"What do you mean?"

"Masteh 'aco weave… coz Tobi bad?"

His lips parted at the question.

"Tobi so-wee… So so-wee…"

Draco made his way towards him, shaking his head as he bent down on one knee to look him in the eye. "No, Tobi. You did nothing wrong." He let out a breath when the tiny elf apologized once again. "Tobi, I keep telling you… You're free. You don't have to always wait on me. Your required work hours have been set, and you have the Holidays off. You can-"

"But Masteh 'aco safe Tobi." He looked up at his master in reverence.

"What?"

"Masteh 'aco safe Tobi on fool moon."

(Flashback)

"Tobi! Where's my drink?!"

Draco sneered at the tiny elf that finally popped into his room with a glass of water. He reached for it instantly. "Couldn't even do a bloody-" He paused when he noticed the slickness against his palm, making him eye the glass in disgust. "What the-" He slammed it onto the table, gaping at the moisture on his palm. "What the hell is this?!"

He glared at the elf's sweaty form, pulling out a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket to wipe the filth off his skin. "Why the fuck are you sweating so much you disgusting little-" The howl that cut through the night made him quiet down immediately. He turned towards the window, feeling the blood drain from his face at the sight of the full moon.

Greyback was hunting again.

Draco eyed the elf's petrified form, fisting his hands to his sides when the feel of Winry's shredded torso pulsed against his skin. He clenched his teeth, rushing to grab the disillusioned chest full of potions under his bed.

"Drink this." He reached a vial out towards Tobi, pushing it against his chest when he made no move to take it. "Hurry!"

Tobi uncorked the potion, chugging it through quivering lips. His consciousness faded slowly as the seconds passed by.

Draco stashed the empty vial in his robes, throwing a quick Bombarda towards one of his bookshelves before levitating the elf's unconscious body towards the wreckage. He took a deep breath in, strengthening his occlusion before throwing a blasting charm through his window and balcony door.

He heightened his hearing, listening for the distinct sound of footsteps, steeling his resolve when he heard the knob of his door turn.

He swallowed at the sight of Rodolphus Lestrange's stern face; eyes darting through the space of his room, inspecting every nook and cranny of it with a keen gaze. "What happened to the elf?" He stepped through the door, tilting the wand in his hand lower by a small fraction.

"He was being useless! I asked for a bloody glass of water and-" Draco felt the breath forced out of his lungs when his uncle lunged at him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

"You're the useless idiot. We're in the middle of a damn war, boy, and yet you have the audacity to throw bloody tantrums like some retarded toddler." He spat out through his teeth; voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to silence the younger man in his hold. "I don't understand what Bella sees in you."

Draco wrapped his fingers around his uncle's wrist, squeezing mercilessly as he glared death back at him. "Let me go."

"Or else what?" Rodolphus chuckled at the empty threat. "You'll tell Bella on me? Is that it?" The expression on his face turned punishing. "Just because she's incapable of producing an heir doesn't mean she considers you her own."

"Yes, because it's solely a woman fault whenever procreation fails."

Both men turned their gaze towards the door when a sarcastic drawl reverberated through the room, only then noticing Snape standing with his wand out to his side.

"Let the boy go, Rodolphus."

"Why? You a fan of him, too?" He scoffed, pushing the lanky teen away. "You must think you're so special. Breaching Hogwarts security and all that." He kept his stern gaze on his nephew as he pulled against the edge of his glove, fisting his fingers to tighten the leather against his skin. "Accomplishing one task from the dark lord doesn't make you a hero, boy. Nor does it make you untouchable. Remember that."

Draco continued to glare daggers at his uncle even as he walked out of his room, nudging his shoulder against Snape who simply rolled his eyes at the unnecessary posturing. He glanced at his professor, feeling his annoyance spike at the knowing glint in his eyes.

"Get out of my head." He demanded, pushing against the prodding he could feel at the forefront of his mind. He could see a small smirk beginning to form at the edge of the older man's lips.

"It seems not only your acting has improved, Mister Malfoy."

Draco failed to hide the look of surprise in his face as he watched the older man walk away.

(End of Flashback)

"I…" Draco shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Tobi. All I did was… It was just…" He let out a breath. It was one decent act towards the elf he's tortured throughout most of his childhood. It wasn't even a gesture of kindness. It was basic morality, plain and simple.

How many times had he used him for target practice? How many cruel pranks had he set up for the tiny magical creature? How many times had he passed on the blame to him, resulting to severe punishment?

How many times had he practiced the Cruciatus curse on him upon his father's instructions?

"Masteh 'aco kum back?"

His eyes watered at the hopeful look the tiny elf was sending him. He stood back up, unable to meet him in the eye any longer. After everything he's done to him, why would he want him to return? Why would he even care?

Tobi craned his neck all the way back to glance at his young master's face. He had grown up to be so tall in just twenty years. He used to be so small, just about half his size, and all he did was eat, sleep, cry, and giggle. He blinked at his memories of the Malfoy heir laughing in abandon. It's been years since he's last heard his master laugh.

Why didn't he do it anymore when it sounded so wonderful?

"Masteh 'aco be back?" Tobi asked again, this time more insistently.

"I…" Draco ran a hand through his face, unbalanced by the amount of emotion in the tiny elf's eyes. "Hopefully in a few months or… maybe a year? Perhaps more? I… I don't really know when."

Tobi nodded at this. "Den Tobi stay. Wait foo monts, maybe yea-wu, paps mow."

Draco let out a strangled breath, confused by elf's loyalty. Just like that, there was yet another person waiting for him to return – to fix himself, to get better. "Okay…" He found himself saying as he looked down at his feet, trying to fight the tears in his eyes. "I… I'll try my best, Tobi. I really will."

Tobi nodded once again.

He took off his robes, draping it over the tiny elf, ignoring his protests. He unwrapped his scarf, twirling it around Tobi before transfiguring the garments to fit his size. "Stay warm, Tobi." He placed a hand over the magical creature's head, watching tears spill out from the corner of his eyes.

"Masteh 'aco be wel, o-kay? Masteh 'aco eat, sweep… Den wen Masteh 'aco kum back, Masteh 'aco laf agen."

Draco looked down at the ground once again, nodding wordlessly at the tiny elf's requests. "Okay… Thank you, Tobi."

"Who the hell tries to match a fuchsia couch with a tangerine curtain?! The carpet you picked out is already on the tail end in the spectrum of warm colors!"

"I'm trying to portray something, Pans! It's supposed to be my rendition of a homey living space!"

"Homey and gaudy are two very different things, Theo!"

"I was going for warmth! Warmth! A vibe that makes people feel at home and-"

Draco blinked at the scene before him; all lingering feelings of sentimentality extinguished at the sight of the carnage before him. The room the portkey just brought him to looked– He couldn't even find the words to describe how utterly horrendous it was.

"What am I looking at?" He turned towards Blaise who was currently leaning against wall near the fireplace, eying the arguing pair in disinterest.

"A difference of opinion and taste, clearly."

Draco clicked his tongue in annoyance. There was no way he was going to live in such a tacky environment. He knew he never should have left the house's interior design to Theo.

"Oh, Draco! My dearest childhood friend! You came earlier than expected!"

"Why don't you show Draco where his room is." Pansy stated without question, nudging Theo out of the living room as she pulled Draco along with them. She ignored their protests; all but pushing them out of the room before slamming the door to their faces. She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin I don't have to live here." She muttered under her breath, turning around to fix the monstrosity of a space Theo decided to decorate.

Blaise said nothing, watching as Pansy transfigured one piece of furniture after another, altering majority of the fixtures' designs and color schemes.

"You think he can do it?" She paused when she finally finished salvaging the couch set's hue, turning it into a matte gunmetal shade. She threw Blaise a quick side glance before moving to transfigure the ridiculous animal print patterned side table, shifting it into a classier taupe-colored one.

"Do what?"

"Stay sober for a year."

Blaise took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly through his nose. "He has to. If he wants to see Granger again, that is."

Pansy rolled her eyes. It was a stupid condition, not to mention a tad bit corny; but Draco always did have a flair for the dramatics. "It's his funeral." She shrugged. It wasn't that she didn't believe in him. He was plenty obstinate, and was more than capable of achieving things he set his mind to; but old habits were difficult to break. He could succeed just as easily as he could fail. "And yours, too, actually." She chuckled when she saw him raise a brow at her.

"I mean, this isn't like you at all." Pansy tapped her wand against the skin of her palm. "Going as far as cohabiting with Draco and Theo? Why, I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd get attached to anyone other than me!" She teased. "I admit it's gotten me a tad bit jealous."

Blaise scoffed at this. "I didn't have a choice."

"Of course you do. You could have told them-"

"No, I meant with you." He jutted his chin at her offhandedly. "My mother pretty much just dropped me at your manor, so it's not like I chose you. I was forced to."

Pansy clicked her tongue at his statement; her fingers itching to throw a quick stinging hex towards him. "You little shit."

He threw her a superior look, folding his arms across his chest. "And for the record, I'm not attached."

Pansy blinked at his apparent denial, donning her best poker face in response. "Of course you aren't."

"I'm really not." He insisted. "Theo wouldn't stop pestering me about it ever since Draco told him this plan of his." He shook his head. When he left Malfoy manor after confronting the blonde about his argument with the Nott heir, he didn't expect that their reconciliation would result to something like this.

"He was in my flat every damn day! I didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Of course you didn't." Pansy replied mockingly, smirking at the glowering expression on the other Slytherin's face.

"I really didn't! Theo was being a nuisance and-"

"It's fine to care about them, Bin." She rolled her eyes at his adamant denial. "You don't always have to act like you don't."

He quieted down at this.

Pansy eyed him discerningly, knowing for a fact that Blaise would never admit it out loud. His actions always spoke volumes, and were more often than not contradictory to his words. He was always so cautious about who he let in – preferring to choose solitude over the company of others. How could he not? He was used to being alone throughout most of his life after all.

Growing up, he had always been the crybaby – the one who always failed to conceal his emotions. But as they grew older, he got better at it. She never saw him cry ever again – never saw him show any form of weakness or vulnerability. He would hide them masterfully behind nicotine sticks and brooding silence – internalizing everything, dealing with them all by himself.

So seeing him now, actually allowing others into his space and into his life, Pansy couldn't help but feel somewhat… proud.

"You're not alone, Bin. You don't have to be." She watched him avoid her gaze, opting to stare down onto the carpet below his feet. "Remember that."

"I could say the same to you."

"I beg your pardon?"

Blaise looked up to eye his childhood best friend, echoing her words right back to her. "You're not alone, Parks. Even if you always think you are."

Pansy rolled her eyes at this, crossing her arms on her chest. "Of course I'm not. I have Theo breaking my wards, ransacking my cupboard at least once every bloody week!"

Blaise shook his head at the reminder of Theo's never ending raid of his wine cellar as well. "He's a git, isn't he?"

"A damn understatement! I charmed all my bloody potato chips to give him boils the moment he pops them open, but he undid the charms so quickly and effortlessly it made me want to just stab him with a knife and end him muggle style!"

Blaise chuckled at the image her words drew out, surprised to hear her refer to anything muggle-related without a tone of condescension in her voice. "Call me when you need help disposing the body."

Pansy grinned widely at the idea that formed in her head. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Bin."

"Are you really not going to tell her?"

Draco sighed, annoyed that Theo had followed him straight into his room. "No." He tried his best to ignore him, focusing on unpacking his things instead. He paused when he pulled out a Christmas basket full of muggle chocolates, placing it gingerly on his bedside table.

Theo eyed the wrapped bin, not missing the Malfoy heir's careful handling of it. It didn't take a genius to guess that it was a present from a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor. He ran a hand through his face. "At least give her an explanation, Draco. You can't just disappear without a word after everything that's happened. Do you want her to hate you?"

"No…"

"Then at least send her a letter or something."

Draco sighed at this. He had one written out; tucked at the bottom of his leather satchel alongside a care package he knew she would love. "I'll think about it."

Theo flopped down onto the mattress, ignoring the click of Draco's tongue. "Are you really sure about this?" He knew he's already said this more than a dozen times, but he couldn't help but ask again.

"Yes." Draco replied through gritted teeth. "Now get off my bed."

Theo rested his hands under his head, ignoring the order. "Draco, I don't understand the need for all this. Why not just… be with her?"

"I don't deserve her…"

Theo clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in frustration. Merlin give him strength he was seriously about to strangle the insecurities out of his childhood best–

"Yet."

He bolted up the bed, blinking at the resolute expression on the blonde's face.

"I don't deserve her yet." Draco reiterated once again. "I don't want to be with her while constantly questioning whether I should or shouldn't. I don't want to keep wondering if she's settling for me, or if she'd be happier with someone else who could offer her so much more."

Granger was too good of a person. She would accept him no matter what, and he was too selfish not to take what he could. But with the way he was now, sooner or later, he would start dragging her down with him.

Draco knew himself too well to leave things to chance. His insecurities would eventually catch up to him, all his unresolved trauma would continue to haunt him, and his alcoholism would be the backdrop to so many arguments.

He would end up ruining them – ruining her. Maybe not now, not immediately; but slowly.

Gradually.

And she didn't deserve that.

The him right now… just didn't deserve her. But the him in the future? That was a different conversation.

"Then why not just spend time with her every once in a while?" Theo chucked a hand in the air in exasperation. "Why do you have to go through such extreme measures-"

"Because I can't be with her, and not be with her, Theo! It fucking took everything I had not to make her stay! I can't spend another day with her without-" Draco let out a frustrated growl.

He would give her anything and everything she wanted just so he could keep her by his side. He would promise her the world – promise her things he knew he wouldn't be able to give her. He would run to the moon and back, be at her beck and call; follow her every whim and every wish. He would stretch himself thin; pretend to be someone he wasn't, acting like he had his shit together when deep down he didn't have a clue what the hell he was doing.

"I can't control myself, Theo. I'm-" He felt his throat close up at the thought of admitting what he really was all along. "I'm an addict, remember? If I see her, I won't be able to-" He flopped down onto the upholstered chair by the window, holding his head in his hands. "I can't make her happy, Theo… How can I when I don't even know how to be?"

He'd consume her, just like the way he consumed bottles upon bottles of firewhiskey. He would want more, and would keep wanting more, and she would let him… until she wouldn't have anything left to give.

"I don't want to rely on her to fix me. I don't want to be with her in such a half-assed way." He huffed out loud in frustration. "I want to be a man worthy of standing beside her."

Theo let out a breath at the desperation in his childhood best friend's voice. "But… What if she finds someone else?"

Draco tried his best to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. It was something he avoided thinking about, but a part of him knew it was possible. She was Hermione Granger after all. Who wouldn't want her? "If… If she's really happy, then I'll give up. I… I'll let her go."

"Just like that?"

"Should I just hold on to her then? While I still can?" He snapped his head towards Theo, unable to hide the hostility in his tone. "Even if I'll drag her down with me?"

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do! I know myself better than anyone else!" He pushed himself off the chair, pacing through the room. "I'm… I'm messed up, Theo! I'm so fucked up I don't even know where and how to start fixing myself!" He huffed out a sigh, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I can't last a day without a drink in my hand! I can't afford to loosen the locks in my head because I know I'd end up being a quivering mess if I did! I… I don't know what the hell to do with my life and I don't… I don't know why I'm still-" He let out another breath.

Why was he still alive?

"I just want to get better, Theo… I don't know how, or if I can, but fuck I just… I'm tired. I'm tired of who I am at the moment. I'm tired of regretting shit and reliving things in my head over and over. I want to move on. I want to learn how to live with everything that's happened to me because trying to forget hasn't gotten me anywhere! I'm still- I always end up right back where I started and I just…" He ran a hand down his face, fighting the tears building up in his eyes.

"I want to be okay, Theo. I want to be able to say that I'm okay… and actually mean it for once."

Theo felt his eyes prick as he sat in silence, unable to find any words to say as he nodded in understanding. For the first time in years, Draco finally admitted he had a problem. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he actually wanted to fix himself. "Okay…" He whispered, looking down at his hands, still not knowing what to say. "Okay." He said once again, looking back at Draco's exhausted form leaning against the window sill.

"Did you at least tell her you're in love with her?"

The look on his face told Theo everything he needed to know. "You… didn't tell her." He gaped at him; eyes unblinking, voice barely above a whisper.

"There was no point." Draco looked back at him tiredly.

"Yes. I'm sure Granger probably wouldn't appreciate hearing the truth."

"It would have been a selfish move." Draco replied with finality as he moved to resume his unpacking.

Theo took a moment to just look at him, trying his best to make sense of his words. "Backtrack for me a bit… You lost me at the mention of selfishness. How exactly is telling her how you feel selfish?"

"It would have been an unspoken promise. An indirect way of asking her to wait for me."

"And that's a bad thing why?"

"Because I don't know if I can get better, Theo!" Draco slammed the jumper in his hands down onto the mattress. "You saw me try to starve off alcohol, and at the slightest trigger I was back to it all over again! I can't- I don't want to promise her anything! I don't want her to put her life on hold for someone who might not make it back! I… I can't ask that of her…"

And he couldn't handle disappointing her either. He saw the way she looked at him every single time she noticed him trying. She had been so proud. But… What if he relapsed again with her there to see it? What if, despite all his best efforts, he still failed?

"But you asked that from me." Theo argued, crossing his arms on his chest to stand his ground. "You asked me to help you stay sober for a year. Why not ask her as well?"

Draco blinked at the unexpected turn of the argument. "That's because… You don't count." He answered resolutely, turning away to focus on organizing his things once again. "You're… You're different, Theo."

He was the one person in the whole world he knew would have his back no matter how bad things would get – no matter how low his life would turn out. He knew that the Nott heir would never judge him for anything, and would always pull him out of himself whenever he needed him to.

He'd already seen the worst sides of him. There was nothing else left to hide – no point in putting up pretenses.

With Theo, he wouldn't have to worry about looking cool.

"Y-You're unemployed anyway, and you always make it a point to invade my privacy! This isn't that much different. Besides-" All the air in his lungs were pushed out by a set of arms that wrapped around him without warning.

"Fucking- Let go, Theo!" He growled in annoyance as he tried to pull himself out of the hug.

"I love you, Draco."

He froze in place, uncomfortable with the brunette pureblood's sudden endearment. He looked away, swallowing down the urge to let out a sarcastic remark that would have them fighting for real. "Move." He nudged his elbow against Theo's torso, raising a brow when narrowed hazel eyes rose to glare at him.

"Say it back."

He sputtered at this. "Excuse me?"

"Say it back, you idiot! You can't just let a man lay his heart out like that, and then leave him hanging!" He'd been so caught up in the moment that the words suddenly slipped out of his mouth.

When Draco first asked for his help, Theo had no idea how to react. The Malfoy heir was never the type to look for assistance, and always refused to talk about things that could be construed as a weakness. So when he finally opened up to him about his struggles with alcohol, Theo couldn't help but feel… trusted.

They've known each other for nearly two decades now, but that had been the first instance he's ever felt the depth of their friendship.

Draco was trusting him… with his recovery. With his life.

And there was no way he would let him down.

Draco untangled himself from Theo, sneering at him in response. He could count in one hand all the times he's told his own mother he loved her! He wasn't even sure if he's ever uttered those words to his father! What the hell possessed Theo to think he would ever say something like that to him?

"Say it! Say-Hey!" Theo flailed when Draco levitated him out of his room, slamming the door shut in the process. He could feel the blonde's wards lock tightly, making him roll his eyes at the gesture. As if his cute protective enchantments could ever keep him out! He scoffed.

He would let things go… for now. After all, he'd already gotten Draco to do his all-time favorite rock-and-roll hand gesture. Getting him to say 'I love you' was simply the next hurdle. He grinned at this; happy to have another challenge to overcome.

Kingsley looked up from the parchment in his hands when he heard a commotion from outside his door.

"My deepest apologies, but the Minister only takes in visitors who have set appointments-"

The door swung open to reveal the Wizengamot's current head, Chief Justice Patil.

"It's fine, Gina. You may go." Kingsley raised a hand towards his secretary's frantic form, assuring her that the other woman's intrusion wasn't her fault. "Chief Justice Prisha Patil." He stood up to greet the Wizengamot chief, extending a hand to reach for hers when an envelope found itself lodge in his palm. He looked down on it, squinting at the tiny script written at the back.

"I had time this afternoon, so I made it a point to personally deliver your summons, Minister." Prishna smirked, taking a seat on one of the onyx chairs without invitation. After all, they were past the point of pleasantries by now. "I told you several months ago, Minister Shacklebolt, that I would find a way to get to the truth." She motioned a hand towards the letter the tall man was currently scanning through as he sat down.

Kingsley said nothing as he continued to peruse the contents of the letter. So there was someone willing to testify against him regarding the rumors concerning warrantless detentions. He hummed to himself. Interesting. He would have to find out who; but judging by the timeline and motive, he had a feeling he already knew.

"The Wizengamot is expecting you on Friday at three in the afternoon."

Kingsley looked up to eye the woman sitting before him, noticing the slightest tilt of her lips that signaled feelings of superiority.

"The truth will always find a way to reveal itself, Kingsley." Prisha threaded her fingers together, eying the Minster of Magic without an ounce of fear. It had been a long and arduous process, but she finally found someone willing to speak out against the former Head Auror's tyranny. "No one is above the law. Not even the most powerful man in all of Wizarding Britain."

Kingsley nodded at this. "Of course. The presence of the Wizengamot is, and always will be, indispensable." He thought about the envelope he had in his drawer with Patil's name on it, weighing his options. Should he reveal it to her now? He leaned back into his chair.

No.

Not yet.

There was nothing more enjoyable than making the enemy think they'd already won. It made the fall from grace even greater.

"How was your Holidays, Prishna?" He smiled cordially, lifting a tea set onto his work table without the use of a wand. "Enjoyed your vacation?"

"Can't say I have." She shrugged, raising a hand to refuse his offer of tea. "Being Chief Justice keeps me busy."

He nodded at this. "How are your twins? Finally bent on a career choice?"

"They're keeping their options open." Prishna narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out the former Slytherin's angle. He never spoke without a purpose.

"And your husband?"

"What about him?"

Kingsley chuckled at her defensiveness. "I'm merely making small talk, Prishna. No need to be so guarded."

"I'm sure I don't need to explain why I have to be." She folded her arms on her chest.

Kingsley was a tyrant who ruled not through sheer force like Voldemort did, but through ample manipulation. Like a true Slytherin, he was capable of making people relent without lifting a finger. All he needed were his words. They were like a whispered Imperius – difficult to resist, and impossible to win against.

The most dangerous thing about him was his knowledge. He had information on almost anything, and anyone. How, she had yet to find out. She's been following his every move the moment he'd been elected as Minister; but until now, she still didn't have a clear picture of how he worked, and who he employed behind the scenes.

He was frustratingly untraceable.

Kingsley could almost hear the words running through her mind. The Wizengamot head wasn't exactly shy when it came to voicing out her opinions about his… mode of operation. But for her to have once likened him to someone like Voldemort? He shook his head.

He was nothing like the madman. If anything, he was smarter – more cunning. He had a much better moral compass, and he actually cared about the progress of society. The time people spend discriminating others could be time used to better the economy. All the misplaced hate and violence could be redirected into something more meaningful – something more substantial.

Judging others based on their ancestry, the pureness of their blood, or even the label of their species was nothing short of stupid. Everyone in this world had a role no one else could fulfill. Everyone had a right to live, and had a duty to contribute to the betterment of civilization. There was no such thing as a useless race, or living thing. Even a tiny ant on the ground served a purpose.

Everything about the world and its design was made to create balance. That was the circle of life.

"And how was your Holidays, Minister?" Prishna found herself asking back, allowing herself to humor the man sitting before her.

"Probably the same as yours. Stuck in my office, drowning in paperwork." Kingsley chuckled a little as he poured himself a cup of Darjeeling tea. "I heard you and Mrs. Goldstein managed to make time to see each other over the Holidays despite your busy schedules." He paused, not missing the way the other woman's body tensed ever so slightly. "It must be nice to have such a longstanding friendship with an old schoolmate."

One look at Kingsley's face was all Prishna needed to understand what he already knew. She felt the blood drain out of her face; caught off guard by the sudden revelation. Did he have evidence?

Kingsley said nothing more, allowing the weight of his gaze to speak volumes.

People were always drunk on something. Money. Status. Possessions. Sex. Drugs. Love. It's human nature to be a slave to one's desires. All he had to do was figure out what it was, and use it to his advantage. The irony of it all was the fact that the things that we love, and the things that bring us happiness, were the very things capable of bringing us the most suffering.

Prishna Patil and Amelia Goldstein just happened to be drunk on each other, and ever the opportunist, he knew that information was more than enough to buy him their silence.

Kingsley brought his cup of tea back onto its saucer, smiling at the pale-faced Wizengamot head eying him with a different expression – one that no longer exuded and pride and certainty. "I'll see you on Friday, Chief Justice Patil." He watched her move out of his office quickly, but not before calling out to her one last time.

"I look forward to your… unbiased inquisition."

He smirked at the slam of the door, wondering how the former Ravenclaw was going to retaliate this time around. He looked down at the bottom drawer of his work table, calculating the best time to send them a copy of those photographs when a soft knock on his door made him look up. He saw Gina step into his office with the bouquet of Strelitzia he asked her to send away this morning.

"Uh… These came back just now, Minister."

Kingsley said nothing as he motioned a hand towards his work table, watching as Gina moved to place the flowers onto it. "It came with this, sir." He reached out for the letter his secretary offered, waiting until she left his office before opening it.

STOP.

One word written in bold letters was all that the note carried. He sighed. His ex-wife hadn't even bothered to sign it off, as expected.

He gazed back at the flowers that symbolized freedom. The exact same meaning of his wife's given name, Saoirse. He thought it was a smart move – a sentimental gift for his ex-wife's birthday. He was wrong apparently, seeing as she took the extra trouble to send them back instead of just throwing them in the garbage. He smirked a little at this.

Her gesture told her he still affected her, and that she wasn't as apathetic as she tried to make herself to be. What he thought still mattered to her, as evidenced by her need to ensure that he knew exactly what she'd done to his present. She wanted a reaction out of him. She wanted to piss him off, which meant…

She still cared.

People were always drunk on something. All he had to do was figure out what it was, and use it to his advantage. He was still figuring out his ex-wife's specific poison; but he was willing to bet he would find out what it was sooner or later.

He stood up to move towards the window, eying the busy skyline, watching the people scurrying out and about in the streets. He sighed, surprised to find himself feeling… bored.

Everything was just so… quiet. Nothing interesting seemed to be happening anymore. He understood that now was a wonderful time to be alive; but he couldn't help but feel a deep, gnawing, borderline clawing, restlessness in his chest. He chuckled a little at the thought.

Why was he complaining over having a lackluster, but peaceful life?

The war was over. After fighting in it, and living every single day of his life immersed in it for decades, he could finally rest. There were no more threats – no need to sleep with his eyes wide open, and one hand wrapped around his wand. Now was the time to celebrate – to reap in all the benefits this period of peace allowed.

If you ever need someone to drink with, or even just to make fun of Hufflepuffs… Feel free to owl me.

He grinned a little at the memory, shaking his head at his former housemate. Were his Holidays a lot better than his? He stroked his fingers through his chin. Perhaps it was time to give his old friend a visit.

Hermione stepped through the floo of her flat, huffing as she heaved the bag full of left overs her parents had asked her to bring home. She had half a mind to shrink them to carry them easier, but she didn't want to. The weight of the sack grounded her, and filled her with warmth.

It was such a wonderful change from her overstuffed Holiday schedule where she chose to work long hours in the hospital instead of heading back home to an empty flat. It wasn't as if she could spend Christmas Eve at The Burrow anymore. Molly had sent her an invite, going as far as informing her not to worry about Ron because he was out of the country. Ginny and Harry had been insistent as well, but it just…

It didn't feel right.

She moved towards the refrigerator to stock the containers full of her mother's home cooked meals. She grinned. She couldn't believe she slept over at her parent's house for New Year's Eve, even going as far as staying for two more nights upon their insistence. To think that she actually started this year spending time with her parents. She placed a hand over her heart to reel in her overflowing happiness. She was going to claim it now.

2001 was going to be an amazing year!

She finished packing the rest of the leftovers, moving to check her mail when the sight of a wrapped package made her pause. She was sure she took out all the presents she got for Christmas, so the parcel no doubt arrived sometime during her absence.

She took it in her hand, surprised to find an envelop under it; its wax seal informing her it was from Gringotts. She placed the items on her coffee table, unwrapping the parcel carefully. Before her was an ornate box with a white envelope on top stamped with the all-too-familiar Malfoy seal. Her heart began hammering in her chest.

She had every intention of sending him a letter after she got back from her parent's house to invite him to tea; not at all expecting he would be the first to initiate a correspondence.

She eyed both letters in her hand, wanting to open Malfoy's letter first, but decided otherwise. She tore through the note from Gringotts, scanning through it quickly so she could read whatever it was that Malfoy– She blinked once. Twice. That couldn't be right.

She moved the parchment closer to her eyes, making sure to count the number of zeroes indicated in the amount transferred to her account.

500,000 Galleons

She continued to eye the paper in her hands, utterly flabbergasted. What the hell was Malfoy thinking?! He owed her 125,000 Galleons, not half a million! She slammed the note down onto the table, grabbing his letter off the lavish box, smoothing it out as quickly as she could.

Granger,

Thank you for the past year.

You've made me realize a lot of things that, quite frankly, I'd rather not deal with. You made me question myself, doubt myself, loathe myself, and in that process, you've made me want to fix myself.

Words will never be enough to express how much you've helped me – how much you've inspired me.

Thank you for showing me a different path, for forgiving me, and for making me want to live again.

Draco

Hermione scanned the letter over and over, feeling the weight in her chest gradually getting heavier every single time she reached the end of his scrawled name.

Why did his words sound so much like a goodbye?

She dropped the letter out of her hands, rushing to the floo to grab onto a handful of powder.

"Malfoy manor!"

She stepped through the foyer, not wasting another second before calling for Tobi. She whirled around towards the sound of apparition, rushing towards the tiny elf who seemed to have been startled by her approach. "Tobi, where is Mal-Draco? Where is he?"

"Masteh 'aco go 'way."

She blinked at this. "What do you mean? Where did he go? When is he coming back?"

"Foo monts, maybe yea-wu, paps mow." Tobi echoed the words his young master told him.

"What?" She eyed him frantically, not wanting to believe what she think she just heard. "What are you talking about? Where is he?"

"I'll take it from here, Tobi. You may go."

Hermione turned around to see Narcissa Malfoy standing by the entrance to the foyer, eying her with an unreadable gaze. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I-"

"He didn't tell you." Narcissa stated without room for argument, not at all surprised that her son didn't inform the young Gryffindor of his departure.

"Tell me what?" She made her way towards the Malfoy matriarch, eying her in desperation. "Where is he, Mrs. Malfoy?"

"He left."

Hermione needed a minute to let everything sink in, still unable to make sense of anything. "I'm sorry… He left? Left to go where? Where can I find him?"

"I don't know. Where he went to isn't accessible through the manor's floo."

Narcissa looked at the wide-eyed brunette before her, feeling a small twinge of hope in her chest. She flexed the fingers of her hands, weighing her options. She'd given her son her word. She'd already made peace with the fact that he needed time away – that he needed to do this for himself.

But if there was one person who could convince him to come back home, it was the muggle-born before her.

"Theo might know." She looked down at the floor, trying her best to ignore the guilt she felt the moment she uttered those words. She was being selfish. She understood that she was. But if it would bring her back her son, then she would do it with dignity. "The floo is connected to Nott manor."

Hermione nodded at this, barely sparing time to utter her gratitude before rushing to the fireplace. "Nott manor!"

She stepped through the green flames, pausing after a few steps when she caught sight of an elf wearing a red silk slip dress with matching heels. "I…" The image unbalanced her, making her shake her head to remind herself why she was here in the first place. "Is Nott home? Theo, I mean?"

"Mastow Tio away fo bis-nez." Willow explained as she eyed the bushy-haired woman before her from head to toe.

"I need to talk to him, um… I'm Hermione. And you are?" She paused, waiting for the magical creature to fill in her pause with its name.

"Wilo." She gestured a hand towards her chest, bowing politely at the guest.

"Willow?" Hermione guessed, making the tiny elf nod in agreement. "I just- All I need is five minutes, Willow. Please." She moved to kneel in front of the extravagantly dressed elf. "It's important. I'm not leaving here until I see him." She sat on the floor to emphasize her point.

Willow eyed the gesture distastefully. The strange woman's manners definitely left a lot to be desired. She scanned her discerningly, trying to figure out how to deal with this Hermione exactly. "Wat is Ha-may-nee to Mastow Tio?"

"I'm…" Hermione scanned her mind for the best word to describe their relationship exactly. "We're friends." She settled on, surprised to see the tiny elf's eyes brighten.

Master Theo always looked so happy whenever he talked about his friends. "A moment." Willow bowed politely, turning around to spin the ring in her finger three times counterclockwise, and twice clockwise. "Mastow Tio a-wive shotly." She bowed her leave.

Hermione was just about to ask her what she meant, but the tiny elf apparated away before she could. She folded her arms against her chest, scanning through the dimly lit foyer, trying to think of a way to– A loud pop made her whirl around, seeing a wide-eyed Theodore Nott holding onto a letter opener. She blinked at this. Was it a portkey?

"Granger?" Theo looked at her position on the floor, not believing his eyes. He had his property warded down to the last blade of grass. He was sure it would take at least two or three whole days for anyone to undo all of them. A single graze of a wand should have been enough to signal him of any form of tampering as well.

"What in Merlin's name- How are you in my house?"

"I used the floo at Malfoy manor."

He let out a breath of relief when his minor existential crisis left him. Being a genius at wards was his thing. If someone with no real training at breaking them was capable of stepping into his home like it was nobody's business, then he would have questioned his entire life's purpose. He placed a hand over his heart.

All was right in the world again.

"Where is he?"

"Where is who?"

Hermione pushed herself off the floor to move towards him. "Don't play dumb, Nott. You know who I'm talking about." She stopped just a foot away from where he stood. "His mother told me left. Left where exactly?"

Theo let out a sigh, knowing Granger wouldn't leave until she got her answers. "He's trying to get sober."

The panic in her chest melted away; replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief. "Is he? Really?"

"Yes."

"Well, where is he?"

Theo squinted his eyes and pursed lips as the very act of uttering words caused him unbearable pain. "I can't tell you."

Hermione blinked at this, utterly confused. "What do you mean you can't tell me?"

Theo wracked his mind for an answer. Why didn't Draco want Granger to know about his whereabouts again?

Because I can't be with her, and not be with her, Theo!

I don't want to rely on her to fix me.

I want to be a man worthy of standing beside her.

"Because he's… He wants to focus on getting better." He chose say instead, opting to tell a different version of the truth.

"I just want to talk to him for a bit, Nott. Even just a few minutes is fine."

"I… I can't do that, Granger."

Hermione looked at him in complete and utter disbelief. "Why?"

"Because he asked me not to."

She blinked at his answer, needed a couple of seconds to process his words. "Why?" She asked again, unable to string together her words.

"I…" Theo let out a huff at his childhood best friend's obstinacy. "It's not just you, Granger. Even his own mother doesn't know where he's staying. He didn't want to give her the chance to devise a plan that could force him back home."

Hermione could only look on in shock, unable to fathom how Narcissa would have felt. "Isn't that a bit excessive?"

He heaved a sigh. He thought it was, too. "It's what he thinks he has to do, Granger."

"And I can't see him at all? Not even for a minute?"

He sputtered a bit at this. "I… I'm sorry, Granger."

"I'll just talk to him, Nott." She raised her palms up in the air in a gesture of sincerity. "I won't do anything else."

"I promised him, Granger." Theo let out a sigh. "I'm not under the liberty of telling you anything."

"But… I won't get in the way. I really won't do anything. I…" Hermione scoured her brain for something she could use to convince the Nott heir.

Was there something she could offer him? Was there anything she could do for him? Was there something in her possession that he would want? Was there– She felt her eyes prick when she realized she couldn't think of anything that could get the brunette Slytherin to cave.

"Oh no… Please don't cry, Granger." Theo closed his eyes, silently cursing at Draco for making him go through all this. He whispered a quick prayer to the heavens, hoping he wouldn't inherit his father's lustrous locks and go bald instead.

"I was just starting to get to know him, Nott…" Hermione whispered as she swiped the back of her hand against her eyes. "It's not fair…"

If she'd known that was the last time she'd see him, she never would have stepped through the manor's floo.

She purposefully didn't return the navy robe he lent her just so she could have an excuse to see him again. She had Romeo, and had every intention of using the kitten to spend more time with him. She had the broom he'd given her, and had already made peace with the fact that she would have to swallow her pride in order to ask him to teach her how to fly.

She had everything worked out in her head.

She had a plan.

She would take things slow with him. He was stubborn after all, so she needed to be patient. She would peel off his walls gradually, painstakingly. She would wait for him to open up to her as he worked through his issues. She would be right there beside him, coaxing him out of his episodes, whispering the dates of the calendar in his ear.

She had so many ideas. She's already calculated so many ways to keep him next to her. She assumed she could make use of the entire year ahead. She thought she had time.

Not once did she assume that their date at the manor was their last.

"I'm sorry… I'm really am, Granger." Theo grit his teeth, hating himself for playing this role Draco forced him into. "I don't agree with how he's choosing to go about things either, but this is the first time he's ever wanted to fix himself. It's been so long since I saw him actually wanting to live… Actually looking forward to being alive. I want to see him get better, Granger. I want to see him get sober. He's… He's all I have left." He swallowed when he heard his voice crack. "He's my best friend, and… I'll always have his back."

"But I thought we were friends, too?"

He let out a breath at the look she was giving him, suddenly feeling weak. "We are…"

"Then why won't you help me?" She eyed him imploringly. "I'm not asking for much, Nott. I just want to see him."

Theo fisted his hands as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Fucking hell this was excruciating. He would rather take another one of his father's hits over standing here right this moment, repeatedly denying her.

Should he just tell her? Should he just bring her to him? Draco always did have a tendency to exaggerating things and–

I don't know if I can get better, Theo!

I don't want to promise her anything! I don't want her to put her life on hold for someone who might not make it back! I… I can't ask that of her…

I want to be okay, Theo. I want to be able to say that I'm okay… and actually mean it for once.

He let out a breath, closing his eyes as he strengthened his resolve further. "I'm sorry."

"Why doesn't he want me there?"

The smallness her voice, and the melancholic ring to it, made Theo blurt out his next words before he could second guess himself.

"I can't tell you anything, Granger. But if you really want to see him, I'm sure you already know what to do." He could practically hear the wheels in her head turning. Finding the location of one measly wizard failed in comparison to what she's already done concerning Voldemort's horcruxes. "But… Please remember that it took him so long to get to where he is now. To actually admit to himself that he has a problem."

The image of him pouring down firewhiskey straight from the bottle and into his mouth made Hermione blink. She placed a hand over her heart, recalling the outline of the silver flask tucked inside the breast pocket of the jacket he'd lent her during their first trip to the Muggle world.

She remembered all the times she would scrunch her nose the moment she stepped through the floo of his temporary settlement; the smell of alcohol heavy in the air. She never failed to catch a whiff of Odgen's whenever he was within arm's reach.

"He can't stand the manor anymore, Granger. He…" Theo ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to divulge anything that Draco wouldn't want her to know. "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you why."

She swallowed at this. She could still smell the musty air of the eerie help's building Draco chose to live in.

Masteh 'aco no wike manoh. Manoh make Masteh 'aco ku-why.

"I honestly don't know how he lasted that long." Theo heaved out a sigh. "He's not leaving for good, Granger. He just needs time. To heal. To find himself again. To get better."

Hermione glanced at the earnest hazel eyes staring at her, pleading for her to let things go. She looked down at her hands, at all loss of what to do.

Should she? Should she just let him go? Could she even let him go? After everything they've been through, after everything that's happened, things were going to end… just like that?

No.

She didn't want him to leave. There was no way she would let him go!

"He just… He needs to know what it's like to be free again."

Her lips parted at his words.

Draco… You can be whoever you want to be. You're free.

I don't want to be…

Hermione felt her eyes well up in tears. Draco was… free. For the first time in years, he was finally free.

His sentence was over. There were no more orders for him. No one left to tell him what to do. He was taking his life back, and he was going to live it exactly how he wanted to.

Draco was free.

And this time, he really wanted to be.

All her rebuttals faded at the thought of his freedom. She swallowed down the rest of her desperation, quieting down the longing in her chest. She fisted her hands to her sides, letting out a long, slow breath. "You… You'll be there for him, won't you?"

Theo blinked at the unexpected question, but nodded nonetheless. "Of course, Granger. Every step of the way."

Hermione nodded at this. At least he wouldn't be alone. "Okay…" She whispered, willing herself to concede, urging herself to accept. "Okay." She said it one more time, more to herself than to anyone else.

Draco was free.

He wanted to be free.

And it was time he finally became free.

Hermione stepped through the floo, feeling numb from the top of her head all the way down to the tips of her toes. She eyed the long dark navy robe hung over the coat rack by her flat's entrance, shifting her gaze towards the Nimbus 2001 perched on the wall next to the front door. The three long-stemmed white roses stashed in a vase on one of her side tables still looked as pristine as they did a week ago.

She looked down at the tiny kitten that made his way towards her, nuzzling affectionately against her ankle. She bent down on one knee, scratching under his chin before scooping him in her arms; eyes watering at the sight of curious silver eyes.

They looked so much like his.

She made her way to the couch, only then realizing she had yet to open the box that came along with his letter. Her heart leaped in her chest as she reached for it, depositing Romeo by the coffee table.

She unraveled the thick gold ribbon that held it shut, pulling off the stiff hard cover to reveal shredded confetti in red and gold. She pushed against them gingerly; breath hitching when her eyes finally caught sight of what lay underneath.

Hogwarts: A History

She took out the first edition of the book with shaking hands; unable to fathom why he would give her something so priceless. She ran her fingers through the embossed title, flipping the cover open to–

I wish you all the best.

Now and forever.

Draco Malfoy

She couldn't breathe.

She couldn't breathe.

The book slipped out of her hands, landing heavily onto the table as she placed a hand against her chest. The space of her flat suddenly seemed too small; the heat from the furnace too overwhelming. The hammering of her heart was all she could hear as she desperately tried to suck in some air. She clenched her eyes shut, trying her best to–

Soft pawing on her cheek. Fuzzy fur against her ear. Tiny licks over her skin.

"Meow?"

The sight of wide mercury orbs made her finally take a breath.

Today was a Wednesday, the third of January. Next week would be the tenth, followed by the seventeenth, then the twenty-fourth… The last week being the thirty-first.

Hermione closed her eyes, counting down the dates, scanning through the numbers in her head – flipping through the pages of the calendar he'd taught her how to use. The heat of the room was no longer punishing, and the walls finally stop feeling suffocating.

She reached her palms out towards the tiny kitten eying her in silence, tucking her head against his tiny form as a few stray tears slipped from the corner of her eyes. She could feel herself gradually coming down from her episode.

Romeo's purrs against her ear, and his gentle nuzzling against her cheek soothed her – grounded her; just as his hands and his voice had once before.

Ah.

She missed him.

She would miss… everything about him.

If she knew that day at Malfoy manor was the last time she'd see him, she never would have left. There were so many things she wanted to do with him – so many things she'd been looking forward to.

She had a plan.

But… he was trying to get clean. He was putting himself back together again. And this time, it wasn't an order from anyone, nor was it something expected of him.

It had been his choice.

He was finally taking his life back, living it exactly the way he wanted to. After everything that's happened… After so long…

He was finally free.

She looked down at the tiny kitten in her hands, searching his silver eyes as if they held all the answers she needed. "Do you think he'll miss me?" She whispered as she leaned against Romeo's head, feeling him begin to nuzzle against her once again.

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she prayed. She'd long since given up on something so unquantifiable; but just this instance, she allowed herself to send one out into the universe.

She wished for his happiness. She wished for his health. She wished for his safety. She wished for his success. She wished for…

She wished him… all the best.

Now and forever.

End of chapter 29!

Being this far out into the story, I feel like I can finally say this: False Pretenses is NOT a love story. It's a story about love.

That four-letter word isn't just about romance. It's about family. Friendship. Self-worth. Dreams. Passions. Freedom. And many more. It comes in all shapes and forms, and no one is better than another.

We cannot give what we do not have. In order to love someone, we first need to love ourselves.

To those who are still with me on this journey, thank you! I really appreciate it :)

P.S. I'm interested to know how you guys think this story will end. Let's see if someone can guess what will happen next ;) Drop a comment down below to let me know!