Dating Granger meant a few changes in his life.
Shockingly, it meant seeing less of Potter as he started sending Johnson to them for periodic updates. Potter's Auror partner was more tactical in her thinking than emotional or self-righteous, which made her a good sounding-board for Granger.
The two women had set up a giant board along one wall of the office, complete with a proposed timeline based on the scant information from Flint about the faux "dragon pox" outbreak, and the more concrete timepoints from other prisoners based on their experiences and medical visits. Plus, Draco's contribution of the suspicious lack of Dreamless Sleep prescriptions and use, the DoM personnel visits, and the possible logical groupings of inmates based on their in-person interviews and the de-identified psychological evaluations.
When he asked Granger about this most welcome shift from Potter to Johnson, she rolled her eyes and grumbled something about Potter being uncomfortable in their presence, "what with all the tension and longing glances and what-not." Draco smirked and considered stealing her charmed Galleon to send Potter some detailed descriptions of what happened when those glances escalated.
On that point, dating Granger also meant regular sex with Granger. She had a strict "no PDA at the office" rule for the days he showed up, but it still meant fantastic shags at her place or his on most evenings, and one time almost in a dark corridor off a ballroom.
In his defence she'd worn an emerald green, fitted gown and it dipped dangerously low in the back. His self-control, already stretched to a breaking point, snapped completely when she'd made a comment about his rings.
"Why do I find it so attractive that you wear rings?"
"I've no idea."
She narrowed her eyes at the hand he had wrapped around a glass.
"I think it's because it makes me look at your fingers."
"Go on."
She continued to stare at his hand and seemed unable to pontificate further on the matter. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Is this an 'actions over words' situation? Do you want to go somewhere and explore this epiphany of yours?"
They'd slipped down that darkened hallway and he had one long-fingered hand delicately wrapped around her throat—she'd guided it there—and one delving into her knickers before she regained her senses and impatiently apparated them to her bedroom.
He had her up against the wall, his hands still in place.
"What is it about the rings, Granger, hmm?"
The thumb on her throat stroked down, feeling her pulse thrum beneath it, then glided up until it landed on her bottom lip. He pressed against it then into her mouth. She sucked on it for a few tantalizing moments as he rolled his hips against hers in time with his fingers inside her.
He dragged his thumb out of her mouth and down the front of her dress to circle a nipple.
"I don't know. I just... they make me want your hands everywhere."
"Happy to oblige."
Her hips writhed and she clung to his upper arms.
"Bed—now—bed—go—" she choked out.
"First things first," Draco muttered back and rubbed her clit until she came.
Draco still couldn't remember which cause he'd ghosted in favour of shagging Granger so hard both rings left indents in the skin of her hips, but wrote the host a substantial cheque the next day all the same.
The photo spread printed in the society pages featured several shots of Draco escorting Granger at the beginning of the evening, and the expression on Draco's face in almost every photo screamed his wicked intentions for all to see.
He'd received many a Howler for these images from the unwashed masses, but he burned them instantly and laughed.
He also received a note from Pansy: "For Merlin's sake Draco, be less obvious."
A note from Blaise: "Tell Potter I do trauma counselling."
A note from Ginny: "I'll be selecting Hermione's gowns more often if it nets this reaction. You're welcome, ferret."
An exorbitant delivery of several cases of Ali Shafiq's preferred whisky and a note that read, "Tell your dear mother should she ever feel up to hosting a party at that ancestral home of hers, I'd love an invite."
Dating Granger meant his mother started popping round for dinner unannounced on a more frequent basis instead of waiting for him to come to her. Draco let her get on with this not-even-close to subtle new behavioural pattern a few times before confronting her directly.
"Not that I'm not flattered by all your recent visits to dine with me, but why do I have the feeling you're hoping to see if I'm entertaining another guest for dinner?"
"The Prophet has it right, in this instance?"
The recent crop of gala photos had been strung together with other weeks' worth of pictures of their various dinner dates in public and now told the story of their official romance.
"Correct."
"You'll keep me apprised of any serious developments?"
"Did you want to specify what you mean by 'serious developments' or continue along this abstract line of questioning when a more straightforward path exists?"
"Merlin, you sounded like your father just now."
"Nice deflection."
She huffed. "And now you sound like Andromeda."
Draco raised an eyebrow, a move copied directly from Narcissa's own playbook.
She tried another tactic. "You and Miss Granger make a striking couple."
"Thank you, I'm inclined to agree."
"A powerful alliance as well. Your lineage with her political capital."
"I have less than zero interest in that angle."
Narcissa regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Her hand twitched on the table between them; flexed in a compulsion to perhaps lay it on his arm. She moved it into her lap instead.
"Draco, I hope you don't feel as if… well, there's no need to rush things along. It's all right if this is something casual."
"It's not casual."
"Oh."
Her line of questioning had since run through her initial suspicions of Draco's motives: vanity, thirst for power, or passing lust.
None of the above, of course.
Narcissa fiddled with a serviette. An odd movement for someone whom Draco would describe as composed; deliberate to the point that every blink of her eyes seemed a choice rather than an involuntary human function.
"I know it's still a bit awkward darling, but I do think you'd enjoy getting to know your aunt."
Draco let the implication behind his mother's statement linger unacknowledged.
For now, this burgeoning and exploratory phase of his relationship with Granger held most of his focus and attention.
Dating Granger meant learning all of Granger's expressions and tics, and not because they irritated him.
He could tell when he'd said something really funny if it made her clutch her abdomen when she laughed.
He knew what each of her frowns meant. One was for concentration. One for when Draco said something inappropriate. One for confusion. One that tried to hide amusement.
But his favourite things to learn about Granger involved her reactions to him. The ring proclivity was a lovely bit of intel. He simply had to drag his fingers down and around her throat and along her chest and her skin would flush a brilliant, beautiful pink.
For most of his life he'd known the sound of her, but now he learned things from her touches, too. She seemed particularly fond of his hair and determined to ensure it never looked properly in place. Especially if they were kissing.
She would clutch his shoulders and biceps almost painfully when they fucked, but she took extra care with her caresses if they traversed the scarred landscape of his chest. Instinctive in the way she knew when to handle him with tenderness.
Without fail, she threw her head back when she came, completely uninhibited when he rendered her undone. Draco preferred to bury his face in her neck, her hair, whichever part of her he could seek refuge in.
She was not a fan of hand-holding as she usually needed her hands to gesticulate during conversation or they were occupied with a book. She seemed to prefer his touch skimming along her thighs or arms. She had no qualms about throwing her legs or feet or head in his lap like some sort of rag doll if they were sharing space on a couch or bed.
She liked it when he gripped her hair, but hated when he attempted to run fingers through her curls. It didn't stop him from trying. It unfailingly earned him her frown of annoyance.
His Mark didn't bother her and she would remove her own scar's Glamour in the privacy of her home. Neither could hurt either one of them now; all their power had died away with the monsters who'd given them out in the first place. Physical remnants of pain and regret, but these symbols no longer held any sway over their lives.
They were free to choose each other, and so they did.
Things were going well.
Which meant something had to then go horribly wrong.
Granger wanted to interview the warden. Johnson and Potter agreed, but the challenge remained for how to gain access to this man. He'd thus far declined to participate in any part of the programme when Draco and Granger visited Azkaban in person, and they only ever saw guards during these interviews. Granger had invented all manner of reasons to try and schedule a meeting with the warden, but they'd had no luck as of yet.
No one wanted to take Draco up on his suggestion of borrowing Potter's Invisibility Cloak and ambushing him outside the office. Apparently that sort of behaviour would "get the entire programme shut down, are you serious Malfoy?"
Flint agreed to see them again, but only with a lawyer present. While this meant Draco had at least instilled a bit of fear into that cretin, Draco had the distinct feeling Flint was toying with them.
With no new perspectives and with no more useful leads from Flint, they'd hit a frustrating wall again. All the while, Draco convinced himself that he did not need to share his suspicion that Theo may have been a key part to all of this. He had two warring internal excuses for this reasoning:
He'd promised Granger, Potter, and Johnson discretion during the investigation.
He'd promised Blaise and Theo discretion about Theo's ability.
But deep down, Draco knew the real reason he did not voice his suspicions aloud. The longer he chose to protect Theo, the longer he betrayed Granger's trust.
As they were wont to do, outside forces brought Draco to a decision crossroads sooner than he would have liked.
He'd enjoyed a sumptuous dinner with Granger made by his elves (his paid elves, he was quick to remind her, given she'd been the one to push that particular piece of legislation through) and Draco had just poured some after-dinner drinks as they settled in one of his studies.
She'd already found his bookshelves on a previous visit and had a little personal reading collection piled beside one of the armchairs. As if she intended to keep returning to said armchair. His armchair in his study in his home, but she'd made it hers.
He of course rolled his eyes and chided her for making a mess of his study. But he also told his elves not to touch the pile.
This particular quiet evening was suddenly interrupted when Pansy's head appeared in the fire, looking panicked.
"Draco! Can you come through?"
"What's happened?"
"It's Greg, I don't know what to do, please."
They exchanged nervous looks and quickly went through the flames to find a distraught Pansy wringing her hands. She seemed gratified rather than embarrassed that Granger had come along too.
"Where is he? Are you all right?"
"I'm—I'm fine," Pansy managed to get out, but her whole frame shook. Granger leapt into action and gently took her by the arm and sat her on a nearby settee. She kept a comforting hand on Pansy's back and Draco knew then it was serious since Granger was allowed to offer this sort of support without having her hand ripped off.
"Greg he—he's had trouble sleeping and I—I thought, you know, that there would just be an adjustment period. Gods," she let out a slightly hysterical laugh, "who among our generation doesn't have horrifying nightmares?"
Draco summoned one of her decanters and conjured a glass to pour Pansy a measure of brandy. She held it in trembling hands and took a fortifying sip.
"He—he's locked himself in a guest room. Mother is trying to get in now. I—I don't know how to help him. Sometimes when I go in there in the mornings to check on him… sometimes he's sleeping on the floor. He says he's still not used to the bed being that comfortable and it's too much and—and some days I just see him curled up in the corner of the room and he sort of zones out and nothing I say seems to make a difference and I can't even get him to eat."
"Do you think he'd hurt himself?" asked Granger.
"No," Pansy swiped at her falling tears. "No, but whatever he's holding in… whatever he can't seem to get past… I don't want him to turn into a shell of himself."
"Which room is he in?" asked Draco.
"Across the hall from mine."
"I'll stay here," Granger murmured and Draco nodded gratefully.
Draco found Mrs. Parkinson looking equally relieved to see him. "Oh thank Merlin. I've just managed to unlock the door, he'd put several wards up."
Draco sent Pansy's mother along to comfort her daughter and knocked on the door twice before pushing it open.
"Goy—Greg?"
Draco waved his wand once to light the lamps along the walls of the darkened room.
"Hey Draco."
He blinked at the sudden brightness and followed the sound of the soft-spoken call to see Goyle seated on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Draco approached carefully. "Pansy's worried about you."
"I don't deserve her tears."
There was an odd, toneless despondency to Goyle's reply.
"I thought things were going well for you here? Has something happened?"
"I shouldn't be here. Every time I close my eyes I just relive it all."
Draco drew on some of his experience from working with others like Goyle, but still felt woefully inept.
"Pansy really, um…. I think she'd like for you to talk to her. To tell her what's going on. She said you were having trouble sleeping."
"Yeah. I've lost it."
"Lost it?"
"Can't turn off my mind, you know? How sick is it that I got my best sleep in Azkaban?"
He suddenly turned to Draco with wide, manic eyes. "I just want to rest. I just want to fucking sleep. Why can't I? What's wrong with me?"
Draco swallowed once and shifted his weight. He had an uncomfortable feeling of being in Theo's shoes all those years ago when Draco had been the one looking this way: gaunt face, bleary eyes, dishevelled hair. Desperate and exhausted.
"Greg, listen. You have people here who want to help. And they—um, we, I mean—can help if you let us. I'm going to send Blaise through, is that okay with you?"
"You said we'd talk some time."
"I know, I did. And we will. But I… well I think I'm not the right person here."
"I don't know how to talk to Pansy right now."
"I won't bring her, but let me get Blaise. Just… just stay here and leave the door unlocked, all right?"
Draco eyed the wand held limply in Goyle's hand but didn't think disarming the man would go over well.
"Greg, just tell me it's all right and I can have Blaise here in under a minute."
"S'alright."
"Thank you."
Draco found Granger fixing tea for both Parkinson women and quickly muttered, "He's fine, just going to grab a professional," and Floo'ed through to Blaise and Theo's home.
Blaise immediately fired off a bunch of questions at Draco as he threw robes over his pajamas.
"Do you think he's a risk to himself or others?"
"No, just a breakdown. But a serious one. Pansy will probably need you too."
"He has a wand?"
"Yes, but I don't think he'll use it. He let me in once Pansy's mother had gotten through his wards."
"Those wards might have been accidental magic if he was that distressed," Blaise muttered to himself and disappeared through the fireplace.
Draco could feel the other presence in the room before he even turned around to confirm it.
"Theo, tell me you didn't have something to do with this."
"I can't tell you either way."
Draco wasn't sure what to expect from Theo. When he turned around he saw a gangly form sitting defeated and almost curled in on himself in an armchair.
"I've been working with Granger on this advocacy thing."
It may have seemed an abrupt topic change, but Draco knew Theo had understood the implication.
"Yes, that seems to have worked out very well for you." There was no malice in Theo's factual statement and Draco inclined his head in acknowledgment of the subtext.
"Yes, but it means I've spent a fair bit of time combing through Azkaban records. I recognised your wand's measurements."
Theo's face immediately fell into an expressionless mask of inhumanity. Not one flicker of an emotion, no hint at a feeling, as if someone had pulled a curtain over his true features and left behind an image of immovable neutrality.
"Theo, I've put enough pieces together and I think…" Draco took a fortifying breath and plunged onward, "Were you involved in some sort of experiment on prisoners?"
The eerie mask remained in place. He didn't even blink, nor react at all to such a serious accusation.
"Theo, I asked if—?"
"I heard you," rasped Theo and looked as if he physically struggled to get the words out. "But you have to understand I'm operating under certain… limitations at the moment."
Draco frowned and shook his head. "No, I'm not here for vague nonsense. Answer the question."
The mask resumed its hold but this time, Theo's jaw clenched as he appeared to fight it.
"There's spellwork," Theo bit out. "Do you think the Department of Mysteries just relies on Unspeakables to not say anything? No, I signed a magically binding contract. I can't talk about my work in any specific way."
"But if I ask you the right questions… you can confirm or deny?"
"Depends how the question is phrased."
"But you can talk about your ability."
"Yes. That, at least, belongs to me."
Draco nodded and considered his best course of interrogation.
"Since you gave me my dream in Sixth Year… have you used your ability on people other than me and Blaise?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Can't say."
Draco noticed his friend's knuckles turning white as they gripped the sides of the chair.
"I'm… I'm sorry, I can drop it if you want. Maybe instead you could help Goyle now? Just this once? GIve him 'happiness' like you did me?"
"No," Theo spat. "I'm done using it on people."
Draco held up a placating hand. "Okay, it's fine I only wanted to… Theo look, I'm trying to help you, and Greg, and Granger, and I can't do that if I don't know what happened."
Theo's face stayed stuck on his impassive setting. Draco dragged frustrated hands through his hair and paced in front of the fireplace.
Three groups, Draco recalled. He and Granger had classified their subset of inmates into three groups based on how they spoke about their time in that sham of a quarantine.
"You did three different types of dreams," Draco finally guessed. Theo didn't, perhaps couldn't, react.
"Don't suppose you could tell me which emotional states you cast?" Draco tried.
"Can't say."
"Try."
"You've experienced it."
Happiness. That tracked with the men who seemed to have enjoyed their time sequestered. Based on Goyle's statement of quality sleep, Draco would hazard a guess at the control group being something as simple as "calm" or "peaceful."
Which left the last third.
"I think I've got two figured out. And I know you can't tell me anything. But maybe you can show me what you did to the third group."
Theo's face lit up, excited that Draco had found a workaround before immediately falling into regret.
Draco took that as acquiescence and transfigured a chair into a longer couch.
"Just tell Granger I fell asleep here after drinking with you or something."
"No need, I can control it better now."
"How do you mean?"
"Just the time. I can determine the length of the sleep state."
Draco conjured a pillow and settled onto his back. Theo towered over him and pressed the tip of his wand to the skin of his hand. Though Draco knew not to expect that dazzling dream state he'd experienced in his Sixth Year, part of him burned with anticipation at the thought of entering that fantasy again. Until he remembered the look on the faces of men like Sinclair.
This would not be a hazy slice of bliss.
"How long?"
Draco checked his watch. "Thirty minutes, if you can."
"It'll be non-verbal this time."
That disorienting shock of the quick flip between not-awake and awake. When the mind both lagged and simultaneously interrogated you with rapid-fire questions: where am I? What day is it? What time is it? Am I late for something?
That confusion of the in-between. You had been prone, unconscious, susceptible to attack, even. The body required rest and so you must, as a human, enter this state of ultimate vulnerability.
That weakness of allowing the self to lie dormant so as to recharge, physically and mentally, while necessary, could wreak havoc if disrupted in a violent manner.
Being roused out of this helplessness could cause a brief shot of adrenaline to trickle through your system, the mind spurring to life before the rest of you. That energy, dispersed slowly, triggered survival instincts and perhaps the limbs lash and jerk, forcing you to get up, to move, to rise to the occasion, but messily so.
Or if you are Draco, you have trained your body to jump to attention at a moment's notice. It must, or you'd be risking torture or worse. It hardly ever made for a good night's rest.
Draco was roughly shaken by the shoulder. He let out a gasp of a breath as his vision scrambled to catch up with the rest of his faculties.
His wand was already clenched in his fist. Had he fallen asleep with it in his hand?
"Your presence is required," intoned the solemn voice of Snape.
Draco quickly pulled on his robes and followed behind him.
"No mask," Snape said curtly. "He'd like your face shown."
Guarded. Alert. Draco's mentor maintained these two states constantly and he strove to emulate him. Especially within these halls.
Draco's footfalls clicked against stone, the sound bouncing loudly off harsh, bare floors and stately, gilded frames.
The empty portrait frames whose occupants had fled for different homes, or perhaps even the safety found in the inside of Gringotts vaults, made the silence even more irrepressible.
Lonely and forsaken.
And much too quiet when the quiet wasn't broken by sheer terror. The echoing sounds of cries and screams filtered through the cavernous halls of his childhood home at regular intervals.
A home that now knew unending pain and misery.
Draco gulped down the constantly chilled air. Grey skies filtered through murky windows. These tall, glistening walls of glass once gleamed so brightly under the daily attention and care of dozens of elves. But the Dark Lord had gone through most of the house elves within the first year of his residence here. Easy target practice, after all. Or just some helpless creature on which he could sate his rage.
Helpless and alone. Not a friendly face to be seen no matter where Draco looked.
Draco trudged along behind Snape. He knew exactly where he'd be led. Where he was led most days.
Constant dread. It hung in a permanent cloud over him, over the once brightly-lit halls of Malfoy Manor.
Afraid and miserable when not diluted through the power of Occlumency. Outside of that, he had no reprieve, knew no relief from this eternal punishment.
The door to the Manor cellar opened as he approached. A familiar and grotesque sight awaited Draco at the bottom of the stairs.
"Ah, Draco," greeted the Dark Lord. "You know what to do."
An unnaturally white hand waved a wand of Yew in a complicated pattern and suddenly Narcissa appeared at his side. Voldemort's gash of a mouth split in a horrifying facsimile of a smile, the tip of his wand now pointed to Narcissa's throat.
"I have always given you a choice, remember that Draco. This is your doing."
Snape shoved him forward toward the rows of barred cells that lined the cellar.
"Who is first today? Make sure to identify them for me," insisted Voldemort in that high, cold voice.
Draco peered past the bars and saw the sunken eyes of Lucius.
"My father."
"Hmm, perhaps not such a difficult choice this time," mocked Voldemort.
Draco raised his wand. "Crucio."
Lucius was thrown onto his back as he writhed and screamed under the power of Draco's curse.
"Enough," said the bored voice of Voldemort. Draco did as he bade and his father's body disappeared.
Draco met his mother's eyes but she only shook her head.
"And next?" prompted Voldemort and Draco moved along the row.
"Blaise."
The cell after Blaise held Pansy.
After Pansy came Theo.
There might have been other prisoners in between or after; Draco couldn't' seem to recall. How long would this last today? How many more faces must Draco watch contort in agony? None of them begged or pleaded with him anymore.
A haze of despicable acts and a stream of Unforgivables cast again and again from his Hawthorn wand. Put in an impossible position and forced to perform under threat of his mother's life.
All the while, guilt and bile rose in equal measure within him. Cold sweat ran down his forehead and back. He had no way out, no respite.
No one to help him.
"And now we come to my offering for you, young Draco."
Voldemort shoved Narcissa to the ground and then clicked his fingers. A bound and bloodied Harry Potter appeared on the floor beside her.
His mother looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. Potter looked up at him through mostly-swollen ones; his glasses bent and cracked.
"Who do we have in the final cell?"
Draco didn't need to turn away from the two at his feet to know who occupied the last barred cell.
But he turned towards her anyway.
She never said anything. Never made a single sound. Just stood there in her ratty, tattered clothing, tangled mass of filthy hair, and a smattering of dried blood, bruises, and dirt marring her skin.
"Hermione."
"Ah yes," said Voldemort, voice tinged with amusement now. "Potter's pet Mudblood."
Draco raised his wand in her direction. Like he'd been trained to do. Like he'd been ordered to do.
The curse would not leave his lips. She stared back at him with those large, challenging eyes. Eyes that used to voraciously tear through every book in the Hogwarts library, eyes that would drink in knowledge and only build upon her already impressive intellect. Eyes with a fire that could not, would not be snuffed out.
Eyes that only viewed him as a disappointment.
"Which shall you choose, Draco? You've always whined about not having a choice and yet see how benevolent your Lord can be? All these choices and paths laid out before you. Whatever shall you do?"
"I—"
"It's not difficult, you ungrateful whelp. You can torture the Mudblood while Potter watches or I can torture your mother. Do you think she'll last much longer?"
Draco backed away from the cell, from her.
"Stop, please I—I don't want to do this, I don't want to hurt anyone anymore."
"Anymore? And what is so special about this one? You've left countless victims in your wake and yet you would disobey your Lord for this bit of filth?"
Draco looked into the cell again, but now his view was obscured by another. Ron Weasley materialised and grabbed Granger by the waist and shoved her bodily behind him. He turned his beaten and freckled face towards Draco, a picture of bravery and defiance. Someone who had nobly suffered.
Draco stared back, unable to move or speak.
A failure. A coward.
His hesitancy enraged the Dark Lord.
"Enough!" roared that awful, hissing voice.
Suddenly Voldemort lunged forward. Those long, white fingers clamped around Draco's throat and immediately tightened, cutting off his air supply. Draco only knew one feeling as black spots appeared in his vision and he was violently returned to the land of the subconscious.
Fear. He only felt fear.
Draco came to in Theo's study with a shout.
"Where is—?" he began frantically before his brain caught up.
Theo had put him in an enchanted dream state. He was safe. Granger was safe. His mother was safe.
"Accio firewhisky."
Draco didn't even bother with a glass and simply downed a hefty measure from the summoned bottle.
"Will you need Blaise this time?"
"No. No, I think that one's pretty clear."
He offered the bottle to Theo who crossed the room in that prowling gait of his and accepted the whisky for a deep swig of his own.
Draco rested his head in his hands and focused on the things he knew to be true. The burn of the whisky down his throat. The presence of Theo at his side. His friends and Hermione currently alive and safe at Pansy's home.
But his hands still shook as he drew them down his face.
"How long… how many times did you do that to them?"
Theo shook his head, looking pained at not being able to answer.
"Enough," was all he could offer.
"We've got to take this to Granger," Draco stated firmly and stood.
"No. I can't offer you anything more. And other… factors are in play."
"Which factors?"
"Just the one. The most important one."
"You're worried something will happen to Blaise?"
Theo could only nod.
"Fuck."
And it shouldn't have felt so similar to Sixth Year. Because this time he had an out, he had someone in his corner. Someone brilliant and unstoppable. A fierce warrior.
"What's made you think Blaise is at risk?"
But Theo's face went blank again.
"Theo, if someone forced you to torture others against your will, we have to stop them. Are they still at Azkaban? At the Ministry?"
The infuriating blank mask was only usurped by a look of wretchedness.
"Draco, please. It's done with and all I can do is keep myself away from people. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of me and—"
He cut off here, his mouth magically prohibited from elaborating further.
"Let me speak to Granger. Or you can come with me."
Theo shook his head back and forth in a pained denial, and Draco reached his limit for causing his friend distress tonight.
"I'll just… go see if Blaise is almost through."
As he stood to leave by the mantel, Theo called out. "Draco, you have to know… you have to believe me. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to… to know what I could do. To know why I could do this. And then others—"
Theo broke off with a muttered curse word and averted his gaze.
"You still sent the Jelly Slugs," offered Draco quietly.
Theo tilted his head to the side, puzzled by the relevance.
"On my birthday," Draco clarified. "You sent them. This year. Every year, even when I didn't deserve a bit of kindness from you, you were my friend anyway."
Theo looked close to tears at this point.
"You care about people, Theo. And I know how it feels to have that… manipulated."
His friend's head bobbed in gratitude and Draco looked into the fire as he saw Theo's hand dash at his eyes.
"I know you think you're stuck," murmured Draco, "but I'll find a way, or Granger will. But I won't tell her or involve anyone until I know you'll be protected. And Blaise."
Theo only nodded again and Draco went through the fire to find Blaise briefing the Parkinsons and Granger on Greg's condition.
"I made sure he had a Calming Draught after we talked. I've just told Pansy I'll pop round after work a few days this week and chat with him," he updated Draco in an undertone as Granger urged Pansy and her mother to go to bed.
Blaise clapped Draco on the shoulder. "I know he missed out on much of the programme and it's such a shame, because it's sorely needed."
He stepped back and surveyed Draco with a bit of pride. "This is good work you're doing with Hermione. This will help people transition. I'm glad you called me over when you did."
Draco had no adequate reply. His mental and emotional state swung from one high to another dangerous low at such a rapid speed in the past few hours and he'd yet to settle on just exactly what he felt at all.
He hadn't realized he stood frozen in Pansy's parlour until Granger appeared in front of him and cupped the sides of his face.
"Are you okay?"
"No, I don't think I am."
"Come to my place," she said softly.
He obeyed her, grateful she understood that he needed to surround himself with her for the time being. Her goodness, her strength, her unending well of light.
But he'd halted again in her sitting room, caught in an urgent thought and staring down at his own hands with unseeing eyes.
"Draco, what—?"
"What we've been doing, at Azkaban," he spoke up suddenly, "I know we've been giving a lot of them—the inmates—information and encouragement and such—and the other, real advocates are helping do the actual connecting but… do you think we could… I don't know… make sure our group… make sure they see people like Blaise?"
She gave him a smile. This one meant admiration. For something he'd said or did.
"Course we can. I'm not going to drop my work if we uncover something. It may have been our way in, but at the end of the day, it is a real initiative. They won't get left off."
She took his hand and led him to her bed.
As he drifted off, Draco recalled the story of Theo's mother requesting to dream of safety.
Draco felt certain that for him it would feel like this: wrapped around Granger with her breathing steadily against his chest.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter on July 27.