MALFOY HEIR FINDS LOVE AT LAST!

Last night was one of the coldest nights of the season but Draco Malfoy found a way to keep warm… locking lips with Hermione 'Golden Girl' Granger...when asked…... people noted how cozy...comfortable…...things getting steamy!

WAR HEROINE SPOTTED WITH DEATH EATER

Hermione Granger was spotted sharing dinner with recently acquitted Death Eater… ...an odd and unexpected sight with…...Malfoy family has not bothered to hide their….which forces the question, star-crossed lovers or a publicity stunt for the masses?

THE GRANGER-MALFOY AFFAIR! ALL YOU NEED TO KNOW

Draco Lucius Malfoy, recently ascended….spotted with Hermione Jean Granger…..strange circumstances….. head of the Malfoy legacy…... with no engagement….nor any betrothal contracts, one must wonder who… ...previously Pansy Parkinson was….could we be looking at the next Lady Malfoy?

o.o.o

As much as it pains him to admit it, Potter is capable of having the occasional bright idea. Draco has to do something, especially now with Blaise's worry multiplying his own. Pansy still isn't home and it's getting harder to pretend that something isn't wrong.

This is how he finds himself walking up Diagon Alley towards the small corner where a rickety old apothecary once stood. Large snowflakes flutter down around him, the sharp wind stinging his face. He adjusts the collar of his winter cloak, flipping it up in an attempt to shield himself–not just from the cold winter evening. Draco can feel the eyes on him, people stopping to point and whisper. He isn't sure if he has imagined the few camera flashes in his periphery.

People have been talking. It's what they always do, after all. And Draco has taken their beloved Golden Girl from them; he isn't stupid enough to believe they're okay with it.

I trust you will make better decisions for this family.

He rolls back his shoulders, picking up his pace as he walks the cobble streets. Draco expected this after all. He welcomes it.

The mundane corner of the alley is nothing special. At first glance, it is nothing but another forgotten business, unable to recover after the ravages of war. One of the many lonely enterprises that had never quite managed to start back up after everything that had been lost.

Furrowing his brows, Draco focuses on the seemingly rotting wood to try and glimpse what truly lies hazy mirage breaks easily; Pansy's restaurant flickers behind the weakened wards. They look like they haven't been redone in a while.

It was foolish to have hoped otherwise.

His stomach twists as he takes out his wand and with a few precise waves, the remaining wards drop to reveal the sleek looking building beneath. Exposed brick walls and large glass windows appear, the picturesque image complete with the quaint little steps leading to the front entrance. This is the restaurant that was supposed to have been revealed weeks ago. It's going to be fine.

He heaves in a deep breath. She's fine. Draco strolls up the little walkway to the gate, shaky hands reaching up to push open the gates.

The restaurant looks untouched.

He isn't quite sure how he feels about that.

Each step echos in the relatively empty space, sparsely scattered with a few bits of furniture. Some red leather upholstered chairs and a few large round tables. Black booths that haven't been properly placed yet and lighting fixtures that still need to be connected properly. A half assembled chandelier, ostentatious and proud, hangs in the middle of the room. He runs a hand through his hair as he turns around the room, taking in its modern lines and cuts. It's something straight out of a magazine.

The corner of his mouth tugs up–it's all exactly how she always wanted it. Then why isn't she here?

He turns around, taking in her unfinished project. It's entirely her, down to the little details. The doorknobs and the little trimmings. Draco takes in the space, analyzing it to find something. There has to be some sort of note or some sort of clue. Something.

He doesn't know what he'll do if there isn't.

Draco casts a few Accios which predictably leads him nowhere. With a sigh, he trudges over toward the wood paneled wall, starting his search. Looking through the decorative statues and geometric shelves proves fruitless. The kitchens give similar results. Circling back around and debating if he should go check the private alcoves, Draco stumbles across a sturdy looking hostess podium. Come on Pans, give me something. Pulling open its little drawer, he only finds a couple of stray screws and bolts. Damn it.

Frustrated, he scans the room again, trying to spot something that seems out of place. His eyes land on a pile of velvet cloth laying haphazardly in the corner–curtains? Draco cocks his head, funny how he hadn't noticed them before.

The bright red would have been rather hard to miss.

Besides, Pansy would never let anyone be so careless with her things. Quirking an eyebrow, he takes quick strides toward the heap, grabbing the edge and shaking it out.

A small piece of parchment floats out, fluttering to the ground. There you are. He quickly bends to snatch it, eyes raking over the words.

Draco,

You nosy bastard, I knew you'd find your way here eventually. I'm sorry I kept you waiting so long. Simple charmwork to make sure only the right people could find this. If you're reading this, I'm okay. There are complications that have popped up. Don't worry too much.

I'm safe. I promise.

Pansy

Disbelieving, Draco staggers over toward the chairs. Pansy, what have you gotten into? He slumps down into one of the stray seats, still packaged in plastic. It crinkles under his weight as he shifts, dropping his head into his palm. He can feel the headache building already.

The short letter gives more questions than answers. Had she suspected something like this was coming? And if she suspected such circumstances, he can't fathom why she didn't tell him. Didn't she trust him? He rolls up the little scrap of paper only to unfold it, reading the few sentences again as if they may reveal something new this time. Pointless.

Rolling and unrolling, again and again, tracing the wrinkles that appear.

Breathe in.

The note remains unchanged. Desperate, he checks it for some kind of enchantment or hidden message but the parchment is as ordinary as any.

Breathe out.

A yellow hue has crept in over the space, shadows falling as the sun finally goes to sleep. The light from the lanterns outside reflect and flicker, telling Draco he's been here far longer than he intended to. He rubs a weary hand across his forehead, turning slightly toward the large windows at the entrance and freezes.

A familiar figure darts across the path, with hunched shoulders and a hurried gait. He watches him walk toward the very edges of the street, toward the shadowy lanes of Knockturn. Draco is up out of his chair before his mind has truly caught up with the action. He hastily throws Pansy's note into the inside pocket of his woolen robes as he exits the restaurant, restoring the wards as rapidly as he can.

He doesn't think he's ever cast a disillusionment charm so quickly. Draco rushes out, only to see none other than Xavier Evards disappear into Knockturn Alley. Logically, the senior Auror was probably here on account of some official business; maybe Draco was simply jumping to conclusions but something in his gut tells him otherwise.

He hadn't survived the war by ignoring his instinct.

Nothing good could possibly come out of this.

If Draco gets caught snooping around like this, he can kiss the fairly lenient terms of his probation goodbye. Evards hates him anyway and Draco isn't keen on revisiting Azkaban. He's gotten rather used to his warm bed and comfortable clothes.

But the pride on Robards' face when Draco agreed to this secret mission with Granger flashes across his mind and the decision is made.

I trust you will make better decisions in regards to this family.

And Draco is so tired of always running away.

Draco takes care to stay out of view as he shadows Evards down Knockturn's dingy alleyways, ducking into the hidden nooks and carefully maneuvering through the grimy crowds. The snow has turned to an unappealing grey slush, already ruined.

He mutters a few extra concealment spells under his breath for protection and a muffling charm on his shoes. Even with the extra precaution, it doesn't feel like enough. What if he gets caught? Draco shakes his head, not wanting to think about all the ways this could go horribly wrong.

Somehow, he isn't entirely surprised when Evards leads him to a rickety old pub he recognises, with doors nearly coming off its hinges.

It looks worse than he remembers it, if that's even possible.

The gates swing precariously as Evards barges in. Waiting a few beats, Draco lingers at the entrance until another customer appears, shadowing his footsteps to enter the grimy pub unnoticed. He's always been good at sneaking around. The place is more crowded than the last time he visited; the growing late hour lending itself to more activity. Grimacing, he steps around a dodgy man who already looks drunk. What was his father thinking offering Malfoy money to run establishments like these?

Evards walks right up to the bartender, greeting him like an old friend. The corners of Draco's mouth tug down; people like Quin have no reason to interact with Aurors. People come here looking for privacy. If anyone else knew Evards' occupation, there would be harsh consequences for Quintus, indeed. Magical Law Enforcement is most likely highest up on the list of unwelcome people here. Draco ducks into a corner at the edge of the bar, shuffling in among the few folk, lingering as close as he dares.

The room hums with conversation as people order food and drink, ready to waste away their nights in a blur of debauchery. Men laughing too loudly and women in provocative clothing with simpering smiles and seductive eyes. It's not a place for polite company, certainly not appropriate for someone of Evards' rank. Draco strains as he tries to listen to the conversation but only manages to pick up stray bits.

"Have there been any issues….wouldn't want….Ministry files…."

Quintus nods along enthusiastically before gesturing once to the door. Draco follows the gesture to a table in the far back before zoning back in. What in Merlin's name?

"And to think I…..Aye, the Malfoy boy was 'ere….worried...don't need no Aurors on….I best be keepin' my mouth…."

Evard raises a hand and Quin's mouth snaps shut. Draco watches Evards angle his body away slightly, presumably to scan the place. His eyes fall to Draco's secluded corner and Draco sucks in a breath, going impossibly still as Evards' eyes seem to bore right into him, piercing through all of Draco's charmwork.

Draco fights the urge to check his spellwork, wondering if perhaps Xavier could see right through him. It feels like forever before his gaze finally dances away but something is different. Does he suspect something? Draco sees Evard's mouth move, supposedly to mutter a charm and then–silence.

Draco can't hear a damn thing, even though he can see them converse clear enough. Fucking hell. They talk a bit more and he tries to read their lips but it's a pointless endeavor. Soon enough, Evards reaches into his robe to pull out a small sack of something Draco can only assume is Galleons.

A hefty sum in exchange for silence; a concept he knows all too well.

Half of him hopes that the sinking feeling in his stomach is wrong, that Evards' presence could be waved away with a legitimate explanation. But naivety never was a good look on him.

They converse for a few more moments before Quintus reaches out, grabs the small bag with a greedy smile and that's the end of it. The deal is presumably done; Evards hops down off the school and disappears through the crowd.

Bastard.

Draco knew Quin had been hiding something. A few more seconds and then Draco is undoing his charmwork, briskly walking toward the grimy bar to take the place Evards had just vacated.

"You've got one minute to start talking," Draco snaps.

The old bartender actually jumps, whipping around to face him. "Mister Malfoy, sir!" His eyes dart frantically towards the doors, probably to check if Evards is still there. "I didn't know ye was 'ere! If I'd known–"

"Save it, Quintus." Draco places his left hand on the counter, leaning over as he levels his best glare at the stout man. There is a time and place for everything and as much as Draco despises it, this is the easiest path to take.

Besides, he'd given Quintus a chance to be truthful before.

"You know exactly who I am and what I've seen and what I've done." He swallows, eyes dropping to his forearm before flicking back up, "You know the choices I'm willing to make and so I suggest you start talking." It's frighteningly easy to pull up this persona, the Death Eater heir everyone already thinks he is.

"Why-er-you see, it's just-"

"Now." Draco doesn't particularly like the way Quin's eyes widen as he steps back, something too close to fear flickering across his expression. But there's something satisfying about the power and it's been so long since he has felt something like that. There is something heady in that knowledge. Suddenly, he thinks he understands why the Malfoy family has been investing in these establishments, why they've been doing business with some unreliable folk.

Malfoy. Bad faith.

"I don't know what ye want me to say, Mister Malfoy."

"I'll give you ten times whatever is in that little bag he slipped you, Quin." He shrugs, "The choice is yours." The same act, the same game.

Quin gulps, licking his lips nervously. "I don't want no trouble."

Draco fights a smirk. "I'm not looking for a fight either." Never fails.

"Ten times?" he asks again, disbelief lacing his tone. Always the same damn story.

Draco simply holds a hand out, waiting. Quintus clumsily reaches into his pocket, pulls out the small sack, hands it over. Draco tosses it slightly, listening to the coins clink around and tilting his head.

"What do you say, Quin?" He tosses the bag onto the counter in between them. "Quaffle on your side of the pitch."

It's a few moments before Quin speaks with a heavy sigh, as if the decision to accept Draco's money is quite arduous, indeed. "He's some Ministry lowlife or so he says. I haven't seen him 'round before a few months or so. I dunno much 'bout him but he was one of the men here that day."

"That day?" But then why would he bring up the incident at the office? It would have been simpler if he hadn't said anything at all; it's not like Draco would have made the inquiry otherwise.

"That day, you know." Quin nods his head towards the rickety round tables near the back of the establishment. "When the...the mark," he sucks in a sharp breath, shuddering slightly, "that-that thing showed up. He's a loud one, he is."

"You saw him with the Dark Mark?" he questions, skeptical.

"Don't be sayin' those cursed words!" Quin hisses. "But he was there, laughing along with the group and that's all I know." Or is that all you care to tell me?

"Why'd he give you money tonight?"

"Wanted to keep me quiet. Said the Aurors would be here poking around and didn't want his name to come up. Mumbled some nonsense about inquiries and superiors, I'll be honest I lost interest at the end there."

"That's all? Did you tell him anything?"

"Told 'im you was here askin' around before."

"Anything else I should know?" Draco said, eyes narrowing in warning.

"Can I get you a firewhisky, Mister Malfoy?"

o.o.o

Blaise swirls the last of his whisky in his glass, slumped in Draco's desk chair. His unseeing, bloodshot eyes are fixed on a painting on the far wall of his bedroom. It's a simple little thing, an experiment in water colour Draco did ages ago. It's not his best work, but he likes the basic landscape. It's one of the first times he charmed a piece, back when he still had time for such frivolous hobbies.

He hasn't touched his brushes in years.

Draco takes a sip of his own whisky, appreciating the burn as it goes down. It was Blaise who insisted on the alcohol tonight and Draco was too taken aback to protest. He watches Blaise's knee bounce anxiously. The new information Draco procured has done nothing to dim the haggardness in his expression. A familiar restlessness borne from sleepless nights in his eyes and Draco is hardly a stranger to it. The letter lays crumpled and momentarily forgotten as they both share a drink.

The faint buzz doesn't really do anything to calm his antsy thoughts and he can't imagine it does anything for Blaise either. But what else is left?

"You know mate, I never did ask." It's an attempt at distraction as good as any. "Daphne and you, at the Gala, you looked on good terms." And he would be lying if claimed complete indifference. He'll admit, he is rather curious.

Draco winces as Blaise slams his glass down into the desk. "We've never been on bad terms."

He raises a disbelieving eyebrow, "I think anyone with eyes would beg to differ."

"Daphne and I," Blaise takes a long breath, "it's complicated."

"Well," Draco drawls, raising his glass up to observe the amber. "I've been recently told that things are hardly ever as complicated as they seem."

"Let it go, Draco."

"You don't want to talk about Quidditch. You don't want to talk about Italy. And Pansy is off limits," He shrugs, taking another long sip. "Forgive me for thinking Daphne was a safe topic."

It's one of those nights. He knows his friend well enough to know Blaise will talk when he's ready.

Sure enough after a few silent minutes, he speaks, "The thing with Daph…" Blaise stares at his own glass, playing with the condensation that's formed on its edge, "it's never really been like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that thing you have with Granger." Draco doesn't like the way he says her name, dragging it out in mockery.

"What's she got to do with anything?" he says carefully, unsure where this is going.

Blaise sniffs, "I never did say congratulations, did I? Hermione fucking Granger, how the fuck did you manage that one?"

Draco's lips flatten into a thin line at the underlying hostility to his words. "We aren't talking about me," he says as calmly as he can. "We are talking about you."

"I don't even know why I'm shocked. Of course you landed Granger. Merlin forbid, Draco Malfoy doesn't get every damn thing he wants."

Draco swallows, knowing that this anger directed at him must stem from something else. He's just pissed and taking it out on me. However, it doesn't make the words sting any less. "Daphne is a beautiful and intelligent girl and I'm sure if you wanted, it could be different. You could give it another try–"

"She likes girls," Blaise interrupts.

Draco blinks. What? He stills, waiting for a further explanation but it doesn't come. "Blaise," his voice is perfectly level, betraying none of his confusion, "what the fuck?"

He lets out a humourless laugh, "you heard me, Draco." Blaise downs the last of his drink. "Daphne Greengrass plays for her own damned team."

"But you were together!" he flounders, "on and off since… Pansy and I both thought…" How did I not know? "You took her to the Yule Ball!"

"You know, we all wondered how someone like her was sorted into Slytherin but she's as cunning as they get. She was the one who approached me after the Pygmy Puff incident with a proposition...a mutually beneficial agreement of sorts."

Draco's mouth snaps shut. What? Frayed ends of tangled strings, finally coming undone as he registers this revelation. A stray memory flickers to the forefront of his thoughts, a conversation from forever ago–amortentia. Something Pansy had said all those years ago, what was it?

"You know how these things go. Her parents would have her exiled faster than you could say Morgana."

Floral. All those rumours about how Blaise wasn't Daphne's amortentia. More traditionally feminine scents, was this why?

"Hang on," Draco shakes his slightly, brows furrowed, "you said mutual?" How did I not know?

"It was." Why didn't you tell me before? Blaise swallows, "I thought it might help me catch the attention of…someone else."

"Who?" Draco demands, but he has a creeping suspicion that he already has the answer. No. A hundred memories and a thousand conversations, recontextualized and reformed before his very eyes.

"You know who," Blaise offers him a defeated look, "Don't make me say it."

"No." He shakes his head fiercely. Laughter, inside jokes and lingering looks that are so fucking obvious. What was that thing they said about hindsight? "No. No. No."

There is no way. "You're lying. Tell me you're fucking lying." How can I have missed this?

"Believe me," a humourless laugh, "I really wish I could." Blaise drops his head back, eyes squeezing shut, "but I can't, Draco. I can't stop thinking about the way she flips her hair and replaying all our irrelevant conversations. I can't stop thinking about that little spin she does when she's wearing an adorable outfit or the way she rolls her eyes whenever I say something stupid. Merlin, I'm so damn exhausted because I can't stop dreaming about her fucking smile. Not even when she was yours."

He stares, dumbfounded. "Blaise," he starts, "I didn't—" What am I even supposed to say?

"And you know what's the most infuriating thing?" he interrupts, "Daphne got her end of her deal while I got to spend all these years watching her moon over your ungrateful arse. How pathetic is that?"

The words are a knife digging into his chest. He opens his mouth but no words come out, rendered speechless. 'Why are you so shocked? Blaise is only telling you what you already know.' his mind hisses.

"And she tried so hard to hide how much your fucking indifference stung. A shame that she's loyal to a damn fault. She could tell, even before me that you wanted someone else but kept her around. She deserves to be someone's first choice."

"I never deserved Pansy," he whispers, voice hollow.

"No, Draco," he spits, "You really fucking didn't and now she might not even be around for you to drop to your knees and grovel." The vicious words hurt and Draco doesn't know how long Blaise has been keeping them in. A drunk man and his sober thoughts.

"It's her family,' Draco defends, "and you read that letter." It's a weak argument but it's the only defense he has. A coward, even now.

"Oh well if it's her family then let's throw a fucking party, Draco. It's not like her father is free with his curses and hexes" he explodes,"You know, you're right, we shouldn't worry. Maybe she'll come out of this with no major bodily harm. Merlin, she might even have some of her limbs!"

"Her mother wouldn't let that happen." But the words are bitter in his mouth, a half-hearted placation that even he can't believe.

"Not everyone's mother is Narcissa Malfoy. Not everyone has your family. Because that long list of men my mother married? Well fuck Draco, they were family too!"

The silence is deafening, suffocating. He clenches his hands into fists, taking deep breaths as the words wash over him.

"You still love her then?"

"I never fucking stopped. But you wouldn't get it because Merlin forbid the universe doesn't sort itself out for Draco bloody Malfoy–"

"And what would you know about being me?" Draco bursts out, standing up. "You're not the one who had to live with Him! You're not the one who had to–"

"Don't bloody start with me! I have always been here on your damn side even when shit got rough."

"I knew what I was doing." Draco whispers, but it sounds like nails on a chalkboard, grating in the quiet. You rotten liar.

Blaise scoffs, "I think I need to go, before I end up saying something I don't mean."

"No, no! Please continue, you obviously have a lot to fucking say."

"It's your damn world, Malfoy." Blaise stomps toward the door, "All of us simply have the misfortune of living in it." His bedroom door slams close as Blaise leaves and he hears his footsteps fade away. Fuck. Draco's hand shakes as he tries to bring the glass back to his lips but the whisky tumbler slips from his grip, shattering as it crashes onto the floor. Damn it all.

There is a room filled with shelves that touch the sky. These shelves are filled boxes under lock and key.

He storms through the gilded gates of the towering room, ignoring the rumbling floor beneath him. Boxes slip in and out of the shelves, clattering around him and jumping from their places. No.

Draco grits his teeth, determined to fix this. Taking a deep breath, he wills the ruckus to calm down.

Futile. Just like everything else he has been doing these days.

o.o.o

The world was cold, almost unbearably so. Draco couldn't be bothered to move. His limbs felt heavy, aching with the weight he'd been burdened with. It was unfair, why him? Why did the Dark Lord have to choose him?

It was too much. It was not enough.

He was not enough.

'I won't let you down, my Lord.' His promise echoing in his memory, amplified somehow and made infinitely worse. Why him?

He had to do this. Draco shuddered violently, the bleak world disappeared from view as his knees buckled under him. Damn, maybe he had taken it too far this time. The stone stung his palms as he slumped forward, staggering against the steps.

Where was he?

"Draco?" He heard someone calling but the voice sounded so distant, impossibly far away. His eyes felt so heavy, maybe he could fall asleep right here. He'd find some excuse to dish out to Filch–Snape would help.

Probably.

"Draco!" There was the voice again, closer now. He ignored it, eyes slipping shut. Blissful. Haziness fogged his thoughts and he couldn't quite remember why he was here; the seventh floor was so far away from the dungeons. This was good, the darkness was comforting. How long had it been since he'd had a proper night's sleep?

Feverishly warm hands grabbed him and Draco flinched violently, trying to blink his eyes open. It was a herculean effort and he could barely make out a shadowy figure crouched above him.

"Salazar, fuck! You're as cold as ice." Blaise? But the voice sounded so strange, rough and jagged to his ears. The hands were there again, shaking him violently and Draco wanted to tell them to bugger off but the words wouldn't come. He felt like he was trying to swim in honey, trudging through the world slowly, trying to make sense of it. Had it always been so confusing?

Where was he again?

A strange moaning sound reached him and with a start, Draco realised the sound was coming from him. All of his limbs felt liquified, heaviness pushing him down, turning him into a puddle on the floor.

"It's okay, Draco." Blaise's voice, he was quite sure of it this time. "You'll be fine. What the fuck were you thinking? Do you have a fucking death wish?"

No. Draco didn't want to die. He had to live. Though, he couldn't quite remember why it was so important at the moment. Drowsiness washed over him and his eyes slipped shut.

"Draco!" The hands shook him awake again and the floor beneath him spun, "Merlin, do you want to die? How much did you take?"

"Not-not dead yet," he said, or at least tried to say. The words came out a garbled mess but he thought that Blaise might have understood anyway.

"What did you take?" Draco blinked slowly. He vaguely heard Blaise mutter something and then he was drenched in cold water. He convulsed violently, hissing. "What the fuck did you take?"

"Ju' a bit o' whisky."

"Bullshit. Tell me or we go to Dumbledore. Now."

He knew going to Dumbledore wasn't an option; why was that? Why couldn't he remember?

"Focus!" Blaise snapped his fingers in front of Draco and he trailed the movement, dazed. "What did you take?"

"Pixie dust."

"Straight?"

"Potion."

"Damn you, Draco." And then he was being pulled up, stumbling as dizziness overtook him. His stomach churned unpleasantly, bile rising up. He wrapped an arm around his torso as Blaise heaved him up, dragging him along but he can't be bothered to ask where.

Preferably someplace warm. Draco was so cold.

"Out of all the people, I had to choose a suicidal wanker for a best friend," Blaise groaned as Draco staggered blindly, reaching out to balance himself against a wall.

"Go 'way!" Draco grumbled, trying to pull away, "I'm fine."

Blaise didn't relent. Had he always been so strong? Or was Draco the one who was simply too weak? "What will I tell Pansy if I let her dumb arse of a boyfriend die, huh?" Salazar, Draco was so tired. He needed to do this. "She'd kill me. And then raise you from the dead just to kill you herself."

Draco's feet tangled on nothing and he tripped, crashing down. He wheezed as the air rushed out of him, turning to his side as he gasped. The edges of his vision started to fade, the world disappearing from the edges.

"Stay with me, Draco." But Blaise's panicked voice sounded muffled, "I'll get help." He strained to hear the words, trying to sort out the sludge in his brain. "Don't worry. You're not getting rid of me yet."

And before he lost consciousness, Draco felt peace. Funny, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to recognise the feeling. The world had never been so uncertain, but in this moment he knew. At least for the coming few minutes, things would be okay.

After all, he had Blaise with him and that was enough for now.

o.o.o

Staggering backward with the force of it all, he trips over something. Hands flail as he tumbles to the floor in an inelegant mess. He scans the area to find the culprit.

A lone box stares up at him–white trimmed in gold.

Draco blinks his eyes open, helpless to do anything other than watch the amber liquid slowly seep out as it spreads, garishly staining the cream fur rug.

He is alone.

o.o.o

A/N: It builds and builds until it all falls. Keep an eye out for a second chapter from Hermione's POV in While He Was Silver if you're interested! Thanks for sticking around 3